Page 21 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

Fourteen months of my life. Less than ten percent of the time he has been married to the mother of his children. And still, fourteen freaking months is a long time to live a lie. A very long time to string someone along only to stomp on their heart. I’m not about to put myself under his heel again.

“Dylan,” I say, lowering my voice in warning. “This weekend is about giving your son and his fiancée a fantasy. If you say or do anything to piss me off, I will give your family something to remember this weekend by.” I smooth the eggplant-purple pocket square that peeks from his jacket pocket, like I’m doing it to be nice. I’m not. I lean in close. “Don’t give me even the slightest reason to make a scene. It won’t be a pleasant one.”

I turn away from him and storm toward the kitchen, feeling an intense stare following me.

Once I’m in the kitchen, I huff a massive sigh and curse Dylan out under my breath. The kitchen is a frenzy of activity. Courses being plated, the familiar sounds of steam and sizzling, bubbling pots and chefs calling orders. It’s reassuring. Business as usual. Everything here is under control. Unlike my body and apparently my heart as well.

I square my shoulders and look the kitchen stations over from the doorway like I have a reason to be here other than calming myself down, so I don’t freak out over the groom’s asshole father.

I pull in a breath, the scents of garlic and potatoes, and roasted beef soothing me. This is good. What we do here is good. Even if the people are sometimes shit.

When I head back into the villa, I keep one eye out for Dylan.

Who I don’t see is Eagle. But then I feel him. A tattooed hand hovers at my elbow and that bedroom voice is low and close to my ear.

“You good?” he asks. “You peeled outta here so fast, you practically burned tire tracks into the floor.”

He towers a good three inches above me, and I’m five-eleven in my heels. Without meaning to, without even realizing what I’m doing, I lean against the heat of his side. It’s a momentary move, the black dress shirt he wears just skimming my bare arm. But the electricity that dances along my skin hits me like a glass of ice water to the face. I realize what I’m doing and step away from him glaring.

“Sorry, I’m...yeah. I’m good.” I scurry away from him, feeling like a billiard ball bouncing across a pool table and banking off not one but two men I’m trying to avoid. I glance at my watch.

Only three more hours of this torture to go.

By the time the rehearsal dinner is over, I feel like a deflated volleyball. Dylan’s tried two more times to corner me.

First at the dessert table, where I swear he offered to feed me an egg custard until I threatened to smash it in his face. As if that hadn’t taught him to behave, he chased me down a second time at the bar when I was trying to order a Coke. I was desperate for a hit of sugar and caffeine until I smelled Dylan’s expensive cologne and I whirled away, still thirsty and thoroughly pissed.

Once the meals are cleared and the guests are lingering over the coffee bar and desserts, I step outside for a breath of fresh air. My work here is almost done, so I click the button on my walkie talkie and let the head of hospitality and the kitchen manager know I’m taking a ten-minute break.

It’s nearly ten o’clock now and the lights over the koi pond reflect on the smooth surface like floating stars. I lean my elbows against the railing and let my eyes flutter closed. This night has been exhausting, as I expected it would be. It’s work, after all, and rehearsal dinners are exactly that—a dress rehearsal for the big night. It’s our chance to meet the guests closest to the bride and groom, and to note any changes we might need to make so the wedding itself goes more smoothly.

I bend a knee and lift one heel out of my shoe to give my toes a rest, when I feel a hand snake along my waist.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

I stiffen and spin to confront Dylan, moving so fast, I step completely out of my shoe. Wobbling on one heel, I put up a hand to push the man an arm’s length distance away from me.

“What did I tell you?” I seethed. “Don’t you respect anyone?” My words came out hot and fast—and so loud I was afraid I was shouting. But at this point, I figured screw this jerk. If his wife found out he was a cheat at their son’s wedding, that was so not my problem. “Can you try to keep it in your fucking pants while your wife is literally sitting next to you?”

Dylan’s expression goes from suggestive to shocked. “You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he says, reaching for my hand and pulling me close. “I don’t know what your problem is, Lacey.”

“You are my problem, Dylan,” I say, tugging my arm back. “I told you to stay the hell away from me.”

But his grip on my wrist is angry. Tight.

“You’re not doing this right now, are you?” I demand, trying to wrestle my arm away without tipping over on my one high heel. “This is my place of business,” I bite out. “Your son and future-daughter-in-law are fifty feet away. Your entire family too.” I try to appeal to any shred of decency this man might have. That’s a big if, though, as he confirms when he leans toward to my face.

“It is your place of business, so I’d suggest you be a little more professional with your guests.” His words stop cold as someone steps up behind him.

“Mr. Warner.”

The boom of the voice hits Dylan like a kick to the back of the knees. I see him flinch, first looking pissed at the intrusion. But then, as he turns and faces the angry mountain that is Eagle’s chest, I can see Dylan’s shoulders sag in his expensive suit.

“Can I help you with something?” Dylan’s voice is tight.

Eagle twirls his index finger in the air, motioning to the empty garden. “I wouldn’t normally risk embarrassing one of Lantana’s guests, so I hope like hell I’m mistaken.” He takes a step closer to Dylan, and I can see past Dylan’s shoulders that Eagle’s nostrils are flared, his teeth bared like an animal ready to bite. “I hope I didn’t just see you lay hands on Ms. Mercer. I’d be real wrong if I thought there was anything funny going on out here, wouldn’t I, Mr. Warner?” Eagle crosses his thick arms over his chest and cocks his chin. “Tell me I’m wrong, sir, because I’d hate to have to break one of your more important bones.”

CHAPTER FOUR

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