The Unexpected Wedding Guest

After five minutes of concerted effort she finally had to accept that, unless she suddenly acquired the abilities of a contortionist, there was no time to change. Abandoning the plan, Reese rifled through her bags, tossing lingerie and toiletry articles aside. Where were her shoes?

Where were her shoes?

Please, please. Just let them remain reasonably calm until I get there.

Her hands landed on her Manolo Blahnik satin pumps and relief surged as she slipped them on. She couldn’t wear flats and let the dress drag, but maneuvering up the endless hall and down the grand staircase in four-inch heels was going to take time. Time she didn’t have.

Because she had to reach them before it was too late.

* * *

Mason exited Bellington Hall and crossed the brick driveway leading to his truck, passing a deliveryman wheeling a dolly loaded with boxes of expensive champagne. And, although she was all he needed, the Beast didn’t fit in at Bellington any more than Mason did, his truck looking out of place parked next to the stately stone mansion and graceful gardens.

A harsh reminder of the feeling of “otherness” that had marked his marriage and his childhood.

As a military brat who rarely attended the same school twice, and a bit of a loner to boot, he’d been the outsider constantly looking in. Mind-numbingly bland years memorable simply for his monotonous existence—a monochromatic gray where his soul had faded and lapsed into a coma. Ironically, while the military-brat lifestyle left him feeling the odd man out, ultimately his military career had given him the first sense of real belonging—thriving in the tightly knit team environment integral to doing his job.

A job he could no longer perform.

With a resigned acceptance, Mason pushed aside the familiar feeling of loss. So life sucked and then you died, but the mere fact that he hadn’t—died, that is—was enough of a miracle to put the rest of his mucked-up life into perspective.

Though he was still struggling to apply that attitude to his screwed-up head.

Mason reached his truck and then paused, clutching the door handle. A convertible Jaguar had joined the Mercedes-Benz in the drive, and it wasn’t hard to guess who the car belonged to. Apparently the successful fiancé had already arrived. Most likely seeking out his bride-to-be at this very moment.

Definitely time for Mason to leave.

A sense of inevitability settled in his gut. He’d tell the doc he’d done his best to put this ghost to rest. But all he’d managed to achieve was discovering just how time had made his ex more beautiful. And more thoroughly pissed off at him.

A scoff of bitter humor escaped just as a masculine voice called out.

Mason spun on his heel and spied a tall, black-haired man exit the front entrance in athletic shorts and running shoes, clearly about to set off on a jog. Despite the casual attire, the clothes reeked of money. And there was something in the man’s eyes and posture that screamed breeding. The fiancé.

What was his name again?

For the nth time since the explosion, Mason cursed the short-term memory that had been knocked and scattered like the proverbial loose screws on the floor, making simple tasks a daily struggle. Amazing how much he’d taken for granted the ability to retrieve information from his brain.

“Can I help you?” the man said as he drew close.

For a brief moment Mason considered lying and claiming to be a delivery guy. There was certainly enough activity going on preparing for the big day that one more truck transporting goods wasn’t a stretch. But as his mind scrambled for an item he could have believably delivered, he realized he didn’t have a clue what kinds of things would be needed in preparation for a regular wedding, much less one at a location as luxurious as the Bellington Estate.

As Reese’s fiancé drew closer, Mason eyed the man warily, trying to recall his name. The guy had a good inch or so on him, but Mason was more muscular. He knew he could take him. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“You must be be...” Drew? David? He refused to look at his notes. “Reese’s fiancé.”

“Guilty as charged.” The man came to a stop in front of him and stuck out his hand. “Dylan.”

“Dylan.” Hell, maybe this time it’d stick. He returned the shake. “I’m—”

“Mason Hicks,” Reese’s fiancé said. “Awarded Two Marine Corps Good Conduct Medals, a Humanitarian Service Medal and a Purple Heart.” Dylan released his hand. “Just to name a few.”

Surprise left Mason briefly speechless as he tipped his head in question. How did he know all that?

Dylan calmly studied him. “When Reese and I started seeing each other I had you investigated.”

Normally the news would have put Mason on alert, but there was no hostility in the man’s gaze. Nothing overt anyway. But there was a cool wariness, a “why are you here?” question in his eyes that was dressed in such a classy air that Mason didn’t feel unwelcome. The elegant manners were impressive. The bride and groom-to-be truly were two of a kind.

They were five-star accommodations while Mason could make do in a dusty hole in the ground, if need be.

“Investigated?” Mason said.

Dylan hooked a hand on his hip. “I wanted to know a little about my predecessor.”

“What for?” Mason said.

“So I could better understand the man who made Reese so unhappy all those years ago.”

Shifting on his feet, Mason rubbed his chin. His day-old growth was rough, and he hated that he felt scruffy next to the well-groomed fiancé. And the man’s steady gaze was making Mason uncomfortable. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t belong here.

It was well past time for him to climb into The Beast and make tracks.

“I’m taking off now.” Mason bit back a grin. “That should definitely make her happy.”

Better than the lame engraved picture frame he’d brought as a gift.

“But you just arrived,” Dylan said. “There’s no need to rush off.”

Stunned again, this time the ability to speak took longer to return. Was he serious? Or was he just being polite? Or maybe he wanted him around so he could mess with Mason’s mind or something—like it wasn’t screwed up enough. But Dylan didn’t strike him as the type.

“In case you haven’t been informed, time has only increased my ability to make my ex unhappy,” Mason said dryly, surprised lightning didn’t strike him for uttering such a massive understatement.

“I’m not sure that’s even possible,” Dylan said in agreement.

Mason let out a humorless bark of laughter before going on. “I can only imagine,” he said. “I figure the best wedding gift I can give the two of you is my departure. Because Reese was adamant that I leave.”

An emotion Mason couldn’t interpret flitted across Dylan’s face, a slight tightening of the eyes that could have meant anything. “I can imagine she was.”

He eyed Mason, as if sizing him up. But not only was there no hostility, Mason didn’t sense any resentment, either. Just a wary curiosity from the man who was about to marry his ex-wife. At least his hellacious road trip here hadn’t been a total waste. If nothing else, he now knew that Reese wasn’t marrying a jerk. But did Dylan love her?

But the bigger question was, why the heck did Mason care?

The silence stretched, leaving Mason uneasy. Edgy. He should leave. Reese was not his concern anymore. What difference did it make how Dylan felt about her? It sure as hell wasn’t any of Mason’s business.

But no matter how hard he tried to push the past aside, seeing Reese had brought up some disturbing memories. Things he’d thought he’d buried long ago. Clearly he wasn’t going to get the resolution he sought. But, at the very least, he wanted to take a better measure of the man she was about to spend the rest of her life with. If he knew she was going to be treated well, then that was enough. He’d be content.

And content was as much as he could hope for these days.

Dylan nodded in the direction of a temporary basketball pole set up at the end of the driveway. “You play?”

“Yeah,” Mason said slowly. “Seems an odd thing to have had delivered days before a wedding.”

“Reese’s cousin, Tuck, is my friend and best man. It’s a long story, but he had it set up as a joke,” Dylan said, and then looked at him curiously. “You up for a little one-on-one?”

Mason leaned back on his heels and shaded his eyes from the sun, studying Reese’s fiancé. Playing basketball with his buddies had saved his sanity during the wearisome downtime in the choking dust of a sweltering Afghanistan desert. And there was nothing like a little friendly competition to take your measure of a man.

Dylan was probably thinking the same thing.

Mason couldn’t resist a cocky smile, the universal I’m-gonna-wup-your-ass grin that only a man could understand. “You’re on.”

THREE

The rhythmic thwack...thwack...thwack...that greeted Reese’s ears as she burst through the side entrance onto the brick drive didn’t sound like two men beating the living daylights out of each other. But her trek across the house had taken her so long that, by now, the adrenaline surging through her body was prohibitive to rational thought.

She’d gotten turned around in one of Bellington Hall’s endless corridors and wound up way on the other side of the massive home. And then she’d had to backtrack. Losing precious minutes. Her mind conjuring all sorts of horrendous possibilities, she’d scrambled to make up for lost time and nearly broken her ankle racing down the stone staircase in her four-inch heels.

Fifteen minutes had passed since she’d dashed out of the sitting room. Long enough for two men to kill each other several times over.

Picturing broken noses and bleeding lips, she lifted her skirt and picked up the pace, the tulle netting flouncing around her legs with every hurried step. Heart wedged in her throat, praying she wouldn’t wind up with blood on her dress, she rounded the side of the house and came to a halt.

Because there, both shirtless, bodies damp from exertion, were her ex-husband and her future husband...playing basketball.

Shock stuck her shoes to the pavement, and she stared, motionless, as she watched the two men, their faces set with determination. Sunlight shimmied on chests damp with sweat. Pectorals and biceps lengthened and bulged with exertion as they dribbled, and blocked, and alternately attempted a jump shot. A mesmerizing sight that most women would enjoy. A bubble of hysteria rose, and she almost let out a stunned laugh, fascinated by the disparate displays of masculine beauty.

Wearing nothing but athletic shorts, Dylan was taller, leaner, with muscles that showcased his love for running and swimming. His was an agile grace, all lithe beauty and nimble movements. Whereas Mason, in hip-hugging jeans only, was a touch shorter. More muscular. Raw. Oozing a kind of terrible power that was unsettling, disturbing. And dark. The kind of man that could strike with precision and take an enemy out before he recognized there was a threat.

When he turned, her breath caught, his back sporting a beautifully tattooed pair of angel wings.

After a failed layup, Mason grunted out something she couldn’t hear, and Dylan responded with a smile and words she couldn’t make out. But Mason’s answering bark of laughter echoed across the driveway.

Annoyed, she shifted on her feet and cocked her hip. Here she’d been, practically killing herself while making the journey to break up a potential fight, worried the men would at least be exchanging heated words. And they had the audacity to be having fun?

Dylan caught a rebound off the backboard and pivoted, finally catching sight of Reese.

As if the current situation was no big deal, Dylan said, “Hey, bright star.”

The nickname had started as a joke. Back in the days after her divorce when all she could do was mope. And when she’d finally thrown herself into her family’s favorite charity, The Brookes Foundation’s Home for Battered Women, she and Dylan Brookes had wound up serving on the board together—ironically, the very man her parents had slated for marriage to their only daughter. Dedicating herself to the cause had saved her sanity, and then Dylan had gently eased his way into her life. First as a friend who made her smile, and eventually as a lover who also made her laugh.

Until the dark days had grown fewer and farther apart.

The originator of those dark days shot her a curious look. “I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress,” Mason said.

As always, the man elicited a piercing surge of irritation that was impressive. Because it was his fault that she was standing here in a torrent of tulle netting.

Steam had to be coming from her ears. “But it doesn’t rank anywhere near the catastrophe of an ex-husband showing up just days before the ceremony,” she said.

“The timing is definitely inconvenient,” Dylan said.

At least Mason had the decency to grimace, a rueful look on his face, and Reese shifted uncomfortably. But she refused to apologize or feel guilty.

Because she did not want Mason getting chummy with her fiancé. She did not want Mason hanging around for her dream wedding. She did not want Mason hanging around, period.

She brought her thoughts up short and licked her lower lip. “Dylan, what are you doing?”

Mason looked unconcerned, while Dylan looked down at her as if she was the one who was behaving oddly.

“I’m playing basketball,” he said.

In exasperation, she blew a strand of hair from her eyes. Men. Why did they have to be so literal?

“Yes.” Her lips felt tight. “With my ex-husband.”

Two men studied her for a moment, as if waiting for the punch line. And she had the urge to squirm.

“Did he tell you why he was here?” Dylan asked.

Reese avoided Mason’s gaze. “He said he wants closure.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Dylan said.

Reasonable?

Wide-eyed with disbelief, she said, “Right now the only kind of closure I want is the kind that comes with a slamming door, preferably with Mason on the other side.”

Mason let out a chuckle, and she cast him her best lethal look, frustrated by the amused tilt to his lips, the basketball parked under his arm as if he was waiting on Dylan to continue the game. And then there were all those muscles on his naked chest....

Reese frowned and slammed the door on the direction of her thoughts, turning her attention back to the man who usually made her happy.

But Dylan was studying her with a guarded expression that left her wary, the lingering moment filled with spring sunshine, a rose-scented breeze and the buzz of a bumblebee in the garden. Despite the idyllic setting, an ominous feeling began to build.

But nothing prepared her for what Dylan said next. “I think he should stick around.”

Even Mason managed to look surprised.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Reese said at the same time Mason said, “Come again?”

“I’m not kidding,” Dylan said, as if the words made total sense. “You need to hear him out.”

She blinked. Hear him out? Maybe she hadn’t heard him right. Maybe the bazillion yards of tulle netting billowing around her legs created some sort of sound buffer. Absorbing the words around her. Distorting them.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” she said.

“He’s not so bad.”

“Thanks,” Mason said. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

She ignored her ex and addressed her fiancé. “And you’re basing your assessment of the man on a fifteen-minute game of basketball?” Why did the male species feel fit to judge a person simply based on their ability to toss a ball through a hoop? “I was married to the man for a year, Dylan.”

“The man risked his life on a regular basis to help out his fellow Marines,” Dylan said, his voice holding a hint of censure. “He’s a decorated hero, Reese. He deserves to be heard.”

Mason looked away, appearing uncomfortable.

Reese pinched the bridge of her nose and struggled to remain calm. She didn’t care what kind of medals he’d earned. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, rehash the unhappiest days of her life. Especially right before the day that was supposed to be her happiest.

She dropped her hand to her side, feeling defeated. “I don’t have time for this, Dylan.”

Dylan swiped a hand through his black hair, leaving the ends spiked. His eyes held a kind of gut-sinking certainty that made her insides twist. “Why the hurry now? It took you two years to set a date for our wedding.”

Reese sucked in a breath. Was this the reason behind Dylan’s behavior? And how many times did she have to explain? She ignored the curious look in Mason’s eyes.

“I wanted to be sure,” she said, hating how the words sounded like an excuse. “And I didn’t ask Mason to show up—”

Dylan took her elbow and led her into the rose garden.

“It’s not just his arrival, Reese,” Dylan said in a low voice. He came to a stop and released her arm, his gaze flat as he stared off across the rows of rosebushes. “Personally, I think he’s the reason you dragged your feet setting a date.”

The words were too big to digest.

“Of course he is,” she said, trying to remain calm. “Because I didn’t want to screw up again. I wanted everything to be perfect—”

“Exactly,” he said. “You seemed more fixated on getting the wedding just right than on our future together.”

Her mouth fell open, and she tried to formulate a logical response.

“And when you stand up at that altar with me and say I do,” Dylan went on, “I want to know that the only thing on your mind is me.” He returned his gaze to hers. “I want to be certain that you’ve put the past behind you.”

“Dylan, I—”

“You know I care about you.” He stepped closer, taking her hands in his. “That hasn’t changed.”

The ominous feeling grew bigger. She needed Dylan to be understanding. She needed him to support her in this. Because she wasn’t strong enough to fight both men.

“But we have to start our lives with a clean slate,” Dylan went on. “And we can’t do that until you resolve this thing between the two of you.”

“The only thing left between us is hostility.”

“A lot of hostility.” He eyed her with a trace of suspicion. “Too much hostility. Have you ever wondered why?”

“He’s my ex-husband,” she said incredulously. “According to standard social conventions, I’m supposed to hate him.”

“Maybe,” he said, looking unconvinced. “But I don’t want to marry you until I’m sure there isn’t something else going on.”

Panic swelled. “Are you canceling the wedding?”

His gaze was steady, as if the words didn’t light a fuse that exploded in her head. “I’m postponing it.”

She stared at him, her lids stretched so wide she was sure they’d crack. In six days two hundred guests were set to watch her walk down the aisle. Two hundred of their closest friends and family. He just couldn’t back out now, could he?

But when she opened her mouth to protest, he interrupted.

“The ceremony is just that, Reese. A ceremony. What’s important is what comes after,” he said. She blinked back the shock, remembering she’d said that very thing to her friends oh so many years ago. “Our life together.”

Good God, how could she argue with that without sounding petty and superficial?

But two hundred people...

He lightly squeezed her hands, as if to comfort her. Fat lot of good that did her now.

“You have to go figure out what it is that you want, Reese,” Dylan said as if it were the most reasonable statement in the world.

And as he removed his hands from hers, he gently pulled the engagement ring from her finger, closing his palm around the diamond. The sense of finality weighed heavily in her chest.

“And when it’s all said and done, if it’s me that you choose,” he said, “I’ll still be here.”

* * *

This wasn’t playing out at all like he’d planned.

One hour after Reese had come barreling around the side of the house in a cloud of flouncing fabric, interrupting the game of one-on-one, Mason sat in his truck, wondering what had just happened. The animosity and the visual daggers Reese had chucked in his direction had been expected. He’d known all along he’d have to endure a lot of anger before getting the chance at having a frank discussion. In the ideal scenario, they would have cleared the air, reached a tenuous understanding, and then shared a drink for old times’ sake. And if he’d been really lucky, he would’ve bought her fiancé a drink and wished them both well.

But nowhere within the range of possible outcomes had he envisioned the groom calling off the wedding.

Reese hadn’t wanted him around before, so she sure as hell wouldn’t be partial toward his company now. So when Dylan had taken off in his Jaguar to head back home to Manhattan, Mason had climbed into The Beast with every intention of driving away. But something kept him from turning the key.

And when a large refrigerated van pulled up behind him in the driveway, the decision was more or less made for him. The deliverymen were adamant the ice sculptures needed to be moved to the freezer ASAP.

Mason hopped down from his truck and told the driver to pull around back. Feeling fairly unenthusiastic about the errand, he then went in search of Reese. He found her sitting on the bottom stair of the massive Bellington Hall foyer.

An angelic vision in white—the picture of class.

Her wedding dress was a white puff of fluffy netting, the color too close to the shade of her face. Her expression was blank, as if all emotion had been drained from her soul and capped. She didn’t look up when he entered, and his footsteps echoed across the endless marble floor as he crossed and came to a stop in front of Reese.

He hated the lost look on her face.

And somehow, he didn’t think the arrival of the ice sculptures for her wedding was going to cheer her up. In the silence that stretched, he rubbed his temple, the hint of a headache threatening.

Hell, not now. Not now.

“Jesus, Reese,” he said, his voice gruff. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She looked up at him with eyes the color of a summertime sky, and his gut twisted with guilt.

“What did you think would happen, Mason?”

“I sure as hell didn’t think your fiancé would walk away.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “After you left, I tried to explain. To talk him out of leaving.”

“I called him on his cell,” she said. Her lips looked as if they were trying to smile, but he thought he saw them tremble once. “But, apparently he’s had his doubts about me for a while.”

He was sure the tiny furrow marking her brow was just the tip of the emotional iceberg buried beneath her calm demeanor. And, in some ways, he almost preferred the angry Reese.

“I figured I’d find you pacing,” he said.

During their many fights, he’d watched her march back and forth enough.

The smile she sent him lacked humor. “I did pace,” she said. “But my time was cut short by my Manolo Blahniks.”

He frowned in confusion, wondering who the hell Manolo was and why he was shooting blanks. Until, from beneath the torrent of white netting, she stuck out a white satin pump. The height of the heels pushed his brow higher. How anyone walked in the death contraptions was a mystery.

“Nothing cuts your pacing time more effectively than four-inch heels,” she said.

He shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable as he stared at the woman who looked for all the world like she’d been dumped at the altar. He felt inadequate. This wasn’t his scene. This was not where he excelled.

Put him in a hot desert scraping the ground with his knife, painstakingly following a wire to the detonator of an IED, and he was good to go. Toss in a few bullets flying around him, his team by his side, and he knew what to do. He’d thrived in the adrenaline-packed environment. Especially after sleepwalking through his vacuous adolescent years. But among all the finery and the emotional land mines...he was lost.