Page 2 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

He cocked his head and smiled. “What? No claws?”

She ground her teeth. “I’m supposed to be nice to you this weekend.”

Blue eyes danced with humor. “Nice. Now there’s a word with so many layers.”

“No layers,” she said quickly, her gaze landing anywhere but on his compelling face. “No layers. Excuse me, please. I need to go to my room.”

“Daley.”

The way he said her name made her mouth go dry. Only two syllables, but his rumbly voice imbued her name with beauty. “What do you want, Tristan?”

Now his smile was rueful...cajoling. “The hotel bar is right over there. Let’s kick back before the insanity begins. Bury the hatchet maybe. John and Tabby will expect us to be on amicable terms.”

She scowled. “Your brother must be more of an optimist than I realize if he’s going for amicable. Tabby’s only requirement was no bloodshed.”

Tristan threw back his head and laughed. “C’mon,” he said. “We’re going to be family. Let me buy you a drink, Daley.”

She was trapped, and she knew it. A bellman had already spirited her belongings away. The rehearsal dinner was still a couple of hours in the future. She swallowed her misgivings and manufactured a smile. “Sure,” she said. “That would be nice.”

It wasn’t far to the bar. A dozen steps at the most. But Tristan’s hand rested briefly at the small of her back. She fancied she could feel the heat of his fingers through the fabric of her casual cotton sundress.

Once they were seated in a high-backed wooden booth that gave a nod to English pubs, she put her purse on the bench seat and crossed her arms. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “You and I are not going to be family. John and I? Yes. You and Tabby? Yes. But not you and me.”

He sat back and studied her. “You have something against family?”

“Of course not. But you and I are...” She trailed off, trying desperately not to break a recent promise to her sister.

“Are what?”

Before she was forced to answer, the server appeared. “I’ll have a glass of your house white,” Daley said.

Tristan smiled at the young woman, making her blush. “Just a Diet Coke for me,” he said. “And maybe an order of wings and celery.” He looked at Daley sheepishly. “Didn’t have time for lunch.”

When the waitress walked away, Daley frowned. “A Diet Coke? Seriously?”

He shrugged. “I’m taking the last of an antibiotic. I may have a drink later this evening, but the doc suggested moderation for the moment.”

“You’re ill?” The brief flare of panic made no sense at all.

“I had a bout of Lyme disease. Fortunately, we caught it early. I’m fine.” He loosened his tie and pulled it free of his collar. “Had to put my suitcase in the car this morning so I could come straight here after work. But let’s get back to you, Daley. I think you were saying you and I are...?”

“Strangers,” she said firmly. “Only tangentially related by marriage. There’s no connection at all.”

“Liar.” He grinned when he said it, taking the sting out of the word. But as he wrapped his fingers around her hand, his gaze heated. “We’ve had a connection since day one. Surely you can’t deny that.”

She forced herself not to pull away, nor to reveal how very shaken she was by having him touch her, even in so ordinary a context. “We don’t get along,” she said. “We’re oil and water. I wouldn’t define that as a connection.”

His thumb settled on her pulse at the back of her wrist. “Maybe you and I see things differently then.”

“Maybe.” When he released her, she told herself she wasn’t disappointed.

The drinks arrived, and Daley downed half of hers recklessly. Chicken wings were far too messy to eat in front of a man like Tristan, so she grabbed a celery stick, dunked it in ranch dressing and hoped the small snack would offset the alcohol.

He finished two wings and wiped his fingers. Long, masculine fingers that probably knew exactly how to pleasure a woman. Oh, gosh, this was a bad idea.

“Daley...” For the first time, he seemed uncertain.

“What?”

---