Triple Dare (19 page)

“He’s the little guy we rescued from the drainpipe.”

“Oh.” Ivy buried her nose in the cat’s soft fur. “Does he need a home?”

“No.” Cade swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “We do.”

“We?”

He jumped off the stage and kneeled down in front of her. Everything else—the music, the mayor, Mrs. Thorpe, the crowd—faded as he put the kitten in her lap and took her hands in his.

“I screwed up. I’m a guy, and I’m stupid and I screwed up. And I’ll probably screw up again.”

“Not the best advertisement for yourself,” Mrs. Thorpe chimed in. “Get to the good stuff.”

“Right.” He gave the older woman an appreciative smile then turned his attention back to Ivy. “The good stuff. The good stuff is that I’m in love with you. And I’m pretty sure, I mean, I think... I mean, I hope you’re in love with me, too.”

“Now you’re warming up.” Mrs. Thorpe reached over and plucked the squirming kitten out of Ivy’s lap before it could wriggle onto the floor. “Close the deal.”

“Marry me, Ivy.”

“What?” she squeaked.

Mrs. Thorpe slipped him a small, velvet box, which he flicked open to reveal a stunning, pear-shaped diamond. “Marry me.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“I pushed you away because I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to hold you back. But I was wrong. Very wrong. I don’t care if you spend half your life flying across the globe taking fabulous photographs, as long as you spend the other half here, with me.”

He looked up at her, those clear blue eyes pleading. “You’re my home, Ivy. Let me be yours.”

“Answer him, honey, or I will,” Mrs. Thorpe teased.

“Come on, Ivy.” Cade took the ring out of the box and dangled it in front of her. “I dare you. And you know you can’t resist a dare.”

“It’s you I can’t resist, you big dope.” She held out her left hand, shaking.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, it’s a yes. To you and Piper.”

“Thank God.” He slipped the ring on her finger, pulled her to her feet and kissed her. It was a kiss that was different from the others they’d shared, as simultaneously thrilling and tender as before but with something more. A knowledge that, from this day forward, all his kisses were hers, as hers were his. He deepened the kiss and she followed, throwing her arms around his neck and losing herself in the gentle pressure of his lips.

“She said yes,” Mrs. Thorpe announced, standing and holding the cat up like Simba in
The Lion King
.

The crowd burst into applause and Ivy, suddenly aware that almost the entire town was watching them, broke off the kiss and buried her face against his chest. “I can’t believe you did this in front of everyone. In a G-string. Oh, my God, my parents—”

“Were in on the whole thing. As was Mrs. Thorpe. It’s hard to hide a ring in a G-string.” With one arm around Ivy, he used the other to take the older woman’s wrinkled hand, bring it to his lips and kiss it. “You were a perfect accomplice.”

“Anytime. I haven’t had so much fun since my Roger and I went to Vegas for our second honeymoon. We won a thousand dollars playing blackjack and spent it all on tickets to see Celine Dion.” She handed the kitten to Ivy. “Now, quick. You two run along. And put some clothes on, young man. You’re engaged now. Can’t be flaunting the goods and making all the rest of us gals jealous.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cade hoisted Ivy up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Piper mewled in protest.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked, attracting even more applause as they made their way through the crowd.

“Following orders.”

“I don’t recall Mrs. Thorpe ordering you to pick me up and carry me off.”

“It’s all in the interpretation.” He found a gap in the curtain at the back of the runway and ducked behind it. “And don’t pretend you haven’t always wanted to play fireman with me.”

“You’ve got me there,” she admitted, admiring the play of the muscles in his chest and arms.

He carried her all the way to one of the classrooms. From the look of it—clothes strewn everywhere—the models had been using it as a dressing room. He set her down and locked the door.

“What about the others?”

“They’re busy signing calendars.”

“Shouldn’t you be, too?”

“This is more important.” He took Piper from her and set the kitten down on the floor. “I meant what I said. You don’t have to give up your career. I can travel with you when I’m free. One of the guys at the station will take care of Piper. And when I’m not—”

“Wait.” She put a finger to his lips for a moment. “I have something to tell you. You know where the bookstore used to be?”

“Sure. On Main Street, two doors down from Maude’s.”

“I signed a one-year lease this morning.”

“A lease?”

“For my studio. Hank’s retiring. Seems he enjoyed his time off a little too much. He’s turning over his customers to me. The place is going to need a lot of work, but—”

This time it was Cade who silenced her, and not with his finger but with his lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked when they came up for air. “This is really what you want?”

She reached up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “You’re what I want.”

“And you’re what I want.” He kissed her again, slow and sensuous, until the kitten mewed at their feet and they broke apart, laughing.

“I guess we better get the little guy home,” she said, bending down for a moment to scratch Piper between the ears.

“No can do. Like you pointed out, I’ve got calendars to sign.”

“Tell you what. Go out there and do your thing, and Piper and I will be at your place waiting for you.”

“Not my place,” he corrected. “Our place. Home.”

“Home.” She kissed his jaw. “My new favorite word in the English language.”

He gathered her close, his strong arms circling her waist. “Mine, too.”

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from THE HARDER YOU FALL by Gena Showalter.

W
EST
HAD
BROUGHT
a date.

The realization hit Jessie Kay like a bolt of lightning in a freak storm. Great! Wonderful! While she’d opted not to bring Daniel, and thus make West the only single person present—and embarrassingly alone—he’d chosen his next two-month “relationship” and hung Jessie Kay out to dry.

Hidden in the back of the sanctuary, Jessie Kay stood in the doorway used by church personnel and scowled. Harlow had asked for—cough, banshee-screeched, cough—a status report. Jessie Kay had abandoned her precious curling iron in order to sneak a peek at the guys.

Now she pulled her phone out of the pocket in her dress to text Daniel. Oops. She’d missed a text.

Sunny: Party 2nite?????

She made a mental note to respond to Sunny later and drafted her note to Daniel.

I’m at the church. How fast can you get here? I need a friend/date for Harlow’s wedding

A response didn’t come right away. She knew he’d gone on a date last night and the girl had stayed the night with him. How did she know? Because he’d texted Jessie Kay to ask how early he could give the snoring girl the boot.

Sooo
glad I never hooked up with him.

Finally, a vibration signaled a response.

Any other time I’d race to your rescue, even though weddings are snorefests. Today I’m in the city on a job

He’d started some kind of high-risk security firm with a few of his Army buddies.

Her: Fine. You suck. I clearly need to rethink our friendship

Daniel: I’ll make it up to you, swear. Want to have dinner later???

She slid her phone back in place without responding, adding his name to her mental note. If he wasn’t going to ignore his responsibilities whenever she had a minor need, he deserved to suffer for a little while.

Of its own accord, Jessie Kay’s gaze returned to West. The past week, she’d seen him only twice. Both times, she’d gone to the farmhouse to help her sister with sandwiches and casseroles, and he’d taken one look at her, grabbed his keys and driven off.

Would it have killed him to acknowledge her presence by calling her by some hateful name, per usual? After all, he’d had the nerve to flirt with her at the diner, to look at her as if she’d stripped naked and begged him to have
her
for dessert. And now he ignored her? Men! This one in particular.

Her irritation grew as he introduced his date to Kenna Starr and her fiancé, Dane Michaelson. Kenna was a stunning redhead who’d always been Brook Lynn’s partner in crime. The girl who’d done what Jessie Kay had not, saving her sister every time she’d gotten into trouble.

Next up was an introduction to Daphne Roberts, the mother of Jase’s nine-year-old daughter, Hope, then Brad Lintz, Daphne’s boyfriend.

Jase and Beck joined the happy group, but the brunette never looked away from West, as if he was speaking the good Lord’s gospel. Her adoration was palpable.

A sharp pang had Jessie Kay clutching her chest.
Too young for a heart attack
.

Indigestion?

Yeah. Had to be.

The couple should have looked odd together. West was too tall and the brunette was far too short for him. A skyscraper next to a one-story house. But somehow, despite their height difference, the two actually complemented each other.

And really, the girl’s adoration had to be good for West, buoying him the way Daniel’s praise often buoyed Jessie Kay. Only on a much higher level, considering the girl was more than a friend to West.

Deep down, Jessie Kay was actually...happy for West. As crappy as his childhood had been, he deserved a nice slice of contentment.

Look at me, acting like a big girl and crap.

When West wrapped his arm around the brunette’s waist, drawing her closer, Jessie Kay’s nails dug into her palms.

I’m happy for him, remember?
Besides, big girls didn’t want to push other women in front of a speeding bus.

Jessie Kay’s phone buzzed. Another text. This one from Brook Lynn.

Hurry! Bridezilla is on a rampage!!!

Her: Tell her the guys look amazing in their tuxes—no stains or tears yet—and the room is gorgeous. Or just tell her NOTHING HAS FREAKING CHANGED

The foster bros had gone all out even though the ceremony was to be a small and intimate affair. There were red and white roses at the corner of every pew, and in front of the pulpit was an ivory arch with wispy jewel-encrusted lace.

With a sigh, she added an adorable smiley face to her message, because it was cute and it said
I’m not yelling at you. My temper is not engaged.

Send.

Brook Lynn: Harlow wants a play-by-play of the action

Fine.

Beck is now speaking w/Pastor Washington. Jase, Dane, Kenna, Daphne & Brad are engaged in conversation, while Hope is playing w/ her doll on the floor. Happy?

She didn’t add that West was focused on the stunning brunette, who was still clinging to his side.

The girl...she had a familiar face—
where have I seen her?
—and a body so finely honed Jessie Kay wanted to stuff a few thousand Twinkies down her throat just to make it fair for the rest of the female population. Her designer dress was made of ebony silk and hugged her curves like a besotted lover.

Like West would be doing tonight?

Grinding her teeth, Jessie Kay slid her gaze over her own gown. One she’d sewn in her spare time. Not bad—actually kind of awesome—but compared to Great Bod’s delicious apple it was a rotten orange.

A wave of jealousy swept over her. Dang it! Jealousy was stupid. Jessie Kay was no can of dog food in the looks department. In fact, she was well able to hold her own against anyone, anywhere, anytime. But...but...

A lot of baggage came with her.

West suddenly stiffened, as if he knew he was being watched. He turned. Her heart slamming against her ribs with enough force to break free and escape, she darted into Harlow’s bridal chamber—the choir room.

Harlow finished curling her thick mass of hair as Brook Lynn gave her lips a final swipe of gloss.

“Welcome to my nightmare,” Jessie Kay announced. “I might as well put in rollers, pull on a pair of mom jeans and buy ten thousand cats.” Cats! Want! “I’m officially an old maid without any decent prospects.”

Brook Lynn wrinkled her brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone is here, including West and his date. I’m the only single person in our group, which means you guys have to set me up with your favorite guy friends. Obviously I’m looking for a nine or ten. Make it happen. Please and thank you.”

Harlow went still. “West brought a date? Who is it?”

Had a curl of steam just risen from her nostrils? “Just some girl.”

Harlow pressed her hands against a stomach that had to be dancing with nerves. “I don’t want
just some girl
at my first wedding.”

“You planning your divorce to Beck already?”

Harlow scowled at her. “Not funny. You know we’re planning a larger ceremony next year.”

Jessie Kay raised her hands, palms out. “You’re right, you’re right. And you totally convinced me. I’ll kick the bitch out pronto.”
And I’ll love every second of it—on Harlow’s behalf
.

“No. No. I don’t want a scene.” Stomping her foot, Harlow added, “What was West thinking? He’s ruined
everything
.”

Ooo-kay. A wee bit dramatic, maybe. “I doubt he was thinking at all. If that boy ever had an idea, it surely died of loneliness.” Too much? “Anyway. I’m sure you could use a glass or six of champagne. I’ll open the bottle for us—for you. You’re welcome.”

A wrist corsage hit her square in the chest.

“This is
my
day, Jessica Dillon.” Harlow thumped her chest. “Mine! You will remain stone-cold sober, or I will remove your head, place it on a stick and wave it around while your sister sobs over your bleeding corpse.”

Wow. “That’s pretty specific, but I feel you. No alcohol for me, ma’am.” She gave a jaunty salute. “I mean, no alcohol for me, Miss Bridezilla, sir.”

“Ha-ha.” Harlow morphed from fire-breathing dragon to fairy-tale princess in an instant, twirling in a circle. “Now stop messing around and tell me how amazing I look. And don’t hesitate to use words like
exquisite
and
magical
.”

The hair at her temples had been pulled back, but the rest hung to her elbows in waves so dark they glimmered blue in the light. The gown had capped sleeves and a straight bustline with a cinched-in waist and pleats that flowed all the way to the floor, covering the sensible flats she’d chosen based on West’s advice. “You look...exquisitely magical.”

“Magically exquisite,” Brook Lynn said with a nod.

“My scars aren’t hideous?” Self-conscious, Harlow smoothed a hand over the multitude of jagged pink lines running between her breasts, courtesy of an attack she’d miraculously survived as a teenage girl.

“Are you kidding? Those scars make you look badass.” Jessie Kay curled a few more pieces of hair, adding, “I’m bummed my skin is so flawless.”

Harlow snorted. “Yes, let’s shed a tear for you.”

Jessie Kay gave her sister the stink eye. “You better not be like this for your wedding. I won’t survive two of you.”

Brook Lynn held up her well-manicured hands, all innocence.

“Well.” She glanced at a wristwatch she wasn’t wearing, doing her best impression of West. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the festivities kick off. Need anything?”

Harlow’s hands returned to her stomach, the color draining from her cheeks in a hurry. “Yes. Beck.”

Blinking, certain she’d misheard, she fired off a quick “Excuse me?” Heck. Deck. Neck. Certainly not Beck. “Grooms aren’t supposed to see—”

“I need Beck.” Harlow stomped her foot.
“Now.”

“Have you changed your mind?” Brook Lynn asked. “If so, we’ll—”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Harlow launched into a quick pace, marching back and forth through the room. “I just... I need to see him. He hates change, and this is the biggest one of all, and I need to talk to him before I totally. Flip. Out. Okay? All right?”

“This isn’t that big a change, honey. Not really.” Who would have guessed Jessie Kay would be a voice of reason in a situation like this. Or
any
situation? “You guys live together already.”

“Beck!” she insisted. “Beck, Beck, Beck.”

“Temper tantrums are not attractive.” Jessie Kay shared a concerned look with her sister, who nodded. “All right. One Beck coming up.” As fast as her heels would allow, she made her way back to the sanctuary.

She purposely avoided West’s general direction, focusing only on the groom. “Harlow has decided to throw millions of years’ worth of tradition out the window. She wants to see you without delay. Are you wearing a cup? I’d wear a cup. Good luck.”

He’d been in the middle of a conversation with Jase, and like Harlow, he quickly paled. “Is something wrong with her?” He didn’t stick around for an answer, rushing past Jessie Kay without actually judging the distance between them, almost knocking her over.

As she stumbled, West flew over and latched on to her wrist to help steady her. The contact nearly buckled her knees. His hands were calloused, his fingers firm. His strength unparalleled and his skin hot enough to burn. Electric tingles rushed through her, the world around her fading from existence until they were the only two people in existence.

Fighting for every breath, she stared up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips and narrowed, his focus savagely carnal and primal in its possessiveness, as if he saw nothing else, either—wanted nothing and no one else ever. But as he slowly lowered his arm and stepped away from her, the world snapped back into motion.

The bastard brought a date.

Right. She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the force of her reaction to him. “Thanks.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. A sign of anger? “May I speak with you privately?”

Uh... “Why?”

“Please.”

What the what now? Had Lincoln West actually said the word
please
to her?
Her?
“Whatever you have to say to me—” an insult, no doubt “—can wait. You should return to your flavor of the year.” Opting for honesty, she grudgingly added, “You guys look good together.”

The muscle jumped again, harder, faster. “You think we look good together?”

“Very much so.” Two perfect people. “I’m not being sarcastic, if that’s what you’re getting at. Who is she?”

“Monica Gentry. Fitness guru based in the city.”

Well. That explained the sense of familiarity. And the body. Jessie Kay had once briefly considered thinking about exercising along with Monica’s video. Then she’d found a bag of KIT KAT Minis and the insane idea went back to hell, where it belonged. “She’s a good choice for you. Beautiful. Successful. Driven. And despite what you think about me, despite the animosity between us, I want you happy.”

And not just because of his crappy childhood, she realized. He was a part of her family, for better or worse. A girl made exceptions for family. Even the douche bags.

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “We’re going to speak privately, Jessie Kay, whether you agree or not. The only decision you need to make is whether or not you’ll walk. I’m more than willing to carry you.”

A girl also had the right to smack family. “You’re just going to tell me to change my hideous dress, and I’m going to tell you I’m fixing to cancel your birth certificate.”

When Harlow had proclaimed
Wear whatever you want
, Jessie Kay had done just that, creating a bloodred, off-the-shoulder, pencil-skirt dress that molded to her curves like a second skin...made from leftover material for drapes.

Scarlett O’Hara has nothing on me!

Jessie Kay was proud of her work, but she wasn’t blind to its flaws. Knotted threads in the seams. Years had passed since she’d sewn anything, and her skills were rusty.

West gave her another once—twice—over as fire smoldered in his eyes. “Why would I tell you to change?” His voice dipped, nothing but smoke and gravel. “You and that dress are a fantasy come true.”