Automatic Proposal

Glancing at her watch, she knew she had to leave or she’d be late for the three o’clock fitting. Raking her fingers through her hair, she silently cursed the annoyance of having to juggle two personas. She’d gone through everything in the condo with a fine-tooth comb, but she’d like to stay longer and do it again. And again. Until she found some small crumb of a lead. Unfortunately, she had to get back to the bridal boutique now.

The sky had turned threatening by the time she drove away from the condo, this time with the rag top up. In the distance, jagged spikes of lightning flashed down into the churning ocean. Soon the storm would blow ashore. She floored the gas pedal, hoping to make it back to Weddings Your Way before the downpour.

She was a few blocks south, on A1A, when the first large drops began to splat on the windshield. The wind picked up as she pulled into the driveway. The fresh scent of rain-washed air was lost on Julia as soon as she saw the big SUV blocking her way into the garage. What inconsiderate jerk did that?

Using her bag as an umbrella, she dashed from the Jeep just as the raindrops turned into a solid wall of water. Taking the front steps two at a time, she reached the covered porch ten seconds too late. Her purse was a lump of soggy leather. The dye from her sandals was already turning her feet an interesting shade of fuchsia. With the exception of a small part of her scalp at the crown of her head, she was drenched.

Droplets of water blurred her vision as she shoved hair off her forehead, then flapped the hem of her gauzy skirt like a dog shaking water from its fur.

A loud clap of thunder vibrated through her whole body. Reaching for the knob, Julia glanced down to assess the damage. The layered pink-and-white tank tops she’d selected that morning were soaked and clinging. Her skirt was practically transparent. It was bad. But not nearly as bad as looking up and seeing those chocolate-colored eyes narrowed in her direction.

Julia’s feet felt as if they’d been staple-gunned in place. That was nothing compared to her clenched stomach. The sudden stab of pain was just as real and palpable as if she’d been sucker punched.

He smiled then. A tight, distant expression. “Well, Julia. We meet again.”

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a fitting.”

She winced. “You’re the brother?” Then her mind replayed a fast-forward version of their conversations from six years earlier. “Wait. You can’t be the brother. You told me you were an only child.”

“And you told me you’d marry me.”

Chapter Two

Even drenched, Julia Garcia had the ability to still the breath in Luke’s chest. Why did I mention the wedding?

She was even more stunning than he remembered. Damp, dark curls framed the perfect oval of her face. As always, he was transfixed by her eyes—big, expressive and a pale, sultry shade of gray that were as hypnotic as a swirl of smoke.

She must hate him. Big time. Given what had happened on their aborted wedding day six years ago, it was no wonder she’d never returned his calls and was now staring at him as though he were something the cat had coughed up. He was the one who’d gotten her involved—granted, unintentionally—with a major drug dealer.

Summoning all of his courage, Luke willed his taut muscles to relax. No sense in making this any harder than it already was. He glanced around, realizing that all eyes were trained in their direction. Great. He’d been in her presence less than a minute and already he’d managed to screw it up.

Again.

“Let me give this another shot. Hi, Julia, good to see you again.”

She peered up at him warily. “Y-you, too.”

“I’m here to be fitted for a tux for Carmen’s wedding.”

He watched as Julia grabbed a towel off a hook hidden discreetly behind a curtain, and began drying her arms and legs. He swallowed, trying not to groan as he watched the hem of her skirt rise, revealing a good amount of toned, shapely thigh. He began lifting his gaze, which didn’t help. She was wearing those clinging T-shirts, the kind with the thin straps. Because the fabric was cotton and wet, very little was left to his imagination. And Luke had an excellent imagination. He’d been thinking about Julia, and what her top was exposing, for half a dozen years. His pump was already primed. He could easily make out the outline of her tiny waist as well as the full swell of her breasts.

This was not going well. Carmen was right, much to his chagrin. The Weddings Your Way seamstress was Julia Garcia. His Julia. His plan had been to waltz into the shop as the poster child for the fully evolved guy. He’d break the ice by making a joke, then apologize for the whole Vegas thing. Let her take his measurements and be on his way. No harm, no foul. That had been the plan. Too bad it wasn’t working real well. Still, he’d felt like a jackass for allowing himself to get involved with Esterhaus, a guy he hadn’t fully trusted. He’d let a lucrative business deal override his hard-won common sense.

Now Julia watched him with the carefully blank expression one gave a stranger. An unwelcome stranger at that. She smacked her sodden purse into his midsection. “Hold this while I dry off the worst of it.”

Luke obediently held her purse, wishing he was the towel she was stroking across her damp, tawny skin. Once she was no longer dripping, Julia slipped off her shoes, grabbed her purse and padded barefoot toward an elaborate marble staircase anchoring the center of the first floor. “My workroom is upstairs. Come on.”

Here, boy. She was treating him like the dog he was, he thought as he followed her. Nodding to the rest of the staff was considerably better than turning his attention to Julia’s butt as she climbed the stairs ahead of him.

Apparently fully evolved wasn’t working at all.

Nope, by the time Julia had reached the third step, he was pretty much a walking heap of needy testosterone. Not much had changed in the six years since he’d gotten them both tangled in the drug-trafficking Esterhaus mess.

He tried not to notice the gentle sway of her hips. Tried to ignore the faint scent of her tuberose perfume lingering in the air between them. Tried, but failed.

Miserably.

“Nice place,” he commented. Croaked, actually, making him really glad that her back was to him. As glad as he could be given that his eyes were now fixed on the tiny tattoo just above her left shoulder blade. He’d lived in Miami long enough to recognize the Cuban flag on sight.

“It is,” she agreed as she neared the top of the stairs. “My office is back this way.”

Luke realized the second floor was neatly sectioned into all things wedding. Thanks to Carmen, he was becoming an expert on the subject. She wasn’t just getting married, she was having an event. He was happy for her and all, but man, it took about the same amount of planning as a shuttle launch. He couldn’t believe he and Julia had pulled off their almost wedding in less than a week, drug dealers not withstanding. Their wedding would have been efficient, expedient and just as binding as the one his crazy sister was planning. Hell of a lot cheaper, too.

Passing through the area devoted to invitations and calligraphy, they reached an etched glass door with the word private stenciled in gold.

Leaving the door ajar, Julia rounded a cluttered desk and sat down to face him—moving rather stiffly, Luke decided. He took one of the two chairs opposite hers, gripping the armrests as he leaned back against the cushion.

Almost every inch of wall space was utilized by fabric samples, bits of ribbon and lace and various drawings. Most were affixed with push pins. Beneath the tacked items, he spied some photographs. “Your work?” he asked, pointing to a glossy magazine cover in a Lucite frame.

She nodded. “Yes.” Her chair swiveled as she opened one drawer of the credenza behind her desk to retrieve a thick file folder. “Carmen Lopez and Dalton Mitchell, right?”

“Dalton Mitchell the third,” Luke remarked wryly. “I’m told the numeral is a big deal in the Mitchell family.”

He watched as her features softened. Not so much so that he could consider it a smile, but she no longer looked as if her face was set in concrete.

Her head tilted to one side, causing a curly tendril to fall free from the thick mass of damp hair she’d twisted into a knot at the nape of her long, tapered neck. Luke battled the urge to reach across the desk to tuck it behind her ear. Better for both of them if he stuck to business. He shifted in his seat.

“Carmen said something about a wool tux?” He grimaced. “She was kidding, right? That sure will be comfortable on a hot June day.”

Pulling a catalog page from inside the folder, Julia slipped it across the desk, then grabbed a pencil from a holder and used the eraser end as a pointer. “It’s luxe wool, very lightweight and breathable. I think you’ll be pleased.”

He met her eyes and smiled sincerely. “The key is for Carmen to be pleased. She started planning this day in elementary school.”

His heart skipped a few times when Julia rewarded him with a grudging smile. God, but she was beautiful. Perfect white teeth set against smooth, bronzed skin. And that mouth. Full, pouty lips sheened with a slick gloss that made him want to vault over the desk and kiss her senseless.

One of her perfectly arched brows rose questioningly. “Why did you keep your sister a secret?”

He shrugged and sat back, letting out a long breath as he redirected his thoughts. “Technically, I didn’t. Carmen and I aren’t blood relations. We spent several years together in the same foster home.”

“She adores you.” Julia stiffened slightly. “I never would have guessed that you were the wonderful brother she raves about all the time. Not in a million years.”

Luke frowned. He’d been hoping for some understanding. “I’m not a schmuck, Julia. That whole Vegas thing was—”

She held up one hand. The bracelets on her wrist clanked loudly in the sudden silence. “Let’s not go there.”

“I’d like to explain.”