Tara Randel - Orange Blossom Brides

“The job she hired me to do didn’t include groom duty.”

“It’s just a minor change. You’ll hardly be inconvenienced.”

“Unlike the night we met?”

She pursed her lips. The regret in her eyes said it all. And for some perverse reason, even though it shouldn’t matter now, he needed to know why she’d turned him in.

“It was confusing. Look, I also ended up in the back of a police car,” she told him, her voice tight and controlled. “Then sat at the police station for hours with you fuming and not speaking to me.”

“Really? You want to complain? Where did you go afterward?”

Her face colored again. “Home.”

“Right. I went off to juvenile detention. So I think you need to make that up to me.”

Her posture went all stiff. “How do you propose I do that?”

“I propose you accept that I will not be a groom. Not for the benefit. Not ever.”

Displeasure crossed her face. “I could ask someone else.”

He may have started out making demands for payback, but now he was just having fun. “You could, and you should. I’m out.”

She considered that for a second. He’d expected a snarky reply, but instead she said, “Fine. You’re right. You’re aren’t the groom type.”

“And you know that how?”

“By the fact that you’re being very disagreeable.”

“I’m sure there are lots of disagreeable grooms. Doesn’t make me a type.”

She frowned then asked, “Do you own a tux?”

“Never needed one.”

Her gaze dropped to his faded T-shirt. “Any formal attire?”

She gave him an assessing look, cringing over his less-than-designer jeans and faded T-shirt and boots, his usual stakeout attire, which he wore for the job he had scheduled for later this morning. Or maybe the stubble he’d failed to shave. Okay, so maybe he needed a haircut, but he’d been too busy to worry about it. Still, she didn’t have to look down that impertinent, freckled nose of hers.

He scrubbed a hand over his chin.

She had a standoffish look about her that rubbed him the wrong way. And the prissy way she perched on the chair, like she didn’t want to get her skirt wrinkled? Well, that toasted him, too.

It took a few seconds for him to respond. Poised on the tip of his tongue hovered “none of your business,” but how juvenile would that sound? “I have nice clothes. In fact, I just ordered work shirts with Sanders Security stitched on the front.”

She smirked at him, clearly thinking she had the upper hand.

“Right. Whatever. Look, I’ll be at the historical society offices tomorrow to test the system, and I’ll drop off a proposal for the security of the jewelry collection. Nothing more.”

Her lips tightened a fraction before she said, “That’s your final answer?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yep. Final answer.” He didn’t owe her more than that. He and Miss Prickly had nothing in common except a night on the beach that had ended before they’d had a chance to get started.

She stood. Something about her, a vulnerability she couldn’t disguise, made him think of the carefree girl he’d once met. It also managed to soften the hard edges of his heart.

“Thank you. The historical society appreciates your support.” She gathered her things and rushed out of his office, a waft of alluring perfume in her wake.

Max sat there for a moment, trying to ignore the twisting in his gut. Her walking through the door had caught him off guard. To be honest, he hadn’t thought about her in years. Even when he’d decided to return to Cypress Pointe, he’d had only a passing notion that he might run into her again. But this way? Because of a charity event?

Working for the historical society meant access to future clients, just by word of mouth alone. Cypress Pointe was a small town, after all. He’d make connections, secure a few more jobs. Positive. But the negative? Working with the new charity coordinator, a woman who happened to be from his past. A past he’d worked hard to overcome, although sometimes it felt as if he’d fallen short.

Sitting back in his chair, he realized that his life had taken a hard right turn when she’d walked into his office. No. Today’s visit had only ramped things up. Really, it’d started for him the night at the beach. The anger still simmered, but when he pictured her pretty face, a surprising spark of interest ignited.

No. No way. He had to put her out of his mind. They might be connected by this historical society project, but he didn’t have to like it.

CHAPTER TWO

OF ALL THE rotten luck.

Why did the one guy she needed to convince to attend the benefit end up being the guy she met on the beach twelve years ago? One night. One night she goes all crazy and sneaks out of the house, only to end up in police custody.

See, that’s what happens when you try to be something you’re not. You end up flirting with a cute boy who grows into an even more attractive man. At least now she was smart enough not to end up in a police car at the end of the night.

She hoped so, anyway.

She entered the historical society office, still shaking her head over her meeting with Max.

“How did it go, dear?” Mrs. Rumpold asked before Lilli made it all the way through the door.

“He refused.”

“Oh, no. Your mother won’t be happy.”

Yeah. Lilli already knew that.

“Didn’t you use your feminine charms to convince Max? It’s my experience that no man alive can resist a woman if she sends out the right signals.”

Okay. First, female charms had nothing to do with it. Max didn’t want to be a groom, as he’d so adamantly let her know. Now she had to figure out what to do, because knowing her mother, his refusal would definitely upset her well-organized life. Even, if she didn’t factor in the old anger at how that night had ended, he’d made it clear he would only attend Tie the Knot in a security capacity. She rubbed her temples.

And second, right signals? Lilli regarded the older woman with surprise. She hardly seemed the type of woman with...experiences. Not that Lilli would ask.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” Mrs. Rumpold said. The historical society secretary had to be seventy if she was a day. “I may be a bit worn around the edges, but there are a few tried-and-true tricks to catch a man’s eye.” At least five inches shorter than Lilli and two times as wide with a halo of short, curly gray hair, there was clearly more to Mrs. Rumpold than met the eye.

“Mrs. Rumpold, what are you suggesting?”

“Please, call me Mrs. R.” The older woman gave a saucy grin, as if she were about to reveal some truly juicy secrets. “And I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying. First of all, there’s the eye wink. Make sure you wear lots of mascara to make a statement. Next, the finger wave.” She demonstrated, and Lilli suppressed a groan.

“And the hair flip,” Mrs. R. continued. “Shows your fun, flirtatious side.” With a flick of the wrist she tossed her silvery curls. Since they were permed tight, not much happened, but Lilli got the idea.

“It works every time,” Mrs. R. intoned with sage wisdom.

Lilli held back a smile. Maybe in the nineteen-fifties, but not today. Today if she did that, people would think she had serious problems. And besides, she had no interest in catching a man’s eye right now.

“I can’t imagine any single men able to resist a lovely young woman such as you.”

Yeah, Lilli knew that by the oodles of men lined up at her door. Right now she only concentrated on her job. The promotion. The added headache of the charity event. She had enough on her plate—she didn’t need Max Sanders. He’d directed his smoky gaze at her once before, and she’d melted on the spot. Look where that had gotten her. She wouldn’t let it happen again.