Page 1 of Going Deep
PROLOGUE
Ginger watched Lola’s face. She’d seen her friend laughing, she’d seen her crying, she’d seen her happy and sad. But she didn’t think she’d ever seen her this pissed off.
Her whiskey-brown eyes were blazing, her cheeks flushed with temper as she stalked across the room where Ginger stood near the stairs with the bride. She shot Anna a look. “Well, she’s not sad anymore.”
Anna shook her head, her brown eyes wide. “No, that’s not a sad face.” She lowered her voice as Lola drew to a stop in front of them. “What just happened?”
“That asshole,” Lola began through gritted teeth, “wants to talk.”
Ginger blinked. “Um. Okay. And you don’t?”
“I’m just starting to feel like I might be able to move past this. Plus, this is really not the place. I’m not screwing up your wedding with our personal drama.”
Anna waved that away. “I don’t care about that. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Lola drew a deep breath. “I’m going to be fine.”
“Just don’t think you have to—” Anna broke off when her fiancé appeared beside her.
“Babe, there are a couple of people I want you to meet.” Grant slipped his arm around her waist and smiled at Ginger and Lola, pale blue eyes twinkling. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Oh, but—” Anna’s protest faded as he drew her away, leading her to a cluster of people on the other side of the room.
“I don’t want anything to fuck this up for her,” Lola said.
“I don’t think anything can,” Ginger replied. “She’s so happy she’s practically got cartoon birds and woodland creatures flitting around her feet.”
“I just want to make sure my bullshit with Simon doesn’t interfere with tomorrow. Why the hell would he pick now to do this?”
Ginger hesitated, then blurted out what she was thinking. “Maybe you should. Talk to him, I mean.”
Lola’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What?”
“It’s been nearly a week since you broke up,” Ginger pointed out. “Maybe he’s had time to think?”
“I don’t care if he’s had time to write a three-act play. It’s not the time.”
Ginger opened her mouth to reply, then shut it with a snap when Michael O'Reilly stepped in front of her.
She couldn’t help but give a little sigh. He was, without a doubt, the most strikingly handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. Not that her life thus far had been chock-full of hot guys, but she’d seen her fair share since moving to Chicago at the beginning of the summer.
He put them all to shame.
He was tall and fit, with the kind of body that spoke of power and strength even in the tailored dress shirt and slacks, both in unrelieved black. His hair was black too, or almost, thick with a hint of curl that should’ve made him look boyish, but there was nothing boyish about this man. His green eyes gleamed like emeralds against his olive skin, and his face, with its squared-off jaw—clean shaven today—and sharp-edged cheekbones, was a study in geometry—all planes and angles. But his mouth was a different story—full, soft, sensual. The kind of mouth that gave a woman ideas and was, at the moment, curved in a charming smile.
She had dreams about that mouth, and remembering exactly what those dreams had entailed, she blushed. Then she blushed harder when his gaze settled on her.
“Ms. Dowling,” he said, his smile broadening in a way that made her feel like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and held out a glass of champagne. She took it automatically. “Would you give me a hand with something?”
“Oh. I—” She darted a glance at Lola, but before she could do more than blink he had her elbow in one firm hand and was guiding her away.
She frowned at him and tried to lean away, only to freeze when he leaned down.
“Simon needs to talk to her,” he murmured softly. “A moment alone to grovel.”
“Oh.” She shot a glance over her shoulder at Lola, saw Simon approaching her from behind. He met her eyes and gave her the faintest of nods.
Okay, she thought and, relaxing her arm in Michael’s hold, let him pull her from the room. “I hope he’s good at it. She’s going to be pissed.”
