Any Man Of Mine (3 page)

She looked at her watch and pushed her sleeve back down. Since her first job as a stager, she’d worn the face of her watch on the inside of her wrist to keep from scratching the crystal. For the past five years, she’d worn one with a large face and wide band for a totally different reason.

The wedding was five minutes behind schedule. Not bad, but she knew all too well that five minutes could easily turn to ten. Ten to twenty, and then she’d have a problem coordinating with the kitchen.

She pushed a button on the receiver hooked to her belt and walked to the far side of the room. She shoved her folio under one arm and reached for the bottle of sparkling pear cider sitting in a silver ice bucket at the bride’s table.

“I’m here,” her assistant, Shiloh Turner, said through the headset.

“Where’s here?” She tore off the gold foil from the top and wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle.

“In the Cutter Room.”

“Any stragglers?”

“The maid of honor and best man are chatting it up by the fireplace. They don’t look like they’re in any hurry to vacate.”

The day the bride’s mother had insisted that her little yappy dog be a part of the ceremony, she’d suspected the woman might be trouble. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, the mother had shown up in pink spandex and stripper heels and confirmed Autumn’s suspicions. “Give them a few more minutes, then do what you can to move them along,” she said, and pushed at the cork until it came out with a soft pop.

Tiny carbonated bubbles filled the air with a soft fizz as she poured the cider into two crystal flutes. There was so much to do, and she mentally ran down her list. A lot went into planning a wedding, even a small one. Everything had to be timed perfectly, and even the smallest of mess-ups could turn a dream wedding into a wedding from hell.

Deep in her mental to-do list, Autumn shoved the bottle back inside the bucket and grabbed the glasses. She turned toward the room and almost plowed headfirst into a broad chest covered in white shirt, blue-striped tie, and navy blazer. Her leather portfolio slipped from beneath her arm as she lifted her gaze up the wide chest and passed the knot at the base of a wide neck. She looked beyond the square jaw and tan lips, along the slight curve of a crooked nose, and stopped at a pair of eyes the color of a hot summer sky.

Up close, Sam was even more handsome than from a distance. As handsome as the night she’d first seen him in a crowded bar in Las Vegas. A tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed god sent straight from heaven. The nose, the scar on his high cheekbone, and the evil intent in his smile should have been a huge tip-off that he was less than angelic.

Her stomach knotted, but she was happy to discover it was not a lump of burning anger. Nor did she feel a desire to kick him in the balls. While she disliked Sam, he’d given her the best thing in her life. She didn’t know what her life would be like without Conner. She didn’t even like to contemplate it, and for that reason, and that reason alone, she sucked it up and pasted a smile on her face. The same smile she used with brides who wanted white tigers or to be carried down the aisle on a pink throne. She was going to be pleasant even if it killed her.

And it just might.

Has Human-Sized Ego

S
am turned and looked behind him. It had been so long since he’d seen the corners of Autumn’s pink lips turn upward into a pleasant little smile, he knew she couldn’t be smiling at him.

No one else was in the room. He turned back and tilted his head to one side in an effort to gauge her temperament. “Hi, Autumn.”

Her smile slipped a little. “Sam.”

“It’s been a while.”

“About two years.”

He looked into her dark green eyes for any sign of trouble. “A little longer, I think.” He didn’t see a storm brewing in there and didn’t feel the need to cover his crotch. Thank God. “I saw you earlier and thought I’d say hey, so you’d know I was here.” He’d wanted to talk to her, gauge her reaction, and avoid any potential problems.

“I knew. You’re on the guest list.”

“Oh. Of course.” He bent down and picked up the notebook. “Are you pouring yourself a drink,” he joked as he straightened.

“It’s pear cider, and it’s not for me.”

He wouldn’t have mistaken any of the other guests for teetotalers. At least not the guests he knew. “What’s Conner doing tonight?”

“Hanging out with Vince.”

Vince. The male version of Autumn. Only bigger. Meaner and trained to kill. Sam hated Autumn’s brother, Vince. “How have you been?”

“Good.” She glanced at the big silver watch strapped to her wrist, the round face resting above her pulse, and he wondered if she still had his name inked there or if she’d had it removed. “I’d love to stay and chat with you all night, but I’m working,” she said through that smile that didn’t fool Sam for a second. She lifted her elbow away from her side, and he slid the leather folder beneath her arm. “Thanks. Have a good time tonight.” She moved around him and walked from the room. Sam turned and watched her go. That went well. Too well, but he didn’t trust her not to blindside him or spike his food with arsenic or MiraLAX. Maybe both to make his death really uncomfortable.

His gaze slid from her red ponytail and down her slim back to the nice curves of her waist. The flaps of two back pockets drew his attention to her rounded behind. Autumn was a pretty woman. No doubt, but she wasn’t gorgeous. She had soft curves in all the right places. Slim hips and nice breasts, and he didn’t believe that made him a perv to think it either. He’d seen her naked, but her body really wasn’t anything special. Wasn’t his type. He liked tall, thin women with large breasts. Always had been drawn to the overblown. So why, for those few days in Vegas, had he found an average woman so damn fascinating?

Sam walked out of the room and stood at the edge of the crowd drinking champagne and toasting the bride and groom. He could blame that odd fascination with Autumn on the city. Nothing ever seemed real in Vegas. He could blame it on the booze. There’d been plenty of that. He could blame the month of June. He always went a little insane in June, but he wasn’t sure it was any of those things.

He grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray and replaced the empty. The only thing that was real clear, that he was very sure about, was that he’d met a redheaded girl in a bar and married her a few days later, and the next morning he’d left her behind at Caesars like a used bath towel. He understood why Autumn hated him. He got it, and he didn’t blame her. His behavior hadn’t been his finest moment. Sadly, it hadn’t even been his worst.

Through the crowd gathered around Ty and Faith, he caught a glimpse of a red ponytail. The guests parted for a brief second, and he watched her hand the bride and groom flutes of cider. There could only be one reason why Ty and Faith weren’t drinking champagne at their own wedding. And it wasn’t because they’d found religion.

Autumn moved to the edges, and Sam lost sight of her. He imagined that Ty and Faith were happy about having a child. They looked happy.

Sam took a drink from the crystal flute. Six years ago, he hadn’t exactly been happy to hear he was going to be a daddy, but once he’d held his son, all that changed.

“Hey, Sam.”

He looked over his shoulder at the team’s newest assistant coach, Mark Bressler. “Hammer.” Up until about a year ago, Mark had been an elite hockey player and captain of the Chinooks. But last winter he’d been in a horrible car wreck that had ended his career and put Ty Savage in Mark’s jersey. “It appears the captain knocked up the owner.” He pointed his glass at the happy couple. “That has to be a hockey first.”

“Jesus, LeClaire. Watch your language.”

“What language?” Had he sworn and not known it?

“There are women present.”

All he’d said was
knocked up.
Since when was
knocked up
“language” and “Jesus” wasn’t? And since when did Bressler care? Sam lowered his gaze to the blond woman by Mark’s side, Bressler’s hand in the middle of her back. Ah. “Hi, Short Boss.”

“Hi, Sam,” Chelsea said, her attention riveted on the bride. “Faith’s pregnant? Are you sure?”

He shrugged. “I can’t think of another reason why she and Ty are drinking crappy cider instead of the good stuff?”

“Oh my God!” Her blue eyes lit up, and she pushed her hair behind her ears. “I know something before my sister does.”

The ring on her left finger about blinded him. “That’s some ring?”

She held up her hand and smiled. “You noticed it?”

“Hard not to.” He was pretty sure the moody man at her side had given it to her. “Honey, don’t break my heart and tell me you’re off-limits now.”

She grinned. “Sorry.”

He took her hand in his and looked at the huge diamond. “Is it real, or did some joker get you a cubic zirconia?”

“Of course it’s real, numb-nuts.”

“Language,” he reminded Mark, and dropped Chelsea’s hand. “There are women present.” He looked around for Chelsea’s twin. “Is your sister still here? She’s not as nice as you, but…”

“She’s kind of taken now, too.”

“Damn.” He smiled and stuck out his hand to his former teammate and friend. “Congratulations. You’re a lucky man.”

Mark shook Sam’s hand as he slid his arm around his fiancée and pulled her against his side. “Yeah, lucky me.” Chelsea looked up at Mark, the two smiling at each other as if they shared an inside joke. The kind that people in love shared.

Sam raised his glass. The kind he’d never shared with anyone and found sappy and annoying. Never in his life would he have ever figured the Hammer for one of those sappy annoying guys. “See you two,” he said, and moved away before they started making out or something.

He cut through the crowd and approached the bride and groom. “Congratulations, Ty,” he said, and shook the groom’s hand. He didn’t know if the bun in the oven was common knowledge yet, so he decided not to mention it.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Sam.” The bride reached out and gave him a big hug. She was beautiful and soft and smelled great. She’d make Ty a good wife. Hell, any man a good wife. Any man but Sam. Sam wasn’t the marrying kind of guy. Obviously.

“You’re a beautiful bride,” he said, and pulled back to look into her face.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that conversation we had in St. Paul.”

They’d had a conversation? She was smiling, so he must have kept it clean.

“I couldn’t get you all invited to a party at the mansion, but I did invite a few Playmates here tonight.”

Oh, that conversation. She’d promised him and the guys an invitation to the Playboy mansion if they won the Stanley Cup. “I noticed.”

“I’m not surprised.” She laughed. “I had the wedding planner make sure she sat you at their dinner table.”

Under normal circumstances, that would have been welcome news. He pushed up the corners of his mouth. “Fabulous. Thanks.”

“I hope that makes up for my broken promise.”

“We’re square.” He took a step back, and general manager, Darby Hogue, and his wife stepped forward to offer the bride and groom their congratulations.

Sam took a drink, and over the top of his glass, he spotted the Playmates. They weren’t hard to pick out in a crowd. They were the four girls with big hair and bigger breasts, surrounded by Blake, Andre, and Vlad. Four on three was an uneven play. He figured it was his duty to even things out. He lowered his glass but didn’t move.

Autumn. He just couldn’t work up the proper enthusiasm required to chat it up with women in short skirts and low-cut blouses. Not while his baby-mama circled, looking for a reason to hate him even more than she already did. If that was even possible.

Instead, he struck up a conversation with Walker and Smithie and their wives. He smiled and nodded as the women talked about their own weddings and the births of all their children. Thank God Walker interrupted his wife just as she was warming up to a poop story.

“Did you hear the front office is looking to trade Richardson?” Walker asked.

Yeah, he’d heard. He liked Richardson. He was a good, solid wingman, but with Ty retiring, they needed a more versatile guy. One who could kill penalties as well as play the wings. “Do you know who they’re looking at?”

“Bergen, for one.”

“The Islander? Huh.” The last he’d heard, Bergen was still in a slump.

“And then,” Walker’s wife said through a laugh, “he called out, ‘I poo in the potty, Mommy.’ ”

Screw it. “See you around,” Sam said, and headed for the playmates. He didn’t care what Autumn thought. She was an uptight ball-buster, and there was nothing wrong with a little conversation with four beautiful women.

A
utumn knelt between the bride’s and groom’s chairs and went through the rest of the schedule. Autumn was a list maker, both in business and in life. When it came to weddings, she knew the list by heart. Just in case, though, she had every detail written in her folio.

It was after eight, and the dinner and toasts were just about over. Faith looked exhausted, but she only had to get through the cake cutting and first dance before the groom could take her home.

Autumn herself might get home at midnight. If she was lucky.

“Thank you,” Faith said. “You’ve kept everything running smooth.”

“And on time,” Ty added, who’d never made an effort to hide his desire for a very small wedding. But like most grooms, he’d caved to the desires of the bride.

“You’re welcome.” She looked at her watch. “In about five minutes, Shiloh will invite everyone to meet you in the Rainier Room.”

“Could you do it now?” Ty asked, but it was more of a demand than a question.

“Not everyone is through eating,” Faith protested.

“I don’t care. You’re tired.”

“You can’t expect everyone to just get up and leave.”

“Mention the open bar,” Ty suggested to Autumn. “They’ll trample over each other to get to the free liquor.”

Autumn laughed as she rose. She buzzed her assistant and told her to mention the open bar when she invited the guests to join Faith and Ty in the other room. As she moved from behind the bride and groom’s table, her gaze landed on Sam, where he sat charming the pants, or more appropriately, the thongs, off the Playmates. They laughed and touched his shoulder and looked at him like he was a god.