Always A Bridesmaid

When she was at work, in sessions, she felt confident. Anywhere else, forget it.

The dancers whirled in the tango, twining around one another in the choreographed seduction of the dance. Even up in the balcony, Jillian could feel the heat, the sexuality. What must it be like to want and be wanted? She was thirty-three and she’d never been intimate with a man. Kisses, yes. She’d even felt a man’s hands touch her body, if you could call the clumsy college boy she’d fooled around with one night a man. She’d read about sex, she’d even counseled patients, but she knew nothing about it from personal experience.

She knew nothing about relationships, at all.

It wasn’t right, Jillian thought suddenly, watching the dancers. It wasn’t right that she didn’t know, it wasn’t right that she hadn’t even tried to change things. She was a social worker, a skilled therapist. She should do better.

Why not? she thought, feeling suddenly bold, and tossed off the rest of her champagne. Why not try going after what she wanted?

It’s your turn now.

“Hot, huh?”

Jillian turned to see Lisa’s maid of honor, Ariel, looking as mischievous as Peter Pan with her spiky brunette pixie cut and her sparkling eyes.

“They’re pretty amazing,” Jillian said. The flow of dancers’ bodies, their silky-looking touches gave her a little flicker of excitement just watching. “I’d love to learn.”

“Oh, me, too. I think they give lessons after the show. We ought to come sometime when we can try it out.”

“What if I don’t have a partner?”

Ariel laughed. “Like that’s a problem? Just smile at a guy and grab him by the arm.”

Jillian looked at Ariel in admiration. Was it really that simple for her? It seemed extraordinary. There was no way Jillian could ever work up that much nerve, not immediately. Smiling, maybe. She could start with smiling. Whereupon she’d probably be standing around forever. “They should set it up like one of those dime-a-dance places from World War II. That way you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Dime a dance? Try a five spot, at least.” Ariel’s eyes brightened. “Ooh, just imagine if it was like one of those vending machines where you use the lever thing to pick out exactly who you want. Just put your money in the slot and—”

“Darn it!” Jillian slapped her forehead.

“What?”

“I totally forgot. I’ve got to go feed my meter. I didn’t have any change when I parked,” she explained, digging in her purse for a dollar. “I meant to go right back out.”

“Drinking champagne will do that to you. Anyway, why are you worried? This late, no one cares.”

“It’s only six-thirty.” Jillian rose. “And trust me, if anyone’s going to get a parking ticket at six fifty-nine, it’ll be me.”

Downstairs, she walked out the front door and through the old-fashioned half-moon movie-house entryway with its central ticket booth. On the street, the late afternoon was bleeding into June dusk as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The clouds of the morning had burned away. The air felt soft and welcoming.

She’d taken off her jacket inside and the breeze fluttered through the claret silk tank she wore beneath. It felt good to move. It would have felt good to dance, if she’d only known how. She felt a sudden, restless urge for something new.

Her meter, she could see from a few cars away, was firmly over into redline territory. But she was less interested in that than the guy a bit beyond, walking down the sidewalk toward her. Tall, dark, moving with an easy assurance, he wore a jacket and tie and sunglasses. The breeze blew his dark hair onto his forehead; he raised an impatient hand to rake it back.

This was it, Jillian thought. She wanted to make a change? Now was her chance. Just a small change. All she had to do was glance at him and smile. Simple enough. Something millions of women did every day. Once she got used to that behavior, she’d move on. For now, just a smile. That wasn’t much, was it?

So why was her heart hammering?

Jillian stood at her meter, fumbling with her coins. He was closer now. Almost time. It wasn’t as if it was a military operation, she thought impatiently. She just needed to look at him and do it, as if it was natural. Natural.

Hah.

She glanced up, preparing to smile. And froze.

Handsome was the wrong word. Handsome was too tepid, a description for men with perfect Ken-doll looks. His was a face that was more about purpose and intent, pure force of personality. Strong bones, straight nose, a chin that looked as though it knew how to take a punch. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses. His mouth was straight and wide and far too intriguing.

And then he smiled and the coins slipped through her suddenly nerveless fingers.

With a noise of frustration, Jillian bent to grab for them, trying fruitlessly to capture the rolling disks before they went over the curb and through the grate beyond.

“Need some help?”

Adrenaline vaulted through her system. He’d stopped. The guy had stopped and now he was bent down by her meter, trying to retrieve the coins. “I think they’re all on their way to the Columbia River by now,” she said.

“Slippery devils,” he said, pushing up his glasses and grinning.

She could hear her pulse thudding in her ears. His eyes were black, she saw, his dark brows quirked now with just a hint of humor.

He handed her a quarter. “There’s one, anyway.”

Her hand was shaking as she took the coin from him. Okay, this was more than she’d planned. It was supposed to be a smile and glance, not a whole discussion. She wasn’t sure she was up for a full discussion, especially after all the champagne.

She rose.

“What about your other quarter?” He nodded at the meter as he stood. “One won’t take you through the witching hour.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”

“Feeling lucky, huh?” He grinned, and she felt something in her stomach flip. Lethal smile, absolutely lethal. And without warning she found herself staring at his upper lip and wondering just what it would be like to kiss him.

Lucky? “I guess I am,” she said. It was the champagne, she told herself. Starting up her own personal perestroika campaign was one thing, picking up men on the street was another.

But he was already rummaging in his pocket to pull out a handful of coins.

“You can’t pay my meter,” she objected.

“Sure I can,” he said as he picked through the change for a quarter and put it in. “It’s good karma. After a day like I’ve had, I could use it.”

“Uh-oh,” she said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Uh-oh, is right. If you see a lynch mob coming out of the Odeon, they’ll be looking for me.”

“Is that where you’re going?” she asked, falling in step beside him as they walked the dozen yards to where the light from the theater’s marquee spilled over the sidewalk.

“Yep. How about you?”

She nodded.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink but I’m here for a party. Actually, I’m late for a party,” he corrected. “Really late.”

“That’s okay, I’m here with—” She broke off and gave him a suspicious stare. “What kind of a party?”

“Me?” He held the door for her. “A rehearsal dinner, for a wedding. Why?”

She walked through, the little buzz of excitement fading. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gil, would it?”

“Guilty as charged. And you are?”

“Jillian Logan, the bridesmaid you left at the altar. Nice of you to finally join us.”

Gil’s lips twitched as he followed her into the lobby. “Left you at the altar, huh? Did I have a brain fade? Were we getting married?”

“I’m not likely to marry the kind of guy who’d show up—” she checked her watch “—over an hour late to his best friend’s wedding rehearsal.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I never proposed, then. It was touch-and-go out there.”

She gave him a look from under her brows. “You know, you had the bride wearing a groove in the carpet pacing over you? Lisa’s got enough going on right now without one more thing to stress about.”

His amusement dipped a bit. “I know, trust me.”

She folded her arms, a bit like a teacher scolding a wayward student. “Not to mention the fact that we were all standing around waiting.”

“Not to mention,” he agreed. And she was ticked. Protective of Lisa and just a little ticked about waiting around. Or maybe the altar thing. He wasn’t sure just why he found that appealing. Maybe it was because he found her appealing. Her mouth for a start, full and tempting, the lower lip just a bit sulky now. It had been the first thing he’d noticed when he first saw her. When she’d smiled at him by the meter, he’d felt the hit down deep.

And those eyes of hers, the color of good whiskey. They looked enormous and he didn’t think it was just tricky makeup. They were turbulent now with challenge, enough to promise she’d give him a run for his money. And she had that thick, dark hair with the red undertones of good mahogany. The kind of hair a man could bury his hands in.

Her chin came up a bit as she noticed him staring. He didn’t bother to fight the smile. She was tall for a woman, slender enough that at a glance a person would judge her fragile. It was an impression he was betting drove her nuts. She didn’t look like the type who wanted to be taken care of. She looked like the type who liked being in control.

Funny, so was he.

“I guess I started off on the wrong foot with you here. Except for the quarter at the meter,” he added. “I should get some points for that.”

“It’s going to take more than a quarter to make up for missing the wedding rehearsal,” she told him.

“And leaving you at the altar. I could escort you up the stairs,” he offered as they skirted the velvet rope that blocked off the balcony. “That’s a start.”

She glanced at his arm. “I can make it up the stairs on my own.”

“I bet you can,” he said, resisting the urge to linger a bit behind her and admire the view. “It would be more fun with me, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

“You’re going to break down and laugh sooner or later. You may as well give in to the inevitable.”

She turned to him at the top of the stairs. “And that is?”

He gazed down into those whiskey-gold eyes. “I’ll let you know.”

And suddenly, as she stared back at him, the joking slipped away and something else flashed in its place, a hard, deep pulse of wanting that momentarily banished everything else. Something hummed between them, like a subsonic vibration that he could neither hear nor see, but only feel.

And the flicker in her eyes told him she felt it, too.

“About time you showed,” a voice drawled from behind him and Alan walked up.

Gil blinked and the moment was gone. He turned to the tall Texan. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as they shook.

“And here I thought you were a pretty sorry specimen already,” Alan said. “Glad to see you finally found the place.”

“You made it,” Lisa said, stepping up alongside Alan.

“I did,” Gil said. Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed down to kiss it. “I really apologize for missing the rehearsal. Major screwup. You’ve got a lot to worry about right now and the last thing you need is more grief from me.”

“Hey, no putting the moves on my fiancée,” Alan protested.

“Especially,” Gil went on, ignoring Alan, “since you’re going to have plenty of grief, already, with marrying this guy off.”

Lisa laughed delightedly and pressed a kiss to Gil’s cheek. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Alan can tell you where you’re supposed to stand tomorrow and I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Why don’t you come meet everybody and have some champagne? Dinner’s just starting.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gil noticed Jillian drift off to her seat.

Probably just as well, he thought. As an editor at the Gazette, the last thing he needed was to get anything going with Jillian Logan. He’d already been warned.

So he met the rest of the party, laughing, joking, shaking hands. And did his best to forget that strange snap of connection at the top of the stairs.

“This is Ariel, Lisa’s good friend,” Alan said, bringing him to the last table.

“And best chick,” Ariel added.

“Maid of honor,” Alan translated. “And you already know Jillian, here.”

“Informally,” Gil said. He extended his hand. “Gil Reynolds, meter caddy.”

“Jillian Logan, usher wrangler.” She reached out.

Her hand was soft and cool in his. It felt fragile but he’d been right about the strength that underlaid it. He’d expected that.

He hadn’t expected it to be trembling.

In surprise, his gaze shot to hers and he saw her eyes widen before she glanced away. She tugged her hand to free it from his. Some perverseness made him hold on a moment longer than necessary, though, until she looked at him.

And he saw the gold of her eyes had darkened to deep amber.

Then he released her to nod down at the empty place setting at her side, the last one left. “Well, how about that? Looks like this is my seat.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Jillian thought with a mixture of giddiness and alarm as she concentrated on taking slow breaths to try to quiet her system. It was supposed to have been a smile on the street, a quick experiment, a little change—emphasis on little. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It definitely wasn’t supposed to last the entire evening. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to make her world feel as though it had tilted on its axis.

Surreptitiously, she rubbed at her right hand where it was hidden in her lap.

Forget about the quick, impersonal eye contact she’d perfected to keep people at a distance. Gil Reynolds’s gaze had drilled right through her, right into her. And now he was sitting just inches away and she was supposed to be able to hold a conversation as if nothing had happened?

Nothing had, she reminded herself. He’d only been playing games.

Gil picked up the beer that the waiter brought him with the salad course and grinned. “To the happy couple,” he said to Jillian.

She tapped his glass with her champagne flute. “To the happy couple,” she said coolly.

“Come on, I apologized. See? I’m not a complete creep.”

“I never said you were.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

Jillian eyed him over the top of her glass. “I don’t know. Should you be?”

Gil broke out laughing. “You’re a tough case,” he said. “Lisa forgave me.”

“That’s because you went all Continental and started kissing her hand.”

“I’d be happy to kiss yours, too,” he offered, a gleam in his eyes.

“No fair using the same trick twice,” she objected, moving her hand hastily away. “Think up something else. Come on, you’re a smart guy.”

He eyed her. “This isn’t going to be one of those quest things where I’ve got to go bring back a hair from the beard of the Great Chan, is it? Or find the Golden Fleece?”

“How about cleaning the stables of all the Budweiser Clydesdales in a single day? Of course, then you’d mess up that nice suit.”

“Come on, cut me some slack. I’m a working schlemiel. Why do you think I was late?”

“What do you do?”

His mouth curved. “Make trouble.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Her voice was dry. “And where do you make trouble?”

His grin widened. “Anywhere I can. No throwing things,” he added quickly, as she reached for the basket of bread.

“That wasn’t my intention,” she said with dignity. “Although, now that you mention it…”

“Okay, okay. Blazon Media,” he said, relenting.

“What, like an advertising agency? You’re not one of those account exec types, are you?”

“That’s a harsh way to talk about the people who help you decide how to spend your exorbitant salary.”

“Exorbitant?” She couldn’t prevent the snort.

“Or not,” he added. “What do you do?”

“I’m a social worker.”

“Okay, maybe not so exorbitant.” He raised a brow. “A social worker, huh? And here I thought you guys were all softies.”

“Here I thought you advertising types all had hundred-dollar haircuts and a closet full of Armani,” she countered.

“I’m dressed down for casual Friday,” he said.

“I’d hate to see you when you really put on the Ritz.”

“Just wait until tomorrow.” He winked. “Then you’ll see my really grubby clothes.”

The bartender leaned against the wall in his white apron and watched as the last of the rehearsal party left their tables and headed down the carpeted stairs. They’d closed the place down, Jillian realized in surprise, as she reached the bottom and turned for the lobby. She’d blinked once or twice and the hours had slipped away.

It was a shock, to say the least. Parties weren’t her thing. To be honest, she’d looked forward to the rehearsal dinner with about as much enthusiasm as she would have a root canal. Outside of Lisa and Alan, she’d known no one. Somehow, though, that hadn’t mattered. Forget about the usual rehearsal-dinner work of making conversation with people she didn’t know and had little in common with. She’d spent the entire evening laughing.

And every time she’d turned to Gil, he’d been watching her with that little glimmer in his eyes.

He was beside her now as they walked out into the night. She tightened her jacket against the cool breeze. “I guess it’s not quite summer yet.”

“Give it another month and it will be,” he said. They turned down the sidewalk toward her car. “You going to be okay driving?”

“Sure. I stopped with the champagne a while ago.” Stopped early enough that her feet should be firmly grounded. Why was it, then, that she still felt the little bubbles of effervescence, that she felt like skipping?

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to oversleep and miss my grand entrance at the wedding. I’m planning to be two hours early.”

“Spoken like a true responsible citizen,” she said.

“Making you proud of me is my life.”

“It must have been dull until we met tonight, then,” she said lightly, turning to him as they reached her car.

“It was,” he agreed. “I much prefer this.” And suddenly he was looking at her with a look she couldn’t quite categorize: speculation, anticipation, some special concentration.

Nerves vaulted through her. “Well, I guess you’d better get home and get dressed if you’re going to be two hours early for the wedding, shouldn’t you?”

He nodded, never taking his eyes off her. “I suppose so.”

“It was nice to meet you.” She concentrated on digging out her keys. If she did that, then she wouldn’t focus on that mouth and wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

“It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s late,” she said desperately.

“Then I guess you’d better get going, Cinderella.” With a flourish, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Heat flashed through her. “See you at the altar.”

Chapter Three

The dressing room smelled of cologne and hair spray, of freesia and lily of the valley from the bridal bouquets. Silk and tulle rustled below the chatter and buzz of a half-dozen women getting primped simultaneously.

“Lisa Sanders, have I told you how much I love and admire you?” Ariel turned to allow Jillian to zip up the back of her bridesmaid dress.

Lisa glanced over from where she sat at the vanity in the bride’s dressing area. “Any particular reason now?”

“These dresses. They’re gorgeous.”

“I’ll say,” Jillian chimed in fervently. She’d been in more weddings than she could count on one hand and had the closet full of poufy floral dresses to prove it. Lisa had rejected those horrors in favor of slim, tea-length dresses the color of the periwinkles in their bouquets.

Jillian glanced in the mirror at her own dress, admiring the way the bias-cut silk draped. “They really are lovely.”

“And wait until your boy gets a load of you in that,” Ariel said.

Jillian frowned. “My boy?”

“Gil,” Ariel clarified. “I mean, the two of you were flirting like mad last night. Very hot.”

It was crazy to get butterflies in her stomach at the thought of him, Jillian told herself. But every time she remembered the feel of his lips brushing over her knuckles, her stomach lurched as if she was in an elevator that was dropping too fast. She’d tried to tell herself it hadn’t been a big deal. Sure he’d paid attention to her, walked her to her car, kissed her hand, but who knew what that meant? It could just be one of those things people did at rehearsal dinners.

But apparently she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

Maybe, Jillian thought, just maybe it hadn’t been her imagination. Maybe there really had been that little buzz there, that little something that felt like, oh…

Chemistry.

It happened, she knew. Couples met, clicked and wound up dating. It wasn’t just in movies and books; she heard about it from her patients, her girlfriends, even her siblings. People got involved, they had relationships.

Why not her?

“If I were you,” Ariel continued, “I’d be looking forward to the reception. What do you think, Lisa?”

“I don’t know.” Lisa was focused intently on trying to get her pearl necklace out of its case but her hands were shaking too much to do it. She cleared her throat. “He’s not really your type, Jillian, is he?”

Her type? How did she even know what her type was? He wasn’t a standard pretty boy but she liked that. She liked the humor that was never far away, the way he made her laugh. And she really, really liked that buzz that went through her whenever they made eye contact.

But who was she fooling? What she liked most, what she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of once since it had happened was the way it had felt when he’d brought her hand to his lips. Anticipation fluttered through her.

“He seems nice enough,” she allowed.

Ariel snorted. “Nice enough?”

“Is he seeing anyone?” Jillian asked.

Lisa fumbled and dropped the necklace.

“Uh-oh, looks like prewedding jitters to me,” Ariel said. “Anyone got a shot of vodka?”

“She doesn’t need a drink.” Jillian came over to help. “She just needs us to stop going on about everything else.”

“I should have listened to Alan and gone to Vegas,” Lisa moaned. “Everything would have been better.”

“It’s going to be beautiful,” Jillian soothed, fastening the necklace in place and putting a reassuring hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “You’ll see. You’re going to walk out there and see Alan and everything will be perfect.”

Carrie came back into the room. “All right, everyone, it’s time. Lisa, honey, you ready?”

“I think so.” Lisa rose, touching her hair nervously. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Jillian said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Be happy,” she whispered.

Lisa gave her a tremulous smile. “I already am.”

Gil stood in the dressing area watching Alan tie his tie. “So what do you say, are you ready to do this?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking. After all, it’s my job as groomsman to prop you up in the bar and feed you a few drinks to get your courage up.”

Alan patted Gil’s shoulder. “I think you were supposed to do all that at the bachelor party.”

Gil snapped his fingers. “Bachelor party. Damn. I knew there was something I forgot to do.”

“I’ll let it go,” Alan said.

Gil studied his friend. “You’re going to be happy, Alan,” he said. “The two of you have a good vibe.”

“Yeah?” For a minute, Alan forgot about the tie and met Gil’s gaze in the mirror. “I keep wondering if I’m out of my mind, marrying a woman seventeen years younger than me. But I don’t know, when I’m with her, it just works.”

“I don’t think you’re out of your mind. She’s smart, ambitious, gorgeous. And more grown-up than her age.” Gil picked a bit of lint off his sleeve. “What she sees in you, of course, God only knows. If I were you, I’d marry her quick before she comes to her senses.”