Ben spent the entire dinner watching Kyrie. Not because he still thought of her as a flight risk, but because he couldn’t stop himself.
He kind of hated that.
She shouldn’t have made such an impact on him. They’d had one week together. Not even a full one at that, what with the day they spent pretending they weren’t going to fall all over each other. And the night she took off, of course.
He had been using the main house of Siobhan’s family’s lake retreat to work on his dissertation. When Adam called him to say, Hey, Siobhan has a couple of friends who are going to use one of the guesthouses, but they know you’re working and won’t bother you, he’d thought nothing of it. He would take a half hour out of the day when they arrived, introduce himself, reassure them he wasn’t an ax murderer, and never see them again.
Except them had turned out to be just her. Kyrie.
And the half hour turned into a walk around the lake, followed by dinner. And a hike the next day. A canoe ride that morphed into a make-out session that spilled over into the best damned interruption he had ever known.
Adam had been right about one thing, though—Kyrie was no bother. Not at all. At least, not until the last day, when he came downstairs from a shower and found an I’m so sorry, but, note on the table.
He’d been pissed, then grumpy, then pissed again. He told himself it was better this way. They’d both known it was one of those moment-out-of-time things, what with her being in East Podunk and him on a fast track to his defense, then Brazil, then Antarctica. So even though he felt he was entitled to an explanation, he hadn’t bothered trying to track her down. They had been about the moment, not the future.
But now that she had landed on his radar again, it seemed the moment had returned. So would the freakin’ meal ever end so he could get on with the program?
He thought he’d kept his distraction covered until dessert, when Adam tore himself away from Siobhan’s side and knelt by his chair.
“Awfully quiet tonight, Benjie. Everything okay?”
Ben’s gut tightened when he heard the old childhood nickname. The last time Adam had used it was to say, Well, Benjie, the good news is, the doctor says they can save your leg. The bad news is . . .
“Everything’s fine.” God, he hoped so. “Not used to the desert air yet.”
Adam nodded. “I forgot to mention one last best-man duty.”
Shit. Incoming.
When Adam asked him to be his best man, he hadn’t had any qualms about saying yes. That was before he knew that they were talking Vegas, destination wedding, 492 events. He didn’t mind any of them alone. Rolled together, it was rapidly approaching the overflow stage, and they still had to get through this welcome party, the rehearsal, the poker and craps tutorials, the pre-rehearsal brunch, the post-wedding brunch, and—oh yeah—the wedding itself.
“You know that I love your jokes,” Adam said, staring across the table at his laughing fiancée. “But Siobhan—well, she still isn’t over that thing with the rake and the pizza. She’s scared you’ve got something like that up your sleeve for the wedding.”
The rush of relief was so intense, it left him almost light-headed.
“Adam. Give me some credit. Even I know when to lay off the pranks. I won’t do anything to mess with the wedding. Or the rehearsal, or the reception, or any of those official things.” He paused for dramatic effect. “But I reserve the right to play hell with the bachelor party.”
“Oh God.”
“But even then, I promise, no hookers or dancing chickens or anything like that.”
“Swear it. On Grandma’s strawberry-rhubarb pie.”
“With her homemade ice cream.”
Adam slapped him on the back hard enough to shove him forward an inch or two. “Good stuff. I knew I could count on you.”
“Nice to know you have some faith in me.”
“Ah, don’t get your panties in a knot, Ben. It’s Siobhan. She wants to keep things perfect, make sure everybody has a good time. If anything were to go wrong—well, I don’t know if I’d want to see what happened, you know?”
Ben never would have pegged Siobhan to be one to turn into a lunatic bride, but maybe he wasn’t the stellar judge of character he thought he was. After all, look at Runaway Kyrie.
Some of his doubt must have shown on his face, for Adam shook his head.
“She’s not frothing at the mouth or anything. She’s just worked hard to make this special for everyone, and she doesn’t want it screwed up by, you know,”—he grinned—“a lapse in judgment.”
“Nothing to worry about. I’m here to serve and protect and all that jazz. Not making waves, not doing anything wilder than bringing Uncle Lou a third beer. And by the way, she gets points for putting him on the guest list. Not everyone would be that forgiving after the mud-wrestling thing.”
It was almost funny, how the mere mention of the event could make his big, strong football brother look like he was about to be dragged to the village well and tried as a witch. “That is not to be mentioned this weekend. Got it?”
“Got it. Lips are zipped. Now, anything you need me to do at the moment, or can I go back to this excellent chocolate whatever?”
“Eat. Enjoy. Have fun.” With another slap on the back—what was it with the brute force?—Adam was on his way. Ben shook his head and picked up his fork, but once again, he found himself looking across the room for Kyrie. His relief at seeing she was still there turned into a hard knot of dread in a nanosecond.
He might not be up to anything nefarious this weekend.
But Kyrie most definitely was.
***
The problem with trying to have a private conversation in Vegas was that every space was either too public—restaurants, gaming floors, reception rooms—or too private. Like bedrooms. A bedroom was the last place she should be with Ben.
Yet here she was, opening the door to her room with him right behind her.
“You don’t have to be so cloak and dagger,” he said after she checked the hall for the fourteenth time. “Adam and Siobhan’s rooms are on another floor. They’re not going to see us. And if they did, all they would think is that I made a hell of an awesome first impression.”
“It’s not that easy.” Especially when his mere presence seemed to be depleting the oxygen supply. Either that or she really was more jet lagged than she’d thought, because her head was definitely spinning.
She flicked on the light and led him across the marble entry, tossing her purse onto the desk. He wandered over to the window and looked down.
“Have you seen the fountains yet?” he asked. “The show, I mean.”
“No.”
“They play the music on the TV. So you can get the full experience even if you’re watching from behind glass.”
“I don’t think it would be the same. Why aren’t you in Antarctica?”
His shoulders tightened. One hand slipped to his left leg.
“Had a little accident,” he said with what she was sure was forced lightness. “Turns out skydiving isn’t as idiot-proof as the commercials tell you.”
“What? Oh my God, Ben, what—”
“It’s okay, Kyrie. It happened about a month after the lake. It was a nasty break, and it knocked me off the track to the Pole, but these things happen.”
“Will you still be able to go?”
“We’ll see.”
Crap. That didn’t sound very promising.
“The more important question is, why are you crashing my brother’s wedding?”
And so it began.
“Ben, listen to me. I swear I’m doing my very best to make sure no one gets hurt this weekend.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets but continued to gaze outside. She almost asked him to turn around, thinking it would be easier to get through her story if she could read his face. But who was she kidding? As it was, she was soaking up the line of his shoulders, the wave of his hair along his collar, the way his pants bagged ever so slightly, as if they’d been picked out by someone who was still convinced he had some growing ahead of him. If she had to try to talk while taking in the crinkles around his eyes or the curve of his ears, she would be a goner.
She perched on the edge of the chair and stared at the floor. Between Ben at the window and the bed looming in front of her, the beige carpet seemed like the safest bet. “Here’s the thing,” she began. “Remember I told you I wanted to open my own coffee shop? Well, I did it.”
He glanced over his shoulder, gave her a quick nod. “Congratulations.”
She supposed she shouldn’t have expected a more enthusiastic reaction from him. After all, he didn’t know that he was the only person to have heard that dream. He would never know that every time she felt herself slipping into a sea of doubts during the year of actually putting it together—in other words, every hour on the hour—she would resurrect the memory of him telling her to go for it, and the worries would fade away.
He would definitely never know that every time that happened, it was as if she hadn’t left him behind after all.
“I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. I couldn’t get a big enough loan from the bank, and I only had so much saved, but just when I thought it wasn’t going to happen, Paige offered me a loan. I never could have done it without her. But with her help, just under a year ago I opened the doors to Brews and Blues.”
“So you did name it that?”
“I liked it. We have a very funky, retro kind of decor, and we bring in bluesy, jazzy singers, and it feels really homey and fun. People love it. I love it.” She dug her fingers into her knees. “As did my assistant, who, it turns out, was stealing from me.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” She pulled her purse from the desk and ran a finger over the row of pink beads outlining the flamingo. “I’m going through legal channels, but there’s no guarantee I’ll ever get any of the money back. I’ve been able to keep the place open and the staff and bills paid, but between that and the bank loan, it’s been—well—tight.” He didn’t need to know that she’d had to give up her apartment and was now living in the second-floor storage room, or that she was mostly living off food left at the end of the day. There was no need to sound pathetic. “And on top of that, this all happened at the time I was supposed to start repaying Paige . I managed the first month’s payment, but then it got harder. I managed just a partial payment for the second month, and we’re into the third. But then . . .”
Oh boy. This was where it was going to get tricky. So of course, this was when he decided to turn around and give her the eagle eye.
“Let me guess. She didn’t want to do the wedding but she didn’t have the nerve to tell Siobhan herself, so she guilted you into taking her place.”
“No! It’s not—well, sort of. But it’s not that mercenary.”
Between the plane and the dinner, she’d spent too much time sitting. Her butt was starting to ache. She eased out of her shoes and rose to her feet.
“She came to Vegas. She flew out here Monday, to have a few days’ vacation before the wedding stuff began. Remember, she started that job the week that you and I . . . well . . . and anyway, things were too crazy for her to take any real time off last year, so she’s been going full tilt for a long stretch. So anyway, she came out here, and within an hour or two of landing, she met someone.”
“And they hit it off?”
“To put it mildly.”
Kyrie could still hear the excitement in Paige’s voice when she called. Oh my God, Kyrie. Duncan is the most amazing guy. We talk and talk and talk and never run out of things to say. It’s like he knows what I want even before I do. He thinks that eighties’ music should be banned forever, and he laughs at my jokes and he’s so caring, you wouldn’t believe it . . .
“The thing is, Duncan—that’s his name—is here on vacation from Scotland. He’s going home Saturday night, and by Wednesday—today is Thursday, right?—Paige knew that she wanted to spend every possible moment with him. But she didn’t want to mess things up for Siobhan, really, she didn’t. So she offered me a deal.” She twisted her hands together. “If I would step in for her and take her place in the wedding, she would totally forgive the loan.”
“Holy—”
“But the deal is, Siobhan can’t find out. Not even a suspicion, you know? Paige doesn’t want to hurt her. Truly. And no bride should have to deal with last-minute drama just because Bridesmaid Number Forty-Two is busy being swept off her feet.”
He snorted. “Yeah. Heck of a point you have there.”
“So that’s why I’m doing this. If I can pull this off, Paige gets to be with her guy, and Siobhan gets the wedding she wants, and I just might be able to keep Brews and Blues going. Win-win-win, right?”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that. She couldn’t blame him. Her own head was still swimming from it all, and she’d had a couple of days to process it. And now came the hardest part of all.
She forced herself to face him, to step closer and look him in the eye—not so she could watch him, but so he could see her, read her face and know how much she needed him to help.
“Ben.” She didn’t dare take the deep breath she longed for. Not when she was close enough to catch his scent. “I know this must seem awful to you, but I’m here, and if I can do this, Siobhan will never know. Can you help me? Can you please keep this just between us?”
Long, silent seconds passed by, during which the only movement was the small tic of a muscle near his eye. She curled her hands into fists to stop herself from reaching up and smoothing it.
“I don’t like it,” he said at last.
“You want the truth? Neither do I.”
This time he was the one to turn away, swiveling back to his place at the window, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Tell you what, Kyrie. I don’t want to hurt Siobhan, either, and I really don’t want anything to mess up Adam’s wedding. So I’ll play along.”
Everything in her sagged in relief. She dropped onto the bed. “Thank you.”
He swung back around. “But there’s a condition.”
Oh crap. Did he expect her to sleep with him in return for his silence?
Crap squared—she couldn’t quite pretend that the thought didn’t have a measure of appeal.
“When we were at the lake, we had plans for our last night together. You took off and left me hanging. Why?”
“That’s your condition?” Sex was looking better and better.
“Yes ma’am. You tell me why you ran out on me after what I thought was a pretty amazing week. In return, I’ll help you keep your secret.”
Yep. Sleeping with him again would be a lot easier. More fun, too.
The truth was out of the question. Maybe if she’d been up front at the time, he could have understood. After all, neither of them were looking for a serious relationship back then, especially not with each other. A globe-trotting adventure seeker and a small-town homebody were never a good mix. Doubly so when he was getting ready to head out for two years of research and exploration. Maybe, given that, he would have believed her when she said she was afraid she was falling in love with him, that she had to take off in the daytime, while she had the strength to leave and while there was still enough light to drive despite the tears she knew would be falling.
But to tell him now? Right. Not only would it sound pathetic, he probably wouldn’t believe a word of it. And could she blame him for that? Nope.
And then there was the shame factor.
She’d been so intent on getting away while she could that it had taken her days to realize what she had done. Not to Ben. No, that guilt had started hammering at her from the moment she had decided to flee. But the cost to herself—ah, that had been the kicker. She’d been unfair to Ben and she’d bought herself a heart full of lonely, and to top it off, she had given into an impulse to run. To take off when things got intense and scary instead of staying the course. Or, at the very least, being honest.
Which was precisely what her father had done to her and the rest of the family.
Yep, nothing like behaving exactly like the person who had hurt you most in the world to make a girl feel like maybe the guilt and loneliness were the least of what she deserved. To make her feel that the kindest thing she could do for the person she had hurt was to give him just enough of the facts to assure him he was in no danger of being hurt again.
“I didn’t want to leave,” she said slowly. That, thank heaven, was the truth. “And I know I should have waited. But I . . .”
“You what, Kyrie?”
“I didn’t want to say good-bye,” she said at last. A hint of the truth would be her best bet. “I . . . You were right. It was an amazing week. I found myself wishing it didn’t have to end, and that was when I knew I had to go. Because if I had stayed another day . . . well, I wanted to go while I could still leave without . . . without getting all maudlin and weepy. I don’t do well with good-byes.”
He leaned back, resting against the wall, eyes narrowed. Now she knew how it would feel to be in a petri dish.
“As excuses go, that sucks.”
“All the more reason why you can believe me. Who would make up something lame like that, right?” She forced out a lighthearted laugh. “I mean, I could have said, Oh, something happened at home, or I felt a cold coming on and didn’t want to pass it on to you, or . . . I don’t know. Alien abduction.”
The slight quirk of his lips gave her hope. “I have no doubt there’s some kind of life elsewhere in the universe, but I’m sure they have far better things to do than hover over us and stick probes into our orifices.”
“Good. I agree. So do we have a deal?”
It took three cupcakes’ worth of discipline to stay still while he gave her what amounted to a visual lie-detector test and her heart pounded out the theme to Mission: Impossible.
“Fine.” He shook his head, like he didn’t quite believe himself. “Deal.”
She blinked, sure she’d heard him wrong. But there was no rush to take back the words or add another condition. Just Ben, looking slightly bemused but determined.
“Thank you,” she said again. “This is very generous of you.”
“I know,” he said, before crossing to the side of the bed and punching in a number. Her muscles went from at ease to stand and deliver in the blink of an eye.
“Who are you calling?”
“Room service.” He glanced her way with a hint of a smile. “If you’re going to make this work, you’ll need information. And if I’m going to give it to you, the least you can do is buy me a beer.”