Saturday, the fifth of June

Sunshine glittered through the windows, reflecting the high polish of rich mahogany-paneled walls and throwing a gilded cast across the room. A hush, broken only by birdsong from beyond the glass, surrounded them. They stood facing one another, he in his dark suit, she in her gown. A small, silk-bundled bouquet rested against her chest. Laine Malone was overwhelmed by emotion.

“You’re an asshole,” she snarled, her narrowed eyes flashing like daggers. If only looks could kill.

Jason Henley, owner of the Henley Hotel, arched his brow and, clearly amused, let his attention fall to her lips. “Such pretty talk. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

His mocking tone chased away the shudder spurred by what was invariably a meaningless glance. Laine clenched her wilting bouquet, jabbing a stray thorn from beneath the ribbon into the flesh of her palm, the shock of pain adding fuel to her aggravation.

This man was insufferable.

Yanking a fistful of her sapphire dress to the side, she took a threatening stride forward to glare up at him. “You fix this or I’m going to shove this thorny, reject bouquet up your ass.”

Jason smoothed the lapel of his perfectly tailored suit. “Sorry, princess, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not into that kind of kink. But how about this? Take your pretty, plunging neckline and your sad little bouquet, and back off—clear out of my office so I can make some calls.”

He was infuriating.

“Though I think we both know whose fault this was, I’ll make a concession and get a cake in here for your bride before the entrées are served.”

Judging from the glint in his eyes, if she agreed to that she’d be looking at a two-week-old Spiderman birthday cake from the grocery store wheeled out during the choice of salmon or steak. “Get me a four-tiered cake in the next hour or you’ll hear from the Blissful Brides lawyer, and the Henley Hotel name is going to be smeared so badly you’ll never see another wedding in your rooftop rose garden.”

“Save your threats, Laine.” Jason rounded his desk to flip through a stack of papers. “You’ve got a wedding booked here every weekend for the next six months. You’re not calling a lawyer, and we both know it. Go tell that bride of yours, Melinda, her special day will be fine, regardless of the fact that her shit-faced groom tripped my bellboy into her hideous cake.” He straightened his cornflower tie, the one that matched his eyes, perfecting the always immaculate appearance, and looked over at her. “And skip the salmon tonight. Have dinner with me instead.”

“Like hell I will,” she snuffed, not missing a beat over the offhand remark that slipped under her skin and set her heart racing. What was he trying to pull? “And you know as well as I do your bellboy was high as a kite and tripped over his own damn shoes. The bloodshot eyes and repeated pleas for Taco Bell were the only way we found him under the canopy of fondant.”

“Fine, whatever. We’ll work it out this week. Let me get your new cake, so Connie Bliss doesn’t fire your gorgeous ass and the Henley Hotel keeps booking weddings fifteen months in advance.” Finding whatever paperwork he’d been looking for, he walked back around the desk. “Give me twenty minutes to take care of some business, and we’ll check back in.”

“Fine,” she snapped.

Jason brushed past her with a dismissive wave. “Fine.”

Irritating.

“Fine.”

The office door swung shut behind him and with it came his last hushed word. “Fine.”

Alone in his office, she stomped her stiletto heel on the cut-pile carpet, balled her fists at her sides and screamed through the closed door. “Fine!”

Ha, like she’d let that arrogant bastard have the last word. He liked to fight, always giving her a hard time—well, he’d have to work harder than that. Darting a quick glance back at the mirrored wall behind her, she checked to see how obvious her fluster was. Not terrible, but more than she wanted him to see. Damn.

Wedding planners weren’t supposed to ruffle. They should be unflappable, able to handle anything, even the feigned advances of chiseled-cheeked, tall, dark and sexy hotel managers built for wet dreams. He was so cocky, so smug, so annoyingly attractive; it made her want to scream.

Double damn, this wasn’t where her head should be. After what happened in May, she couldn’t afford another screw-up. Not if she wanted to keep her job and reputation intact. Time to focus.

Wedding. Bride. Special day. Damage control.

Checking her reflection, she smoothed a stray hair, slicked on a smile, and cocked her head to the side.

Instant transformation.

The effect was warm and confident. Someone to trust to get it done, whatever it was.

Cranking the smile, she looked like she was just bursting to make this day perfect.

And, regardless of the bridezilla waiting on her upstairs, she was. Laine adored her job and being a part of such a precious moment in the lives of two people who loved each other. With her help, they could concentrate fully on the meaning of the day, instead of the details that occasionally went awry. Details like cakes being demolished, bands failing to show, hotel owners getting sidetracked when they promised to deliver.

What was Jason doing asking her to dinner, anyway? Was it some kind of tactic to keep her off his case? Maybe he was serious, and she’d just blown him off without even pausing to consider. Not likely, she thought, trying to shake the feeling she’d just thrown away an opportunity she would have relished considering.

That was ridiculous. She had eyes and ears, and the hospitality industry tended to be rather chatty. Everyone knew what a playboy Jason Henley was. A date with him all but ensured a satisfying night in one of the hotel’s luxurious suites—but then you’d never see him again. Rumor had it he’d been burned by some girl ten years ago, and now he kept women—a continuous string of them—at a safe distance from anything important to him.

Heck, Laine had witnessed firsthand the parade of dates he’d escorted through the hotel. The first year she’d worked the Henley weddings, she’d seen him all but flaunting a different bombshell every Saturday night. And with some degree of certainty, she could say she’d never seen the same face twice—or at the very least, twice in a row. It hadn’t been any of her business what the handsome hotel owner did in his personal life, and, though she’d indulged in thoughts about finding out more than once, she never batted an eye at his casual approach to the ladies.

But Jason was too committed to his hotel to chance a business relationship, albeit one as sporting as theirs, on a simple conquest. Besides, this past year, the playboy seemed to have dropped the one-nighters completely. He’d been too wrapped up in building the nuptial business to have many dates. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a woman on his arm. But then, maybe he’d just acquired a degree of discretion.

Still, she couldn’t help but fantasize about a bit of relief for the many sleepless nights spent with the image of Jason’s well-formed body—broad shoulders, trim hips, strong legs and arms—occupying her mind, teasing her body into a frustrated state of arousal. He was confident, intense, driven. And sexy. He was a man comfortable in his own skin, confident in the space he occupied. When he put his hand on her—for nothing more than pulling her out of the way of a falling cake, or to pick a bit of birdseed from her hair—every nerve in her body seemed to sensitize, polarize, and migrate toward the point of his touch.

Closing her eyes, she willed the images of Jason from her mind. With a deep breath she walked out of his office. There was a bride to contend with.

Of course willing Jason from her consciousness only went so far when the man had an exasperating knack for being everywhere Laine went. Two steps into the lobby and she caught sight of him leaning against the front desk with his favorite go-to bell boy, no doubt trying to score a cake through Dil’s connections. He might have been talking to Dil, but when his drifting gaze landed on her, it fixed, hardening into a steady stare that followed her as she crossed the marble lobby floor and had her skin flaming red by the time she reached the elevator doors. Ack, he’d done it again.

What was he thinking, staring at her like that?