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The Wedding
Favor
A Save the
Date Novel
Cara
Connelly
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
Publisher:
Avon
Date of
Publication: 12/31/2013
ISBN:
9780062282262
ISBN10:
0062282263
In her
deliciously sexy debut, Cara Connelly gives a whole new meaning to crashing a
wedding.
BEFORE THE
WEDDING Tyrell Brown wanted to get the hell out of Houston and back to his
ranch. Instead, he’s stuck on a flight to France for his best friend’s wedding.
To top it off, he discovers he’s sharing a seat with Victoria Westin, the blue-eyed,
stiletto-heeled lawyer who’s been a thorn in his side for months.
AT THE
WEDDING Victoria can’t believe it! How can she be at the same wedding as this
long, lead cowboy with a killer smile? So what if they shared a few in-flight
cocktails, some serious flirting, and a near-miss at the mile-high club? She
still can’t stand the man!
AFTER THE
WEDDING The wedding disaster’s in the rearview, but the sizzle between these
two is still red-hot. They tried to be on their best behavior in France, but
back in the States all bets are off…
“That woman,” Tyrell aimed his
finger like a gun at the blonde across the hall, “is a bitch on wheels.”
Angela set a calming hand on his
arm. “That’s why she’s here, Ty. That’s why they sent her.”
He paced away from Angela, then
back again, eyes locked on the object of his fury. She was talking on a cell phone, angled away
from him so all he could see was her smooth French twist and the simple gold
hoop in her right earlobe.
“She’s got ice water in her veins,”
he muttered. “Or arsenic. Or whatever the hell they embalm people
with.”
“She’s just doing her job. And in this case, it’s a thankless one. They can’t win.”
Ty turned his roiling eyes on Angela. He would have started in – again – about
hired-gun lawyers from New York City coming down to Texas thinking all they had
to do was bullshit a bunch of good ole boys who’d never made it past eighth
grade, but just then the clerk stepped out of the judge’s chambers.
“Ms. Sanchez,” she said to
Angela. “Ms. Westin,” to the
blonde. “We have a verdict.”
Across the hall, the blonde snapped
her phone shut and dropped it in her purse, snatched her briefcase off the tile
floor and, without looking at Angela or Ty, or anyone else for that matter,
walked briskly through the massive oak doors and into the courtroom. Ty followed several paces behind, staring
bullets in the back of her tailored navy suit.
Twenty minutes later they walked
out again. A reporter from Houston
Tonight stuck a microphone in Ty’s face.
“The jury obviously believed you,
Mr. Brown. Do you feel vindicated?”
I feel homicidal, he wanted to
snarl. But the camera was rolling. “I’m just glad it’s over,” he said. “Jason Taylor dragged this out for seven
years, trying to wear me down. He
didn’t.”
He continued striding down the
broad hallway, the reporter jogging alongside.
“Mr. Brown, the jury came back with
every penny of the damages you asked for.
What do you think that means?”
“It means they understood that all
the money in the world won’t raise the dead.
But it can cause the living some serious pain.”
“Taylor’s due to be released next
week. How do you feel knowing he’ll be
walking around a free man?”
Ty stopped abruptly. “While my wife’s cold in the ground? How do you think I feel?” The man shrank back from Ty’s hard stare,
decided not to follow as Ty strode out through the courthouse doors.
Outside, Houston’s rush hour was a
glimpse inside the doors of hell.
Scorching pavement, blaring horns.
Eternal gridlock.
Ty didn’t notice any of it. Angela caught up to him on the sidewalk,
tugged his arm to slow him down. “Ty, I
can’t keep up in these heels.”
“Sorry.” He slowed to half speed. Even as pissed off as he was, Texas courtesy
was ingrained.
Taking her bulging briefcase from
her hand, he smiled down at her in a good imitation of his usual laid-back
style. “Angie, honey,” he drawled, “you
could separate your shoulder lugging this thing around. And believe me, a separated shoulder’s no
joke.”
“I’m sure you’d know about
that.” She slanted a look up from under
thick black lashes, swept it over his own solid shoulders. Angling her slender body toward his, she
tossed her wavy black hair and tightened her grip on his arm.
Ty got the message. The old breast-crushed-against-the-arm was
just about the easiest signal to read.
And it came as no surprise. During their long days together preparing for
trial, the cozy take-out dinners in her office as they went over his testimony,
Angela had dropped plenty of hints.
Given their circumstances, he hadn’t encouraged her. But she was a beauty, and to be honest, he
hadn’t discouraged her either.
Now, high on adrenaline from a
whopping verdict that would likely boost her to partner, she had “available”
written all over her. At that very
moment they were passing by the Alden Hotel.
One nudge in that direction and she’d race him to the door. Five minutes later he’d be balls deep,
blotting out the memories he’d relived on the witness stand that morning. Memories of Lissa torn and broken, pleading
with him to let her go, let her die. Let
her leave him behind to somehow keep living without her.
Angela’s steps slowed. He was tempted, sorely tempted.
But he couldn’t do it. For six months Angela had been his rock. It would be shameful and ugly to use her this
afternoon, then drop her tonight.
Because drop her, he would. She’d seen too deep inside, and like the
legions preceding her, she’d found the hurt there and was all geared up to fix
it. He couldn’t be fixed. He didn’t want to be fixed. He just wanted to fuck and forget. And she wasn’t the girl for that.
Fortunately, he had the perfect
excuse to ditch her.
“Angie, honey.” His drawl was deep and rich even when he
wasn’t using it to soften a blow. Now it
flowed like molasses. “I can’t ever
thank you enough for all you did for me.
You’re the best lawyer in Houston and I’m gonna take out a full page ad
in the paper to say so.”
She leaned into him. “We make a good team, Ty.” Sultry-eyed, she tipped her head toward the
Marriott. “Let’s go inside. You can . . . buy me a drink.”
His voice dripped with regret, not
all of it feigned. “I wish I could,
sugar. But I’ve got a plane to catch.”
She stopped on a dime. “A plane?
Where’re you going?”
“Paris. I’ve got a wedding.”
“But Paris is just a puddle-jump
from here! Can’t you go tomorrow?”
“France, honey. Paris, France.” He flicked a glance at the revolving clock on
the corner, then looked down into her eyes.
“My flight’s at eight, so I gotta get.
Let me find you a cab.”
Dropping his arm, she tossed her
hair again, defiant this time. “Don’t
bother. My car’s back at the
courthouse.” Snatching her briefcase
from him, she checked her watch. “Gotta
run, I have a date.” She turned to go.
And then her bravado failed
her. Looking over her shoulder, she
smiled uncertainly. “Maybe we can
celebrate when you get back?”
Ty smiled too, because it was
easier. “I’ll call you.”
Guilt pricked him for leaving the
wrong impression, but Jesus, he was itching to get away from her, from
everyone, and lick his wounds. And he
really did have a plane to catch.
Figuring it would be faster than
finding a rush-hour cab, he walked the six blocks to his building, working up
the kind of sweat a man only gets wearing a suit. He ignored the elevator, loped up the five
flights of stairs – why not, he was soaked anyway – unlocked his apartment, and
thanked God out loud when he hit the air conditioning.
The apartment wasn’t home – that
would be his ranch – just a sublet, a place to crash during the run-up to the
trial. Sparsely furnished and painted a
dreary off-white, it had suited his bleak and brooding mood.
And it had one appliance he was
looking forward to using right away.
Striding straight to the kitchen, he peeled off the suit parts he was
still wearing – shirt, pants, socks – and balled them up with the jacket and
tie. Then he stuffed the whole wad in
the trash compactor and switched it on, the first satisfaction he’d had all
day.
The clock on the stove said he was
running late, but he couldn’t face fourteen hours on a plane without a shower,
so he took one anyway. And of course he
hadn’t packed yet.
He hated to rush, it went against
his nature, but he moved faster than he usually did. Even so, what with the traffic, by the time
he parked his truck and went through all the rigmarole to get to his terminal,
the plane had already boarded and they were preparing to detach the jet way.
Though he was in no frame of mind
for it, he forced himself to dazzle and cajole the pretty girl at the gate into
letting him pass, then settled back into his black mood as he walked down the
jet way. Well, at least he wouldn’t be
squished into coach with his knees up his nose all the way to Paris. He’d sprung for first class and he intended
to make the most of it. Starting with a
double shot of Jack Daniels.
“Tyrell Brown, can’t you move any
faster than that? I got a planeful of
people waiting on you.”
Despite his misery, he broke out in
a grin at the silver-haired woman glaring at him from the airplane door. “Loretta, honey, you working this
flight? How’d I get so lucky?”
She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the sweet talk and move your
ass.” She waved away the ticket he held
out. “I don’t need that. There’s only one seat left on the whole dang
airplane. Why it has to be in my
section, I’ll be asking the good Lord next Sunday.”
He dropped a kiss on her
cheek. She swatted his arm. “Don’t make me tell your Mama on you.” She gave him a little shove down the
aisle. “I talked to her just last week
and she said you haven’t called her in a month.
What kind of ungrateful boy are you, anyway? After she gave you the best years of her
life.”
Loretta was his Mama’s best friend,
and she was like family. She’d been
needling him since he was a toddler, and was one of the few people immune to
his charm. She pointed at the only empty
seat. “Sit your butt down and buckle up
so we can get this bird in the air.”
Ty had reserved the window seat, but it was
already taken, leaving him the aisle. He
might have objected if the occupant hadn’t been a woman. But again, Texas courtesy required him to
suck it up, so he did, keeping one eye on her as he stuffed his bag in the
overhead.
She was leaning forward, rummaging
in the carry-on between her feet, and hadn’t seen him yet, which gave him a
chance to check her out.
Dressed for travel in a sleek black
tank top and yoga pants, she was slender, about five foot six, 120 pounds, if
he was any judge. Her arms and shoulders
were tanned and toned as an athlete’s, and her long blond hair was perfectly
straight, falling forward like a curtain around a face that he was starting to
hope lived up to the rest of her.
Things are looking up, he
thought. Maybe this won’t be one of the
worst days of my life after all.
Then she looked up at him. The bitch on wheels.
He took it like a fist in the face,
spun on his heel and ran smack into Loretta.
“For God’s sake, Ty, what’s wrong
with you!”
“I need a different seat.”
“Why?”
“Who cares why. I just do.”
He slewed a look around the first class cabin. “Switch me with somebody.”
She set her fists on her hips, and
in a low but deadly voice, said, “No, I will not switch you. These folks are all in pairs and they’re
settled in, looking forward to their dinner and a good night’s sleep, which is
why they’re paying through the nose for first class. I’m not asking them to move. And neither are you.”
It would be Loretta, the only
person on earth he couldn’t sweet talk.
“Then switch me with someone from coach.”
Now she crossed her arms. “You don’t want me to do that.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t and I’ll tell you
why. Because it’s a weird request. And when a passenger makes a weird request,
I’m obliged to report it to the captain.
The captain’s obliged to report it to the tower. The tower notifies the Marshals, and next
thing you know, you’re bent over with a finger up your butt checking for
C-4.” She cocked her head to one side. “Now, do you really want that?”
He really didn’t. “Sheeee-iiiiit,” he squeezed out between his
teeth. He looked over his shoulder at
the bitch on wheels. She had her nose in
a book, ignoring him.
Fourteen hours was a long time to
sit next to someone you wanted to strangle.
But it was that or get off the plane, and he couldn’t miss the wedding.
He cast a last bitter look at
Loretta. “I want a Jack Daniels every
fifteen minutes till I pass out. You
keep ‘em coming, you hear?”
About Cara
Cara
Connelly is an award-winning author of contemporary romances. Her smart and
sexy stories have won high praise, earning Cara several awards including the
Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart, the Valley Forge Romance Writers’
Sheila, and the Music City Romance Writers’ Melody of Love. Cara lives in rural
upstate New York with her handsome husband Billy and magical rescue dog Bella.
Cara is proudly represented by Jill Marsal of the Marsal/Lyon Literary Agency.
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2 comments:
My apologies Ms. Connelly on the late start of your stop.
I posted PM on my submission auto for Blogger.
Many happy sales on your tour.
Thanks, Mila! Have a happy new year!
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