Wedding Date with the Best Man

He crossed the footbridge to the popular Rose Garden.

A breeze blew. The sweet scent of roses wafted in the air.

Tristan preferred taking pictures of people, not scenery. Faces, and especially eyes, told a story in a way landscape couldn’t. A photographer took pictures of nouns—persons, places or things. A photojournalist captured verbs—action verbs—in a single image.

But the bursts of color coming from the circular tiered flowerbeds had him reaching for his camera anyway. His mother loved roses. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity to take pictures for her, especially with her birthday next month.

As he moved toward the fountain, Tristan zoomed in on a nearby blossom—a lush orange rose that reminded him of the sky at sunset.

Satisfied he’d captured the image, Tristan looked around. An arbor covered with white roses. A gray-haired couple holding hands next to a yellow rosebush. And…

Pink.

Tristan did a double-take.

A tall, graceful figure stood among the full round blossoms. Her shirt was the same pale pink as the petals. She should have faded into the background, but she didn’t. If anything, she seemed to be an extension of the flowers.

The play of light and shadow had him composing a long shot.

And what a shot.

Waist-length chestnut hair gleamed beneath the sun’s rays like oiled teak, a complete contrast to the soft, warm shapes and pastel colors surrounding her.

Captivated by the scene, he took picture after picture.

She seemed oblivious to him, so he moved to shoot her from different angles. He drew closer for a medium shot, but that wasn’t enough.

Tristan zoomed in on her face.

Large blue eyes framed by lush lashes focused on the delicate petals of a single rose. His pulse kicked up. He snapped a picture.

Full, pink-as-a-rosebud lips curved into a wide smile. His mouth wanted a taste of hers. He pressed the shutter button.

She bent to smell the rose. The scooped neckline of her shirt fell away, giving him a tantalizing view of ivory flesh and a white lace bra.

Nice—very nice.

And hot.

She straightened and smoothed her above the knee skirt.

Great long legs, too.

He widened the shot, squeezed off more photos and moved to intercept her. No way would he let this opportunity escape him.

Forget about asking for a model release. He wanted her.

“Hello,” Tristan said.

Not exactly the most memorable of lines, but she’d rendered him speechless and short-circuited his brain. Rare feats. Ones he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.

“Hi.” Her sparkling blue eyes nearly knocked him off his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Great line. Tristan didn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust at first sight was another story. He curved his lips into a devastating grin—one that usually got him whatever he wanted. “I’m Tristan MacGregor.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” She stepped toward him, extended her arm and clasped his hand with hers. A burst of heat shot through his veins. “I’m Jayne Cavendish. Rich’s fiancée.”

Chapter Two

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please…

Sunday afternoon. Jayne tightened her grip on the phone receiver. She wanted to talk to someone about what had happened at the teahouse yesterday, but hadn’t been able to reach any of her friends yet.

She paced across the living room.

How could she have not seen Rich for who he was?

But Jayne knew the answer. She’d let her desire for a happily-ever-after cloud her judgment. Never again.

Still, the familiar feeling of being a crumpled aluminum can tossed in the recycle bin was back. She’d been discarded, replaced by something else—someone better. If only she hadn’t been so trusting, so naïve

The line clicked. Thank goodness.

“Hi. This is Molly. I can’t get to the phone right now…”

Jayne’s heart dropped to the tips of her bare feet.

No, no, no, no, no.

She didn’t want to hear Molly’s recorded voice. Jayne had already listened to Alex’s cellphone message two hours ago. And she knew Serena was busy today.

A beep blared.

“Hey, Molly, it’s me. Jayne,” she added, as if one of her best friends and former roommate could have forgotten her name.

She winced. What a loser.

“Um. Call me when you get this. If…you know…you have time.”

Jayne hit the “off” button and slammed the receiver in its charger.

Okay, that was totally pathetic. Nothing new, but pathetic just the same.

What was wrong with her?

Too bad Jayne knew the answer.

She needed to get out more. She needed to make new friends. She needed to get a life.