Aimee Carson - The Unexpected Wedding Guest

But the bigger question was, why the heck did Mason care?

The silence stretched, leaving Mason uneasy. Edgy. He should leave. Reese was not his concern anymore. What difference did it make how Dylan felt about her? It sure as hell wasn’t any of Mason’s business.

But no matter how hard he tried to push the past aside, seeing Reese had brought up some disturbing memories. Things he’d thought he’d buried long ago. Clearly he wasn’t going to get the resolution he sought. But, at the very least, he wanted to take a better measure of the man she was about to spend the rest of her life with. If he knew she was going to be treated well, then that was enough. He’d be content.

And content was as much as he could hope for these days.

Dylan nodded in the direction of a temporary basketball pole set up at the end of the driveway. “You play?”

“Yeah,” Mason said slowly. “Seems an odd thing to have had delivered days before a wedding.”

“Reese’s cousin, Tuck, is my friend and best man. It’s a long story, but he had it set up as a joke,” Dylan said, and then looked at him curiously. “You up for a little one-on-one?”

Mason leaned back on his heels and shaded his eyes from the sun, studying Reese’s fiancé. Playing basketball with his buddies had saved his sanity during the wearisome downtime in the choking dust of a sweltering Afghanistan desert. And there was nothing like a little friendly competition to take your measure of a man.

Dylan was probably thinking the same thing.

Mason couldn’t resist a cocky smile, the universal I’m-gonna-wup-your-ass grin that only a man could understand. “You’re on.”

THREE

The rhythmic thwack...thwack...thwack...that greeted Reese’s ears as she burst through the side entrance onto the brick drive didn’t sound like two men beating the living daylights out of each other. But her trek across the house had taken her so long that, by now, the adrenaline surging through her body was prohibitive to rational thought.

She’d gotten turned around in one of Bellington Hall’s endless corridors and wound up way on the other side of the massive home. And then she’d had to backtrack. Losing precious minutes. Her mind conjuring all sorts of horrendous possibilities, she’d scrambled to make up for lost time and nearly broken her ankle racing down the stone staircase in her four-inch heels.

Fifteen minutes had passed since she’d dashed out of the sitting room. Long enough for two men to kill each other several times over.

Picturing broken noses and bleeding lips, she lifted her skirt and picked up the pace, the tulle netting flouncing around her legs with every hurried step. Heart wedged in her throat, praying she wouldn’t wind up with blood on her dress, she rounded the side of the house and came to a halt.

Because there, both shirtless, bodies damp from exertion, were her ex-husband and her future husband...playing basketball.

Shock stuck her shoes to the pavement, and she stared, motionless, as she watched the two men, their faces set with determination. Sunlight shimmied on chests damp with sweat. Pectorals and biceps lengthened and bulged with exertion as they dribbled, and blocked, and alternately attempted a jump shot. A mesmerizing sight that most women would enjoy. A bubble of hysteria rose, and she almost let out a stunned laugh, fascinated by the disparate displays of masculine beauty.

Wearing nothing but athletic shorts, Dylan was taller, leaner, with muscles that showcased his love for running and swimming. His was an agile grace, all lithe beauty and nimble movements. Whereas Mason, in hip-hugging jeans only, was a touch shorter. More muscular. Raw. Oozing a kind of terrible power that was unsettling, disturbing. And dark. The kind of man that could strike with precision and take an enemy out before he recognized there was a threat.

When he turned, her breath caught, his back sporting a beautifully tattooed pair of angel wings.

After a failed layup, Mason grunted out something she couldn’t hear, and Dylan responded with a smile and words she couldn’t make out. But Mason’s answering bark of laughter echoed across the driveway.

Annoyed, she shifted on her feet and cocked her hip. Here she’d been, practically killing herself while making the journey to break up a potential fight, worried the men would at least be exchanging heated words. And they had the audacity to be having fun?

Dylan caught a rebound off the backboard and pivoted, finally catching sight of Reese.

As if the current situation was no big deal, Dylan said, “Hey, bright star.”

The nickname had started as a joke. Back in the days after her divorce when all she could do was mope. And when she’d finally thrown herself into her family’s favorite charity, The Brookes Foundation’s Home for Battered Women, she and Dylan Brookes had wound up serving on the board together—ironically, the very man her parents had slated for marriage to their only daughter. Dedicating herself to the cause had saved her sanity, and then Dylan had gently eased his way into her life. First as a friend who made her smile, and eventually as a lover who also made her laugh.

Until the dark days had grown fewer and farther apart.

The originator of those dark days shot her a curious look. “I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress,” Mason said.

As always, the man elicited a piercing surge of irritation that was impressive. Because it was his fault that she was standing here in a torrent of tulle netting.

Steam had to be coming from her ears. “But it doesn’t rank anywhere near the catastrophe of an ex-husband showing up just days before the ceremony,” she said.

“The timing is definitely inconvenient,” Dylan said.

At least Mason had the decency to grimace, a rueful look on his face, and Reese shifted uncomfortably. But she refused to apologize or feel guilty.

Because she did not want Mason getting chummy with her fiancé. She did not want Mason hanging around for her dream wedding. She did not want Mason hanging around, period.

She brought her thoughts up short and licked her lower lip. “Dylan, what are you doing?”

Mason looked unconcerned, while Dylan looked down at her as if she was the one who was behaving oddly.

“I’m playing basketball,” he said.

In exasperation, she blew a strand of hair from her eyes. Men. Why did they have to be so literal?

“Yes.” Her lips felt tight. “With my ex-husband.”

Two men studied her for a moment, as if waiting for the punch line. And she had the urge to squirm.

“Did he tell you why he was here?” Dylan asked.

Reese avoided Mason’s gaze. “He said he wants closure.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Dylan said.

Reasonable?

Wide-eyed with disbelief, she said, “Right now the only kind of closure I want is the kind that comes with a slamming door, preferably with Mason on the other side.”

Mason let out a chuckle, and she cast him her best lethal look, frustrated by the amused tilt to his lips, the basketball parked under his arm as if he was waiting on Dylan to continue the game. And then there were all those muscles on his naked chest....

Reese frowned and slammed the door on the direction of her thoughts, turning her attention back to the man who usually made her happy.

But Dylan was studying her with a guarded expression that left her wary, the lingering moment filled with spring sunshine, a rose-scented breeze and the buzz of a bumblebee in the garden. Despite the idyllic setting, an ominous feeling began to build.

But nothing prepared her for what Dylan said next. “I think he should stick around.”

Even Mason managed to look surprised.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Reese said at the same time Mason said, “Come again?”