Sweet Dreams. Stacey Keith
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crap out of me. I’ll give you that.”
“Know what else I am absolutely certain of?” Jake turned toward her now that they were out of the barn. The late afternoon sun slanted across his face and lightened the blue of his eyes. “I know that before the night is done, you’re going to kiss me. You’re going to like it, too.”
Of all the things Jake could have said, she was least prepared for this one. The words just sort of hung there in mid-air. She didn’t know what to do with them.
“Are you drunk?” she sputtered. “Or are you that in love with yourself?”
The smile he gave her was indulgent, as though gently chiding her for her silly reluctance. “Oh, I’m much too controlling to drink.”
“Well, news flash, buddy. I would French kiss a water buffalo before—”
“Tonight,” he said, his voice making the hair on the back of her arms stand up. “You may hate weddings, but you’re going to like the way this one ends.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“What on earth are you doing here?” April asked, peeking around the corner of the barn.
Maggie startled. She pulled the flimsy gauze shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. When night fell in the Texas Hill Country, even in April, unless you were dancing or drinking, you were cold.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Maggie said stiffly. “I’m hiding.”
“Oh, is Walter here?” Her sister stole around the side of the barn and then leaned against it with a sigh. “I can’t remember. Did Cass invite him?”
Maggie made a face. Walter Mitchell had a crush on her. He wore plaid collared button-downs, played the flugelhorn and collected pet rats. Everyone in Cuervo thought the way he followed her around was hilarious.
“I’m hiding from the best man,” Maggie said. “That guy Jake. I can’t stand him.”
“Jake?” April’s face registered shock. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I be kidding? Oh, because what woman on earth doesn’t want a guy who looks like that?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’m rolling my eyes,” Maggie said. “You can’t see me because it’s dark out here, but I’m rolling them just the same.”
“Okay, you do know who is he, right?” April had that dreamy look, which always worried Maggie because it usually led to talk about boys. As the youngest sister, April was the “romantic” one, Cassidy was the “sweetly shy” one and she, Maggie, the oldest, was the “hard-eyed realist.”
“What do I care who he is?” Maggie said. “He’s annoying. And he tried to have sex with some woman in the laundry room.”
“Lucky woman,” April said cheekily.
Maggie tried not to remember the moaning. “Okay, who is he then?”
April rubbed her hands together in apparent glee. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Jake. Sutton.”
Maggie’s grip loosened at the edges of her shawl. “Are you sure it’s not just some guy named Jake Sutton?”
“Jake Sutton, the one and only, accept no substitutions. As in Sutton Farms brand foods, Sutton Property Development, Sutton Global—”
“What’s Sutton Global?”
April shrugged. “Cyber security, maybe?”
“Doesn’t he own a newspaper, too?” Maggie asked faintly.
“Right—the Daily Reporter. Second largest paper in Texas.”
Maggie gave an involuntary little shiver. Of course she knew who Jake Sutton was—who didn’t? She’d seen his photo a thousand times, but hadn’t put it together, especially since in person he was so much more…
Virile.
“Does he seem quite so annoying now?” April teased. “Or would you prefer Walter?”
“Oh, please,” Maggie said. “This is crazy. Just because I spend all day in a bakery making snacks doesn’t mean I want to be one.”
April frowned in apparent confusion.
“Dating is like McDonald’s,” she explained, “and guys like Jake are always at the drive-thru.”
Of course, a good-looking guy like Jake, a guy who would never dream of settling down, who wanted nothing more from her than that didn’t sound so bad right about now. It had been…she tried to remember the exact amount of time since her last—what did you call it, a romp? A sexy adventure? But it was too embarrassing to even think about. Plus, she wasn’t the kind of girl who just did that kind of thing. At least not with someone she didn’t know.
Was she?
“Okay. No snacking,” April said. “But will you at least dance with the guy? Mom says it’s time to start the dancing. That’s why she sent me to find you.”
Maggie gazed woefully at the pavilion. She’d already spent hours hobnobbing and smiling and hostessing. But every time she turned around, Jake was there. Even when he was surrounded by people, which was pretty much all the time, he had this sixth sense for when she might be looking at him. Then their eyes would meet and she would feel this stirring deep inside, like a cat waking up and stretching its legs. But she didn’t like cats. It had been years since she felt anything stirring, but even so, never like this. Never where she went weak in the knees and her mouth was dry and she couldn’t remember what she was saying to people who then gazed at her pityingly as though she had a mental condition.
If danger signals were bells, her bells were ringing.
The pavilion glowed softly under a tent of string lights. They hung from poles draped in billowing white silk and shed their warmth on the tables and flowered centerpieces and her cake, which had been rolled out on a trolley. Cassidy and Mason were chatting and laughing with their guests, clearly at ease, clearly happy. But the rest of it felt like a trip to the principal’s office. And now she had to dance with Jake Sutton.
Before the night is over, you’re going to kiss me.
What if she did? She was being pulled in two—her brain shouting no, and her body… She couldn’t even think the word. But like it or not, the fact that billionaire playboy Jake Sutton had even given her the time of day was kind of delicious. Maybe she could have just a little bit of fun. A very teeny tiny amount of harmless adult enjoyment with… No, it was out of the question.
See, this was exactly why she needed to deflate this balloon now, right now, before it got any bigger.
“All right,” she said, rolling her shoulders back. “Let’s do this thing.”
* * * *
In Jake’s experience, there were three things your average Hollywood starlet never did: eat, laugh or engage in any activity that involved sweating. Well, maybe one sweaty activity. But only if something could be gained from it, like an introduction to a casting director or a diamond tennis bracelet. It tended to make him a little cynical.
Okay, a lot cynical.
There wasn’t anything authentic about women like that.
But as he watched Maggie cross the pavilion toward him, her obvious dread had the strange and opposite effect of charming him. Here was a woman who couldn’t be anything but authentic. She wore her heart on her sleeve.
He liked the fact that she was tall and moved with such feminine grace. He liked that she didn’t dye her hair. He liked knowing that underneath that silly pink bridesmaid number she had a lot going on. Real breasts. Real hips. Legs that probably went on forever. That idea generated