The Wedding Secret

“Start tomorrow afternoon,” Lisa joked before saying her goodbyes.

Yes, but starting tomorrow afternoon would sort of defeat the whole purpose of beginning anew. Upon her return to Chicago, Cecile had set three goals. One, excel at her career. Two, become closer with her sister. And three, try to avoid Mr. Right Now and instead find Mr. Right. So no matter how much she might be tempted, she’d decided to hold out for something that at least had potential. New city. New attempt.

Cecile ended the call, closed the phone and turned. She then did a double take and took a much-needed step back.

Luke Shaw hovered about five feet away, as if waiting for her. He gave her a killer smile that made the big, bad wolf seem tame. Damn, but the man did something to her equilibrium. Already her skin heated, as if he’d run a finger down her arm instead of just giving her a smoldering glance.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

Chapter Two

Cecile winced. How long had he been there? How much had he overheard? Had he heard her say she thought he had a body to die for? Had he understood her meaning when she’d said, “Maybe I will”?

If so, he wasn’t telling. He stood there and stared at her, a poker facade having fallen into place. Cecile blinked and tried to read him. She’d been having a conversation—a private conversation—involving Bobs and picking up groomsmen.

“Is there something wrong?” Luke asked, that sexy voice of his low and deep. It rumbled over her, sending some foreign sensation to her toes.

He’d overheard her. She was certain of it, especially when that devastatingly handsome smile of his widened suddenly. He was Mr. Charming and he knew it.

But two could play at this game. So like a cat that always landed on her feet, Cecile quickly found her poise. She had a lifetime of experience in handling men like Luke Shaw—they’d come out of the woodwork ever since she’d passed that awkward stage and developed breasts.

“I would say that the only thing wrong is that you’ve crept up on me. One should be able to have a private conversation in a church, don’t you agree?”

He laughed at that, another deep rumble that sounded great. “Sorry if I surprised you, but I was sent to find you. Not my fault or intention to surprise you,” Luke said, his big wide hands open in a gesture of mock defense for his loitering.

“So let me guess—someone got all panicky that, instead of indulging in mimosas, I escaped,” Cecile said.

“Devon’s mother,” Luke confirmed. “Although when I was told to find a missing bridesmaid, I wasn’t surprised to discover you were the one I was searching for.”

“I must have errant stamped on my forehead,” Cecile said. “I had a phone call I needed to take, of which I’m sure you got quite an earful since you chose to eavesdrop.”

Luke shrugged, his countenance not the slightest bit guilty or sheepish. “I will admit to hearing some of it. Good news, I gathered, and some other parts that sounded rather intriguing.”

“Yes, I’m sure you were flattered to hear your name,” Cecile said. “But I doubt that’s anything new. The gist is that I just learned my best friend is getting married and I’m going to be her maid of honor.”

“Congratulations,” Luke said.

Cecile took a moment to size him up. With her heels, they stood eye to eye, and since she was five foot ten, that made him about six feet. He was trim and his tux fit. Perfectly.

She swallowed and rallied. “As to the other part, Lisa just wanted to know if there were any single men here tonight. I couldn’t disappoint her.”

“I’m glad I could help out,” Luke said, his blue eyes twinkling. “In fact, I happen to agree with you one hundred percent on my attributes. If you’d like, I’d be happy to return the favor and list yours. That is, if Bob won’t mind and think you’re hitting on me. I’d hate to stop you from turning over a new leaf.”

“Believe me, you won’t,” Cecile said, regaining the upper hand. “Not that I date anyone named Bob. Really, I’m sure we should be getting back.”

As if by kismet, Devon’s mother approached, her loud “There you both are!” echoing off the walls. “Luke, I send you to find her and you get lost, too!”

“Sorry,” Luke said. He bent down and kissed the petite woman’s cheek. “Got distracted. Cecile was telling me about Bob.”

“Bob? Is he here, at the wedding?” Amanda Pinewood asked.

Luke was a cad, and Cecile resisted the childish urge to stomp on his foot. He had overheard and understood everything and he wasn’t afraid to tease her with it. As if confirming his rogueness, Luke winked as Cecile sputtered, “Uh, no, Bob’s not here.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Amanda said, relieved. “It’s time to line up, and you two are not in your proper place.”

“Heaven forbid,” Luke teased, that wicked smile of his widening again. Cecile knew that Luke and Devon had grown up as next-door neighbors and buddies. Luke held his arm out to Cecile. “Shall we?”

She’d had to touch him last night at the rehearsal. Then, he’d caused her metabolism to shift into fast-forward, as if she’d just chugged an energy drink. A big believer in chemistry, Cecile wasn’t sure what type of pheromones Luke possessed, but he oozed them. Especially now, when they were all directed at her.

But she was Cecile Duletsky, talk-show producer and woman who’d met celebrities on a daily basis when she’d been a talent procurer. She could handle Luke Shaw.

Cecile slipped her bare arm in his, the smooth feel of his tuxedo creating friction against her bare skin. She tried to ignore the immediate heat, but it was near impossible to ignore the presence of the man who walked easily by her side as if he somehow belonged there.

Ushers were working to get the last guests seated so the ceremony could start. Belatedly Cecile remembered her cell phone. She glanced in horror at the silver device still dangling from the strap on her wrist.

“Let me,” Luke said, his deep voice close to her ear as he leaned into her. He slid the phone from her wrist, the gesture intimate. Quickly he pressed a few buttons to silence the ringer and then slipped the phone inside his jacket pocket. He grinned. “You can get it from me later.”

Later. That word had been loaded.

Wedding magic, Cecile decided. That was all this tickling sensation Luke Shaw incited was, nothing more. She could produce an entire talk-show episode on wedding magic entitled “Wedding secrets—who else shared the night besides the bride and groom?”

While wedding magic wasn’t anything tangible, the results often were. For some reason, all the happiness in the air at weddings often led to many singles hooking up. No one wanted to be alone when two people were making a lifetime commitment.

Heck, even Lisa and Mark had shared a passionate kiss in the hallway outside Joann’s reception eight years ago. Now they were getting married, proof that wedding magic was real and could lead to something more than one night.

Cecile had arrived solo to Elizabeth’s nuptials. She was family and she’d learned long ago that when you were a member of a bridal party, it was often better to attend the official events alone unless you were really serious about some guy.

Luke Shaw was attending stag, as well, according to Elizabeth, who had seen fit to impart the information to Cecile just last night. Her sister had even added that Luke wasn’t dating anyone. Cecile hadn’t misread her sister’s matchmaking attempt and she didn’t believe she was currently misreading Luke’s not-so-subtle signals that he was interested, especially as he took her arm when the string quartet began the processional music.

“You’re starting to fit there,” he whispered.

Cecile sucked in her breath and smiled. Yep. Luke was one hot package, and the pendulum of maybe indulging versus maybe not was swinging back and forth. Was she interested in indulging in a little wedding magic? Cecile wasn’t one who let the good catches get by without a little taste.

Yet she’d set a goal to stop wasting time on Mr. Man of the Moment, a resolution Lisa had told Cecile to start tomorrow. Luke chose that second to reach over with his free hand, lightly touching the arm she’d looped through his. Heat increased between them and Cecile shifted. Reality was, she knew nothing about him except that he lived in Chicago and he was Devon’s best friend. Time to swing the pendulum back the other direction, toward “better not.”

“Ready?” Luke arched a blond brow in her direction, and Cecile tried not to shiver with desire. She doubted she’d ever be prepared to totally take on this man. He wasn’t like other guys who she could best or control. Instinct told her that in a match of wills, the battle would be close and the victor not predictable.

“I’m good to go,” Cecile said bravely.

And with that, Luke and Cecile headed down the aisle.

They didn’t speak to each other again until after the ceremony, when he took her arm and they followed the newly married couple out. She lost him when she went to stand in the family receiving line, found him again during endless wedding party pictures that seemed to last ages. He disappeared when the photographer began the multigenerational family shots, which took forever since her entire family was there—her mother, father, Elizabeth and a bunch of aunts, uncles and cousins that Cecile saw only at events like these.

“Fun, isn’t this?” her father asked during a father-daughter picture. Being in his late fifties, his hair had grayed substantially.

“Elizabeth’s very happy. That’s what matters,” Cecile said.

“Just promise me you’ll elope,” her dad joked as the photographer gestured Elizabeth over for the next photo.

“No need to even mention me and marriage in the same sentence,” Cecile said. “Lisa’s engaged, though. You remember Lisa?”

“I do. Tell her to elope. Invest the money instead.”

Cecile laughed, and as Elizabeth arrived to join them, everyone paid attention to the photographer’s instructions. By the time the photos were finally finished, all Cecile wanted was a pair of comfortable tennis shoes. Barring that, she wanted a very large glass of white wine.

The limos were waiting for the last of the immediate family; the other guests and wedding party members were already enjoying an open bar and appetizers at the Millennium Knickerbocker’s Crystal Ballroom while they waited for the bride and groom to arrive.

“You look like you could use this,” a deep voice said when Cecile finally walked into the reception. “The line’s terrible.”

“Thanks.” Cecile turned and gained a sudden new appreciation for Luke Shaw as she took the wineglass he offered. The line for the bar was eight deep.

“Just stick with me,” Luke said. “I know my way around these things.”

“I can tell,” Cecile murmured appreciatively as she rolled the wine over her tongue. “So are you giving a toast?” she asked.

“That’s Devon’s brother’s job, and I’m glad of it,” Luke admitted cheekily. “Can’t stand the things. ‘To the bride and groom. May your love last a lifetime and all that happy jazz.’”

Cecile arched her eyebrow. Here was a man she could identify with, especially if this was his attitude. “You sound cynical.”

“Realistic?” Luke queried. “Don’t weddings make all the single people feel like they’re left out of some exclusive club?”

“Yes, they do, and you’re a brave man to admit it,” Cecile said.

That fabulous grin widened, revealing naturally pearly whites.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Luke said. “Of course, now I’m going to have to think of one for you. Can’t be something cheesy or trite, though, or given right at this moment. Better when you don’t expect it, that way you’ll get the full effect.”

Down, girl, Cecile told herself at his innuendo. She reminded herself that she’d earlier resolved not to get swept up in the wedding magic. And Luke was obviously a flirt. Cecile hadn’t had a chance to question her sister further about the man, but any female with half a brain could gauge Luke Shaw’s type.

Even Cecile couldn’t say she was unaffected. He was like a tickle—welcome and yet needing to be stopped at the same time. He was sexy, and already other unattached women were giving him the eye. In fact, one of them was making her way over now. Cecile plastered on a smile as the daughter of one of her father’s business associates came over. Cecile hadn’t seen her since high school, but one thing could be said about Loretta—years later, the blonde was still stunning.

“Cecile,” Loretta said in greeting. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in ages. You look terrific.” She turned to Luke. “Hi, I’m Loretta Foster.”

“Luke Shaw,” he said easily as he shook her hand. Cecile noticed that Loretta’s ring finger was bare, and that jogged a memory—Cecile’s parents had told her last Christmas about Loretta’s wedding and the subsequent scandal when her husband had had an affair with his secretary only a few months later.

“It’s nice to meet you, Luke,” Loretta said, her attention fully on him.

Cecile’s negative reaction to Loretta’s interest in Luke startled her. Surely Cecile couldn’t be jealous. She hardly knew Luke. She might think he was sexy, but she wasn’t going to pursue him. Or would she say yes if he asked her out? With her new career needing her full focus, she’d been thinking only of the wedding reception when talking earlier with Lisa, but suddenly the idea of a date with Luke held appeal. And so did not letting anyone else have him.

Cecile glanced at her wineglass. Time for a refill and some much-needed space so that she could figure out exactly why she suddenly felt muddled and as if she were walking on quicksand. Cecile focused. Loretta must have told Luke she was divorced, for she was saying, “Sometimes it just takes a person twice to get it right. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Luke said easily, his tone light. Cecile avoided meeting his glance and made the mistake of looking at Loretta.

“You’ve never been married?” Loretta asked. She appraised Luke like a rare commodity, and Cecile’s hackles rose. “Your father’s the real-estate developer?”

“Right on both counts,” Luke said.

Loretta leaned closer. “And you’ve escaped the noose this long?”

Luke shrugged. “I was holding out for Angelina Jolie, but Brad Pitt stole her.”

“Oh, aren’t you funny,” Loretta said, her smile wide. “I just love a sense of humor. It’s so rare to find that in a man these days. Most of them are simply too serious. Old before their time.”

Deciding not to be a third wheel and determined to maintain self-control, Cecile began easing her way toward the bar. Perhaps in her grape bridesmaid garb she could cut the line. There had to be some privileges for wearing a hideous dress.

“So are you here with a date?” Loretta asked Luke, expertly sliding her question into the conversation. Loretta was good, very good, Cecile thought as she somehow resisted the urge to roll her eyes heavenward. She took another step, but a firm grip grasped her left wrist and she found herself jerked backward.

And directly up against Luke Shaw. He fitted her neatly into the curve of his right side, and somehow Cecile managed not to drop the wineglass she still held as her body responded to his on a primitive level.

“Actually, I am taken,” Luke told Loretta before Cecile could utter one word of indignant protest about his actions. Blatant chemistry was making her want to do things with him she’d decided not to do. Then she made the mistake of looking at him.

Those blue eyes caught Cecile’s, and she froze under his gaze’s intensity and seriousness. “You see,” Luke told Loretta with firm conviction, “Cecile’s my date.”

Chapter Three

She was his date? Since when?

Luke had totally misread her conversation with Lisa. But since Loretta was staring at her oddly, Cecile closed her mouth and played along. “I’m his date,” she confirmed. The idea actually held appeal—he had her pinned against him, creating strange warmth that simply demanded exploring. The man was temptation.

“Isn’t that sweet,” Loretta said, her recovery upon processing the announcement flawless. “You make such a lovely couple. Oh, they’re seating for dinner. We’ll catch up a little later. I do want to hear more, like how you met.”

“That sounds great,” Cecile lied, knowing Loretta would disappear for good now that her prospect was gone. Cecile detached herself from Luke’s grasp and waved the wineglass at him as Loretta disappeared from view. “I’m your date?”

“You have objections? I thought that served both of our purposes quite well. Still do. How can you hit on me if we’re not together?”

Indignation roared. “Despite what you may have overheard me say on the phone, I also said I wasn’t going to hit on you. You are impossible.”

“I try,” Luke said. “Especially if I get what I want.”

“Lisa was teasing. And I said maybe I would pursue you, maybe I wouldn’t.” Cecile’s heart raced. He wanted her?

“I like the ‘maybe I would’ part better,” Luke said, totally unfazed. He reached forward and took the glass from her hand before she sprinkled the wine remnants everywhere. “Let me get you a refill and I’ll meet you at the head table. Since we’re seated next to each other, we can talk, if you’re still so hot and bothered—although, trust me, I have a solution for that.”

“I’m not hot and bothered,” Cecile lied, but Luke simply strode off knowing the truth.

Her body craved his. Her mind liked his and he met her challenge for challenge. The chemistry flared almost out of control in all areas, especially the ones that mattered. She would be sitting next to the most infuriating man in the room. And the most attractive. Cecile made her way to her assigned spot. The bride and groom were already seated, and all around the room the guests were settling down at their tables.

Once the minister finished the blessing, a movement to her left indicated Luke had arrived. He set down her wine. “Thanks,” Cecile said.

“You’re welcome,” Luke replied. “I’m totally at your service. Anything you need.”

More loaded words, Cecile thought as a shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. Luke Shaw was not the type of man you could use up and then spit out. He was the type a girl should savor, like fine wine. Despite her earlier resolution, she was tempted to indulge…if only a little. Luke was like no man she’d ever met before. The pendulum was swinging toward “maybe I should.”

“What are you thinking?” Luke whispered.

She twitched slightly, his breath causing her skin to warm. “I was thinking of grabbing one of those rolls,” she said, lying again.

“Master of the art of changing the conversation,” Luke declared.

“Absolutely,” Cecile said. “I’m like a cat. I always land on my feet.”

“Do you purr like a cat, too?” he asked, his tone smooth. “Would you like me to scratch you behind your ears?”

Thankfully she didn’t have to reply to his question as the main course arrived. She quickly discovered she was too wired to eat the combination chicken-and-steak entrée. She picked at the delicious-looking salad and passed on the rolls.

Maybe the wine was going to her head. Her face did feel a little tingly, as if she’d used a good astringent. She picked up her fork and forced herself to eat the chicken so that something besides alcohol was in her stomach. Still, she didn’t say no when the roving waiter came by and refilled her wineglass. She wasn’t driving but instead taking a cab out to her parents’ house in the suburbs.

“So are you going to dance with me?” Luke asked when Elizabeth and Devon went to cut the cake.

“I think we’re scheduled to share one dance,” Cecile said. The bride and groom’s first number was a waltz, but she wasn’t sure about the music for the wedding party dance that followed.

“I meant after that,” Luke said, suddenly serious. “Despite my earlier corny lines, I’d like to get to know you.”

“Let’s see how the first one goes,” Cecile said, his seriousness shaking her slightly. Just when she thought she had Luke pegged, he changed the rules. “I’ve always said you can judge a man by how he moves,” she admitted.

“You have?” Luke’s expression was one of interest.

“Oh, you can absolutely tell,” Cecile said with a nod. “My sorority sisters and I used to bet on it. Like if a man dances like a constipated hamster. Or does the sprinkler.”

“The sprinkler?”

“Yeah, when you put one hand behind your head like this—” Cecile put her left hand behind her head so that her elbow pointed outward “—then your right arm extends straight out and sweeps back and forth like one of those pulsating water jets.” Cecile demonstrated.

Luke winced. “Yeah, I admit, that’s pretty bad. Very common. And bad. Not one of my gender’s finer examples.”

Cecile drew her breath sharply through her teeth. “Exactly. Avoid at all costs.”

“So if he’s horrid on the dance floor, does that mean he’s terrible in other endeavors, as well?”

“Eight times out of ten,” Cecile admitted. Her face reddened and she took a long sip of wine and stole a glance at him over the rim.

Luke appeared suitably horrified. Then he winked. “Lucky for you, I don’t dance like that.”

“We’ll see,” Cecile commented, the rush of adrenaline sending a jolt through her. She sipped her wine and stared at the empty glass. How had that happened so fast? Time to switch to water. If not, she’d probably do something she’d regret. Like jump Luke Shaw and find out what kind of moves he had, starting with planting her lips on his. She had no doubt he could kiss, and new leaf be darned. She understood now why men rammed their ships on the rocks when exposed to the sirens.

Kissing Luke was a delectable-sounding idea but, unfortunately, probably not a very wise one.

Then again, Cecile wasn’t known for wise decisions when it came to men. Unlike Lisa, Cecile was impulsive. Mr. Right always turned into Mr. Wrong. It was a fact of her life. Cecile rose to her feet, her mind waffling. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…” she said.

Luke stood also, a chivalrous gesture indicating good breeding and refined manner. He had to stop impressing her! Requiring space, Cecile headed for the sanctity of the ladies’ room. Getting her bearings and wits together was probably a smart idea. The man had crawled under her skin, made her want things she’d best avoid. He made her want to throw caution to the wind. He invited her to play with danger.

All night he’d had the upper hand, probably from overhearing her conversation. But Cecile wasn’t one who left the status quo alone, especially when it wasn’t tilted in her favor. She was almost thirty and ready to get serious about having it all. She was tired of simply attending weddings—darn it, she wanted her own.

She wanted marriage and a husband and a career. She had no idea what Luke’s intentions were beyond the obvious that involved getting her horizontal.

But she could say no, no matter how tempted she was. Right?

LUKE WATCHED AS Cecile made her way toward the ballroom exit. Ladies’ room, he surmised. She wove her way through the room, her posture tall and strong despite having had a lot of wine in a short period of time.

Her body had a natural sway to it, one that enticed despite being clad in purple fabric that did little to enhance. Luke had made a career out of studying people and he liked the lines of Cecile’s neck. He liked the way her mouth moved and the way she raised both eyebrows when she gave him her dubious look.

He hadn’t met a woman who’d interested him this much in a long, long time, which made toying with her fun. He’d pushed to see exactly how much she’d dish back. She’d met his challenges directly, which had impressed the heck out of him.

As for naming her his date, that pronouncement had taken even him by surprise, but once he’d voiced the words, he’d immediately been glad he’d said it. His better ideas often arrived spur-of-the-moment.

The idea of spending time with Cecile appealed. She reminded him of one of those traditional Greek statues. She had classic features that didn’t come from plastic surgery or perfectly applied makeup. He could sense a realism to Cecile that mirrored his own. He guessed that she lived with both feet planted fully in the moment, just as he did.