The Wedding Favor (23 page)

And thinking about her panties made him remember her bras. Bras that matched her panties, in tiger stripes and leopard spots and pretty pastels and bright jewel tones. Every color a woman had ever sinned in.

His fingers dug into the cushion, because he could see her in those bras and panties. In the peach satin, hopping one-footed out of her bathroom just before they made love on her floor. In the lemon lace she’d replaced them with, stepping into her bridesmaid dress with her cheeks still rosy from coming underneath him. In the black silk she’d worn later that night, giving herself to him so sweetly, letting him take her, and take her . . .

He shot himself out of the swing. Goddamn it, this had to stop!

Marching into the kitchen, he yanked open the fridge, glared inside, then shut it again without touching a thing. He couldn’t go on this way. He had to do
something
to get her out of his head.

Maybe he needed a girlfriend.

The idea took root. Yeah, a girlfriend. Not a
serious
girlfriend, of course. His experience with Jessie told him he wasn’t quite ready for sex.

He just needed someone to distract him from brooding about Vicky 24/7. Someone he could take out to a movie. Who’d believe him when he told her he wasn’t looking to get married. Ever. Because that way lay loss and unbearable heartbreak. Why, even the specter of losing Brescia undid him. He couldn’t handle another wife.

But a casual girlfriend, that was a horse of a different color. Leaning back against the avocado stove, he crossed his arms and mulled it over.

He could take a ride into Austin; he still had friends at UT. Maybe find himself a nice grad student, too busy with her studies to make demands on him. Planning to move on after graduation and pursue her career in a faraway land.

On second thought, that sounded like a lot of work. Commuting back and forth to see her. Cozying up to her friends. Listening to her rattle on about paleontology or genetics or, God help him, drama. No thanks.

Scratching his jaw, he considered the locals. There was Bette Davison, he’d always had an eye for her. But she had two kids now. He didn’t want to break up with kids too, when he inevitably split up with their mama.

Patty Jo Mason had just moved back to town. She was a looker, and they had some hot history. But rumor had it that she was batting for the other team now.

Outside, gravel crunched in the driveway. A car door slammed, then heels clicked across his front porch and a feminine voice sang out.

“Tyrell, sweetie, I brought you my beef stew and a slice of lemon meringue pie.”

He lifted his eyes to heaven. Seriously? Molly?

Well hell, if God was trying to tell him she was the answer to his prayer, who was he to ignore Him?

She poked her head in the door. He mustered up a smile. “Molly, honey, how about we take in a movie tonight?”

V
icky sipped her coffee. “I don’t want to talk about me,” she said. “I want to hear about your honeymoon.”

“I sent you the pictures,” said Matt. “They tell the story. Unless you want to hear about the sex.” She put her fingers in her ears. “Didn’t think so.”

“Where’s Isabelle this morning? Is she sick of you already?”

“Mom wanted to have breakfast with her.”

“And you let her go alone? I thought you loved her!”

He laughed. “Mom likes Isabelle. And she likes Isabelle’s father too.”

“Oh no.” She clutched her head. “She wants Isabelle to do more matchmaking.”

“I don’t know, I’m staying out of it. Now tell me how you’re spending your days.”

“Well, I really like the new yoga instructor at my gym, so I’ve been taking a lot of her classes. I went to the zoo the other day for the first time since my sixth-grade class trip. There’s a Renoir exhibit at the Met—”

He cut in. “How about looking for a job? It’s been two weeks. What’ve you done about that?”

She frowned. “You sound like Mother.”

“She’s worried about you. So am I.”

“Why?” She spread her hands. “I’m taking my time. Weighing my options. Figuring out what color my parachute is.”

He stared her down while the waiter delivered their eggs. Then, “I can get you a job at Waverly”—the brokerage firm where he was a superstar—“working with one of the brokers. It’s not a law job, but it’ll hold you until this bullshit blows over and you can go back to the firm.”

“I’m not going back to the firm.” The words popped out unexpectedly, surprising her. Yet instantly, she knew they were true. She wasn’t going back to Marchand, Riley, and White.

“Well then, until you can get a job with another firm.”

“No, I’m done with the law.” Another surprise. But it felt so right. She drew a deep breath, felt her shoulders relax, her stomach unwind.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Come on, Vic. The law’s your career. It’s how you pay for your co-op. Not to mention your Beemer.”

By that he meant her BMW 325i convertible, her greatest luxury purchase, the consolation prize she’d given herself for her shitty job and disappointing life. She loved it. But not enough to go back to the firm.

“Is that all there is to life?” she said. “Making money to pay for stuff I don’t need?”

“Listen, I know you’re not crazy about being a lawyer—”

“Then why are you pushing me? Why would you want me to be unhappy every day? Stressed out? Miserable? Why would you want me to go back to that?”

He leaned back in his chair, stared at his coffee cup as he turned it with his fingers. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, “I am pushing you. I suppose I feel guilty.” He raised his eyes to hers. “I wish you’d told me about Brown.”

She shrugged. “I wanted your wedding weekend to be perfect.”

“I appreciate that. But we would’ve dealt with it. And we could’ve avoided all this.”

“That seems obvious in hindsight, but really, who could have imagined it would go nuclear? And anyway, if it hadn’t happened I’d still be at the firm, mainlining Maalox.” She smiled at him, her beloved brother, her best friend. “Honestly, Matt, it didn’t sink in until now, but this whole thing was a blessing in disguise.”

For a long, quiet moment he studied her face. Then he returned her smile, ruefully. “Okay, I’m a married man now, I know how to compromise. I won’t mention it again until the hearing’s over and we all get back from Texas. But if you change your mind before that, the offer stands. Some breathing room while you figure out what comes next.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” she said, even though she knew she wouldn’t take the job. She knew it with the same bone-deep certainty that she knew she was done with the law. Done with wearing suits and carrying briefcases.

Such an apocalyptic turn of events should have precipitated a panic attack. She waited for it, but it didn’t come. Instead she felt lighter, looser. The future yawned, scary but exciting, hers to do with as she pleased.

It was an utterly novel feeling.

“P
rice it to sell,” Vicky told the realtor. “The sooner the better.” Matt was right; without her lawyer’s salary, she couldn’t afford to keep her co-op.

“Not a problem. In this neighborhood, we’ll be beating them off.” The slender woman with Asian features and an Upper West Side accent moved efficiently through Vicky’s apartment taking notes on an iPad. “What about the furnishings? Except for these things”—she halted in the center of Vicky’s sanctuary—“I can probably sell everything along with the property.”

“That would be great. Unload anything you can.” Less for her to hassle with.

The woman’s gaze cruised around the room. “I’m setting up a pied-à-terre for an artist in the Village. His friends will be using it most of the time, so he doesn’t need brand-new. I could use some of this stuff there.”

Vicky didn’t hesitate. Not over her creamy sofa, her Bose sound system. Not even over her fountain. “All I need is the yoga mat. Give me your best offer for the rest.”

When the woman left, Vicky went into her bedroom and started pulling things out of her closet, tossing them on the bed in two distinct piles. Into the reject pile went her suits, every last one of them. Her work shoes too, even some of her lingerie. Anything she’d ever worn in a courtroom. Later, she’d deliver it all to the battered women’s shelter where she’d done pro bono work. The women there often fled their homes with only the clothes on their backs. They’d put her things to good use as they tried to rebuild their lives.

Into the keeper pile went everything else; a few nice dresses, her jeans, her favorite funky shirts, and all of the sundresses she’d worn in Amboise. Those sundresses gave her a pang, like everything that reminded her of Ty. She lingered over them, and for the hundredth time since she’d returned to New York, she tried to imagine what he was doing at that moment.

She’d never been on a ranch, so the pictures she conjured had a Hollywood sheen. In her favorite frame, Ty sat tall in the saddle, sleeves rolled, jeans taut over long lean legs, sun glinting off shaggy blond hair as he tipped his ten-gallon hat to some pretty little lady. In another vignette, he hefted hay bales, tossing them down from the wagon bed where he stood outlined against a sapphire sky, denim shirt flapping open over his sweaty chest, straw stuck to his cobblestone abs.

Oh, she was pathetic, no doubt about that. But picturing him in movie star roles didn’t hurt as much as remembering him in real life, waltzing her across the terrace, carrying her through the plaza to the chapel, pressing her into the coatroom door. Making love to her all night long.
Those
were the images that kept her awake, trembling with need, touching herself in a watered-down version of the skin-searing, mind-melting things he’d done to her body.

She heaved a sigh. She was pathetic, all right. One week, that was all she’d spent with him, half of it in the courtroom. So why did she feel like her life hadn’t really gotten started until she met him? Why did he stir her up, heat her up, make her want to bite him?

What she
should
be recalling was what a jerk he was. How he’d manipulated her into going along with his stupid scheme. How he’d pissed her off, made her homicidal, baited her, insulted her, and generally tormented her to distraction. How he’d walked away from her without a backward glance.

Those
were the things she’d need to remember in two weeks’ time, when they met again in Texas. Those were the memories that would help her keep her head when she looked into his tiger eyes.

Chapter Twenty-one

H
ouston broiled like a steak under the August sun. Sidewalks sizzled, plants and people wilted. By noontime the mercury hovered at a humid one hundred, and it was only going up.

Meanwhile, inside the courthouse, the AC piped air straight from the Arctic Circle. A Popsicle wouldn’t have melted on the marble floor.

Pacing the familiar hallway outside the courtroom, Vicky chafed her bare arms. Her cap-sleeved dress seemed a good choice when leaving her hotel that steamy morning, but she should have remembered from the trial that the courthouse was a meat locker.

Angela’s frosty gaze dropped the temperature another twenty degrees. In front of the judge, she’d played sympathetic and understanding, but here in the hallway, she wanted Vicky dead.

Her jealousy seemed absurd to Vicky, because Ty’s demeanor made it painfully clear that what had happened in France, stayed in France. He’d barely acknowledged her before the hearing began. During his testimony, he never met her eyes.

Now, waiting for the judge’s ruling, he chatted casually with Isabelle, seemingly oblivious to Matt’s simmering dislike, and patently uninterested in Vicky.

His indifference stung like salt in her weeping wounds. But still, she had to admire his insouciance with so very much at stake. Not only did the seven-figure verdict and the punishment it would inflict on Jason Taylor hang in the balance, but the simple fact was, if he lost this motion, Ty would have to endure a new trial. He’d have to testify again. Open a vein and let the blood pump out.

Vicky, more than anyone, knew what it would cost him. And no matter how miserable he’d made her and was making her still, she would never wish that upon him. She could never be so heartless.

H
eartless, that’s what Victoria Westin was.

Ty shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from strangling her. After all they’d been through together, the trial and the flight and the crazy wedding weekend, she treated him like a total stranger. Why, she’d barely spoken to him all morning. Never looked at him while she was testifying.

Now she paced the hallway, checking her watch like she had someplace else to be. Someplace more important.

“Ty.” Isabelle touched his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

He slid his smile back into place. “I’m fine, honey. Just ready for this to be over and done with.”

“I’m surprised the hearing went so quickly.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He was only half listening. His gaze strayed to Vicky. She had her phone out, scrolling through her e-mail.

Un-fucking-believable. Here he’d been mooning over her for a month, missing her, lusting for her, agonizing over hurting her feelings when he left her in France. And she didn’t even care!

“Angela warned us it might take a couple of days,” Isabelle went on, “so we booked our flights for tomorrow night.”

That caught his attention. It was barely noontime. He couldn’t abandon them for a day and a half. He’d have to stick around, take them out to dinner. It was the least he could do, the least Texas hospitality required.

But an afternoon of Matt’s ominous silence and Vicky’s cool indifference wouldn’t be fun for anyone. Surely Isabelle would see that and make some excuse to let him off the hook.

“I was thinking,” she began, and he waited for his out, “that since we don’t have any plans and it’s too hot in the city to do anything outdoors, we should come home with you for the night.”

He blinked. “To the ranch?”

She smiled brightly. “I’ve told Matt all about it. He’s dying to see it.”

He cut a glance at Matt. No help there. His expression begged for five minutes alone with Ty in a dark alley, but his silence said he’d go along with whatever his new bride wanted.

“Uh.” Ty groped for a lifeline. “Honey, the ranch is four hours from here. You’ll have to drive all the way back tomorrow.” He scratched his head. “You can’t change your flight?”

“The best I could do was noon tomorrow out of San Antonio. That’s only about an hour from the ranch, isn’t it?”

“Uh.”

Before he could pull a good excuse out of his ass, the clerk stuck her head into the hallway. “You can go in the courtroom now. The judge will be right with you.”

M
otion denied.

Vicky’s eyes were on Ty when the judge made her ruling. She waited for him to break into a grin, throw his arms around Angela. Do a fist pump, blow a kiss to the judge.

Nothing.

Pasty pale, he took Angela’s briefcase from her hand and followed her from the courtroom.

Waxman’s lawyer went out behind them, throwing Vicky a dirty look. She controlled the urge to stick out her tongue. He’d thrown everything at her on the stand, insisting that she’d conspired with Ty from the outset because she was either weak and blinded by love, or evil and motivated by greed. Thankfully, the judge hadn’t bought it, and it was a sure bet that her ruling would satisfy the committee too.

For Vicky, at least, the whole miserable business was almost over.

Outside the courtroom, Angela huddled with Ty, probably talking about the appeal. It could go forward now, the last remaining threat to the verdict. Still, Ty had won a major victory today. So why wasn’t he on top of the world?

Down the hall, Isabelle was waiting near the courthouse door. She beckoned to Vicky. “Matt went to get the car. We’re going back to the hotel to get our bags. We’ll get yours too.”

“But I thought you said we couldn’t get a flight out today.”

“We can’t.” Isabelle smiled brightly. “Ty invited us to go home with him.”

Vicky blinked. “To the ranch?”

“You’ll love it there. Joe’s so sweet. All the boys are. Most of them are out on the range, but you can meet Brescia, she’s Ty’s favorite horse.” She kept up her stream of chatter while Vicky stared, speechless.

Then she waved Ty over. Vicky watched him come at a crawl, the dread on his face reflecting her own, and she finally understood why he wasn’t celebrating. Isabelle had roped him in too.

“Ty, can you give Vicky a ride to the ranch? Matt’s taking me to Tiffany’s.” She giggled. “Isn’t he sweet? Wherever we go, he buys me something at Tiffany’s. Oh, there he is. Bye!”

And she was gone.

“How does she
do
that?” Vicky wondered aloud.

Ty stared out at the curb, where Isabelle was ducking into the rental car. “She’s a force of nature.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.

Vicky checked her wallet for cab fare. “I’ll catch them at the hotel, tell them I’ll meet them at the airport tomorrow.”

His lips curled up on one side. “Right. That’ll work.”

“Got any better ideas?”

“Yeah. Get in my truck.”

She looked up at him, and for the first time all day, he met her eyes. Gold flecks sparked in the sunlight, and her heart thunked hard against her rib cage, a warning shot that should have had her running for her nice safe room at the Marriott.

He shrugged one shoulder. “She’s not gonna let either of us wriggle out of this,” he pointed out. “Besides, back in France you said you wanted to see my ranch.”

How dare he bring that up? “That was
before
.”

“Actually, sugar,” he said, his familiar smug smile spreading over his face, “that was
during
.”

T
y watched her blue eyes widen, then narrow, and he bit back a laugh. So she wasn’t heartless after all. Maybe Isabelle was doing him a favor. Giving him a chance to get right with Vicky so he could get her off his conscience and out of his head.

Before she could get her footing and launch a counterattack, he took her elbow. “Come on, honey, let’s get you outside in the good Texas heat.” And he propelled her through the door.

Out on the street, she shook off his hand. “There’s nothing good about this heat. It’s got to be a hundred degrees.”

He peeled off his jacket, loosened his tie. “Yup. Kind of cool today. It’ll be downright chilly out at the ranch.”

“I’m not going to your stupid ranch.”

“You’ll break poor Isabelle’s matchmaking heart.”

“Tough.”

He shrugged like he was giving up. “Okay. Just tell her it was you, not me.” He stopped at his truck, parked by some miracle in the building’s shade. “I can drop you at your hotel.”

He watched the struggle play out on her face. She wanted to tell him to suck it, but the Four Seasons was eight sweaty blocks away. Her dress was already stuck to her chest.

Idly, he bounced the keys in his hand, tempting her like Eve with the apple.

“Fine,” she said snottily, like she was doing him the favor. He opened the door for her, took a good long look at her legs as she hiked herself up. “For crying out loud, you need a ladder to climb in here!” She plopped her butt in the seat.

He stalled around while she shimmied her dress down over her thighs. Then he shut the door without a word, climbed in behind the wheel.

And banged a U-turn in the middle of the street.

She rocked against the door. “Hey, jackass. You’re going the wrong way. The Four Seasons is
behind
us.”

“I know where the Four Seasons is.” He took a hard right, then a left.

She grabbed the dashboard for support. “Jeez, slow down, will you?”

“Buckle up, sweetheart. We’ve got a long ride.”

She got it then. “Seriously? You’re
kidnapping
me?”

“Honey, if this was a kidnapping, you’d be hog-tied and gagged.” He cut her a look that said it wasn’t out of the question.

“Just try it.” She aimed a viper’s stare back at him.

“Is that a dare? ’Cause I got some rope right here.” He whipped a coil out from under the seat, slapped it down between them. “And a nice sweaty bandana I can stuff in your mouth.”

“You’re bluffing,” she shot back, but she didn’t sound so sure.

He let a wicked smile curve his lips. “The way you’re prodding me, I’m starting to think you’re into it. Got a bondage fantasy you want to share?”

“You’re disgusting.” She didn’t sound so sure about that either. In fact, the little squirm she did in her seat told him she liked the idea as much as he did.

He trained his eyes on the road, weaving through traffic, avoiding red lights. She was just ornery enough to jump out.

“For your information,” he drawled out, “I’m trying to save us both from one of Isabelle’s tongue-lashings. Maybe you haven’t had that pleasure before, but I have, more than once.”

“Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because you’re an
idiot
who does
idiotic
things like
kidnap
people.”

He wagged his head. “Sugar, this is a side of you I haven’t seen. One minute you’re asking me to tie you up, and now you’re just begging for a spanking.”

She balled her fists. “Take me back to the Four Seasons. This minute.”

He hit the ramp onto the highway. “Sorry, honey, you should’ve mentioned your bondage thing sooner. But there’s a Super 8 up ahead.” He patted the rope. “I usually go for handcuffs, but we’ll make do.”

V
icky glared out the windshield at Interstate 10. How the hell did she end up trapped in this gas-guzzling monster truck with the person she hated most in the universe?

And worse than that, how did he keep outscoring her in the smart-ass department? Every time she opened her mouth, she set up another shot for him!

No more. She aimed below the belt. “Okay, I’m in.”

His eyes popped. She almost laughed.

“There’s the Super 8.” She pointed up ahead.

His throat bobbed. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely. Get off here.” She snickered. “Get it? ‘Get off here’?”

He laughed, hoarsely. Took the ramp.

She almost changed her mind as he pulled into the parking lot. “You’ve done this before?”

“Um. Once or twice,” he said. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and it wasn’t from the Texas heat.

This was going to be hilarious.

She stuck her arm through the coil of rope, set her hand on the door handle as he put it in park. “Then you won’t mind going first, will you?”

His head snapped around. She smiled sweetly. “Well, you’re experienced, right? It won’t freak you out if I tie you to the bed and gag you. I mean, what could go wrong?” She batted her lashes. “You trust me, don’t you?”

He threw it in drive, squealed out of the lot. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“Aw, what’s the matter? Does Tyrell have a hard-on?” She smirked. “Silly question. Tyrell
always
has a hard-on. He
is
a hard-on.”

“And you’re a goddamn tease!” He gripped the wheel, clamped his jaw.

She let out an evil laugh, then sat back and pretended to enjoy the scenery.

While the bondage itch she hadn’t known she had went unsatisfyingly unscratched.

T
he woman was a menace. Completely untrustworthy. Ty simmered while the miles rolled under his wheels.

Half an hour ticked by. He’d been doing his best to look relaxed, lounging against the door, driving one-handed. Now he tried to relax for real, subtly rolling his shoulders, circling his neck.

“I can drive if you’re tired.”

“I’m not tired,” he snapped, annoyed that she’d caught him. “Like I’d let you drive my truck anyway.”

“Like I’d want to. It’s an environmental disaster on wheels.”

“It’s no Prius, I’ll grant you that. But it’s no Hummer either.”

“Well, in that case.” She laid on the sarcasm.

He got defensive. “There’s lots worse things on the road than this truck.”

Her laugh was more of a derisive snort. “If it gets ten miles to the gallon, I’ll eat this rope.” She flicked it with her fingers. “Admit it. This truck is all about status. It gives you cowboy cred at every redneck roadhouse.”

That hit close to home, so he turned it back on her. “Why, Victoria Westin, I do believe you’ve been listening to your country music.” He punched the radio and Miranda Lambert came on, singing about blowing a hole in her abusive boyfriend. He started to change the station but she batted his arm.

“Leave it. I like that one.” She hummed along.

“Got a violent streak, do you?” Why wasn’t he surprised?