Wooing The Wedding Planner

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_08c7011f-a884-50a1-931a-e2160757e2ba)

WOW. AND I THOUGHT chivalry was dead.

As Bertie helped her out of his car, Roxie pressed her lips together, remembering how Byron had opened the door to the library for her.

I guess, after everything, I might still be a sucker for a gentleman.

Bertie’s hand squeezed hers as she stood in the parking lot of Tavern of the Graces, her friend Olivia’s bouncing bayside bar. His hand lingered there, bringing her back again to the events of that morning when Byron had held it, too, tucking it against his middle as he comforted her.

She frowned. Looking up, she noted Bertie’s presence. They’d had a pleasant evening. There had been wine, conversation, candlelight. He’d ordered the smoked oysters. She’d wondered at the selection...just as she’d wondered over the hand he’d let stray to her knee under the table as the appetizers passed into entrées and finally dessert.

He’d blazed through a bolero album all the way home.

His palm was a bit damp against hers. She wished for her cashmere gloves, then dismissed the thought, pasting on her best smile. It had been so long since she’d dated. Had Richard’s hand sweated when they’d first gone out all those years ago? They’d been married only three months before she’d caught him and Cassandra practicing their best wrestling moves on her Aubusson, but he and Roxie had been engaged for four years after dating since graduate school. So it had been almost a decade since she’d dipped her toe in the dating pool. Perhaps she’d just forgotten what it was like...

The first time, she’d thought she’d sluiced through the dating pool skillfully, hooking Richard along until the end of the meet. In the long run, though, she’d sunk. She’d sunk hard, dragged out by the unseen undertow.

Still, no matter how much had happened in the intervening years—no matter how much the dating world had changed with its Tinder apps and its trending hookup culture—Roxie Honeycutt did not put out on the second date. It made no difference how many glowing reviews Julianna had given on Bertie’s behalf.

Bertie shut the car door. Roxie licked her lips when he stood close in the chilled night air. The wind shrieked off the bay, gaining strength. Bertie bounced at the knees, hissing through his teeth. “Let’s get you out of the cold, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. He couldn’t have known that was exactly what Richard had called her. Roxie’s heart pounded, calling up the same restless ache she’d had trouble quelling since the divorce papers had been hastily drawn last spring. She eyed the lights in the windows above the tavern. The place had been her sanctuary. The thought of bringing a man into it...

Roxie tried to keep the smile. “I can walk up on my own,” she told him. She saw the line dig in between his brows and misunderstanding glean. Poor fella. He wasn’t used to rejection. Trying to ease the sting, she added, “I had a good time tonight, Bertie. Thank you so much for dinner.”

He searched her briefly, before humor flashed across his face. “Is this you being a tease, Roxie?”

She felt his hand at the small of her back edging her toward him. Her hand flattened against him. Her smile fled. “I’m not a tease,” she stated plainly. “I’m just not ready for you to walk me up to my place.”

He bit off a sour laugh, clearly amused. “Julianna warned me about you.”

“Did she?”

“She said you’d try to keep me at arm’s length,” Bertie said, the hand on her back lowering an inch. It pressed her middle against his. “Said you’d need a little encouragement.”

Oh, double, double, toil and trouble. Why wasn’t anyone exiting the tavern? The parking lot was full up, yet not one patron had passed in or out of Olivia’s bar from the time she and Bertie had driven up. He’d knocked back two martinis at the restaurant while they waited for the entrées. With the wine on top of it... He’d driven just fine, but had he had too much? “I’m certain this isn’t what she meant.”

“Ah, come on,” he said, swaying against her, into her. The fingers of his other hand clamped on her forearm, as if he knew that her flight reflex was jumping into high gear. “You’ve strung me along too far.”

Her voice clipped. “We’ve only been out twice, Bertie. Two dates isn’t enough—”

“That’s bullshit, Roxie. Complete and utter bullshit. And you know it.” His mouth came crashing down onto hers.

Too hard, too hard! His mouth, his hands. Panic threatened to go on a tear inside her, buckling her at the knees.

She remembered vaguely the defense class she’d taken with Olivia, Briar and Adrian months ago. Olivia, pregnant at the time, hadn’t been able to do much more than shout instructions. Roxie tried to summon her righteous words to mind now.

Get loud. Push back.

“Bertie!” She planted her arms between them, trying to wedge space enough to at least breathe. “I’m warning you, back away!”

He laughed. Actually laughed at her. The grip of his arms didn’t let up. Worse, his hand moved over her rear in a possessive sweep.

“Oh.” Her hand came up. She meant to strike him flat across the cheek. Instead, her hand balled and she put more force behind it than perhaps necessary.

Her knuckles connected with his cheekbone. Pain flared down the back of her hand. He stumbled and she hissed, cradling the fist. “I did warn you,” she reasoned when he looked flabbergasted. She hadn’t broken the skin.

Seconds passed as he sized her up. Finally, he tilted his head in challenge. The wake-up call hadn’t worked. If anything, she’d poked the snake with a stick and it was coiled to strike harder. “You think you can take a swing at me like that and walk away?” he asked, advancing.

“Yes,” she said, putting her good hand out to shield herself. “It’s called consent. I didn’t give it.”

“Come here.”

He was used to giving orders. He was used to people following them. But Roxie wasn’t one of his subordinates. When he reached for her, she blurted, “I don’t want to hurt you again!” When he made a grab for her anyway, Olivia’s voice filled her head once more.

Hurt or be hurt.

Where? Roxie thought wildly.

Olivia answered. Go for the eyes. Gouge those suckers out. The groin’s good, too. Knee to the groin, very effective. Or, if you have to, just—

A long arm snatched Bertie away. His hold loosened, throwing Roxie off balance. She staggered, gaining her feet as an unmanned elbow came down against Bertie’s neck. He crumbled, his face and hands close-encountering the gravel drive. It was then that Roxie saw Byron.

He’d loosened his tie. Reaching up, he tugged at his collar. His neck was red, his lips seamed tight. He eyed Bertie’s prone form in a way that made the sea-tinged air go from chilly to glacial.

His eyes were blue. She knew that. Conversation with him was always very distracting with those midnight blues smiling back at her. However, under the low beam of the streetlight, they looked black. She wanted to reach out to him, soothe the deadly look on his face. Maybe assure herself he was still Byron. She’d never have guessed that behind the smiling eyes there was this.

“Get up,” he sneered at Bertie. “Get the hell up.”

“Byron,” Roxie said. Damn it, her lips were quivering.

He held up a hand without turning his head to her. “Just a second, duchess.” When Bertie didn’t rise quickly enough, Byron hauled him up by the back of his jacket. “Turn around,” he warned, not raising his voice. God. Not that he had to.

Bertie lifted his face. There was blood in his nostrils. He sniffed wetly. “My nose. You goddamn broke it!” Scowling, he pinched the bridge. “I was just dropping the lady off. You don’t know what’s going on here, chuck.”

“The hell I don’t,” Byron told him. “Now, judging by your breath, I’d say you’ve gone one too many rounds with the Grey Goose tonight. Maybe normally you’re not the kind of guy who gets his jollies off feeling up a lady who in no way wants that type of attention. But, hey, what do I know? You could in fact be that pervert. So I’m going to give you one of two options...”

Bertie rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake—”

Byron jerked a finger in Bertie’s face. “Number one,” he said, undeterred, “you call a nice cabbie to take you back to the hole you crawled out of. You put the tavern and Ms. Honeycutt here in your rearview and you approach neither of them ever again.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Bertie remarked.

“Number two,” Byron continued, “you keep acting like the vodka-soaked prick I just saw take advantage of my friend, and I put my fist in your mouth and call every single one of the rough-and-tumble tavern regulars out from behind those doors to join me. You leave in an ambulance and your sweet little Merc gets towed to the garage with over a grand in damages. I testify as a witness in the sexual harassment suit that’ll be brought against you and you go to jail long enough at least for the other sex offenders to take a shine to you.”

Bertie’s eyes darkened. Roxie saw his fist come up and his body twist, coiled to strike. She cried out. Before the sound was partway out of her mouth, Byron quickly stepped into the space Bertie opened up in the area of his shoulder. He bent his arm and again the elbow came up against the brunt of Bertie’s head, snapping it back.

Bertie lost his footing, stumbling back to the 4x4 truck behind him. Byron’s hands closed over the other man’s throat. The words that growled low from within cut through Roxie as effectively as the wolfish wind. “I’m getting real tired of your attitude,” he warned, “and I’m just mad enough to knock out enough of those pearly whites to make you look like a clown at the circus. You’ve got exactly five seconds to change my mind. One...”