was a relatively cute guy over by the dance floor giving her the eye, but he looked kind of strange. Or maybe just a little too eager.
And then there was Baker Burns.
Good old Baker. Feeling sentimental all of a sudden, Lucie smiled. He gave her a friendly wave from the cake table, where he was casually eating dessert, not a care in the world. He, too, was all by himself. Hmm…Okay, so he wasn’t terribly exciting. But he was safe, and that seemed like a good idea at the moment. Safe, predictable, boring Baker Burns…
“He’s perfect,” she whispered. All she wanted was one night of—what had Delilah called it?—nookie. One night of nookie. No future. No trouble. Just one night. Who else but Baker Burns fit that bill?
So she grabbed her tartan purse, the useless little thing Steffi had given them all as bridesmaid’s presents, and padded purposefully to the cake table.
“Hello, Baker,” she began, working hard to keep that breathless, tipsy tremble out of her voice.
“Hiya, Luce,” he said calmly, holding up a plate in each hand. “Did you want white or chocolate? Don’t worry—only the icing is plaid.”
Naturally he assumed she was trolling for extra wedding cake. “Oh, no. None for me, thanks.” As he set down the plates, she forged ahead, determined to be bold. What did vampy, flirty girls do in these situations? Maybe a little eyelash batting? “Having a good time, Baker?” she inquired coyly, leaning in nearer and flapping her lashes to beat the band.
He’d turned away to retrieve his own cake, but he stopped, his fork in midair. With concern, he asked, “Is there something wrong with your eye?”
Oh, hell. Eyelash batting was a bust.
“Listen, Baker,” she said, coming right out with it, “I’m by myself, you’re by yourself, and it’s my birthday. I was wondering whether you were interested in getting together tonight. You and me.”
“You? A-a-and me?” It sounded as if a hunk of cake had lodged in his windpipe. He choked, “D-did you just…?”
“Right. You and me. What do you say?” When he still couldn’t manage to get out any words, Lucie snapped, “Come on, I haven’t got all day. Do you want to sleep with me or not?”
Baker’s eyebrows rose past his receding hairline. “Are you drunk?”
“Heavens, no.” Lucie paused, wondering if the cake behind Baker was really tilting or her eyesight had gone wacky. Best not to think about it. “Well, maybe I’ve had a little more to drink than normal,” she admitted. “But that’s not what this is about. I’m serious, Baker. What do you think about a wedding-night fling with an old friend?”
“Y-yes. Sure! Now? Do you want to leave now?”
“Yes, I want to leave now. Right this minute.” Before I lose my tequila-induced nerve.
“Okay.” He paused, carefully placing his plate back on the table behind him. Taking a deep breath, he peered at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. She knew the feeling. “Where? I mean, your room or mine? I mean, you do want to go to a room, right? You don’t have fantasies about, like, the 18th green or a phone booth or the hood of a Corvette or something, do you?”
Lucie’s mouth dropped open. Clearly, there was more to Baker than she’d realized. Eighteenth green? Phone booth? Hood of a Corvette? She swallowed. “Actually, I was thinking of a, uh, bed.”
A bed. Good lord. Bed. She’d no more said the word than hazy, smoky images assailed her. Images of sheets tangled around sweaty, naked skin. Pillows and blankets scattered to the four winds in reckless, passionate abandon. Springs squeaking in protest as bodies thrashed above them. And a man, pressed so close she could hear his heartbeat, feel his heat, touch his…
Baker cleared his throat. “Um, Lucie?”
She jumped, wobbling onto one foot, as her erotic reverie ended in a hurry. Get a grip, she told herself curtly, fanning herself with the miniature handbag. We’re talking Baker here. Forget tangled sheets and mad passion. This is Baker.
“Listen…” He wiped his brow with the back of one hand, reaching into the pocket of his jacket with the other. “About the room thing. Mine’s fine, if you want to. I mean, I’m in…” he peered at his key. “…uh, 302. Where are you?”
She glanced at the brass key in his hand. Curving script that read Highland Inn was etched into the metal, and then the number 302. “You mean Steffi put you up here, in the Inn?”
Oh, sure! Baker had a room at the Inn. Probably every single member of the wedding party except Lucie got to stay right here. But her? Not even close. “I’m in some junky motel halfway to Wisconsin,” she told him with more than a touch of annoyance. “I’m not even checked in yet.”
“Uh, right.” Baker blinked. “Well, it doesn’t sound like we want to have our, uh, liaison there. So I guess it’s my room then. You know, if you want to give me a few minutes, I could go on up and arrange some champagne and candles and stuff. That might be nice.”
Lucie barely heard him. She was still seething over the way Steffi managed to diss her, even when it came to a hotel. He awkwardly handed her the key, and without thinking, she grabbed it and dropped it into the bottom of her tiny purse.
“All right then,” he told her, his words tumbling over each other. “But I want you to know, if you change your mind, I won’t hold it against you. I’ll just wait, oh, I don’t know, a half hour, and if you’re not there, I’ll blow out the candles and forget it ever happened. Okay?”
“Right. Half an hour.” And then she realized what she’d done. She’d just taken Baker’s key. They had made an official…assignation.
It’s not too late to back out, the timid half of her brain put in. Are you really sure you want to do this?
But Baker was already scooting off to the stairs, sending her encouraging glances over his shoulder.
“Baker,” she called out, “about what you said, about how I might need to, maybe, I don’t know, reserve the right to, you know…”
Change my mind? But he was gone.
“What have I done?” Lucie cried. With the ribbon ties on her purse clutched in both hands, she swung one way and then the other, looking for something in the room that would give her courage or help her make up her mind. “The ladies’ room!”
She had no idea why that would help, but it always seemed to. The few times she’d been on rotten dates and she was trying to decide whether to bolt or stick it out, a trip to the rest room had been really comforting, really useful. She could splash cool water on her face, sit down for a sec, give herself time to think. At the very least, she could loosen her uncomfortable skirt and get a little more blood flowing.
“A time-out is just what I need,” she decided, making a beeline for the ladies’ room out in the hall on the other side of the ballroom.
She pushed open the door in a rush, giving herself a pep talk and not really paying attention to much else. Momentarily blinded by a cloud of perfume and hair spray, she almost collided with the same giggly blonde she’d seen sticking her hands under
