Wedding Vows: Just Married: The Ex Factor / What Happens in Vegas... / Another Wild Wedding Night

In the dim light he looked almost a stranger to her, so tall and elegant and, she reminded herself sternly, no longer hers.

“You look good, Kiki.”

In spite of herself she smiled. “No one’s called me that in years.”

“Good.”

It was cold outside and she shivered.

“Can I come in?”

Only now did she realize they were both standing at the entrance.

She stepped back to usher him in. “Of course.”

Once more he followed her into her office. He glanced around as though he hadn’t been there earlier that very day. “Place looks good. You’ve done well for yourself.”

Not compared to him. After they’d split, he’d become one of the top architects in New York, the go-to guy for bringing faded grandeur back from near death. He was fanatical about reclaiming and modernizing heritage properties and designing new buildings or additions to fit the old neighborhoods. She felt his approval at the way she’d used the best of the old building she occupied while still managing to bring in ultramodern conveniences.

“Do you own the building?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes I do.”

He nodded. “Smart girl.”

“Too smart to be charmed by you.” She sighed. “What do you want, Dex?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched his head and her eyes were drawn to the thick, black hair she remembered so well. “I knew this was your outfit, obviously, but I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

“You certainly did surprise me.” But if almost giving her a heart attack was supposed to be fun, she thought she’d pass.

His gray all-seeing eyes locked on hers. “You didn’t tell Sophie about our past.”

“Didn’t seem very good for business to bring up my divorce when the woman’s here to plan a wedding.” She shot him a glance. “Did you tell her?”

“No.” He picked up her gold Montblanc pen off the desk, ran his thumbnail over the monogram. “I decided to leave it to you.” He’d given her that pen back in happier times, and now she was annoyed with herself for her sentimentality in using the damn thing every day.

“So, we don’t tell the lucky couple that their wedding planner and his best man used to be married?”

“No, I guess not.”

“And that we hate each other?”

He put down the pen, straightened to his full six feet and looked down at her. “I never hated you. That’s your department.”

A moment passed and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying out that she missed him. Instead she said, “Why are you here, Dex? I mean, in the city. You work in New York now.”

“I do. But I’m quoting on a project here in Philadelphia. A grand old structure that’s been a home, a warehouse and a boardinghouse, to name a few.” Enthusiasm lit up his eyes. “She’s a tired old girl, but with amazing bone structure. The best of the original architectural features are intact and the client wants to work with them, while bringing the building up to date. It’s going to be a boutique hotel and retail combination.”

“Sounds amazing, and right up your alley.”

“It is. I really want this one. And if it works out, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“Helping Sophie and Andrew plan their wedding.”

He looked so sincere, so good, so sexy that for a moment she forgot the reason she’d divorced him. The five-foot-ten blonde goddess she’d found half dressed and wrapped around her husband. The saddest aspect of that fiasco was that on some level she’d noted that Dexter and the former model had looked natural together, two tall, glamorous super-people.

“You’re good at planning weddings, not so good at staying faithful once you’re in one.” Her venom seemed to curdle the air.

“Like I said, hate was always your department.”

“Well, I got over it.” With a lot of tearful sessions with her girlfriends and some rather expensive ones with a therapist. “Now I’ve accepted that our marriage was a mistake.”

“You sure didn’t fight for it.”

The old, familiar anger began to surge inside her but she bit her tongue and counted to ten. Then eleven. Finally twelve before she felt calm enough to speak.

“Why would I fight to keep an unfaithful husband?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother, but I am telling you again that I never had sex with that woman. She was drunk and crazy.”

“Didn’t look like you were trying very hard to peel her off you.”

“Believe me, I was, and I could have used your help that night instead of having you turn tail and abandon me.”

Oh, how she wished she could believe him, could have believed him six years ago when it had happened. But she didn’t believe him, and couldn’t imagine living with a man who thought so little of her that he’d betray her like that.

“I guess maybe we were wrong about each other.”

“I guess so.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against her desk, looking ridiculously masculine against the feminine lines of the furniture; it appeared as though the wood might snap from the weight of him leaning on it. But like her, the piece was stronger than it looked. “You’re still the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”

She snorted. “Oh, please.”

“Or maybe it was us together. I miss a lot of things about you, but mostly I miss you in my bed.” He looked at her with such intensity that she felt her blood begin to pound. Of course she remembered. When she wasn’t cursing the man for his faithlessness she spent more time than she should cursing him for giving her the kind of sex that she’d never found before or since. Soul-scorching, sometimes tender, sometimes dirty but always intimate. She was secretly pleased that he hadn’t found that again either. Or so he said. But then maybe that was another line in the player’s handbook. How would she know?

She forced herself to meet his gaze coolly. Took a deep breath and uttered the biggest lie of her life. “I don’t miss you.”

She should have recalled that nothing ignited Dexter’s competitive instincts like a challenge. She saw heat flash in his eyes, anger and lust and a mix of emotions she couldn’t begin to identify.

One second he stood there before her and the next he was pulling her to him, crushing his mouth against hers so fast that she couldn’t have moved away if she’d tried. She uttered a muffled protest, squirmed against him and then as the inevitable tide of heat swamped her, found herself melting into that oh, so familiar embrace.

The initial hardness of his kiss softened and he began to play with her, igniting all her responses until she was crazy with pent-up lust and a need so strong she couldn’t begin to stifle it. She was so weak-kneed she clung to him, responding wildly, mindlessly.

Every part of her ached and burned and throbbed. If he threw her down on the Hepplewhite desk now, or even on the reclaimed hardwood floor, she’d let him take her and both of them knew it.

Then, as suddenly as he’d moved on her, he let go and stepped back. His breathing was faster than normal, his mouth wet from hers. Still, he managed to sound cool when he said, “I don’t think I believe you.”

Then he turned and headed for the door. “Don’t work too late.”

3

“WHAT ABOUT THIS GUY?” Dee asked as they cruised the single man ads on the online dating site that she insisted had the best success with Philly singles. They were in her office and Dee had just finished setting up her account. Even twenty-four hours ago, Karen knew she wouldn’t have put up a profile on something called Plenty of Phillys but since that scorching kiss yesterday, she was determined to get out there and try to find a genuine, decent man who wouldn’t screw around the second her back was turned. Wouldn’t melt her with his kisses when he came back into her life.

But the man whose photo she was looking at on her computer definitely wasn’t that guy.

“I want to correct his spelling,” she said.

Dee sighed and moved to the next one. Mohawk, tattoos and a spiked dog collar. “Ick,” they said in unison.

The third profile featured a perfectly average-looking man with glasses, a full head of hair, and, perhaps more important, a profile written by someone who’d obviously passed high school English. “He’s a CPA, never been married, but looking to find a partner.” Dee glanced up at her. “That’s good, right?”

“Yes.” Karen finished reading his profile. “I like that he mentions taking things slow. I really can’t handle fast right now.”

“Great, let’s send him a wink,” Dee said pushing a couple of buttons before Karen could slap her hand away.

“What have you done?”

Dee laughed, the happy trill of a woman who dates regularly and isn’t scarred by love. Yet. “You have to let them know you’re interested. That’s how it works. You send a wink.”

“I am so not ready for this.”

“You so are.” Her assistant danced out of the office. “Call me if you need me.”

Dee hadn’t made it to the door when a funny noise emanating from her laptop made Karen squeak, “I need you.”

Dee peeked over her shoulder. “Hey, he winked back.”

“Is that good?”

“That’s great. Means he read your profile and he’s interested. He’s online now, so you can chat. Look, he’s sent you a message. Click here.”

Hello, Karen. I see you are a virgin.

“A virgin?” she squealed. “What is he, a pervert?”

“Would you relax?” her twenty-three-year-old mentor insisted. “Read on. He means you’re new to the site.”

“Oh. He says, ‘here’s a bit more about me.’ Um, I think he’s included his resume.”

“Just give the guy a chance. And remember, there are lots of guys out there, so don’t be afraid to keep looking.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She kept reading. He had sent her a profile, obviously prewritten for such an occasion and if he hadn’t included his resume, there wasn’t much about his schooling and work life she didn’t know when she’d finished. In the back of her mind she was thinking how much her business could benefit from a decent CPA, then she remembered she was supposed to be looking for romance, not accounting services.

His name was Ron and he did sound like a nice guy. Nothing flashy, which was good. She was pretty sure, for instance, that he wouldn’t shove a woman against her own desk and kiss her senseless. Certainly not without first asking permission. Then she was for damn sure that he wouldn’t waltz back out of her office, having made the point that she was still desperately attracted to him, and leave her seething with sexual frustration as well as anger at her own stupidity.

Which made Ron a lot closer to perfect than certain men she could name.

She replied to Ron, telling him a bit about herself.

Then she clicked off and got back to work.

When she checked her e-mail again at the end of the day, she had a few random winks, and Ron had replied. She had to admit it was nice to make “get to know you” conversation with a man, even if it was next door to anonymous.

He ended by inviting her for coffee. I always do coffee as a first date, he explained, obviously catering to her “virgin” status. There’s no pressure. It’s only an hour of our time and if we don’t want to continue that’s fine. And if we do, then we go from there. What do you think?

What did she think?

She had no idea, so she decided to lay the entire situation before Chelsea.

“Online dating?” her friend said when she’d walked over to her place to ask for advice. “Wow. I’ve never tried it, but some of my girlfriends met boyfriends and husbands that way.” She shrugged. “And a few use the site to find booty calls.”

“Booty calls? Seriously?”

“Hey, different strokes.”

Karen bit deeply into a lemon dream bar before saying, “Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m doing. I think I’m scared.”

“Honey, you book acrobats for weddings, you drag grooms to weddings on time, solve blended family conflicts that would baffle the entire Oprah/Dr. Phil team. I once saw you personally climb a tree to fix twinkle lights. While wearing four-inch heels. I think you can handle a cup of coffee with a CPA.”

“I guess you’re right.” She put a hand to her chest where her heart was beating rapidly.

Chelsea looked at her with concern. “You seem way more bent out of shape than seems appropriate for a coffee date. What’s going on?”

“Oh, Chelsea, it’s all such a mess,” she wailed and promptly shoved the last of the lemon dream into her mouth. Once she’d taken what comfort she could from the food, she told her friend everything, from her first meeting Dexter at a party, to their wedding, the marriage, the betrayal, to him coming back into her life. She ended with the kiss.

“Scumbag!” was Chelsea’s succinct response to the story. For which Karen was enormously grateful. “And now he thinks he can waltz into your business and try to get back in your pants? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Getting out and dating new men is a fantastic idea. Really. Get your mind off your ex.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I am right. And you know what else you need?”

She thought of some of the other well-meaning advice Dee had dispensed from time to time. “Please don’t say sex toys.”

Chelsea grinned at her. “I am assuming that you have a good selection, as every woman should. But no, I was referring to a girls’ night out.”

“Oh, I would love that.” A night off from worries and stress with some of her female friends would be sooo good.

“Okay.” And as she saw Karen’s mouth open Chelsea stopped her, saying, “And, Ms. Planner Extraordinaire, this is one that I’ll be planning. You come and have a good time. That’s all. Got it?”

Impulsively, she hugged her. “Got it. Thanks.”

“WE’RE SEAHORSES,” the voice on the phone explained.

She really didn’t charge enough for this job. “Seahorses? Maybe you need an aquarium, not a wedding planner,” Karen said as gently as she could.

The young woman’s laugh was sudden and loud in her ear. “No, I mean me and Steve, the guy I’m marrying, we belong to the Seahorses Scuba Diving club.”

“Oh, okay, I get you.”

“You must have thought I was nuts,” the woman said, with another boisterous laugh.

Karen joined in, hahaha, without admitting she’d assumed the woman was certifiable. Or that she wouldn’t be the first crazy person who’d hoped If You Can Dream It was a company designed to make any hallucination come true.

“Before I waste both of our time in a meeting, I want to ask you if you could arrange an undersea wedding.”

“An undersea wedding, like The Little Mermaid?”

“I guess, sort of. See, we dive the wrecks off the Jersey shore and we were thinking it would be so cool to get married underwater.”

“Oh, wouldn’t it.” Karen rubbed her temple. Surely you couldn’t get a headache this fast. “Hard to cut the cake, though.”

More laughter greeted her. “I can see we’re going to get along fine. No, what I’m thinking is if we could rent a glass-bottomed boat for the guests and then me and Steve could get married underneath. We wouldn’t have thought of it, but we met a JP who also dives. He could perform the ceremony from the boat, and we’d be wired for sound. Instead of saying, ‘I do,’ we’d give the thumbs up sign. Isn’t that totally cool?”

“Oh, totally.”

“We want to get married next August. We need some ideas. We really want our wedding to stand out as something different.”

No problem there.

“So, will you do it?”

“Arrange a wedding on a glass-bottomed boat so two scuba divers can give a thumbs-up?” She shook her head. “Sure, why not?”

“Great, when can we come in to see you?”

She made an appointment for the scuba sweethearts, and then almost broke down and wept when her next appointment informed her that she wanted a completely traditional wedding. Church, flowers, white gown, bridesmaids, hotel reception, everything simple and staid and normal. How refreshing.

As she was finishing up the proposal, Sophie Vanderhooven called sounding excited. “I heard Melissa Stanhope got the most divine cake for her wedding this Saturday.”

“Yes, it’s lovely. Laurel, our cake maker has a real gift.”

“But Cinderella’s coach? That is such an amazing idea.” She now recalled that it was the Stanhopes who had recommended her services to the Vanderhoovens.

“Even better, the cake is made with pumpkin.”

“I know! She told me. Can I have something like that for my wedding?”

“Of course you can.” Did this woman not have any original ideas of her own? “Not the same cake, of course, because Laurel creates a unique design for every event, but you can give her guidelines.”

A sigh wafted over the phone. “Mother wants a traditional tiered cake complete with little plastic bride and groom on the top, but I want something more romantic, more me.”

“I’m sure we can find something that will make you and your mother both happy,” she said diplomatically.

“I hope so. Anyhow, I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“At Melissa’s wedding.”

“Oh, of course. Though I’m not a guest. If I do my job right, you shouldn’t even notice me.”

Sophie laughed in her elegant way. “No one could miss you.”

Before she could ask what that was supposed to mean, in a polite way, the woman was gone.

Puzzled, she got up and walked to the front reception area. “Dee?”

Her assistant glanced up from matching the place cards to the Stanhopes’ master guest list. “Mmm-hmm?”

“Do I stand out in a crowd?”

Dee blinked at her. “You have Amy Adams’s face and hair and Marilyn Monroe’s body, and, I don’t know, a sort of commanding way about you. It’s what makes you a great wedding planner. Everyone scurries when you tell them to. So yes. Of course you’re noticeable.”

“Huh. Thought I was being so discreet.” She wandered back toward her office.

“Hey, speaking of discreet, when are you meeting that CPA?”

“We’re having coffee Sunday afternoon.”

“Brilliant. I can’t wait to hear about it on Monday.”

“What’s the weather forecast for tomorrow?”

Dee didn’t have to look, she’d already checked. “Low fifties, no precipitation expected.”

“Wonderful. A perfect day for a late fall wedding.”

And so it was, she realized when she rose the next morning. The day was dry, the sun was shining and there was no snow on the ground. After showering and doing her hair in a restrained bun, she slipped into a navy pencil skirt and white blouse, then pushed her feet into her high-heeled navy pumps. Discreet and professional, that’s how she thought a wedding planner should look.

Amy Adams indeed. Dee must be angling for a raise.

4

“WE CAN’T FIND the best man,” Mr. Stanhope hissed into Karen’s ear.

So far, everything for the Stanhope wedding had been going smoother than a chocolate milkshake. This was her first lump. “Has he answered his cell phone?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll get right on it. In the meantime, Mr. Stanhope, remember, you hired me to take care of problems. I’ll stall the bridal party.” Her calm manner and soothing smile had their desired effect. The father of the bride’s high color receded and he nodded, standing straighter in his tux.

“Glad to have you onboard.”

“We may need to call in a stand-in, but I promise, you’ll have a best man for your daughter’s wedding.

“Keep an eye on things out front,” she whispered to Dee, then, without any visible haste, she walked from the front of the church and out into the parking lot. Guests were still arriving but the bridal party was scheduled to pull up in fifteen minutes.

She slipped into her car and reached for the Stanhope wedding binder. In it was all the information she could possibly need, including home and cell numbers for the missing man.

She called both and was invited twice to leave a message. Which she did. Not good.

She then called the driver of the limousine bringing the bridal party to the church and asked him to take a detour. “I need five extra minutes.”

“No problem.”

Having stalled the bride, she left her car and slipped into the church through a side entrance. She knew her way around most of the churches and synagogues of the city. She made her way to the anteroom where the groom and his party would be waiting.

The groom looked a little pale, but steady. He glanced up when she entered. “I’m going to kill Brian. He promised he’d be here.”

“Does he have issues with punctuality?”

“Not usually.”

Her cell phone rang. “Ah.” Sure enough, it was the best man. “Flat tire,” he panted. “I went to change it, but that is my spare.”

“Where are you?”

He named a location that was a good five minutes away. “Are you dressed to go?”

“Yep.”

“All right. I’ll come and get you.”

She turned to the groom. “Appoint a stand-in just in case.”

“But the ring?”

She slipped a plain gold band from her right hand. “I always carry a spare.” Then she smiled at him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She sprinted to her car and made her way out of the parking lot, now quieting as most of the guests had arrived. She was in time to see Sophie Vanderhooven step out of a Lincoln, Dexter behind her. She supposed she should have known Sophie would bring a stand-in for her fiancé who was still working in Italy.

Since she felt it would be rude to drive by a paying client, she drew to a stop and rolled down her window. The autumn day was crisp and cold and tonight the temperature was forecast to dip.

“You look lovely, Sophie,” she said. The blue woolen suit was both stylish and classic, rather like Sophie herself.

“Thanks. I can’t wait to see Melissa get married.”

“Do you drive away before all the ceremonies?” Dex asked her.

Now that he’d addressed her directly, she had to look at him and nothing in the world could stop the warm blush that heated her cheeks as their little tussle in her office roared back to her.

She forced a smile, though no one could have called it cool. “Of course not. Just a little wedding business to take care of. I’ll see you later.” And with a wave of her hand she drove past.

DEX SQUINTED as he turned to watch Karen drive away. He’d made her blush. Good. It was a start.

“What’s going on, Dex?”

He turned back to his date. “What do you mean?”

Sophie scanned his face. “I’m not sure, but you were looking at Karen the way—well, the way Andrew looks at me. I guess that’s why I recognized the expression.”

“She’s a very attractive woman.”

“And she was blushing.” She grabbed his hand and began walking toward the church. “And there’s this sort of energy field when you two are together. I noticed it when we first met her. I wasn’t born yesterday, Dex. Something’s up with you two. What is it?”

The slim hand in his was friendly, but firm. He suspected he wouldn’t get away with anything but the truth. “You’re pretty smart for a socialite.”

“I know. And I smell a delicious secret. Come on, spill. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’ve never yet met a woman who didn’t break that promise.”

The patrician nose wrinkled. “Can I tell Andrew if it’s good?”

Andrew was the son of a famous wine-making family in Italy. He’d hired Dexter’s firm to renovate the family’s Park Avenue town house and during the project, the two had become friends. They played squash, moved in similar social circles and, instead of dropping him when Andrew and Sophie got engaged, the couple had tried setting him up with a series of single women.

They knew he’d been married before, but he’d never offered them much in the way of details. Hadn’t thought it would matter. Now, he knew that his past did matter.

The past had just caught up with him.

“The truth is that Karen and I used to be married.”

If he was into shocking people he’d have been gratified by the way Sophie’s mouth fell open so far he could see all her expensive dental work. He’d never seen a mouth with such perfectly straight molars.