That determined chin tilted up, but she kept her voice even. “This is hardly my first time planning a major wedding, Mr. Bishop. Until a few months ago, I was the head event coordinator at Cadbury Estate.”
Zane tucked his tongue in his cheek. The sprawling, well-preserved upstate New York mansion and property had hosted hundreds of lavish parties since the family started renting it out. If she’d been in charge there, she knew her stuff. Of course, the kind of event that usually happened at the Cadbury was exactly the kind of party Zane hated…stiff, fancy, upper crust and dull.
“Let me guess.” He flicked a trailing swath of lace in disgust. “Your vision for the reception is more of this.”
She pressed her lips together briefly. “You mean classic elegance and romance?”
Zane snorted. “I mean deadly boring, unimaginative cliché.”
He could practically hear the grinding of her teeth. “Look, Mr. Bishop. My vision of the reception doesn’t matter. And neither does yours. The only thing that matters is what Greta and Miles want. All I care about is giving them the perfect wedding on their dream day.”
“And using their ‘dream day’ to drum up business for your new company.”
With a pragmatic shrug, Felicity pulled a chair up to the folding table shoved against the wall like an afterthought. “That’s a byproduct. Happy clients equals good word of mouth. But the important thing is to make Greta and Miles happy. So let’s get started.”
Zane was unwillingly impressed. “You’re hard to rattle, I’ll give you that.”
She paused in the act of shoving aside piles of fabric swatches, sample votive candle holders, and other assorted bits of décor. “Thanks? I think?”
“Most people fall into two categories,” he told her. “People who like to have fun and enjoy life usually love me. But the other kind, all tightly wound and serious about everything—I drive most of them crazy inside of five minutes.”
Felicity squared the corner of her binder with the edge of the table and gave him a look that raised his temperature by ten degrees. “If you want to make me crazy, you’re going to have to work a lot harder.”
Challenge accepted
.
As Zane’s mind raced through the options, Felicity cleared her throat. “This is the reception binder. I’ve got all the info in here—potential seating arrangements, table centerpieces, entertainment options…we’ll need to work through it step by step and get Miles and Greta to decide on a direction to go in as soon as possible. Time is ticking down. Being able to throw around the Harrington name—and the Harrington budget—makes the impossible possible…but if we don’t settle on a location soon, we’re going to be in trouble.”
Zane watched the way she moved, the graceful economy of her quick hands. No wasted energy, every part of her focused on the business of putting together a party. A woman as finely made as Felicity Carlson ought to be enjoying her life, not spending it making sure other people enjoyed theirs. It seemed all wrong to him, on a gut-deep level. This woman needed a good time more than anyone Zane had ever met.
Halting her recitation of the checklist they’d need to go through, Zane hitched one hip onto the table beside her binder. “I’m going to stop you right there. If I know anything about throwing a memorable party—and I think we can agree that the Houndstooth’s waiting list packed full of A-list celebrities, sports stars, and socialites says I do—it’s that the most important part of planning a party is to have fun.”
Her sleek brows crinkled together in a way he did not want to find adorable. “I don’t follow.”
“If we have fun planning it,” Zane explained, planting a hand in the middle of the open binder and leaning over to catch her eyes, “the guests will have fun at it. Works every time. Come on.”
Suspicion pulled the corners of Felicity’s mouth down. “Where are we going?” An unexpected throb of hunger beat through his blood. He wanted to kiss that tiny frown off her face, he realized. He wanted to sweep the binders and knick-knacks off the table and lay her down over it so he could unbutton all those stiff, pearly white buttons and see her bare and flushed with desire. He wanted her.
For an instant, the words of Miles’s bet drifted through Zane’s mind. His soon-to-be-shackled friend had marriage on the brain and an overabundance of confidence. Miles had bet each of his billionaire bachelor groomsmen that they’d find love on Sanctuary Island, or he’d give them his luxurious, custom-built helicopter.
Easiest bet Zane ever took, for sure. No matter how gorgeous Felicity Carlson was, or how much he planned to enjoy seducing her into having some fun over the next couple of weeks, Zane’s heart was safe.
Reminding himself he had nothing to worry about and those helicopter keys were as good as his, Zane hopped off the table, grinning widely. He snagged Felicity’s hand on his way out the door. “We’re going to scope out the most awesome, exciting, coolest spot for the party.”
“But I have a list of potential locations in my binder!”
Closing his fingers over hers, Zane said, “Leave the binder. We won’t need it.”
“But—”
He swept her through the entryway and out the yacht club’s front door on a tide of enthusiasm and excitement. Felicity kept up with him, her high heels clacking down the front steps. Until she stopped dead at the sight of Zane’s beloved, hand-restored vintage bike, ripping her hand from his grasp.
“Besides,” Zane concluded, triumphantly. “It would be hard to carry the binder on the bike.”
“I’m not riding behind you on that thing,” Felicity stated, crossing her arms definitively.
“Of course you aren’t. This bike isn’t made to take a rider pillion.” He ran a loving hand over the khaki tan paint slicking the handlebars, then recaptured Felicity’s arm to tug her around to the other side of the bike. “
This
is your ride, babe.”
Reaching down, he pulled the gathered canvas cover off with a flourish, revealing the sidecar attached to his WWII-era BMW R75 motorcycle.
“Is this thing even street legal?” Felicity yelled over the roar of the bike’s engine. Her teeth clattered together every time they bumped over a crack in the road, and she clenched her jaw under the tight strap of the ridiculous black half helmet, complete with aviator goggles, Zane had plopped on her head before zooming the bike and sidecar away from the curb.
“Life is too short to worry about details like that,” he shouted back, flashing her a blinding smile as they swerved to pass a slow-moving pick-up truck.
From her vantage point wedged into the sidecar, her tush mere inches from the surface of the road, Felicity could only squeeze her eyes shut and pray they weren’t about to be flattened by oncoming traffic.
Dear Lord. Please don’t let me die at the hands of the handsomest lunatic I’ve ever met
.
Another bump in the paving jolted her eyes open to see a long stretch of open road unfurling in front of their tires. They were racing away from the center of town, leaving its café and tiny library and all the cute little Main Street shops behind. Zane took another curve, just a hair too fast, and adrenaline flooded Felicity’s blood in a tingling rush.
“How fast do you think I can get us all the way around the island?” Zane yelled, revving the engine. “The whole circumference—how long?”
“An hour.”
“Pssh. Bet we can do it in forty minutes.”
“This is your plan to scout for an event location?” Felicity almost shrieked. “To streak around the outside of the island at top speed?”
“How else will we know what Sanctuary Island has to offer?”
“Research! I’ve compiled extensive notes in the month since I arrived!”
The motorcycle chugged up a hill, cresting the top of it in with a shuddering growl that vibrated up through Felicity’s bones to her back teeth. She could smell the salt of the ocean even over the petrol fumes.
Zane idled the engine for a precious, steadying moment, and Felicity took the opportunity to suck in a greedy breath of fresh, clear sea air. It should have been cold enough to freeze her lungs, but instead even the weather cooperated with Zane’s insanity by providing unseasonably warm, lovely sunshine and clear, vibrant blue skies.
She glanced to her left and gasped at the beauty of the view over the rippling reed grass of the marshes, etched with sparkling narrow streams and dotted with a slow-grazing band of wild horses. The horses’ tangled manes whipped in the breeze, their long tails swishing away flies as they picked their way through the marsh in search of tender shoots and sweet grass.
In the short weeks of her stay on the island, it was a sight she’d seen several times, but she couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of it. “Beautiful,” Felicity breathed, too soft to be heard over the grumbling purr of the engine, but Zane glanced down at her anyway. His electric blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of black wayfarers, making his expression difficult to parse.
Suddenly aware of the soft thrill of emotion she was probably broadcasting, after her silly girlish heart clenched at the sight of those horses, so wild and free—oh, dear. That wasn’t how she wanted him to see her at all. Felicity hastily rearranged her features to show nothing but business-like interest and appraisal.
“This is a nice spot, although there’s a stretch of beach that’s even more convenient to the yacht club. We have to think about the logistics of transporting the guests from the ceremony to the reception.” Pushing the aviator goggles up onto the helmet, Felicity shaded her eyes and tried to look at the idyllic view as she would any other potential event space.
The motorcycle engine cut out abruptly, with one curt jerk of Zane’s hand over the ignition. Felicity shivered—she’d grown so used to the vibrations that without them, she felt weirdly light and empty.
“I must not have heard that right,” Zane said flatly. “You want to have the reception on the beach. At night. It’s not exactly summer, babe. You want the guests to freeze?”
Felicity nearly choked on her dismay. “I thought for sure the only thing we would be able to agree on was having the reception on the beach! We’re on an island. What could be more perfect?”
A muscle ticked in Zane’s rough-stubbled jaw. “And I thought I was crazy. It’s too cold. Not to mention boring. No.”
Felicity started trying to disentangle her legs from the sidecar in order to have this conversation properly. She couldn’t deal with a man like Zane effectively while essentially squatting at his feet wearing a ridiculous helmet and bug-eye goggles.
Wrestling herself upright with as much grace as she could manage, Felicity ripped off the helmet and resisted the urge to do more than run a quick hand through her no-doubt hilarious hair. Her usual sleek, nicely highlighted, light brown bun must be squashed flat. “There are lots of ways around the weather. And we have to at least consider it, because I’m pretty sure it’s what Greta wants in her heart of hearts.”
“Her heart of hearts,” Zane sneered. “Bull. You think it’ll be impressive and win you a bunch of clients.”
“That’s not true!”
“Did Greta tell you she wanted a beach wedding?” Zane demanded.
Swallowing down the urge to prove him wrong at all costs, Felicity admitted, “Not in so many words. But I get the feeling, when we talk about options…”
“Feelings! Hearts!” Zane shook his head, obviously not buying into any of it, and Felicity blew out a steadying breath.
“Mr. Bishop, please. You don’t get to just veto the beach as a location. I’m willing to look at other options, and I promise I’ll keep an open mind. But you have to promise the same.”
Those darn black sunglasses were an impenetrable shield, keeping Felicity from reading his expression.
“I don’t want to have the reception on the beach.”
What was his problem with the beach?
“Well, let’s check out what else the island has to offer,” she said, doing her best to be reasonable. “But it doesn’t make sense to rule out the bride’s first choice just because it’s not what you want.”
That got a quirk out of those handsome, chiseled lips. Not a true smile, but it gave Felicity hope. “I don’t know. I’m pretty used to getting what I want.”
“In your day-to-day life in New York, I have no doubt that whatever you say is the law. But we aren’t in New York, and this wedding isn’t business as usual for you. This is
my
day-to-day life, and I’m not used to sharing responsibility with anyone. My clients may make demands and have whims, but in the end, the buck stops with me. It’s my job to take their wildest dreams and turn them into reality, and I’m used to doing it without any help.”
Zane cocked his head. He looked incredibly dangerous, in a beautiful, masculine way—he could have stepped right out of an ad for aftershave or something. “You have help now.”
A thrill surged through her like a wave on the shore. “Thank you. Does that mean you’ll reconsider your veto?”
He nodded shortly. “Okay. The beach goes on the list as a possibility. But I want this wedding to be unique, special, as over the top and amazing as my friend, the groom. And for the record, I don’t think the beach is special enough.”
Struggling to understand his objections and see it from his perspective, Felicity said, “What if we go down there and check it out up close? I bet once your feet sink into the sand and you feel the salty breeze on your face, you’ll change your mind.”
A strange emotion flickered through his gaze, so swift and strong, Felicity was almost certain she must have imagined it.
“Not so fast.” Zane grabbed her hand, the point of contact sending a jolt of heat up her arm. “If I agree to check out the beach, you agree to do it my way.”
Right. The fun way. Steeling herself for a stomach-churning race across the wet, packed sand, Felicity fitted the helmet back over her hair and folded herself back down into the sidecar. “Agreed.”
But, after revving the engine, Zane didn’t point the motorcycle down the hill and pick up enough speed to make rattling along in the sidecar feel like a ride on a rickety wooden roller coaster. Instead, he executed a precise three-point turn and zoomed back in the direction they’d come from.