By Invitation Only (11 page)

W
ADE LISTENED TO THE
maid of honor droning on with her postdinner toast to the bride and resisted the urge to check his watch.

Again.

Was the woman going for some kind of record? Where was the loud and impatient orchestra, playing her offstage before she’d started listing the reasons Holly Addison had played a critical role in the life of her Jack Russell terrier?

I’ve got a hot woman and a hot meal waiting for me upstairs. Lift the damn glass already!

As was expected by his role in this little drama, though, he exposed none of these thoughts. He scanned the room for anybody who didn’t belong. He made note of Paul’s intent watchfulness at the door separating the rehearsal dinner party from the rest of the restaurant. After yesterday’s lack of attention, and Wade’s threat to send his ass home without his full paycheck, he’d obviously decided to take his job more seriously.

He saw Tara’s competition, Carla Castalono, watching the proceedings from the back corner of the room, a smug smile on her face. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t lifted a finger to help either her staff or the resort’s pull off the multicourse dinner. Instead, she’d chosen to fawn over the bride and groom, keeping their wine and champagne glasses filled.

Based on the guests’ reaction to the bland-looking meal, he imagined the booze was appreciated.

A prickle at the back of his neck reminded him of his suspicion that something was off at Posh Events.

And it wasn’t only the lousy food.

Finally, finally, the maid of honor lifted her fluted glass, and the toast was done. She then tossed back the contents and ended the ordeal with a blessedly brief and enthusiastic, “Let’s party!”

Keeping an outward calm but inwardly jumping for joy, Wade spoke to Marco, his second-in-command, gave Paul a warning glare, then slid from the room. His lieutenants could handle a couple of hours on their own.

He fought the urge to run straight to the elevator and instead dived into the hotel gift shop for wine, flowers and condoms.
You have to think positive to get positive results,
his coach at UT used to preach. A much sager—and shorter—toast to a successful life than the one he’d just heard.

When he arrived at Tara’s door, he used every ounce of crisis-management training and experience he possessed to calm his pulse and remind himself that he’d come a long way since he’d gotten his first girl in the back of his Chevy.

Which did him no good when Tara opened the door and faced him wearing a white halter-top sundress and a sultry smile of welcome.

Balancing the wine and flowers in one arm, he wrapped the other around her waist and backed her into the room. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him toward the bed. They fell on their sides onto the comforter, her leg wrapped around his hip.

The flowers and wine bottle tumbled, forgotten, to the floor.

He slid his hands down her back and cupped her butt, pressing her center against his erection. The contact felt so good, so delightfully torturous, he groaned.

She responded by shoving off his jacket, then ripping open his shirt, which got stuck on his shoulder holster. But with a few shrugs and a released fastener, she was quickly gliding her hands over his skin. “You’re on fire. You’re probably sunburned.”

“Just hot.”

Her gaze roved his face, then his bare chest. “You are indeed.”

Smiling, he moved his mouth down the silky curve of her throat and untied the halter. She wore nothing beneath, and he took almost no time to flick his tongue across her distended nipple.

She arched her back, pressing herself into him, silently asking for more.

He’d have given her the planet, the stars and moon in that moment. With only the faint bedside light casting a glow, she looked like a spirit from another world, her delicate curves calling to his instincts, sending him spiraling into the whirlpool of desire.

He pushed the dress and her satin white panties down her hips and off the end of the bed while she unbuttoned his pants. When her hand wrapped confidently around his erection, he thought he stopped breathing.

When she slid her hand down, then up again, he knew he had.

Gritting his teeth against exploding, he slid his fingers between her legs. The wet heat spiked his lust, but the breathless, lingering kiss she placed at the base of his throat reminded him that his needs weren’t his first priority.

He stroked her, parting her soft flesh and finding the button that would drive her to the edge with him.

In response, she squeezed his erection.

“Back pocket,” he croaked.

She needed no further direction. Finding the condom, she tore the foil with her teeth and rolled on the protection. As he moved between her thighs, her eyes were glazed with hunger, but she moved her fingers across his cheek in a whisper touch as if savoring the moment just before they became one.

His heart jumped, and he realized in an instant that this wasn’t a weekend fling.

At least not for him.

Unable to deny the hunger any longer, he pressed inside her body, sighing with relief when he drove in fully. Her breathing became choppy. She dropped her hands and clutched the comforter as she drove her hips up to meet his.

She was through with tender strokes. She needed satisfaction. And now.

Rocking his hips, he set a rhythm of relief rather than seduction. Tenderness could follow, but now their bodies demanded release. She bowed her neck and back as she braced her palms against his chest and drove her hips up to meet his.

Her fingers danced in a tremble the instant before she came. Her inner walls squeezed him, and he let his own satisfaction soar. The pumps and waves of pleasure seemed to go on endlessly, and when it was reduced to intermittent quivers, he gathered her close and held her against his hammering heart, careful to collapse on his side and keep his weight off her.

For the first time since being forced to leave the Service, he felt a crazy flutter in his heart that might have been happiness.

T
HEY BROUGHT THE ROOM
service tray into bed.

Tara had gone for a menu she knew would please a Texan, while including some local Caribbean specialties. The T-bone steak and a spicy conch chowder were the highlights.

As well as her feeding bites to a naked and appreciative Wade Cooper.

“Did you like playing football?” she asked.

“I liked being part of a team.”

Propped beside her against the headboard, his wide shoulders and muscled chest made her mouth water more than the food. And that was saying something because the resort staff knew how to make chowder. “And you liked the Secret Service for the same reason?”

“Yeah. Plus I liked making a difference. The work we did mattered. Now I’m just a hired gun. Who doesn’t even get to use his gun anymore.”

“What you’re doing now matters.” She shoved another bite of chowder into his mouth as he started to protest. “Forget it’s a Texas billionaire’s son and a Hollywood A-list actress. It’s Holly and J.D.’s wedding. The most important day of their lives. And you’re making it special.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you cash the check from a particularly difficult client?”

“No. Then I say, ‘Please, don’t let this bounce.’ You saved that photographer today, remember? That’s pretty damn cool.”

Wade sipped from his wineglass. “It’s a dubious honor to save somebody that ambitiously stupid.”

“Maybe he has a wife and four kids in Oxnard to support. Don’t be such a cynic. Tomorrow’s spa day before the wedding. I think you should take an hour break for a relaxing massage.”

His gray eyes sparked with interest. “Are you the masseuse?”

The image of a candlelit room and her running her oiled hands over his muscled back flashed through her mind. “We could insert that activity into the schedule.”

“Provided I haven’t completely screwed up by leaving my crew on their own tonight.”

“They’re undoubtedly lost without their fearless leader. I should probably feel guilty.”

“But you don’t.”

“Nope.” She fed him another bite of chowder. “What was it like risking your life for the President?”

“Challenging.”

“Did you get to use your gun a lot then?”

“Sure. But then the stakes were a lot higher. I haven’t fired my weapon on the job in two years.”

“But that’s a good thing. You’re scaring away all the really bad bad guys before they have a chance to strike.”

“My most exciting project over the last year was on a pop star’s concert tour.”

“Sounds pretty dangerous to me. Some of those superfans can get pretty crazy.”

Bafflement flooded his face. “Why are you determined to cast me in the role of hero?”

“If the cape fits…” She trailed the tip of her finger down his chest. “And I can personally testify that you’d look smokin’ hot in brightly colored spandex.”

After setting his glass on the nightstand, he slid his hand around the back of her head and pulled her close. “You do revolutionary things for a hotel robe. Though I think this particular one would look even better on the floor.”

Her heart rate picked up its pace. The impulse to toss aside responsibility and indulge herself in the best kind of pampering was close to irresistible. “I thought you had to go back to work.”

“I do, and I know you want to talk to Maynard.” He drew his thumb across her bottom lip. “But the party has to end sometime.”

“So after business…”

“Pleasure.”

In answer, she pressed her lips to his. They’d known each other barely twenty-four hours and yet she felt closer to him than any man she’d dated in the past several years. She admired his dedication—as well as his body—and understood his need for a constant challenge.

Was this thing with them a reaction to frustration with their careers? Once the weekend was behind them and the balmy breezes subsided, would their chemistry fade? Or even disappear altogether?

They dragged themselves from the intimate confines of the bed, then dressed, though she eventually had to retreat to the bathroom because he kept trying to remove everything she put on.

Walking from the room, they linked hands. Their connection was about to be suspended. Security chief versus party crasher.

She dreaded going back to opposite camps, even if only for appearances.

At the door, he turned and his gaze locked with hers. “I
am
a cynic. I’m going through the motions of my job because I don’t know anything else. And I’m pissed off I can’t do what I love anymore. But I’ve smiled more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last twenty-four months.” He pulled her close and added in a whisper, “Because of you.”

Then again, maybe the balmy breezes were a beginning.

T
ARA HAD PROMISED HERSELF
she wasn’t going to eat anything at the nightclub party.

There were, of course, the ethics of eating something she hadn’t been invited to sample, which was technically stealing. This was further complicated by her lover-of-less-than-an-hour-ago being in charge of keeping people like her behind the velvet rope—and there literally was a velvet rope. Purple, to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. And lastly, but no less importantly, she wasn’t keen on consuming anything Carla’s crowd had whipped up.

But chocolate fountains rocked!

And they were apparently the one thing Carla couldn’t make tasteless and boring. Maybe that’s how she stole her clients.

She’d have to remember to ask Maynard if that particular carrot had been dangled when Carla had given her proposal for the wedding.

Though now that Tara was about to meet the powerful cattle rancher, she found her stomach churning. Either nerves or an overdose of chocolate were no doubt to blame.

Either way, she was reluctant to move from her viewing spot at the end of the long, curved bar trimmed in neon blue lights. The nightclub’s DJ had the glittery crowd bumping and grinding to pulsing hot music. The bartenders’ talent for mixology and the dessert fountains kept the partygoers from caring about the other boring culinary offerings.

And then there was Wade…prowling the room like a restless shadow and looking for trouble.

Sighing, Tara propped her chin on her fist and tracked him with her gaze. He really was dreamy. She could happily spend the next several hours, maybe even days, just watching his hunky body move. For the first time in years, her business wasn’t her greatest priority.

She wanted him as much as solvency.

“Hey, honey. Are you Tara?”

Tara turned toward the male voice and found herself face-to-face with J. D. Maynard Sr.

Despite the tropical heat, he wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt, jeans, cowboy boots and a well-worn brown Stetson. His single nod to island life was an orange hibiscus tucked inside the band. “Texas Vacations in the Caribbean” would be the caption in the gossip mags.

She swallowed her jitters and held out her hand, which he shook as he slid onto the stool next to her. “I’m Tara. I guess Wade told you why I’m here.”

Grinning, Maynard lifted his hand in the bartender’s direction. “Nope, he just told me a hot brunette wanted to talk to me and told me where to find you.” He winked. “My current wife is a brunette.”

“The current one?” Clearly the rumor about Maynard’s diminished physical attributes wasn’t true. “How many have their been?”

“Four.” Thankfully he turned away to look at the dancers, including his son, who were having the time of their lives, so he didn’t see Tara’s jaw drop. “Hope Junior has better luck. Who knows, though? Those Hollywood types are kinda flighty.”

“Holly seems like a sensible girl, and she’s totally devoted to J.D.”

Maynard angled his head as the bartender set a glass of whiskey over ice in front of him. “You a friend of theirs? I know we haven’t met. I’d remember those beautiful blue eyes.”

“Oh, well, thanks.” She’d expected a bit more formality, or even suspicion from the billionaire rancher née oil executive, and wasn’t exactly sure how to tell him she wasn’t supposed to be there at all. “Actually, I’m not one of the guests.”

Maynard looked confused. “But Wade keeps real close tabs on all the guests. I asked him to. I can’t have Junior’s big day full of more reporters than friends.”

Tara nodded. “I’m not a reporter. I’m a caterer. A few months ago, I met with your assistant to tell her about my menus for the wedding. I spent weeks on the proposal. I planned on local ingredients and dishes, while realizing a rancher’s need for high-quality beef and also adding vegetarian options for the West Coast crowd. In short, I thought I had everything covered. At the tasting, your people seemed thrilled, but I didn’t get the contract.” She closed her eyes briefly. “My business is in serious trouble, Mr. Maynard. I’ve lost a lot of clients to Posh Events. I need to know why. I need to know what I’m doing wrong, or me and my staff will be looking for new jobs. So I’m crashing your son’s wedding to spy on my competition.”

To her surprise, Maynard didn’t order her out of his party or even call Wade. He hunched over his cocktail glass. “You the one whose mom has that TV show?”

How did he know that? “Yes.”

Looking suddenly deflated, he took a gulp of whiskey. “My assistant wanted to hire you. She went on and on about how great your food was and how enthusiastic and competent you were. Plus, she thought Holly would love bragging to her friends about a celebrity chef’s daughter catering her wedding.”

“But you didn’t think so?” Tara had been around enough high-powered executives to know they didn’t like decisions shoved down their throat. “Maybe she pushed too hard?”

“I—” His gaze cut to hers, then jumped away. “I had bigger concerns than cakes and crab puffs.”

“I’m sure you did, and I’m sorry to confront you like this. I don’t like admitting it, Mr. Maynard, but I’m desperate. You’re a successful businessman. You know being one takes planning, attention to detail and great sacrifice. I just want to know what I’m doing wrong.”

“I wish I could help you.” He rose from his bar stool. “Have a drink on me and enjoy the wedding tomorrow. I officially invite you.”

She laid her hand on his arm, stopping his retreat. “I don’t want an invitation. I want an explanation.”

He brought the back of her hand to his lips. “You’re not getting one, honey. Sorry.”

“Problem, Mr. Maynard?”

Tara was never so upset to hear Wade’s deep voice than in that moment.

Maynard was about to sail off—though she still had no idea why he’d clammed up so abruptly—and Wade would demand she tell him everything they’d talked about. She’d look into that commanding face and spill every word. Then, like a hero, Wade would defend her to Maynard. He’d get fired, and Maynard would tell all his influential friends not to use that so-in-so Wade Cooper for their security.

She saw the whole, terrible scene like a movie reel on fast-forward.

“No problem,” Maynard said to his security chief. “Give Tara whatever she wants. I’m going back to the party.”

Wade’s gaze slid to Tara.

She tried to erase any expression from her face, but she didn’t expect to succeed. Wade had been trained to sense even the slightest hint of trouble; she doubted he’d fail to see a problem now.

Wade wrapped his hand around his employer’s arm and guided—maybe even forced—him back to his seat. “Stay for another drink, sir. I have something relevant to say.”

“Wade, please,” Tara began, only to have him silence her with one glare of those sober gray eyes.

Knowing what was coming, and dreading the role she’d played in ruining everything, she nevertheless fell in love.

Wade was going to sacrifice himself for her, just as he’d done for years in Washington. Her cause was much less important, but she knew that wouldn’t matter to him.

He was doing his job and standing between her and the bullet.

“I’
D LIKE TO EXPLAIN ABOUT
Clive Anderson,” Wade said, standing between his lover and his boss.

There was an almost comical pause where the fierce annoyance on both Tara’s and Maynard’s faces turned to confusion.

Maynard recovered first and attempted to stand. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Cooper, but I’m paying for this party, and I’d like to enjoy it.”

Wade laid his hand on his boss’s shoulder to keep him in place. “I’d like to explain about Clive Anderson,” he repeated.

“I can handle this, Wade. You don’t need to defend me.” Tara’s eyes widened like saucers. “You really shouldn’t.”

“Clive Anderson,” Wade went on as if he hadn’t heard her protest, “is a sleazy, small-time private investigator with a serious gambling problem. He’s currently keeping his bookies at bay with supposed gainful employment at Posh Events.”

“Wade, you have to stop—” Tara stopped on her own as his words apparently penetrated that gorgeous, stubborn head of hers. “Why would a caterer need a P.I.?”

“Exactly the question I asked myself.” He shifted his attention to Maynard. “Particularly one who specializes in blackmail.”

“Blackmail?” Tara echoed. “Some P.I. with a gambling problem has forced Carla to hire him to help her cater?” She shook her head ruefully. “Really, Wade, I appreciate you trying to help, but doesn’t that seem a little—”

“Carla isn’t the blackmail victim,” Wade said, his glare locked on Maynard’s face.

After a long pause, Maynard’s bony shoulders slumped. “Fine. Geez. I should have known better than to hire an ex-government agent if I wanted to keep my past in the past.”

“Wade wouldn’t betray you,” Tara said, her eyes bright with annoyance.

How long had it been since somebody defended him instead of the other way around? Even playing college ball, he’d protected the quarterback. “I’m not interested in your past,” he said to his boss, shortly before shifting his attention back to the remarkable woman at his side. “I wanted Tara to know it’s not her fault she didn’t get the wedding contract.”

She brushed her lips across his cheek. “Thank you.”

She smelled like vanilla
and
chocolate. How much was a man supposed to endure for the sake of his job? Bullets he could handle, but not sweet devotion and chocolate-scented breath. This party certainly couldn’t end fast enough.

“If you two need a moment alone…” Maynard began, again attempting to escape his stool.

Wade held him in place. “We do, in fact, but for your benefit, sir, I’d like to add that it’s never a good idea to make a deal with a blackmailer. They always come back wanting more. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask the DJ to play something slow. I’m going to take a ten-minute break to dance with Tara.”

Wade wrapped his hand around Tara’s and took a single step when Maynard said, “Wait.”

Maybe the old guy isn’t as tough as he thinks.
“Sir?” Wade asked, turning toward him.

“I cheated on my wife,” he said, his tone low, and he looked around to be sure he wasn’t overheard. “Not the current one. The first one. Junior’s mother.”

Tara covered his hand with hers. “And Carla’s P.I. found out?”

“Yeah.” His face flushed with embarrassment, he sipped his whiskey. “It was a onetime thing. With a stripper, for pity’s sake. I confessed to my ex, but she couldn’t get past it. We divorced, and she promised never to tell our son if I’d swear I’d change. Neither of us wanted our boy growing up with a lecher for a father. And I did change—sorta anyway. I’ve had a lot of wives and lovers, but no mistresses. I never strayed again.”

At least as long as divorce and prenups were available in bulk, Wade thought. But he admired his employer for wanting to protect his kid.

Maynard gripped his glass like a lifeline. “Junior can’t find out his old man is a cheater when he’s about to marry the girl of his dreams.”

That witch Carla had impeccable timing. And absolutely no conscience. Handy when you had a catering business and couldn’t cook or manage your staff worth a crap. “I’d imagine Carla not only forced you to hire her, but threatened to go to the gossip magazines, too.”

Maynard jerked his head in a nod.

“She’s absolutely awful,” Tara said, patting his hand.

“I’ll help you get rid of her,” Wade said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hope lit Maynard’s eyes. “How?”

“We’ll talk about it when we get back to Austin.” Wade was fairly certain he could get the P.I.’s bookies to call in some markers. And somebody from vice at the Austin P.D. would probably be interested in Posh Events’ little side business. “Enjoy your weekend. Even if the food is lousy.” He cast a glance at Tara, who nodded. “And I bet we can find somebody who has a good relationship with the resort staff to improve the meal for tomorrow night’s reception.”

Maynard jumped to his feet, and this time Wade let him. He pumped both of their hands. “I’ll pay. I’ll pay well.”

Tara kissed his cheek. “Seems to me you already have.”

A ridiculous spurt of possession darted through Wade’s veins. “But we’re still billing you.”

“Sure, sure.” Maynard shook their hands again, then strolled off with a definite spring in his step.

Wade found himself smiling as he watched the glittering crowd embrace his boss on the dance floor. “Fighting the bad guys is pretty damn cool.”

Tara laid her hands on either side of his face. “You shouldn’t have interfered. Though I’m obviously glad you did.”

“You needed me.”

“I did, but how did you know the right moment to show up?”

He leaned down, anticipating the moment her lips would merge with his. “Just one of those little superhero gifts.”