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The Unexpected Wedding Guest
Aimee Carson


Getting caught in her wedding dress by her drop-dead-gorgeous ex-husband is Reese Michael’s worst nightmare.Especially when her perfect-on-paper fiancé then cancels their wedding! Reese has spent years trying to forget how her marriage to Mason Hicks crashed and burned – yes, their chemistry was incredible, but a girl can’t live on lust alone! And what’s a jilted bride supposed to do when the one man she could never forget is back in her life, as irresistible as ever? Mason might be her own personal brand of Kryptonite, but surely life is meant to be lived a little dangerously…?







“Surprised to see me?”

Getting caught in her wedding dress by her drop-dead-gorgeous ex-husband is Reese Michael’s worst nightmare. Especially when her perfect-on-paper fiancé then cancels their wedding!

Reese has spent years trying to forget how her marriage to Mason Hicks crashed and burned—yes, their chemistry was incredible, but a girl can’t live on lust alone! And what’s a jilted bride supposed to do when the one man she could never forget is back in her life, as irresistible as ever? Mason might be her own personal brand of Kryptonite, but surely life is meant to be lived a little dangerously…?

Look out for the second book in The Wedding Season quartet, Girl Least Likely to Marry.


‘Surprised to see me, Park Avenue?’

The familiar, sexy rumble and the nickname added to the surreal nature of being transported back ten years in time when she had laughingly told Mason her college roommates’ nickname for her, Park Avenue Princess. And then he’d made the name his own, dropping the princess part. Which for some strange reason had pleased her no end.

But she was not pleased to see Mason.

Days away from her wedding.

Reese gritted her teeth, struggling to retain her cool as the anger finally built high enough to surpass every other emotion—shock, doubt and dread, just to name a few. Why was he coming to see her again? After ten years, why now? Right when all of her dreams were finally about to come true.

Her chest pinched, making breathing more difficult. Bad enough he had to still look good, now the unwanted memories invaded. Memories of Mason making love to her. The incredibly intense state of happiness they’d achieved, right before it had all been blown to hell. Correction, right before Mason had blown it all to hell.

Remember, Reese. Never again.


Dear Reader,

When I first spoke with my lovely editor about THE WEDDING SEASON, I was thrilled with the idea of participating in a continuity that follows four college roommates as they rediscover their friendship and fall in love with their perfect match. Of course, there was no way I was going to pass on the opportunity to work with three wonderful authors whom I’d met and whose work I adore. And the fun we had creating the characters for these stories? Bonus! Reese wouldn’t have been the same without Cassie, Gina and Marnie in her life.

I truly hope you enjoy THE WEDDING SEASON as much as I’ve enjoyed working on this collaboration.

Aimee


The Unexpected Wedding Guest

Aimee Carson








www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The summer she turned eleven, AIMEE CARSON left the children’s section of the library and entered an aisle full of Mills & Boon® novels. She promptly pulled out a book, sat on the floor and read the entire story. It has been a love affair that has lasted over thirty years.

Despite a fantastic job working part-time as a physician in the Alaskan Bush (think Northern Exposure and ER, minus the beautiful mountains and George Clooney), she also enjoys being at home in the gorgeous Black Hills of South Dakota, riding her dirt bike with her three wonderful kids and beyond-patient husband. But, whether at home or at work, every morning is spent creating the stories she loves so much. Her motto? Life is too short to do anything less than what you absolutely love. She counts herself lucky to have two jobs she adores, and incredibly blessed to be a part of Mills & Boon’s family of talented authors.

This and other titles by Aimee Carson are available in eBook format—check out

www.millsandboon.co.uk


To my colleagues and friends at the

Yukon Kuskokwim Health Corporation who, day

after day, battle geographical challenges and

unforgiving elements to provide care to the

wonderful people of the Yukon Kuskokwim Delta.



teaser

THE WEDDING SEASON

continues this month with Cassie’s story in

Girl Least Likely to Marry by Amy Andrews

Don’t miss Gina’s and Marnie’s stories, out next month!


Contents

Prologue (#u2e529ec4-b2f6-55f1-97e6-f497370375ab)

Chapter One (#u2ea99d49-5ea8-540a-91fa-623d79e24522)

Chapter Two (#uaee198b2-d630-54f9-a2c4-3179319902b0)

Chapter Three (#uf722cecd-526e-5fe7-873b-8b340b4233a0)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE

Ten years ago

Hillbrook University Campus, upstate New York

“I can’t believe this is our last night together as roomies,” Reese Michaels said as she shifted in her chair on the back porch of the house, feeling restless.

Surrounded by her three roommates, she stared out at Hillbrook College’s track field and the rolling hills beyond, countless variations of green lit by the late-afternoon sun. Hyacinths in bold yellows and pinks and purples dotted the yard, the air infused with the clean scent of spring in upstate New York. Everything was new. Changing. As was her life. And not just because the Awesome Foursome, as their neighbors had dubbed them, were going their separate ways.

The gloomy thought was pushed aside as a nervous excitement bubbled up, and she longed to share the news with her friends. The news that she and Mason had secretly spent this morning applying for a marriage license...

“At least we have our road trip to look forward to,” Marnie drawled, the blonde’s every word infused with a hint of the South. “But, Reese, we never would have forgiven you if you hadn’t made it back for tonight’s last hurrah in the house.”

“Though we do understand why you’ve been so busy with that gorgeous Marine of yours,” Gina said with a shrewd smile.

A familiar feeling settled low in Reese’s stomach—a funny combination of heat and expectant anticipation that left her heart trying to outdo its previous record. Every time Mason crossed her mind, which was pretty much every 2.5 seconds, that same sensation rolled through her chest. Making her feel happy and hopeful and hungry to hold him again. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Look at her,” Gina went on, her British accent infused with delight. “She’s positively glowing.”

Pleased her happiness showed, Reese opened her mouth to blurt out her secret, but Marnie spoke first.

“If you ask me, I think y’all are getting too hot and heavy too fast, honey,” Marnie said.

The words pricked Reese’s happy bubble, and she snapped her lips shut.

Gina shot Marnie an overly tolerant look. “Most women aren’t saving themselves for marriage.”

Marnie tucked her hair behind her ear. “There is nothing wrong with saving yourself for marriage.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” Gina said before lifting a brow dryly. “But there’s plenty that isn’t right.”

With a sigh, Reese listened as they continued the year-old argument. Sweet, Southern, fair-headed Marnie versus cynical, sexy, dark-headed Gina. And then there was plain, practical Cassie, the Australian astronomy student who was too intelligent, too engrossed in trying to discover the secrets of the cosmos to let a mere man occupy any of her time.

Tell them, Reese. Just tell them you’re getting married in a few days.

Maybe she should spring the news gently. Ease them into the idea.

Bracing for the response, hoping for the best, Reese tested the waters. “Mason is The One.”

Of that she was quite sure.

A stunned silence was followed by a chorus of groans, but she refused to cringe at the naive-sounding statement.

“Oh puh-lease, pass the puke bucket.” Gina rolled her eyes in her trademark way. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, Reese,” she said. “You don’t actually believe those chick flicks you like to watch, do you?”

Reese fought to keep her disappointment from showing. Of the three women, Reese had thought Gina, at least, would offer support.

“There’s no way you could have fallen in love with him at first sight. Lust definitely,” Gina went on. “But not love.”

Reese twirled the stem of her empty champagne flute, her voice soft. “But I did.”

Ever the sensible one, Cassie, stared at her, her Aussie accent thick. “But how much can you know about each other after only one week?”

With a frustrated frown, Reese tucked her feet under her legs. She knew it didn’t make sense. She knew it was crazy.

But eight days ago she’d settled on the bar stool next to Mason in that mom-and-pop diner in Brooklyn and been instantly transfixed. Not by the chiseled chest and arms, the handsome face, or the brown hair with the adorable cowlick. She blamed the beautiful hazel gaze lit with mischief and cocky arrogance. Radiating confidence. One look and she’d just...known.

Her heart had checked out and there was no hope for a return.

It didn’t matter who he was or what he did for a living. It didn’t matter that her parents would hate him for...well, everything. Daring to be from a run-down neighborhood in New Jersey. Daring to be a lowly grunt in the Marines. And daring to steal the heart of the daughter they’d slotted for the perfect match since infancy, like some ridiculous children’s princess movie.

“In a world with billions of people,” Cassie went on with a logical tone, “meeting The One is a statistical improbability.”

“I have to agree with the supergeek here,” Gina said with a tip of her head toward Cassie. “You’ve met one of The Many, Reese. Mason is a hottie, but you’ve simply fallen victim to your libido. Still—” Gina smiled, clearly oblivious to Reese’s sinking heart “—I say enjoy the shagging while it lasts.”

Needing a moment to regroup, hoping to figure out how to share her news, Reese stood and picked up the empty champagne bottle. “You have sex on the brain, Gina,” she said as she headed for the kitchen.

“Exactly,” Gina called after her. “So when you come back, we want details.”

Heat flushed up Reese’s face as the back door closed behind her, because the details would be juicy indeed. She certainly was enjoying every moment she spent in Mason’s bed, but their relationship was so much more than physical. Because Mason had changed her for the better.

Her nineteenth-century history professor didn’t intimidate her anymore, her mother’s overbearing phone calls were easier to endure and her future felt bright, instead of daunting.

Reese pulled a bottle of champagne from the stainless steel refrigerator and tossed a popcorn bag into the microwave, turning it on. As the popping sounds slowly increased in frequency, she chewed on her lower lip, remembering their scoffing reaction to her claim that Mason was The One.

Their insistence she was blinded by great sex.

So, okay, maybe it had been difficult leaving Mason’s bed early this morning for the long commute back to Hillbrook. Especially after he’d sneaked up behind her, slipping those muscular arms around her hips. As soon as he’d pulled her against that well-honed, boot-camp trained body, she’d been a goner. The tiny kitchen in his New Jersey hole-in-the-wall apartment barely contained room enough to think. But Reese didn’t care, because it was Mason’s. He’d slid those calloused fingers around her waist, one hard hand heading north, and the other south....

Instantly compliant, she’d arched her back and given herself over to his plans, her history final the furthest thing from her mind. The fiercely intense way he took her left her both shattered and reborn. Every single time. And so high on life, on love, if she sold the emotion on the steps of the UN building, world peace would be all but secured. So when Mason had asked her to marry him, she’d said yes.

Marrying Mason would be the easy part.

Telling her family and friends would be hard.

The scent of scorched popcorn brought her back to the present, and she rescued the bag, dumping the contents into a bowl. One arm around the container, she grabbed the champagne and headed out the back door. As she stepped out onto the deck overlooking the beautiful yard, the men’s track team now gathering on the field beyond, she caught the end of Marnie’s statement.

“It’s going to be a gorgeous wedding,” the blonde drawled.

Reese’s heart stumbled. “Whose wedding?” she said as she crossed back to the three women.

Gina’s British accent was heavily marked with sarcasm. “Marnie’s big brother, Carter, to that sweet little Southern cookie of his.” She rescued the bottle from Reese’s arm, as if desperate for a drink. “What took you so long?” Gina said with a faint scowl. “And how can people be so stupid as to get married at our age?”

Reese blinked, stunned into silence.

Cassie, her eyes far too intelligent and serious, wrinkled her nose. “You burned the popcorn.”

Or maybe the scorched scent was coming from Reese’s brain as she furiously scrambled for another approach to share her plans. Because how was she supposed to deliver her news now that Gina had declared the idea of marriage at their age ridiculous? Gina opened the champagne and refilled their glasses as Reese collapsed onto the chair, setting the bowl on the table surrounded by her friends.

“So many gorgeous men,” Gina said, eyes on the male runners preparing for practice. A collection of long, lean legs stretched...muscles and sinew rippling, tanned skin gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. “So many reasons to shag them and then forget about them.”

Which, even coming from Gina was a bit too much.

Reese narrowed her eyes at Gina. “What has gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing.” Gina slumped deeper into her chair.

“Admit it, Gina,” Marnie said to the brunette. “The reason you chose to room with us is because Reese’s house has a front row view of the athletic field.”

“Too right. I love our nightly bitch sessions on the porch.” Gina popped a kernel into her mouth, making a face. “Charred popcorn and Dom Pérignon,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what kind of wedding you’ll throw one day, Reese.”

Reese’s heart twisted tight. Did a stand up quickie in front of the justice of the peace count? Probably not.

But Gina, lovely cynical Gina, only made it worse when she said, “And since you’re the only Park Avenue Princess among us—and I for one never plan to tie myself to just one man—I’m going to have to get my wedding fix through you. So it’d better be fab.”

Reese coughed on her champagne. “The ceremony isn’t important, only the man. I’ll be happy with a simple wedding.”

The disbelieving laughs from her friends weren’t encouraging. Did they really think she was so shallow?

“Please. Most students live in a dorm or an apartment. Your parents bought a beautiful house for you on campus,” Gina said.

“And provided a maid service,” Cassie said.

“Exactly,” Gina said. “So you know they’ll throw a wedding that will outdo the Royal Family.”

“Honey, you might be obsessed with Mason now,” Marnie added, her Southern roots drawing out the last word. “But you know you’ll marry some high-powered Wall Street figure your Mom and Dad approve—”

“No,” Reese said, so firmly the three women looked at her in surprise.

She waited a moment before going on, hoping to emphasize her point. The point being that her upbringing was irrelevant, despite what her friends said.

“When I say I do, it will be for love.” Reese forced herself to rein in the intensity of her voice. “And it will be forever,” she said, fingering the dog tags hidden beneath her blouse.

Mason had placed them around her neck this morning, telling her to think of him until they met up again at the city clerk’s office. And the plain chain that bore the metal with Mason’s name was more precious to her than any five-carat diamond engagement ring. Or even the Tiffany emerald necklace her parents had given her on her birthday.

Her parents.

Reese’s fingers clamped around the dog tags. “When I get married,” she went on, “money and status won’t be a consideration.”

Gina hiked a skeptical brow. “Have you told your mom and dad this?”

“I’m nineteen years old,” Reese said, abandoning her plans of sharing her secret. “I don’t need permission to marry.” Pushing aside her worries, she raised her glass and changed the subject again. “To our last night as roomies.”

Faces instantly gloomy, they lifted their drinks in response, and affection pinched her chest.

“You know I love you guys, right?” Reese met their gazes. She knew they’d forgive her for keeping her secret until she was officially Mrs. Mason Hicks. “So this isn’t the end of the Awesome Foursome,” she said, too full of hope not to smile. “This is just the beginning.”


ONE

Ten Years Later

Bellington Estate, the Hamptons

Reese stood on the small platform in the elegant sitting room furnished in eighteenth-century antiques, smoothing her hands down the satin. The wedding gown fit her waist just right, hugging her body to her hips before flaring in a dreamy swirl of tulle that floated to the floor, one hundred yards total. She had only one issue with the dress, and, unfortunately, the problem was getting bigger. Or technically, smaller. With a frown, she reached into her strapless bodice and adjusted her right breast.

“Don’t bother.” Amber met her gaze in the full-length mirror, her words muffled by the pins in her mouth, her hands fingering the bodice at the seam. “We need cream puffs.”

With a sigh, Reese dropped her hand to her side, staring at her reflection. Proof positive that God was indeed male. Because there could be no justice in a world that declared a woman must lose weight in her boobs first.

“Is that the best my seamstress, bridesmaid and future sister-in-law can come up with?” She sent Amber a dry look. “Your breasts are shrinking so bring on the cream puffs?”

The redhead’s face flushed with pleasure. “Your brother and I aren’t engaged.”

“Yet,” Reese said with a smile.

Amber removed the pins from her mouth. “We’re here to talk about your wedding,” she said. “And at this rate, you won’t have anything left to fill out your dress. Do you want the bodice looking like the empty bucket of a bulldozer as you make your way up the aisle?”

Her friend stabbed a pin through the fabric under Reese’s left arm before she went on. “I told you to stop stressing about the wedding and let the event planner do her thing.”

“She’s driving me crazy.”

“You hired her to do a job,” Amber said as she continued to work, her voice firm. “So let her do it.”

“But she keeps forgetting it’s my wedding,” Reese said. “Why else would she act as if she has such a vested interest in the bride and groom’s first dance?” She blew out a breath. “I swear I spend more time defending my choices to her than anything else.”

Amber shot her a concerned look. “Keep this frantic pace up and I’ll be altering this dress the day of your wedding. Which, I might add—” she jabbed the last pin into place “—is only six days away.”

The knot of anticipation tightened in Reese’s belly. Six days to ensure every detail was just right. But as she stared out of the second-floor window at the manicured grounds of Bellington Estate—grounds that included several formal gardens—a sense of peace rolled through her body. June in the Hamptons was gorgeous. Spring showers had done beautiful things to the one hundred acres that surrounded the twenty-five-bedroom, historical home, the closest thing to a castle that Reese could find.

The perfect place for her fairy-tale wedding.

But it wasn’t the antique-adorned rooms, the priceless artwork, or the towering stone turrets that had sold her on the location. Yes, the grounds were perfect for an outdoor wedding reception. Yes, the restaurant-quality kitchen had a walk-in freezer capable of housing as many ice carvings as she wanted, personally inspected and approved by the sculptor located half a state away. But what convinced her to book the wedding here was the stately feel, the sense of serenity that Bellington Estate brought. It had been worth the two-year engagement to Dylan.

The right location for the right wedding to the right man.

Satisfaction swelled, and she let out a contented breath. It certainly beat an impulsive ceremony in a county courthouse. The swirl of roller-coaster, nauseating excitement. And a cocky Mason in his military fatigues, his feet shifting impatiently as they stood before the judge. Reese in her simple sundress...

Anger and hurt rose up, as familiar as her own reflection, and she pressed her lips flat, shoving the ten-year-old memory aside. That was then, and this was now. Dylan made her happy. He made her laugh. They were a great team, not only professionally in her position as chairman of fundraising for The Brookes Foundation, his family’s charitable organization, but personally, as well. They rocked the compatibility charts in every way.

Dylan deserved a beautiful wedding. After all these years, she deserved one.

Reese glanced back at her bodice and tried to shift her left breast higher, hoping to fill the gap.

“Rearranging them isn’t going to help. The girls are looking a little malnourished.”

The male voice slid through her consciousness, triggering long-suppressed emotions that came bubbling up like an ominous ooze. Her heart set up house in her throat, making speech impossible, and Reese slowly removed her hand from her bodice. Shifting her gaze in the mirror, she took in the lean, muscular form lazing against the doorjamb. The familiar potent power and arrogance were not lost in the reflection as, arms crossed, Mason Hicks met her eyes in the mirror.

Reese blinked, hoping the figure staring back at her was a trick of her imagination, the voice emanating from inside her head. Visual and auditory hallucinations would be most welcome in comparison. There were treatments for those, but all the medication in the world couldn’t see her through a visit from Mason. And the intensely curious look on Amber’s face was proof positive that her ex-husband was indeed...here.

“Girls?” Reese repeated, feeling stupid.

“Puppies,” he said. His thickly fringed, hazel eyes were lit with mischief as he crossed the room in her direction. And every footstep ratcheted her heart rate higher. “Bazookas.”

His disturbing gaze grew closer, and, just like when they first met, elicited the same burning low in her gut. His chest looked as cut as ever beneath his military, olive green T-shirt. And pretty soon he was standing next to her, near enough to smell his musky, masculine scent. Close enough to touch.

And her expression must have remained as blank as her brain.

“Boobs,” he clarified.

The word finally shattered the trance, the same sensual web the man had magically spun so many years ago. But she was older now.

Wiser.

She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue with his man-thesaurus listing of names for the female anatomy. Instead, he took the direct approach.

“Last time I saw you, your breasts were bigger,” he said. “I think a few cream puffs are definitely in order.”

“See, the man agrees with me,” Amber said, eyeing Mason with interest. “At least have a little ice cream, Reese.”

Mason’s lips tipped up at one corner. “She loves crème brûlée.”

“Topped with caramel topping,” Amber added, returning the smile.

Mason turned his attention back to Reese, and looked at her as if she was incapable of intelligent speech. No need to wonder why.

“Surprised to see me, Park Avenue?” The familiar, sexy rumble and the nickname added to the surreal nature of being transported back in time when she had laughingly told Mason her college roommates’ nickname for her, Park Avenue Princess. And then he’d made the name his own, dropping the princess part. Which for some strange reason had pleased her to no end.

But she was not pleased to see Mason.

Days away from her wedding.

Reese gritted her teeth, struggling to retain her cool as the anger finally built high enough to surpass every other emotion—shock, doubt and dread, just to name a few. Why was he coming to see her again? After ten years, why now? Right when all of her dreams were finally about to come true.

And since her appetite had been suffering from the stress of the planning, her chest shrinking, it only seemed fair his muscles should have gone soft, as well. Less sharply defined. Less capable of reaching out to the very core of what attracted a woman to a man.

Strength. Power. And a raw masculinity.

She forced her voice to remain smooth. “And the last time I saw you, you were dodging the dog tags I hurled at you.”

“Your aim was good.”

Quirking her lips dryly, she said, “I should have used your baseball bat.”

“It still made a nice punctuation mark for your demand for a divorce.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Claimed irreconcilable differences, if I remember right.”

She tipped her chin higher. “Temporary insanity was more like it.”

“A lust-induced state of insanity.” Heat flushed through her like a flash fire, though he steadily held her gaze. His expression more reflective than affected, he murmured, “A drug, that.”

Her chest pinched, making breathing more difficult. Bad enough he had to still look good, now the unwanted memories invaded. Memories of Mason making love to her. The incredibly intense state of happiness they’d achieved, right before it had all been blown to hell. Correction, right before Mason had blown it all to hell.

Remember, Reese. Never again.

Never again.

“The sex wasn’t a drug,” she said, though, at the time, she’d thought the same thing. But God knows she’d learned her lesson the hard way. She was no longer susceptible to the whims of her hormones. “It was quicksand.”

And just as deadly to her peace of mind. Her sanity.

He hiked a brow and studied her a moment more. “Maybe,” he said softly, his lips curling at the edges. “But what a way to go.”

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, but not nearly as loud as Reese’s thumping heart. She smoothed a damp palm down her dress, and shifted her gaze back to Amber, who was looking incredibly entertained. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Of course. I’m done here anyway,” Amber said. “I’m supposed to head back to the city to meet Parker for lunch.”

“Then go,” Reese said. “I’ll ask Ethel to help me out of the dress.”

She certainly wasn’t going to ask her ex to unbutton her gown.

The redhead’s eyes lingered curiously as she passed by Mason, but Reese couldn’t blame her. Mason exuded a barely restrained energy that underscored the kind of training that meant, when bad things happened, this was the guy who could take care of the problem. But as a husband, he was guaranteed to let you down.

Bracing herself, she turned to face her ex. “I’m sure you’re not here to discuss my bra size.”

“Nope,” he said. “Though I do find the topic fascinating. What are you now?” He hooked a finger in her bodice, just to the left of her breast—the touch sending a sensual shock that left her briefly paralyzed—testing the fit. “B cup?”

She refused to let him see how he affected her. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he said easily.

Their gazes locked, seconds ticked by in which she felt overwhelmed, over her head. Drowning in Mason’s presence. Just like she had as a young university student. All from the smoldering hazel eyes and the simple masculine finger barely brushing against her skin. And he wasn’t even touching anything vital.

Quicksand. He’s quicksand, Reese.

And for some ridiculous reason she had the intense urge to explain, which made her even angrier.

“You met me while I was a stupid college kid,” she said. “A naive junior who was still lugging around her freshman weight and her romantic ideals.”

Turns out the romantic ideals had been easy to lose, dropped like a stone during her year of marriage.

The disturbing finger finally pulled away, and Reese’s taut muscles relaxed a fraction. Until Mason dropped his hand to the satin at her waist, as if testing its size. “Those extra pounds looked good on you.”

Heart tapping loudly, she stared at him and schooled her features into an expression of nonchalance. She would not let him know how disturbed she was by his presence.

“I liked your hourglass figure.” His hazel eyes skimmed her body. There was no lurid component to the look, just a note of concern. “Now you look more like a half-hourglass.”

Reese fisted her hand, refusing to take the bait. He was trying to get a reaction from her. But she would not play into his plans.

His brow crinkled in doubt as he fingered the netting at her thighs. “And the dress is a bit much, don’t you think?”

The intricate beading on the bodice was beautiful, though the tulle skirt was fuller than she’d intended, floating around her legs like an ethereal dream. But the gown made her feel beautiful. Made her feel special. Just like Dylan did.

In the end, Mason had made her feel like dirt.

“In light of what you wore to our wedding...” He rubbed the netting between his fingers and frowned, and there was a thoughtful curiosity to his expression. “I wonder if maybe you’re overcompensating.”

Anger surged, and she brushed his hand away, ignoring the sparks that arced up her arm. Her body was simply reacting to the memories. They had nothing to do with the man himself.

Reese turned to face him, braced for the battle ahead. “Trust me, Mason,” she said firmly. “Our disastrous marriage was not on my mind when I chose this dress.” Bad enough she had a wedding planner that questioned her every decision—now she had to defend her choices to her ex-husband? “You need to leave now.”

“But I just got here.”

“Well, I have a wedding coming up. And I don’t have time for your pathology.”

His eyes creased with shocked surprise. “Pathology?”

Holding his gaze, she refused to back down as the silence lengthened around them. He knew well and good what she was referring to. When he’d finally returned from Afghanistan all those years ago, they’d tap-danced around the issues long enough to fill two seasons of Dancing with the Stars. Reese, gently trying to help.

Mason, coldly pushing her away.

Her ex finally broke their staring contest and headed in the direction of the door, and her heart soared, hoping he was leaving because of her insult. Instead, he turned and sank into a Louis XV-style, wingback chair. And her hopes sank along with him. He stretched out long legs encased in well-worn jeans that emphasized his raw power, and crossed his ankles. The lazy posture was all an act. Because beneath the laissez-faire attitude was a definite edge, as if he was always scanning his surroundings, taking in every detail. Looking for danger. Prepared to react.

Except, of course, when it came to relationships.

“Pathology,” he repeated, now looking amused by her choice of words.

Irritation swelled. Wasn’t it just like the man to treat the serious issues so cavalierly?

“Surely you didn’t come all this way to give me a running commentary on my dress,” she said.

“True.”

Irritation swelled when he didn’t elaborate. “Or comment on my figure.”

“Right again.”

“So—” seeking comfort, she smoothed a lock of hair behind her shoulder “—why are you here?”

And, even more importantly, how was she going to get the stubborn man to leave?


TWO

Why are you here?

It was a helluva question.

Should he be flippant and say he wanted to drive her crazy? Because she’d always been sexiest when riled? After ten years she still looked so beautiful that the first sight had been like a blast to his chest—surprising, since his lack of a sex drive lately had started to scare the heck out of him.

Or should he go with the blunt truth: because his shrink had sent him?

Pathology, indeed. A soft grunt escaped, and his lips twisted wryly. As if his screwed-up head could somehow be treated by facing the “unresolved issues in his past.” Mason had scoffed out loud at the psychiatrist’s words.

Personally, Mason was pretty damn sure his “issues”—the relentless insomnia, the crippling migraines and a sex drive that had gone AWOL—were all the result of the IED that had exploded eight months ago, nearly killing him. Traumatic Brain Injury was the diagnosis, leaving him with a crappy short-term memory, as well. But what difference did a name make when sixteen sticks of C4 had knocked him on his ass on a pothole-filled road in Afghanistan? Where he had lain, unconscious, for two hours before his buddies could extract him from the concrete-littered street.

Why he was still alive, he had no idea.

But essentially, he was here today because he’d more or less been ordered to come. He’d tried everything else, and the medical doctor’s only words of encouragement now were that things should get better with time. The operative word being should. And then his shrink had insisted that Mason reach out to all the people he’d pushed out of his life over the years, which had been easier said than done. Because, seriously, finding closure after his disastrous FUBAR of a marriage with Reese?

Impossible.

But life was difficult while dealing with searing headaches that struck without mercy. If there was any chance at all, no matter how small, that Mason could get closer to his fully functional, pain-free life, he’d grab it with both hands.

Even if he did believe the mission to be a complete waste of time.

He rubbed the scar at his temple, easing the tensed muscles. “Maybe I’m just here to wish my ex well before her big day,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t believe him.

Hell, he didn’t believe him.

Reese stared back with those inscrutable blue eyes that, at one time, had been his whole world. But that felt like a thousand years ago. And he’d been a different man. Whole.

Pathology-free.

The irony brought a smile to his mouth as he studied Reese. Her sleek blond hair gently curled at ends that lay just beyond her shoulders. The style was shorter than when they’d first met, her long hair then a remnant of her youthful years. A girl hovering at the edges of womanhood. Bright. Beautiful. And hopelessly optimistic. And unlike every other female he’d known before or since, completely classy. She had radiated an elegance that had bedazzled the guy from the run-down suburb in New Jersey. Fortunately, his long-term memories were vividly intact, his fondest ones consisting of teaching Reese the joys of down-and-dirty, sweaty sex.

She’d enjoyed every minute of it, too.

He had yet to experience that kind of intensity with anyone other than Reese—couldn’t work up an appetite for anything since the explosion eight months ago. And while the memories were a reminder of his currently missing libido, unfortunately the shared enjoyment of each other’s body had failed to bridge the monumental gap between them. It had simply blinded them both to the brutal reality.

“Not that I think you’re telling the truth—” Reese hooked a hand on a hip “—but consider your well wishes received.”

“My wedding gift is in the truck.”

She looked as if she wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, and then drew herself up to her full height, all five foot four inches of her.

Reese jerked her head toward the door. “You should leave now.”

He could, but he was taking a moment to enjoy the view.

The fair features. The wide eyes, so blue they reminded him of a cloudless summer sky. The full, pink-tinted lips that had loved every inch of his body.

His voice dropped an octave. “In a hurry to get rid of me, Park Avenue?”

A small furrow creased her brow. “I’m too old for nicknames anymore.”

“Not true,” he said. “We just need to adjust the name.” He nodded at the dress that was fit for a royal wedding, her legs surrounded by a frothy amount of netting. Perfect. Because she was a foamy, girlie latte whose upbringing had left her too delicate to withstand his bitter, black coffee self. “I say drop the Park Avenue and just leave it at Princess.”

Was it his imagination, or did her nostrils just flare in anger?

“My fiancé Dylan is due to arrive any minute,” she said crisply.

“Dylan, huh?” he repeated out of habit.

He pulled out the small notebook in his pocket and scribbled the name down, in the off chance he needed to remember. Reese eyed his movements as if he was mocking her by his actions.

If only.

“And I don’t think you should be here when he arrives,” she said.

Unconcerned, he lifted a brow. “Is he going to kick my ass?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said with a meaningful look. “He’s way too classy for such a juvenile response.”

Mason bit back the smile at the indirect insult, tucking the notebook back in his pocket.

No doubt Dylan was the sort of man Reese should have married a long time ago. Successful. Rich. And from the right kind of family. The kind of man her parents would happily include as a member of the family. Certainly not an enlisted Marine.

But damn it, after eighteen hours of driving—and a migraine that had laid him up in a hotel for another twelve, puking his guts out and so dizzy he couldn’t stand—he was motivated, and refused to leave without trying for some sort of understanding. He’d been sent on a mission, and he was going to complete it to the best of his ability.

“We broke things off fairly abruptly.” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he went on. For some strange reason, he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Left a lot of things unsaid. Said some things we shouldn’t have.”

In the pause that followed, he finally returned her gaze.

Her voice was firm. “I meant every word that came from my mouth.”

His lips twisted grimly, and he hesitated before trying again. “I was hoping we could get a little...” He barely managed not to roll his eyes at the sissy-sounding word his shrink had used, reminding Mason of a bunch of women on a damn talk show. He finally spit the word out. “Closure.

“I am not discussing the past with you, Mason.”

“I just want to resolve some—”

“No.”

Her voice, her face, was resolute.

He stared at her a moment more. Although her demeanor was composed, the underlying animosity rolling off his ex-wife was about as subtle as a friggin’ sonic boom. She was too refined to yell or scream—or, as she had all those years ago, hurl objects at him. Back then her emotions had brimmed just beneath the surface, a product of her college years, a brief time when she’d been liberated from her family’s thumb. Since then she’d been reschooled, retutored and reprocessed, the real Reese buried under a refinement that made an honest discussion impossible. Being married to her had been downright difficult. But now she was more unapproachable than ever before.

His original assessment was correct; coming had been a wasted effort.

Because one look at Reese’s very beautiful, very angry face, and he knew there’d be no resolving any “lingering issues” with the woman. Not only were they too different, too much time had passed. Too many wounds had been inflicted. The kind he was sure went too deep to heal.

Just like his freakin’ head.

He pinched his eyes closed, remembering the physical therapy, the struggles with his memory and the resignation that he would never be the same.

Mason heaved out a breath and pushed up from the chair. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time,” he said, his gaze lingering a moment on the woman he’d once thought he could do forever with.

Her hair, the color of sunshine. The clear, creamy skin of her shoulders. The thinner figure that still held enough curve to entice a man, encased in a dress that was vastly different from the simple sundress she’d worn at their impulsive wedding. The dress he’d been in such a hurry to get her out of so they could spend as much time in bed as they could before he shipped out. Best just to remember their better moments and let go of the bad.

Even if his ex had chosen to do the opposite.

A ghost of a smile tipped his mouth. “Be happy, Reese.”

And with that, he headed out of the room.

* * *

Wasn’t it just like the man? Show up out of the blue and tease her mercilessly. Get her all worked up—on purpose, she was sure—and then wish her well before walking back out the door?

“I can’t believe he came,” Reese said into her cellular as her emotions continued to reel.

She just couldn’t wrap her head around the turn of events. When her phone had rung, she’d been staring at the door Mason had just disappeared through. And she was inordinately grateful to hear her friend’s voice.

Gina’s British accent sounded over the phone. “Who came?”

“Mason.”

“The ex?”

Still wearing her wedding dress, Reese braced her hand against the window and stared down at the estate driveway, feeling spent. A delivery van was parked out front, a man unloading the champagne Dylan had ordered for the wedding. A familiar, beater red truck with huge tires was parked next to her Mercedes-Benz convertible. Mason still drove the same stupid vehicle. The Beast, she’d called it. The truck had been old when she’d met him, and now it was positively ancient. The first place Mason had ever made love to her.

She pressed her lids closed, hating how weak she’d been back then.

“Why did he come?” Gina asked.

“He wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” Gina said. “I thought you two despised each other?”

Chaos churned in Reese’s head, as she remembered the way he’d made her feel at the end of their marriage. Alone. Shut out. Unimportant.

And the man hadn’t changed one bit.

Reese fisted her hand against the window. “We do.”

Though it was hard to separate the hate from the pain.

After he’d arrived back from his first tour in Afghanistan, all the hope she’d felt the day she’d married him slowly seeped away. She’d tried to prepare herself, reading about all the issues of returning to civilian life, PTSD, depression, just to name a few. Hoping to get a jump on the problems to come. But no matter how hard she’d tried, or how understanding she’d been, the old Mason was nowhere to be found. The Mason who’d returned was cold. Unreachable.

Dark.

But most importantly, he hadn’t seemed to care, refusing to attend therapy with her. He’d had access to the best care money could buy, but he’d refused to meet her even a quarter of the way. She knew she’d probably pushed him too hard, but she’d missed his wicked sense of humor, the easy laughter. And nothing compared to the anger and hurt when he’d announced he was reenlisting and going back.

Because he’d chosen war-torn deserts and dismantling bombs over his wife.

The remembered fury clamped hard in her heart, and she pressed her forehead to the window, the cool glass soothing her whirling thoughts. Because ten years had given her a little perspective. She’d been unprepared for the change, ill-equipped to adjust from a Mason that had seemed to worship the ground she walked on—in retrospect, an unrealistic reality—to one who completely shut her out. Having him turn his back on her had felt so...so...alien.

She was wise enough now to realize part of their problems had been her expectations.

“Reese?” Gina’s voice sounded concerned. “Reese, are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Just take a breather and have a Cosmo or something.”

Reese heaved out a breath, feeling in need of a drink. “Right after I get out of this dress.”

Which, with the millions of buttons down her back, was a feat in itself.

Too bad the rest of the Awesome Foursome had yet to arrive. She needed her bridesmaids by her side. She needed a cathartic bitch session with her girlfriends. Unfortunately, ten years ago their last night as roommates hadn’t ended as planned, their friendship ripped apart by a secret that had fractured their group into pieces. And her world had never felt right again.

No matter how hard Reese had tried, she hadn’t been able to put the foursome back together again. Her wedding was the first time they all were to be in the same room again. And Reese imagined it was a bit like having divorced parents attending your wedding. How did you keep the peace? How did you keep the old resentments from rearing their bitter heads?

Reese was determined to start her happy life with Dylan by repairing the rift between the friends. What better way to celebrate a bright future with the man who made her happy?

Unlike her impulsive marriage to Mason. The Wedding Mistake, as she liked to call it. Reese bit her lower lip.

“Forget about the annoying ex, Reese,” Gina said.

She puffed out a breath. “Believe me, I have.”

“And don’t let him ruin your wedding.”

She pictured Dylan’s face and immediately felt calmer. “Nothing is going to ruin our day.”

Below, Mason appeared in the driveway, heading for his truck, and Reese let out a sigh, the last bit of tension leaving her body. She’d moved on and refused to look back, and she was grateful he was leaving and taking all the turbulent emotions with him.

Because, by God, she wasn’t going to let her ex spoil things, no matter how fit he looked in his jeans.

“How are you feeling?” Gina said.

“Good,” Reese said, both in answer to Gina and in response to Mason reaching for the door handle on his truck, preparing to leave. She could get back to focusing on her to-do list. The guests would be arriving in a few days, and she wanted everything to be perfect, which included smoothing the road for a reconciliation between her friends. She swallowed hard, remembering why she’d left a message for Gina to call. “I just need to tell you something before—”

Dylan appeared in the driveway, cutting off Reese’s train of thought. As her fiancé headed toward her ex-husband, her heart accelerated.

Reese pressed her hand against the window. “Oh, God.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Dylan is with Mason out on the driveway.”

“Do you think they’ll exchange words?” Gina asked.

Mason turned to watch Dylan approach, and she recognized the stance her ex assumed. Squaring his shoulders, feet slightly apart. Tensed, as if preparing for an altercation.

The muscles in Reese’s shoulders taut, she said, “Knowing the hotheaded, smart-ass Mason can be—” her eyes darted between the two men “—I wouldn’t put it past him to muck with Dylan’s normally coolheaded demeanor.”

Reese trusted Dylan, but she didn’t trust Mason. Frustrated, she tried to focus on their expressions, but they were too far away to read.

“Do you think they’ll get into a fistfight?” Gina said.

A fistfight?

Of course they wouldn’t. Would they?

Reese’s knees threatened to buckle. “I don’t think so.”

Then again, she never in a gazillion years would have thought that, after all this time, Mason would track her down.

“You better go down there, Reese,” Gina said. “Make sure your fiancé doesn’t wind up with a black eye in his wedding pictures.”

Reese pressed her lids closed, searching for strength.

Don’t just stand here like you’re helpless. Do something, Reese.

Now.

Reese whirled away from the window. “Gina, I’ve got to go.”

“Call me with a report,” Gina called out just before Reese punched the disconnect button and tossed the phone onto the couch.

Desperate, Reese reached for the buttons at the back of her dress. If she could just release the top few, she might be able to wriggle out. But her arms burned with pain in her attempt, fingers scrambling. Stretching was useless. Straining didn’t work. Grunting from the effort didn’t help, either.

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.

And that summed up their doomed marriage.

A status quo SNAFU—situation normal, all fouled up, in the PG rated version, that is.

There was no easing into the announcement. “Your ice sculptures have arrived,” he said. “I sent them to the service entrance.”

She rose to her feet with a sigh, a cascade of skirting falling to the floor. With a resigned look, she headed across the foyer in the direction of the kitchen, and Mason followed behind. Captivated, he watched her dress bounce gently with every graceful step. The creamy skin stretched across delicate shoulder blades. Her hair swaying, he remembered how he’d fisted his hand in the gold-streaked strands as he’d made love to her.

A sliver of warmth snaked up his spine, and, after eight months of silence, the sharp slice of sexual awareness was a shock to the system. Nice to know his hibernating libido was finally waking up.

He just hoped the reappearance would extend beyond the ex who hated his guts.

Mason cleared his throat, getting back to the matter at hand. “I could just go tell them to send the sculptures back.”

They entered the kitchen where Ethel, the head of the household staff, was directing the deliverymen toward the walk-in freezer.

“I had them trucked in from half a state away,” Reese said as he followed her into the icy vault, her breath visible in the frigid air. “Besides, it’s way too late to get a refund.”

“Then donate them to some needy bride and groom,” he said.

Reese gently lifted the bag covering a mound resting on a freezer shelf. The base of a sculpture came into view where, in a swirly font worthy of a wedding invitation, the words Dylan and Reese were engraved.

His head thumped harder, but he ignored the warning sign as he stared at the inscription.

“I think the odds of finding just the right couple are pretty slim,” she said dryly.

He grunted in agreement.

Reese gently lifted the covering higher, revealing a pair of intricately carved swans, the graceful curve of their necks bent for a kiss. The crystalline ice sparkled in the light, each feather crafted in meticulous detail. Clearly no expense had been spared on the wedding of the century. The one he’d sabotaged by his very presence.

Even if she refused to talk about the past, he at least needed to apologize for what had happened in the present.

He followed Reese back out into the kitchen, grappling for the right words. As always, they didn’t come. And the ability was worse since his accident. Two burly delivery guys rolled a cart by with two more ice sculptures and disappeared into the freezer.

How many of those useless ice blocks had she ordered?

Lots, apparently. And as they stood, silent, the two men passed by again only to return with another load. The process was repeated several times, Reese’s expression remaining alarmingly blank, and Mason’s sense of inadequacy swelled. He definitely should go, but he couldn’t just leave her here.

Alone.

Dealing with the aftermath of her fiancé’s departure.

“You shouldn’t be by yourself right now,” Mason said gruffly. “You should call your mom. Have her come.”

“Absolutely not.” A scoff escaped her mouth that was hardly ladylike. “I love her, but her overprotective ways would only make me feel worse.”

“Still treating you like a fragile princess, huh?” he said with a wry smile.

During their marriage he’d found nothing funny about the stifling relationship she’d had with her parents. But back then Reese had been oblivious.

She stared out the window overlooking the garden, her gaze distant, unfocused. “My mother has always been a bit...overbearing.”

Mason bit back the urge to agree, proud he was able to keep his mouth shut.

“They were constantly worried about me while I was married to you, and positively petrified for me at the end.” She smoothed a hand down her cheek. “But I honestly don’t know what I would have done without them after our divorce,” she went on softly.

She ticked her eyes back to Mason. “It’s been Dylan’s steady influence that has helped me deal more productively with their smothering behavior. So much so that they now actually view me as a grown-up who’s capable of making her own choices.” Her eyes crinkled in doubt. “But I suspect my mother’s going to freak when she learns Dylan called the wedding off.”

Sure his opinions wouldn’t go over so well, Mason let out an evasive “huh” and rubbed his jaw. Family was definitely in order here, but her father was about as cuddly and comforting as a porcupine. But Mason did remember she had a half brother somewhere.

“Parker?” he said.

Damn, he was grateful the long-term memory was intact.

Reese shook her head. “We’re getting along better now, but I don’t want to bother him with this. He’s busy at work and newly smitten with Amber.”

“Amber the seamstress?” He hiked his eyebrows, hoping to annoy Reese. “She’s pretty.”

She drolly rolled her eyes, and Mason suppressed the grin.

“How about one of your college roommates?” he went on. “What did you call yourselves?”

A trace of a smile appeared on her mouth. “Our neighbors dubbed us the Awesome Foursome.”

“Right,” he went on. “Marnie, Gina and that brainy Aussie chick—”

“Cassie,” she said.

“Surely one of them is available.”

“They won’t be here for another three days or so.”

His eyebrows hitched higher. “They’re all coming?” he said. “I thought your little girlie gang busted up before we got married.”

“Gina and Marnie haven’t spoken since, but I’ve kept in touch with them all.” She gave a small shrug. “I was hoping to use my wedding day as a way to bring us back together again.”

He stared at the defeated look on her face. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and get the hell out of town. She smelled like crème brûlée, she looked like an angel in white, though his body remembered just how unangelic she could be. And all the good memories were beginning to rush their way past the towering wall of bad. The only thing that kept him going was remembering the fury in her face the day she’d hurled his dog tags at his chest. Oh, and the resentment that simmered in her eyes with every glance.




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