Her Kind of Trouble. Sarah Mayberry

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      Vivian rested a protective hand over the arrangement she’d spent hours perfecting.

      “Jodie gave it to me. I’m finessing it.”

      Her mother pursed her mouth. “I hope this isn’t going to be like the dress. The wedding is tomorrow.”

      “Thanks, Mum, I’m well aware of that.”

      “There’s no need to take that tone. I’m thinking of your sister. This isn’t the time for you to go off on one of your whims.”

      “I’ll finish tonight.” Vivian ground out the words.

      It was one thing to admit to yourself you were a screwup, but it was another thing entirely to have it pointed out by your nearest and dearest. Repeatedly. Ad nauseam.

      “I’ll leave you to change, then.” Her mother gave the belt one last mistrustful glance before leaving.

      Viv growled, then carefully unfolded her legs so as not to disturb the sequins and pearls. She didn’t have time for a shower, so she concentrated on fixing her makeup before shedding her clothes and pulling on her dress. One of her own designs, it was made from an inky-blue wool crepe and had a loose blouson top with a peekaboo central split and a fitted pencil skirt. She’d been growing her strawberry-blond hair out of a short crop for the wedding, and she pinned it up before spritzing on perfume and racing downstairs.

      “Only five minutes late.” Her father made a show of checking his watch. “Got to be a new record.”

      Vivian wrinkled her nose at him. “But worth every second,” she said, twirling for him.

      He whistled appreciatively.

      Her mother made a clucking noise. “You’re a born flirt, Vivian. Try not to give anyone a heart attack tonight, okay?” She tried to close the peekaboo slit that revealed a hint of Vivian’s décolletage.

      “Relax, Mum. I know CPR.”

      Jodie laughed. “Not much to say to that, is there?”

      They trooped out to the car, her and Jodie piling into the backseat.

      “So is what’s-his-name going to be there tonight?” Vivian asked as the car pulled into the street.

      “I may need a little more detail than that,” Jodie said dryly.

      “Jason’s brother. What’s-his-name.” The mysterious best man who hadn’t made it to either the engagement party or the wedding rehearsal because he’d been “touring with his band.”

      “Seth. You might want to make a note of his name, since he’s going to be your brother-in-law. Sort of. Family by association anyway.”

      “Goodie. I always wanted a brother.” Mostly when one of her boyfriends had turned out to be a jerk-wad.

      “Yeah...Seth isn’t really brother material.”

      Vivian gave Jodie a look. “What does that mean?”

      “I think I’ll let you work it out for yourself.”

      It was tempting to badger her, but Jodie was clearly bent on being mysterious so Vivian let the subject drop and asked about the itinerary for the honeymoon.

      Their father was cursing under his breath by the time they entered the restaurant, ticked off after having to park on a side street because the restaurant’s lot was full. Their mother murmured soothing words to him as they made their way to the private dining room.

      Approximately half the guests had already arrived and her parents began to circulate, apologizing for being late, while Jodie made a beeline for a smiling Jason. Vivian lingered in the doorway to appreciate the lavish decor—over-the-top red velvet curtains with gold tassels, a long dining table surrounded by button-backed chairs in black velvet, lots of glittering candles and bevel-cut mirrors. Fancy.

      Not really her cup of tea, but she could appreciate that a wedding called for a bit of pomp, and her parents would have the opportunity to do this only once, since it would be a cold day in hell when she agreed to marry someone. She might be barely twenty-three, but she knew that much about the life she wanted to carve out for herself. There would be no cozy domestic arrangements in the suburbs in her future. No matching rings and big white dress and public vows. There would definitely be no babies.

      She was going to be a clothing designer. She was going to launch her own line and build it into a force to be reckoned with. One day, she would send a collection down the runway at Paris fashion week, and women would covet clothes bearing her brand.

      One day.

      The thought was still lingering in her mind when the huddle of people gathered at the far end of the table opened up and she caught sight of the tall, dark-haired man in their midst.

      Hello, sailor.

      His hair was raven-black, brushed back from his widow’s peak in a careless, windswept style reminiscent of an old-school, bad-boy movie star. Unlike everyone else, he’d eschewed a suit and tie and instead wore an open-necked black shirt and leather jacket with a pair of tuxedo pants and scuffed biker boots. She wanted to smirk at how try-hard the ensemble was—he might as well have the words wannabe rock star tattooed across his forehead—but was forced to admit that he more than carried off the look.

      He was, in a word, sexy. And boy, did he know it. The knowledge was reflected in the way he held himself, the way he studied the people around him and in the small, knowing curve to his lips. He thought he was too cool for school and the best thing since sliced bread all rolled into one, with a helping of God’s gift to women thrown in for good measure.

      So, this was Jason’s mysterious, never-around brother, Seth Anderson.

      Interesting.

      A waiter glided by bearing a tray of champagne flutes and she plucked one for herself before he could disappear. Sipping at the bubbles, she went to greet her aunt and uncle, watching Seth out of the corner of her eye every step of the way.

      He was easily the hottest guy in the room. She guessed he was about her age, maybe slightly older. She tried to remember what else Jodie had told her about him, but apart from the fact that he was lead singer in a band called Skunk Punk, Vivian came up blank. Since she’d never heard of his band—and who could forget that name?—she figured that his music career wasn’t much to write home about, despite all the time he apparently spent touring.

      But, hey, what did she know? Maybe he was about to break out and be heralded as the next Michael Hutchence.

      He glanced up, scanning the room until he arrived at her. For a breathless moment their gazes locked, and a ripple of something forbidden and hot and reckless licked through her. His eyes were espresso-brown, and the glint in them was downright wicked.

      He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a speculative, assessing smile as his gaze traveled down her body and up again. Not to be outdone, she raised an eyebrow at him and gave him the same treatment, deliberately lingering on his crotch, just so he knew who he was dealing with.

      He raised his glass in her direction, an unspoken acknowledgement СКАЧАТЬ