From the First Kiss. Jessica Bird
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his cast and a couple of safety pins had been used to keep the two halves together above his knee. His button-down shirt was white and pressed, tucked neatly into the waistband.
His eyes were trained on the ceremony. Which was good because she didn’t want to get caught staring at him.
She forced herself to look away.
Alex knew the moment Cassandra’s gaze left him. It was a goddamned relief.
And he did a good job of not staring at her. He kept his head forward, staying focused on his sister.
At least until the minister addressed Gray. “Will you love her and comfort her, honor and keep her…”
Alex shifted his head a little to the left so he could catch sight of Cassandra in his peripheral vision. She was wearing a spectacular dark red jacket-and-skirt combo that fit her body as if made for it. Which the clothes undoubtedly had been.
But it wasn’t the fancy threads that made her beautiful. She was bent to the side in her high heels, stroking the dog’s head. Little blond hairs were getting all over the beautiful suit but she didn’t care. She just urged Ernest closer, smiling at him as he leaned into her.
Will you love her…
I will, he thought. All the days of my worthless life.
And he wanted to comfort her. He just couldn’t do that without dishonoring her and his dead friend. Not knowing how he felt. Knowing what he’d done.
“I will,” Gray said from up front.
After the bride and groom kissed, the couple turned and faced the small assembly. As Joy’s happy eyes met Alex’s, he was glad he’d come down. He nodded at her, gave her a smile and then propped his weight on the crutches. He wasn’t going to stay for the reception and wanted to leave before he got trapped talking to people.
As he made his way out into the hall, he looked up at the grand front staircase. Three flights, two landings. Probably forty or so steps. It was going to take him a good ten minutes to get up them.
“Yo, you need help?” Spike asked casually. The guy had obviously followed him out at a discreet distance.
Spike was a good guy, Alex thought. Calm, steady, even though he looked like a dangerous criminal with the tattoos and piercings. He and Nate were partners in the White Caps kitchen and had catered the wedding at Gray’s house.
“Thanks, man, but I’m good.”
Alex started for the rear of the house. Taking the back stairs to the second floor was better. That way, no one would watch him struggle.
As he pushed open the kitchen’s swinging door, he noticed the place smelled fantastic and was surprised when his stomach checked in with a faded version of hunger pangs. Punching the crutches into the floor and swinging his body along, he paused when he heard his name called out.
He smiled as he looked back at Joy. “Hey, married woman.”
“Thank you so much for coming down.” She ran over and threw her arms around his neck, holding on so tightly he could barely breathe. Unable to return the embrace because of the crutches, he dropped his head down to his sister’s shoulder. He was a little shaken by how much his presence seemed to mean to her.
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
There was the sound of laughter and then the flap door was thrown open.
Gray’s best man came barreling into the kitchen. With his arm around Cassandra.
The Wall Street big shot was laughing and smiling. “—so Spike and Nate deserve a break, you and I are it, baby cakes.”
The two pulled up short. And Alex found himself measuring the guy for a fight.
Which was insane.
First of all, Cassandra was allowed to have anyone she wanted touch her.
Secondly, that slick bastard may have been in a suit, but as soon as O’Banyon registered Alex’s expression, he shifted his stance and brought up his free hand as if on reflex. Like he’d been in quite a few physical altercations and had no problem being in another one.
Now ordinarily, Alex wouldn’t have been put off at all by a worthy opponent. Except he knew damn well he’d have trouble taking on anything bigger than a field mouse in his current condition.
And for God’s sake, it was his sister’s wedding day.
Joy, bless her heart, seemed clueless about the aggression swirling around her. “Alex, have you met Sean O’Banyon? He’s one of Gray’s best friends.”
The man dropped his arm from Cassandra’s body, offering the palm that had just been on the top of her hips.
Yeah, right, Alex thought.
“You understand if I don’t shake,” he said, smiling with his lips, but not his eyes.
O’Banyon nodded once, keeping his gaze steady as he dropped his arm. Cassandra looked back and forth between them, as if measuring the antagonism and being confused by it.
Abruptly Joy stepped in front of Alex as if she were trying to distract him. Maybe his little sister did know what was up, after all.
“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”
“No. It’s your wedding reception. You stay with your husband.” Alex looked across the room and spoke before his brain could shut his mouth. “Cassandra will run something up. Won’t you. Baby cakes.”
Cassandra frowned. “Of course.”
Alex hobbled over to the stairs, aware that he was going to be the topic of conversation the moment he was out of earshot. Not that he gave a damn.
As he braced for the ascent, he cursed himself.
The idea was to keep that woman away from him. Why was he paving her way to his bedroom?
Because, his inner idiot pointed out, at least if she were upstairs with him, she wouldn’t be in the arms of that paleeyed, slick-suited, flashy bastard.
Alex pegged the crutches into the first step and pushed himself up.
Damn it. He should have taken the front stairs when he’d had the chance.
* * *
Cass heard the kitchen door swing shut as Joy went back to the party. She also registered the sounds of people moving around in the dining room on the other side: footsteps, talking, laughter, a bottle of wine being uncorked with a pop.
But what she listened to were the grunts and thudding as Alex dragged himself upstairs.
“So that’s Alex Moorehouse,” Sean drawled. “The Alex Moorehouse. I’ve read about him. Won the America’s Cup how many times?”
Cass tried to remember what she was doing in the kitchen. “We’re bringing in the food,” she murmured.
Sean flashed her an odd look. “Yes, we are.”
She went over to the massive Viking stove and started cracking the doors on the different ovens. There were so many covered dishes warming, she wondered where to start.
“Not exactly the friendly type, is he?” Sean said, leaning against a counter. “Even busted up like that, he was ready to ring my head like a bell.”
Sean didn’t seem offended in the slightest, though why would he be? Given the way O’Banyon lived his life, he was probably most at ease around hard-core men like himself, especially if things were getting aggressive. Wall Street just hadn’t managed to tame the South Boston street thug he’d once been.
“Was he always like that?” Sean prompted.
“He’s been through a lot.” Using a pair of folded dish