Wedding Fever. Susan Crosby

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СКАЧАТЬ not likely to be either lukewarm or well hidden.

      Her voice penetrated the subdued clatter of pots and pans. She was muttering to herself, something about skewering a certain inconsiderate, thinks-he’s-God’s-gift-to-women maitre d’.

      He would have smiled if the situation weren’t so serious. Instead, he closed his eyes a moment. It wasn’t fair to her. Hell, it wasn’t fair to him. She could only get in the way, probably would get in the way. And then what? He didn’t need this—either the distraction or the attraction, and she would be suspicious of the changes in him. Then, when the truth came out, she’d hate him for the deception. He wished he had a choice.

      Steeling his spine, he stepped into the room.

      

      Maggie Walters pushed her gifts into a pile as she devised a particularly inventive way to punish one of her co-workers—the one who’d been conspicuously absent from her birthday party. Her thirtieth birthday, which everyone knew was important to her. The others had come to work early to celebrate—the dishwasher, her fellow waitresses, the bartender, even the manager. But not the maître d’. Not the man she’d most wanted to be there.

      “By the time I’m through with him,” she muttered, “he’ll wish he called in sick.”

      “Happy birthday, Magnolia.”

      Maggie’s heart danced at the slight inflection that transformed her name into a caress. She drew a steadying breath and turned to face the man she’d moments ago threatened with imaginary injury.

      James Diego Duran. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to describe him. Six foot one inches of smewy strength, near-black hair with ends that began to curl a few days after each haircut, intelligent dark brown eyes, a killer smile when he chose to use it, and a body that should come with warning labels: Raw Male Within. Approach At Own Risk.

      Oh, Lord, he stood before her, stealing her breath, not knowing he was the one she’d wished for earlier when she’d blown out her candles...then just as fervently wished to skewer.

      Maggie’s anger got swallowed by a sigh. She’d give just about anything to be able to unwrap the tempting package of J.D. Duran, the man of mystery More than he appeared, certainly; less than her vivid imagination, probably.

      Oh, yes, he was one intriguing parcel—and she stood as much chance of getting him for her burthday as Lois Lane did Superman.

      Which was a blessing, really, since he didn’t show any intention of fitting into her long-term plans.

      “I’m sorry I missed your party,” he said, walking toward her, his eyes steady, assessing.

      “No one took attendance.” She turned away, attempting to force her thoughts from him by contemplating how she’d get her gifts to the locker room.

      Maggie felt his gaze on her for several seconds before he swept by her, passing out of sight. Relaxing, she blew her bangs off her forehead. She really needed to stop drooling over the man. After all, they’d worked together for a year and a half, and seven months ago he’d flatly admitted that he wanted to sleep with her—but wasn’t going to.

      It could have pulverized a lesser woman’s self-confidence.

      The brief flash of ego she allowed herself made her smile.

      He returned with an empty cardboard carton and tossed it onto the table in front of her. “Looks like you need something to carry your presents,” he said, taking a beribboned cake knife from her hand and laying it m the box. “This was a gift?”

      “Mmm-hmm.”

      He frowned, then reached for the first item in the pile, a white vinyl photo album. Someone had written Our Wedding in glitter glue across the cover.

      “Ah. I had forgotten their plans. A bridal shower,” he remarked, casting her a sideways glance as he stood the album on end in the box before holding up two plastic champagne flutes.

      She touched one with her fingertip. “Note the beautiful engraving.”

      Someone had written Maggie on one with a black felt marker and A Prince Among Men on the other. Cocktail straws twined the stems like mutant ribbons. Maggie loved the glasses, as she did all of the silly gifts, even though they represented a not-yet-fulfilled but well-voiced dream.

      “Are you sorry now that you broadcasted your deadline of being married by thirty?”

      “It was a goal, not a deadline.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, I’ve been a little busy with work and college.”

      He set a few more items into the box, then stopped and looked at her. “The traditional ‘something blue,’ I assume,” he said.

      She looked away from his intense gaze and saw him pick up a small carton of blue condoms, then shift the item back and forth between his hands. Large hands. With long, tapered fingers... and undisguised strength. Her breasts would fit perfectly in his palms. The feel of his rougher skin against her soft flesh would be—

      “Subtle bunch we work with.”

      Startled, she nodded, hearing something different in his voice—a warm huskiness that called to her most basic needs.

      He squeezed the carton a moment before arcing it into the box. “I have a gift for you, as well.”

      “You do?” She frowned at the pleasure he must have heard in her voice. He’d made it clear he didn’t want her to flirt with him, or tease him, or do more than have a working relationship only. Which was why she frequently did tease or flirt with him. She recognized the defensive tactic as self-preservation, even if she didn’t like herself for doing it.

      She dared to look at him and caught his mouth tilting one-sidedly as his eyes softened to liquid chocolate. Why was he looking at her hike that? He couldn’t turn sociable overnight, could he? Not that he hadn’t been friendly before, but this was , friendly. Man-to-woman friendly.

      “I’d like to give you the gift after work,” he said. “In private. Maybe at your apartment?”

      Okay, do I become pathetically grateful or keep him in suspense? She lifted the cardboard box, giving herself something to do. Pride trickled in, mixed with a little caution. She glanced over her shoulder to where the kitchen crew were busy. “Why not now? We’re reasonably alone.”

      “Humor me, Magnolia..”

      She held her breath as he reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. His fingertips grazed her cheek. He smiled slowly, devastatingly.

      She came out of her stupor, stepping back so fast she knocked over a glass of sparkling cider with her elbow. The cool liquid splattered her calf and dripped into her shoe. “All right, honey, what’s goin’ on?” she asked, purposefully drawing on her Louisiana accent and the endearment he hated in order to put more than physical distance between them, a tactic she used whenever she felt backed into a corner.

      “Nothing.”

      Letting her raised eyebrows show her disbelief, she dropped the box on the counter and kicked off her shoe. He pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket, crouching as she did.

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ