Lee Mckenzie - The Wedding Bargain

“You need to take your time and give it all your attention.”

Jess lifted the glass, but Michael reached for her hand and stopped her before the glass reached her lips.

“Let it slide over your tongue and around the inside of your mouth before you swallow it.” Her insides went wobbly. His voice had taken on a sinfully deep tone and she swore it was reverberating through his hand and up her arm. “Try it.”

She took a sip and so did he. She watched his mouth, and didn’t swallow until he did.

“What do you think?”

Jess was at a loss for words, and that almost never happened. Instead of answering, she just smiled, took another slow, careful sip of wine and imagined she was being kissed.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always enjoyed learning new things and visiting new places, so doing research for a book is one of the things that makes writing so much fun. That’s been especially true with this, my second book set in San Francisco. I love the city’s dynamic neighborhoods, but this story also took me outside the city and into Northern California’s beautiful wine country. And of course that required research.

Setting provides that all-important backdrop for any book, but as the story in The Wedding Bargain emerged, the contrast between the clamor and commotion of the city and the order and symmetry of Napa Valley’s vineyards was reflected in the power of family ties, two people’s determination to succeed and the struggle that ensues when they want the same thing but believe only one of them can have it.

In spite of their different backgrounds, Jess and Michael do have some common ground—they both believe family matters more than anything else. I had a lot of fun writing their story, so I hope you enjoy reading it. As always, readers can visit me through my website at www.leemckenzie.com, where you’ll find links to my Facebook page and my blog, The Writer Side of Life.

Happy reading!

Lee McKenzie

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From the time she was ten years old and read Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, Lee McKenzie knew she wanted to be a writer, just like Anne and Jo. In the intervening years she has written everything from advertising copy to an honors thesis in paleontology, but becoming a four-time Golden Heart finalist and a Harlequin Books author are among her proudest accomplishments. Lee and her artist/teacher husband live on an island along Canada’s west coast, and she loves to spend time with two of her best friends—her grown-up children.

To my dear aunt, Beverly Wegner,

for a lifetime of love and encouragement.

Your strength and courage are an inspiration. You’ll be truly missed and fondly remembered, always.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Strapless gowns ought to be against the law. Jess Bennett tugged at the top of hers and wished she could blend in to the decor. Not that this amount of shiny turquoise satin could merge with anything, except maybe more shiny satin. She looked around the room for the three other women who were wearing the same dress but in different colors. Nicola, in bright yellow, and her husband, Jonathan, were on the dance floor. Maria, stunning in red, was sitting with her husband, who was proudly cradling their beautiful baby daughter in his arms. Paige was… Where was Paige?

Jess’s search for the fourth bridesmaid was intercepted by a man leaning against a column on the other side of the room. He was tall, and his dark good looks hinted at a Mediterranean heritage. Before now she hadn’t seen him among the wedding guests, and she decided he was most likely an employee. She connected with his gaze for a second and looked away, but after failing to find her friend Paige, something drew her back to him.

He was still watching her.

She glanced down at the front of her dress and pulled it up some more. Rory, the bride, who was also one of her best friends in the world, had outfitted her bridesmaids in retro-inspired gowns that were designed to make the most of a woman’s curves and cleavage. Or emphasize Jess’s lack of them.

He was smiling when she looked at him again. She had a feeling he’d been watching her for a while, but he seemed more amused by her battle with the dress than he was interested in her.

Easy for him to find this funny. He was wearing an elegantly tailored suit, which probably wasn’t as expensive as it looked, given what he was likely to earn working here. Meanwhile, she was decked out in a dress that was determined to abide by the laws of gravity, in spite of the torturous plastic boning stitched into the seams and an obscene amount of double-sided tape that had lost its stick sometime between the photographs and the pre-reception cocktails.

Paige, wherever she was, had the perfect figure for this kind of dress—all curvy and voluptuous. Maria, ditto. Nicola was only slightly better endowed than Jess, but nothing rattled her.

Jess debated whether to get herself a drink or go in search of Paige. Maybe both. She gave the dress a final hitch and skirted the dance floor, heading toward the bar. On the way there she waved at the bride and her adoring husband, Mitch, who were talking to two other couples. The men were probably firefighters like Mitch. Rory’s vintage gown was so…her. It had a fitted bodice and a gathered tulle skirt, and instead of a veil she had opted for an elegant little white pillbox hat with netting. Jess had thought the above-the-elbow white gloves were a bit much, but Rory had said they’d be perfect and she was right.

“What will you have?” the bartender asked.

She was tempted to ask for Scotch, neat. “A glass of red wine,” she said, since both the dress and the circumstances called for something a little more ladylike.

“I have cabernet and merlot, both excellent California wines.”

She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned on them, shifting her weight to one foot and trying to wriggle the toes of the other. “The cabernet, I guess.”

“Of course.” The bartender eyed the front of her dress, and she quickly straightened.

While he poured the wine, she surveyed the bottles of Scotch lined up on a glass shelf. She should have gone with her first instinct. These were much better quality than the brands she could afford to stock at the Whiskey Sour.

“The merlot would have been a better choice,” a deep male voice said over her shoulder.

She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him, the man who’d been amused by her struggle with the strapless wonder. When she did turn to face him, her heart rate sped up. She had been wrong about the Mediterranean connection. His eyes were blue and he had no hint of an accent.