Wedding Date with the Best Man

But the bursts of color coming from the circular tiered flowerbeds had him reaching for his camera anyway. His mother loved roses. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity to take pictures for her, especially with her birthday next month.

As he moved toward the fountain, Tristan zoomed in on a nearby blossom—a lush orange rose that reminded him of the sky at sunset.

Satisfied he’d captured the image, Tristan looked around. An arbor covered with white roses. A gray-haired couple holding hands next to a yellow rosebush. And…

Pink.

Tristan did a double-take.

A tall, graceful figure stood among the full round blossoms. Her shirt was the same pale pink as the petals. She should have faded into the background, but she didn’t. If anything, she seemed to be an extension of the flowers.

The play of light and shadow had him composing a long shot.

And what a shot.

Waist-length chestnut hair gleamed beneath the sun’s rays like oiled teak, a complete contrast to the soft, warm shapes and pastel colors surrounding her.

Captivated by the scene, he took picture after picture.

She seemed oblivious to him, so he moved to shoot her from different angles. He drew closer for a medium shot, but that wasn’t enough.

Tristan zoomed in on her face.

Large blue eyes framed by lush lashes focused on the delicate petals of a single rose. His pulse kicked up. He snapped a picture.

Full, pink-as-a-rosebud lips curved into a wide smile. His mouth wanted a taste of hers. He pressed the shutter button.

She bent to smell the rose. The scooped neckline of her shirt fell away, giving him a tantalizing view of ivory flesh and a white lace bra.

Nice—very nice.

And hot.

She straightened and smoothed her above the knee skirt.

Great long legs, too.

He widened the shot, squeezed off more photos and moved to intercept her. No way would he let this opportunity escape him.

Forget about asking for a model release. He wanted her.

“Hello,” Tristan said.

Not exactly the most memorable of lines, but she’d rendered him speechless and short-circuited his brain. Rare feats. Ones he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.

“Hi.” Her sparkling blue eyes nearly knocked him off his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Great line. Tristan didn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust at first sight was another story. He curved his lips into a devastating grin—one that usually got him whatever he wanted. “I’m Tristan MacGregor.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” She stepped toward him, extended her arm and clasped his hand with hers. A burst of heat shot through his veins. “I’m Jayne Cavendish. Rich’s fiancée.”

Chapter Two

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please…

Sunday afternoon. Jayne tightened her grip on the phone receiver. She wanted to talk to someone about what had happened at the teahouse yesterday, but hadn’t been able to reach any of her friends yet.

She paced across the living room.

How could she have not seen Rich for who he was?

But Jayne knew the answer. She’d let her desire for a happily-ever-after cloud her judgment. Never again.

Still, the familiar feeling of being a crumpled aluminum can tossed in the recycle bin was back. She’d been discarded, replaced by something else—someone better. If only she hadn’t been so trusting, so naïve

The line clicked. Thank goodness.

“Hi. This is Molly. I can’t get to the phone right now…”

Jayne’s heart dropped to the tips of her bare feet.

No, no, no, no, no.

She didn’t want to hear Molly’s recorded voice. Jayne had already listened to Alex’s cellphone message two hours ago. And she knew Serena was busy today.

A beep blared.

“Hey, Molly, it’s me. Jayne,” she added, as if one of her best friends and former roommate could have forgotten her name.

She winced. What a loser.

“Um. Call me when you get this. If…you know…you have time.”

Jayne hit the “off” button and slammed the receiver in its charger.

Okay, that was totally pathetic. Nothing new, but pathetic just the same.

What was wrong with her?

Too bad Jayne knew the answer.

She needed to get out more. She needed to make new friends. She needed to get a life.

A twenty-eight-year-old woman needed more to fill her days than checking off items on her “To Do” list. Not that there was anything wrong with being home, but too much time alone wasn’t good for her. Today was a prime example. She’d already organized her sock drawer, clipped the Sunday coupons and played enough games of Spider Solitaire to make her eyes cross. If she weren’t careful, she’d wind up like her next-door neighbor, grandmotherly Mrs. Whitcomb, who loved to eavesdrop as she sat on her porch, and offered cookies to passersby in order to learn the latest gossip.

Jayne bit her lip.

Maybe she needed a hobby or a pet. She missed being welcomed home by Rocky, Molly’s dog. A puppy would be too much work with Jayne’s job, but a rescue dog—a housebroken one—might be a better choice. The yard was fenced. She’d have to talk with Molly, since this was her house, and see what she thought.

A knock at the door sounded.

Jayne’s heart leaped.

She had no idea who it could be, but even a kid selling magazines to go to band camp would be a respite from the lonely quiet. She hurried across the gleaming hardwood floor, unlocked the deadbolt and whipped open the door. A tall, attractive man, dressed in a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, stood on the “Welcome” mat.

Her mouth dropped open.

He was hot. Really hot. And vaguely familiar.

She pressed her lips together. In fact, he looked a little like…Just like…“Tristan?”

“Hello, Jayne.”

His easy smile caught her like a softball under her ribs. She’d never expected to see Rich’s best friend—his best man—again. In fact, she’d pretty much forgotten about Tristan MacGregor during the aftermath of the breakup. But now…

He seemed taller, his shoulders wider. Had he always had such intense green eyes?

Unwelcome awareness trickled through her. Oh, my.

His sun-streaked hair had grown longer. Whisker stubble covered his face. He should have looked scruffy, but Tristan didn’t. With his long lashes, full, kissable lips and high cheekbones, he looked ruggedly handsome and dangerously sexy.

Jayne swallowed.

Not sexy. Bad-boy types didn’t appeal to her. She preferred clean-cut, fresh-shaven, all-American types. Men like…

Rich.

He’d seemed so perfect—a handsome, stable firefighter, with a big family who all lived here in San Diego. But he hadn’t been perfect. Far from it.

He’d let her down in every way possible, making her feel so stupid for rushing into the relationship and marriage. She hadn’t spoken to her ex-fiancé since that night at his apartment. His last words to her had been, “Guess the wedding’s off.” He hadn’t even given her the chance to break up with him. She’d received no explanation, no apology, nothing.

Now Rich’s best friend was standing here. Alarms sounded in her head. “Why are you…?”

Tristan pulled something from a back pocket. Serena’s postcard, Jayne saw with surprise. He handed it to her. “Grace asked me to return this to you.”

“I must have forgotten it at the teahouse,” Jayne said, thinking aloud. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the postcard, remembering how quickly she had fled yesterday. “But why didn’t Grace…?”

An image of Rich’s oldest sister making her way across the tearoom flashed in Jayne’s mind. Others, including his new fiancée, would have noticed.

“Grace couldn’t come herself,” Jayne said.

“She didn’t want to upset Deidre.”

Deidre. So that was her name.

Jayne couldn’t believe Rich was already getting married when she hadn’t even started dating again. Granted, he’d had a head start. Still, it seemed…wrong.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I understand Grace has to put her family first. I wouldn’t expect any less of her. She’s always done the right thing for as long as I’ve known her.”

Which hadn’t been all that long, Jayne realized.

“Doing the right thing isn’t always easy,” Tristan said, as nosy, white-haired Mrs. Whitcomb exited the house next door and sat on her porch rocking chair. Her little dog Duke, a black and white Papillion, hopped on her lap.

Jayne waved at her elderly neighbor, who raised her cup of coffee in acknowledgement.

“Would you mind if we talked inside?” Tristan asked.

She took a quick, sharp breath. “You want to come in?”

He nodded.

“Um, sure.”

But she wasn’t sure about anything except for Mrs. Whitcomb’s pastime of spying on neighbors. Jayne could only imagine what her neighbor would think of her inviting a strange, attractive man into the house, but she’d rather do that than talk within range of eager ears.

Tristan showing up out of blue left Jayne feeling off-balance. The guy had never been friendly or sought conversation with her. She didn’t know why he wanted to start now. “If you really want to come in, okay, but please don’t feel obligated. I mean, you returned the postcard. Mission accomplished.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

Apprehension coursed through her. She knew better than to trust a friend of Rich’s. “Why?”

“Grace is worried about you.”

Grace, huh? The tension knotting Jayne’s shoulders eased slightly.

“Come in.” She opened the door wider. “But you should know there’s no reason for Grace to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” His voice was low and smooth. “Then I won’t have to waste a lot of your time.”

“How is Grace doing?” Jayne asked. “It must almost be time for the baby to be born.”

“Past time, but she’s enjoying being with her other two kids, so she’s happy.”

“That sounds like Grace.”

As Tristan walked past Jayne, the scents of earthy male and salt filled her nostrils. Quite a difference from the hyacinth potpourri she was used to smelling in the bungalow. She preferred the floral scent. “I appreciate you going out of your way to do this, but I’m sure you have somewhere else to be.”

He stood in her living room, making the area feel cramped. “No, I’m free the rest of the day.”

As she closed the door, Jayne hoped he didn’t plan on staying long. Sure, she might have the company she’d been longing for, but Tristan wasn’t who she had in mind. All she wanted was to get this visit over with. “Sorry you got roped into this by Grace.”

“I’m not.”

Jayne didn’t know what to say to Tristan. She found herself glancing around the living room to avoid making eye contact with him. At least the house was clean—dusted, mopped and clutter-free. She’d done nothing but chores most of the weekend. That was what she did every weekend to keep busy.

Still, she couldn’t be rude.

“Would you, um, like something to drink?” she asked. “A glass of iced tea, maybe?”

“That would be great,” he said. “Thanks.”

Jayne headed into the kitchen. She’d expected Tristan to wait in the living room, but he followed her instead.

No problem. He could see for himself that she was doing well and relay the information to Grace.

Except his six-foot plus frame took up a lot of space in the galley-style kitchen, making it hard for Jayne to maneuver without bumping into him. She noticed she’d left a bag of coffee on the counter—Kenyan roast: her favorite—and put it away.

“Need help?” he asked.

His offer surprised her. The guy looked as domesticated as a rampaging hippo. “Thanks, but I have it under control.”

She wanted him to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish had everything under control. No need to worry.

Tristan leaned against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He might look out of place, but he sure acted comfortable—as if he were used to hanging out in women’s kitchens.

He looked around. “I smell cookies.”

His sense of smell was spot on. “I baked chocolate chip cookies this morning. Would you like one?”

“Please.”

She reached for the plastic container full of cookies and placed a few on a plate. These homemade treats would give Tristan one more reason to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish was fine and dandy.

Oh, no. She dropped a cookie onto the plate.

Forget fine. She wasn’t dandy, either. She cringed.

She’d asked about Grace. Given the chance, Jayne would have asked about the other Stricklands, too. Maybe even Rich. She stared at the cookies with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was turning into Mrs. Whitcomb.

Too late to renege on the offer of refreshments, but Jayne would not ask Tristan about another one of the Stricklands.

She would be polite. She would be gracious. But that was it.

With her resolve firmly in place, Jayne added ice to the two glasses, filled them with tea and handed one to Tristan.

He took a sip. “Sweet.”

“Oops. I should have warned you,” she said. “In the South, that’s the only way they make it.”

He considered her over his glass. “I don’t hear an accent.”

“I lived in North Carolina for a couple of years when I was younger.” She remembered the humid summers, the enormous flying bugs, and missing her dad. “My father was in the military, so he was stationed all over the place.”

“Lucky you.” Tristan took another sip of his tea. “I was born in San Diego. My parents still live here.”

“I’d say you’re the lucky one.” Jayne grabbed a few napkins. “I never want to move away from San Diego.”

“It’s a nice place to call home.”

Too bad this place didn’t feel like home at the moment. The kitchen was feeling a little too…crowded.

Jayne picked up the plate of cookies and her tea. “Let’s go into the living room.”

“After you.”

In the living room, she placed the cookies on the scarred maple coffee table Molly had left when she moved to Las Vegas and pulled out two coasters for their glasses. Jayne sat on one end of the yellow plaid couch. “Tell me what you need to know to appease Grace.”

And what it will take to get you out of here.

Tristan lowered himself onto the couch, making the full-sized sofa seem suddenly way too small. He set his glass on a coaster, adjusted a floral print pillow behind his back and stretched out—a mass of arms and legs. “Just a few things.”

“Like what?”

As he placed his hand on the back of the sofa, his hand brushed Jayne’s bare shoulder. Accidentally, of course.

Still, heat rushed down her arm like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite.

She guzzled her tea, but the cold drink didn’t cool her down at all. Even her fingertips seemed to sizzle.

Her reaction disturbed Jayne. It must be because she’d sworn off men. For the past seven months she’d barely seen a man outside of work, but the one sitting next to her on the overstuffed sofa was too warm, too solid, too…male. No wonder her body was so confused.

But being even the slightest bit attracted to Rich’s best friend was a huge no-no.

She scooted away from Tristan until her hip collided with the sofa-arm. Darn. That wasn’t far enough for her peace of mind.

He picked up a cookie. “Grace will want to know how you’ve been.”

Add Rich’s oldest sister to the list. Alex, Molly and Serena all kept asking how Jayne had been doing, so she wasn’t surprised Tristan—make that Grace—would want to know, too.

“Please don’t answer fine,” he added. “You’ve already used that one.”

Jayne usually answered fine. The word fit her most days—good or bad. She didn’t want people worrying about her.

“I’ve been busy trying to make this house a home—my home, that is—when I’m not at the office,” she said. “Everything is going…okay.”

Okay seemed like the best, the safest answer. Because, face it, things might be fine, but they hadn’t been great for a while now. Months, actually. She kept second-guessing herself. Something she had never done before. That had made things…harder.

He held his cookie in mid-air. “Okay, okay? Or okay, but I’d rather not talk about it?”

Her gaze met his. She hadn’t expected him to delve further or to read so much into her simple answer. “A little of both.”

“An honest answer.”

She raised her chin. “I’m an honest person.”

“Honesty is a rare quality these days.”

“No kidding.” Jayne wasn’t about to disagree with him, especially after her experience with Rich. The cheating jerk.

And what did that say about Tristan? He and Rich were best friends.

She watched a bead of condensation drip down her glass.

“You cut your hair,” Tristan said.

Her gaze met his. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I’m a photographer, remember?” he said, as if that explained anything. “An eye for detail.”

She’d forgotten. Her cheeks burned. How could she have forgotten what he did for a living? He’d spent two days trailing her and Rich around town, taking their picture. But then again, she’d pushed as much of that painful time out of her memory as possible. That included her groom’s best man.

Still, she wanted to cover her embarrassment.

“My friends treated me to a makeover at a fancy salon in Las Vegas.” She fingered the short ends. “Rich told me never to cut my long hair, so I told the stylist to chop it all off. I had a moment of sheer panic when she did, but decided I actually liked the shorter length and have kept it this way even though there are times I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself.”

Tristan drew his brows together.

Uh-oh. Deep in thought? Or disgusted by her rambling? Not that his opinion mattered to her. “Too much information?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I was just looking at your hair. The longer length was nice, but this style flatters your features better. You should get your picture taken.”

Thinking about the deposit she’d lost canceling the wedding photographer sent a shiver down her spine. Of course she’d lost a lot more than money with the breakup. Pride. Respect. Confidence. “I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“I remember.” His lips formed a wry grin. “But I managed to get some good shots anyway.”

“I never saw any of them.”

“I’ll get you copies.”

Jayne crossed her arms over her chest. “Um, I…”

“Bad memories?” Tristan guessed.

“Yeah, sorry, but thanks for the offer.” She picked up a cookie. “I know Rich is your best friend, but he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone like him.”

Even if she’d thought he could give her everything she’d wanted. Everything, that was, except his love and fidelity.

Dredging up the past made her uncomfortable. This called for chocolate. She bit into her cookie.

“Then everything worked out for the best,” Tristan said.

Still chewing, she nodded.

“You’ll find someone else,” he said. “Someone better.”

Jayne choked, coughed, and reached for her tea. Plunging back into the dating scene was about as appealing as a case of food poisoning. Taking a year off from dating seemed a reasonable amount of time after a broken engagement. She needed time to regain the self-confidence to make the right decisions and trust her judgment again.

Besides, her three friends had found the loves of their lives when they hadn’t been trying to find “the one.” Maybe Jayne had been going about this happily-ever-after business the wrong way. Maybe she’d been trying too hard to get what she wanted. “I’m not really looking.”

“You don’t have to look. Someone will find you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Tristan sounded so…romantic—a way she’d never heard him sound in the short time she’d known him. He’d always seemed so unfriendly, almost arrogant, back then.

“You won’t have to do anything,” he added.

Her heart melted a little. That sure would be nice.

Thanks to what had happened to her best friends in Las Vegas, Jayne knew Mr. Right finding her could happen. And she really did want it to happen one of these days.

Ever since she was a little girl Jayne had wanted the fairytale to come true. She was over the heartbreak Rich had caused, but she wanted to focus on work and getting her life back in order first. Her heart had fooled her. She didn’t want to be duped again.

“I hope that happens someday.” She emphasized the final word. “Just because things with Rich didn’t work out doesn’t mean I can’t live happily ever after here in San Diego with my one true love.”

“If that’s what you want, go for it.”

She thought about her and her mother’s dream. “Isn’t that what everybody wants?”

Tristan set his iced tea on the table. “Not me.”

Okay, so maybe the guy wasn’t so romantic after all. She shouldn’t be surprised, given his long-time friendship with Rich. A true romantic wouldn’t condone a cheater’s behavior. “That sounds a little…bitter.”

“Not bitter, just experienced.” He stared at his glass. “I gave marriage a try. It didn’t work out.”

She leaned toward him. “You were married?”

He nodded. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” she blurted. He was attractive enough to have his pick of female companionship, yet had chosen to settle down. She wondered what kind of woman had made him want to say I do. No doubt a gorgeous model or actress-type, with a killer body. “I mean, you don’t seem like the marrying kind.”

“I realized I’m not, but I tried to make it work.”

Yeah, right. That was what all men said, but actions spoke louder than words. If only she’d realized that with the first man in her life…her father.

Her dad had done nothing to make things work with her mother. Jayne still remembered hearing her parents’ yelling late at night when she’d be in bed. Still, she’d never thought he’d leave one day and never contact her again. “Let me guess—you were misunderstood?”

Tristan laughed. “No, she understood me quite well. I take full responsibility for the failure of my marriage.”

His words touched Jayne. Her father had never admitted failure. He’d blamed all their problems on her mother. God rest her soul. “That must be a hard thing to admit.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. “As you said, honesty is a rare quality these days.”

One she hadn’t expected from Tristan MacGregor.

“Have you been married before?” he asked.

“No, my parents were divorced, so I told myself to make sure it was right first and not rush into anything.”

“Until Rich.”

She nodded. “I didn’t follow my own advice with him, and rushed in with my eyes full of stars, but I won’t do that again.”

Jayne looked at the table. Only crumbs remained on the cookie plate. Her glass was empty. Tristan’s was only a quarter full. By now he should see she was fine and be able to reassure Grace. Nothing left to do but say goodbye. Except…

He didn’t seem in any hurry to finish his iced tea and leave.

“Anything else you want to know so you can tell Grace?” Jayne asked, trying to move him along. “I hate keeping you here.”

“You’re not keeping me.” His gaze took in the knickknacks on the bookcase and the framed photographs on the fireplace mantel. “It’s nice be in a house. I just got back from two months in Malaysia and Bali.”

Two months? That would have included last month…December. “You were overseas for Christmas?”

He nodded. “You can celebrate Christmas anywhere.”

But it wasn’t the same as being home. Not that Christmas alone here had been all that great. Still, she’d had a small tree and presents sent by her friends—including a filled stocking.

“I can’t imagine being on the go so much.” Just the thought gave Jayne the heebie-jeebies. She rubbed her arms. “Away for weeks or months at a time. I get tired thinking about it.”