The Wedding Gift (3 page)

Mick McKenna always had been, and always would be, way out of her league.

But he was her friend, and an excellent resource. She'd be foolish not to enlist his help.

Still, broaching it would be weird. And pussyfooting around wouldn't help. So she came straight out with it.

“Mick, I want to get laid.”

He coughed Sam Adams all over the place.

“Oh geez.” She hopped up. “Do you need a Heimlich?”

“No, goddamn it.” He sidestepped away. He was looking at her now, all right. Pop-eyed. “Are you trying to kill me?” He rubbed his chest like he was having a heart attack.

She flapped a hand. “Relax, will you? Sit.” She sat in her own chair, patted his.

He gave her a brows-down glare. But he sat.

She said, “I'm hoping you'll help me.”

He stilled. A statue.

She poked him, and he twitched back to life.

“Listen, Jan.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “We're friends. I can't—”

She held up a hand. “I'm not asking you to pimp for me. Just give me some tips. You're the world's leading pickup artist. Tell me how it's done, and I'll take it from there.”

Now he went pale. “You want to pick up a
stranger
?”

“I know it seems sudden,” she said, “but I've been thinking about it for a while. My love life isn't setting the sheets on fire. And there are things I want to try.”

He made a gurgling noise, like he was holding his head underwater.

She could sympathize. The thing was, for all the years they'd been friends, they'd never really discussed their sex lives. Sometimes their friends got on Mick about his “babes,” or his brother ragged on him for playing the field instead of lining up a wife. But Mick always shut them down. As if he didn't want Jan to know he slept around.

Please. She'd have to be brain dead.

She powered on. “Anyway, I read
Fifty Shades
, as you know since you teased me to no end. And it made me realize I want to experiment. Not a full-on dom/sub type of thing. But there's a lot I haven't done. And let's face it, I haven't done
anything
in quite a while.”

Sweat rolled down Mick's cheek. He'd gone fifty shades of red.

But oddly enough, the more embarrassed he got, the less embarrassed she was.

“I'm not expecting
your
kind of sex life,” she went on. “No revolving door for me, thank you very much. But I have to start somewhere. Break the ice, you know? So I thought, why not Key West? Nobody knows me here—”

“Fucking A,” he burst out. “
I
know you.
Julie
knows you.”

“Julie's always telling me to get out more—”

“To the movies, or a Sox game. Not to bars to hook up with random guys.” He was wound up now, in full big-brother mode. “Christ, Jan, that's a good way to disappear.”

“I'm not stupid, Mick. I can read people. Besides, I'm not expecting to do the deed right off the bat.” She spread her hands, the voice of reason. “I'll start with flirting. Maybe fool around a little here and there. Work my way up to the main event.”

He hard-eyed her. “Do you have any idea what diseases are out there?”

“Lots. How many do you have?”

His jaw dropped. “None! Because I wear a damn condom every time!”

“Exactly. When I get to that point, I'll use condoms too.”

“And if Mr. Goodbar refuses to suit up? What then?” He aimed a finger at her. “Believe me when I tell you, guys like me are in the minority.”

“If he refuses, I'll back out.”

He dropped his head in his hands.

“As for condoms,” she went on, “I figured you'd use the best, so I got my hands on the same brand.”

His head came up. “Wait,
what
? How do you know what condoms I use?”

“Please, I'd have to be blind. They're in your wallet, your glove compartment, your desk. Not to mention the case of them you keep in your bathroom closet.” She grinned. “I bet you didn't even notice a box was missing.”

His eyes bugged. “You want to hook up with
my
condoms? I don't think so, little girl.”

He vaulted off the chair and beat feet inside.

She caught up to him as he unlocked their door. Pushing past him, she plunked her butt on her suitcase.

He crossed his arms. “Hand 'em over.”

“You want me to have unprotected sex?”

“I don't want you to have any kind of sex.”

That made no sense. “Why not?”

“Because you'll get hurt.” He dropped his arms, paced two steps to the fridge and back again. Pushed his hands through his hair. “Trust me, Jan, you're not cut out for meaningless sex. You'll want it to go somewhere. And when it doesn't, you'll be crushed.”

“That's ridiculous,” she said. “And insulting. I know the meaning of meaningless. And that's beside the point anyway. I need to get going on this, and this weekend is a good time to start.”

He paced some more, visibly marshaling his arguments.

She cut him off at the pass. “Mick, I want to get married.”

His head snapped around.

“Not immediately,” she said, “but someday, when I meet the right guy. And when that happens, I want to be good in bed. So I need practice, right?”

Surely he saw the logic in that.

“Our friends are dropping like flies,” she went on. “We're practically the only ones who aren't married, engaged, or on the verge of engaged.”

“If you'd quit setting them up,” he grumbled.

“I like setting them up.” She had a knack—Julie called it a
gift
—for introducing their friends and family to the people they ended up marrying. In fact, she could even take credit for this weekend's wedding.

She bounced her eyebrows. “The wedding photographer already asked me to introduce her to you.”

He leveled his no-bullshit stare. “Don't even
think
about it.”

She let it drop. She might joke about setting him up, but she wouldn't really do it. Ever since her matchmaking gift had reared its head, she'd been careful never to introduce a woman to him. And she never would.

Someday, she knew, Mick would find a wife. It was inevitable. It was normal.

But it would damned well be without her help.

 

Chapter 3

M
ICK WANDERED
THE
gift shop, looking but not seeing, fists bunched in his pockets, frustration burning a hole in his stomach.

Jan Marone was, hands down, the stubbornest person he knew.

Oh, people thought she was a pushover because she never complained. Because she lived at home with her mom. Because she was sheltered and innocent and sweet.

Ha. The real Jan dug her heels in when she wanted her way. And today she was batting two for two, first insisting on sharing the room, and now sucking him into her sexcapade.

The room-sharing he was resigned to. But the postdinner barhop along Duvall Street? She had no idea what she was getting into. The place was crawling with guys looking to hit and run.

There was no talking her out of it, though, as proven by the half hour he'd just wasted in their room. So he'd have to go along just to keep her out of trouble.

“Hey.” She touched his elbow with warm fingertips. He turned to face her, and his vision fuzzed out.

Jesus Christ
.

She smiled shyly, did a little pirouette. “What do you think?”

He thought . . . he thought . . .

He couldn't think. He could only stare.

Seconds ticked.

Uncertainty wobbled her smile. She rubbed her arms. “I look stupid, don't I?”

He pulled himself together. “Not at all. You gave me a”—
hard-on
—“shock. I'm not used to you looking so”—
fuckable
—“sexy.”

Now she grinned. “I look sexy?”

He nodded grimly, longing for the good old days when Jan had scrunched her glossy hair in a bun and camouflaged her delicate frame in shapeless sweaters and knee-length skirts.

Back then—was it only yesterday?—he hadn't worried about every Tom, Dick, and Harry undressing her with his eyes. But tonight her hair shimmered like gold around her shoulders, and her white sequined tank and clingy purple miniskirt left nothing to the imagination.

She might as well wear a neon sign that said: Fuck Me Against the Wall!

“Let's go,” he said tautly, wondering how the hell he was supposed to eat dinner with his guts in a knot.

Draping an arm over Jan's shoulders, he gave Barbie a wave as they passed through the lobby. But out on the sidewalk he stepped away. Jan's shoulders were too smooth, her strawberry scent too seductive.

His job tonight was to keep her safe, not drool down her neck.

And he'd have his work cut out for him. The restaurant was only a block from the inn, but they hadn't covered half that distance before Tom, Dick, and Harry staggered toward them.

Six bleary eyes locked on Jan—her legs, her chest, her miles of silky hair. A preview of the evening ahead, when shitloads of drunk, horny morons would read the sign on her forehead and believe she really meant it.

Every muscle in Mick's body tensed. Linking hands with her, he blistered the trio with a get-back glare, hoping they weren't too fucked up to read the message he was sending:
Brush against her, even breathe on her, and I'll take you apart and stomp the bloody pieces into paste on this sidewalk.

They got the point and single-filed past her without incident. But the knot in Mick's stomach tied itself tighter.

Keeping hold of her hand as they entered the restaurant, he cased the place. Fire exits? Two, with adequate signage. Assholes? None. An older crowd, well-heeled, and one hundred percent coupled-up.

He rolled the kinks from his shoulders. A temporary reprieve.

The hostess pointed them toward the patio bar, walled but spacious, with little white lights twined around
the palm trees growing up through the flagstone floor. Julie and Cody sat kitty-corner at a high-top, sipping drinks.

Julie fell off her chair when she got a load of Jan. “Oh my God! You look amazing!” She smothered Jan in a hug.

Mick glanced at Cody. The guy's eyeballs were hanging out.

He shot Mick a
holy shit
look
.
Mick did a helpless
tell me about it
shrug.

The waitress appeared, and Cody ordered another microbrew. Jan tasted Julie's margarita, licked her lips, giggled, and asked for one of her own.

Mick grimly ordered a Coke. He'd need all his faculties tonight.

“I love this,” Julie said, indicating Jan's outfit.

Jan blushed bright pink. It was probably the first time anyone had ever complimented her clothes. “I bought it this morning on the way to the airport.”

“Not your usual style, and I mean that in a good way.” Julie's smile took any sting out of it.

“My mother won't like it.”

No kidding, Mick thought. If it were up to her mother, Jan would still be playing with dolls.

“Well,
my
mother will love it,” said Julie. Ellen Marone was the opposite of Jan's mom. They'd married brothers, both of whom died too young. But that was the only thing they had in common. “She'll want to know where you got it,” Julie said, “and if they have it in her size.”

Jan smiled, heartbreakingly pleased.

“And you.” Julie pointed a finger at Mick. “I saw the ceremony on TV. The mayor pinning that medal to your chest.”

Cody clapped his shoulder. “You're a hero, man. You ran in while everybody else was running out.”

Heat climbed Mick's neck. Why wouldn't people quit talking about it? He did his job, fought the fire, helped the victims. End of story.

Well, not quite the end, but nobody needed to know about the nightmares.

Julie cocked a brow at him. “I heard the Gap called. I'm not surprised. You looked mighty gorgeous on that podium.”

“Look who's talking,” he said. Julie had the same fair-skinned, wholesome beauty that marked all the Marone girls, including her sister Amelia.

Some might argue that Jan had gotten less than her share. But they weren't looking at her now. She'd always been lovely in Mick's eyes, but tonight she sparkled. Like Cinderella dressed for the ball.

Or rather, half dressed for the ball.

His jaw tightened.

The women fell into wedding talk, and Cody nudged him. “Pull in your horns,” he drawled. When Mick gaped, Cody gave him a pitying look. “You think it's not obvious? Man, everybody knows.”

Holy shit! Everybody?

“Everybody but Jan,” Cody went on, like he'd read Mick's thoughts. “Only because it never crossed her mind you'd be hot for her. But after tonight, she might figure differently.”

“Like hell,” Mick snapped out. “I'd never take advantage of her.”

Cody's eyes widened. “I know that. What I meant was, when she takes
that
”—he tipped his bottle in Jan's direction—“out on the town, she's gonna figure out fast that guys want what she's got.”

Mick's throat constricted. Cody was right. Jan would be giddy, like a kid in a candy store. And being too inexperienced to distinguish the guys who were into her from the guys who only wanted to
get
into her, she was bound to throw herself away on the first smooth talker who came along.

He couldn't let that happen. And not because he was jealous.

This wasn't about jealousy. It was about all the things that could go wrong. Heartbreak, disease, date rape, unwanted pregnancy. Jan wouldn't see any of them coming. As smart as she was, she was much too sweet to grasp the depravity of the average male.

She'd blunder into the path of destruction like a fawn wandering out in front of a semi.

T
HE WAITRES
S BROUGHT
their drinks, and Jan sipped her key lime margarita. Sweet-and-sour deliciousness. She put it on the short list for New Jan's signature cocktail.

She slid it in front of Mick. “Wanna taste?”

He took a sip. “Strong,” he said. “You better stick to one drink tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Buzz kill.” But her heart went out to him. The poor guy was trying to process New Jan and it wasn't computing.

She cut him some slack because his heart was in the right place. And he was so sweet, not only to her, but to her family too, whom he'd known forever.

He was even nice to her mother, though it meant biting his tongue. Mick was absolutely convinced that Jan's mother guilted Jan into living with her. And to some extent that was true. But Jan knew that her fear of going out on her own had played a part in it too.

And honestly, there'd been no pressing reason to leave. Her mother could be demanding, but she never hassled her about hanging out with Mick, probably because she knew that while Jan was busy with him, she wouldn't be out falling in love with someone else who'd take her away from home.

But everything was about to change. Spending time with Mick was all well and good, but now that she was serious about a relationship, she needed her own place. And it just so happened that New Jan had her eye on an apartment; small, but with great light, and located smack dab in the middle of Back Bay.

Breaking it to her mother would be hard. And Mick would be stunned too. He was used to her being close by, free to grab a beer with their pals at O'Reilly's, or kick back on his couch to binge watch
The Walking Dead
. He'd fall off his chair when she told him she'd lined up a place of her own.

And that was just phase one of the New Jan plan. In phase two, her job as Julie's administrative assistant was soon to turn into a career as Julie's junior partner.

A top Boston realtor, Julie had urged her for months to get her realtor's license, and Jan had finally taken the test last week. That would be another surprise for Mick, who'd long complained she was wasting her ability to sell sand to a Bedouin.

She was just about to tell him the good news when the hostess appeared to escort them to the dining room. Julie had reserved a round table for eight. Amelia and her husband Ray arrived a minute later.

When Amelia saw Jan, she stopped in her tracks. Ray's eyes boinged out on springs.

“I know,” Julie squealed. “She looks great, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Ray. At five-foot-five, he was still an inch taller than Amelia. He laid his brilliant smile on Jan. “I always knew there was a babe under those baggy T-shirts.”

“She's no mere babe,” Amelia raved. “She's a goddess!”

“And,” Julie added proudly, “she's finally getting her realtor's license.”

Mick swung around.
“You are?”

His wounded expression wiped the grin off Jan's face. “I was waiting to tell you until after it came through,” she said. “I thought you'd be happy for me.”

He flicked a glance at Cody, cheeks flushing. “I am,” he said quietly. “Really. It's great.”

Julie elbowed him. “What do you think of her new place? I don't usually handle rentals, but it was too sweet to pass up.”

Mick blinked, clearly dumbfounded.

Jan worked her way around the table to him. “I haven't signed the lease yet,” she said under her breath. “I was waiting to tell you—”

“Right,” he said stiffly, a world of hurt in one word.

“I'm sorry.” She touched his arm, turning him away from everyone's straining ears. “I wanted to make a big deal out of it. Surprise you, you know?”

“You did,” he said tartly. Then he let out a resigned sigh. “It's just that you're changing everything all at once.”

She smiled. “I told you. The New Jan Plan.”

“What was wrong with the old Jan?”

“You mean the old Jan who lived with her mom, and hid her light under a bushel, and all the other things you liked to nag me about?”

He pushed a hand through his hair. Shifted his feet. Rubbed his stomach.

Poor Mick. She poked him. “You always told me—” she began. Then a movement caught her eye. She looked past Mick, and the rest of the sentence evaporated from her tongue as a tall, lanky cowboy ambled into view.

It could only be Cody's brother, Tyrell. She'd heard about him. Six-foot sexy, with sun-streaked hair, honey eyes, and a killer-diller smile.

Somewhere in the far, far distance Mick muttered something disparaging about cowboy boots in Key West, but then Tyrell was shaking her hand and all she could hear was his gorgeous drawl telling her how happy he was to meet her, and wasn't she a pretty little thing.

She giggled. And giggled. And possibly got her name out, but she wasn't quite sure.

She'd fallen into a similar fugue state three months ago when she met Cody. Both brothers were cut from the same combustible cloth.

Wow.

Tyrell's fiancée, Vicky, seemed to sympathize. She patted Jan's arm. “He has that effect,” she stage whispered, “but trust me, he wears off fast.”

Ten minutes later Jan had to disagree. She was still stealing looks at the brothers where they sat side by side.

Mick was openly disgusted with her. “Quit staring, will you?” he hissed under his breath. “You're not starting your sexual odyssey with the Brown boys. They're
engaged
. And they're practically
family
.”

She tore her eyeballs away from them to wither Mick with a stare. “I'm well aware, Mr. Master-of-the-Obvious. But if they weren't—”

“Please.” He eye-rolled. “Those guys are too experienced for a beginner.”

“I'm not a beginner. I've—”

He raised a no-details-please hand. “Let's just say they're too experienced for an
amateur
.”

“And that,” she replied with her best snotty little smirk, “is exactly why I need experience of my own.” Point made, game over.

“Jan, sweetie,” Amelia said, “I love your new look.”

“Thanks.” Jan preened a bit, the way she'd seen girls do when someone complimented their clothes.

“Haven't you heard?” Mick butted in snidely. “It's the New Jan Plan. Everyone's talking about it. Dr. Phil's doing a whole series—”