White Wedding

“I’d call him,” Allison said, “but he was closing his shop right after this job and going off somewhere for the holiday.”

There was an expression of pure exasperation on her face. Lane didn’t blame her. A weekend that was meant to be memorable was turning out to be complicated and difficult. And looking no easier, she thought as she remembered she had a severe challenge of her own. She’d have to spend this entire weekend somehow resisting the man who had once meant everything to her.

* * *

THEY GATHERED in the lounge for drinks before dinner. There was an enormous stone fireplace with an inviting blaze, deep leather chairs and a fragrance of pine in the air. Nothing could have been more appropriate for a festive Christmas Eve. There was even a tall tree in one corner waiting to be decorated by everyone after dinner.

And yet, Lane realized, toying with a glass of white wine she’d accepted from Dan, none of the party was really relaxed. Allison and Hale certainly weren’t, she thought, observing them on the sofa they shared. She was telling him about the missing flowers and how they had no choice now but to decorate the chapel themselves. Hale was dutifully sympathetic, but the strain between them was obvious.

And Jack...well, Jack was fighting for patience and fast losing the battle. Ronnie Bauer had trapped him again. Something about her having heard that powdered dinosaur bones made excellent aphrodisiacs, and could this be true? Jack, wearing a Nordic sweater that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, looked positively dangerous. He kept glaring in Lane’s direction, as though Ronnie might be her fault.

She wasn’t, but Lane wasn’t ungrateful for Ronnie. The woman had intercepted Jack as he was heading obstinately in her direction. Besides, Veronica Bauer was an entertainment in herself. The rest of them were casually dressed. She wore an alluring black number that revealed a pair of impressive breasts, which she managed to thrust in Jack’s direction at every opportunity. Her jewelry was also very much in evidence. Allison had confided to her that the divorced Ronnie had money from her second husband and that she was recklessly spending every dime of it.

“It’s the wind,” Dan said, joining Lane where she stood by the tall windows that overlooked the bay.

“Pardon?”

“That’s making all of us a little tense.”

He had an uncanny ability for reading her thoughts. But he was right. The wind had risen since sundown and was blowing in strong gusts around the lodge. There was an unsettling quality about it.

“Look,” he said, indicating the view.

She turned, gazing out at the frozen expanse lit by a strangely hazy moon. What appeared to be dust clouds were moving erratically over the ice. It was an eerie scene.

“The wind is whipping up the ground snow. If it blows any harder, there will be whiteout conditions on the bay by morning. Won’t allow the ice fishers to go out, but it shouldn’t bother us up here.”

No, Lane thought, it shouldn’t matter. It was the night before Christmas and an idyllic wedding, but the weather shouldn’t matter. Nothing was supposed to matter, or interfere, but too much did.

The conversations around the room were lagging, with some of the party casting impatient glances in the direction of the dining room, when a rasping voice exploded into the lull. “You’re all dead!”

Startled faces swung in the direction of the doorway to the adjoining library. A figure was lurking there in the shadows, clutching what looked to Lane like a medieval crossbow. The wicked weapon was trained on the occupants of the lounge.

There were gasps and a shrill little yip of alarm from Ronnie. Their reactions brought a shout of pleased laughter from the intruder as he moved forward into the light, revealing himself.

“Gotcha!”

“Stuie!” his mother shrieked. “You fiend!”

The teenager chuckled, waving the crossbow at them. “Relax. It isn’t loaded.”

Lane realized that Jack had managed to suddenly appear at her side. He was still trying to play her guardian angel and, damn it, she didn’t need a guardian angel.

“That kid has a sick sense of humor,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t just a joke,” Lane murmured. “He’s looking for attention. Haven’t you noticed how Hale and his mother manage to ignore him?”

Ronnie, however, wasn’t ignoring Stuart at the moment. “Put it down,” she demanded. “Where did you get that thing?”

“In there.” He jerked his head toward the library.

“There aren’t any bolts for the crossbow,” Allison interjected. “None of the collection is dangerous.” She moved behind Stuart, folding back the other wing of the double door to the library and flipping on all the lights.

The others crowded into the opening behind her to gaze at the wall-mounted antique weapons. The assortment represented every early age, ranging from maces to muzzle loaders.

“It was my father’s collection,” Allison explained. “But he made certain they were all neutralized. Even the sword points have been blunted.”

Ronnie shuddered. “Harmless or not, they’re still nasty things.”

Stuart certainly didn’t share his mother’s distaste, Lane noticed. There was a gleam of fascination in his eyes as he reverently stroked the edge of a halberd.

“Dinner, everyone.”

Dorothy’s welcome announcement summoned them to the dining room off the other end of the lounge. As they gathered around the table, Ronnie cast out another seductive net.

“I feel absolutely defenseless after Stuie’s little performance. I need a bodyguard next to me. Jack,” she implored, “you will sit beside me, won’t you?”

But Jack had no intention of being outmaneuvered again. “Good for you, Ronnie,” he agreed heartily. “There’s nothing wrong with a little old-fashioned male protectiveness when the situation calls for it. But whenever possible, I think it ought to come from family, don’t you? That makes you lucky tonight. You’ve got two strapping sons here, one for either side of you.”

Her game had been neatly turned against her. Stuart grinned while his mother glared at him murderously. But Ronnie, left without a choice, found herself flanked by her sons.

Jack, however, wasn’t finished. “Allison, of course, has her cousin Dan to guard her from any stray dragons. But Lane here...well, I’m the closest to family she’s got. Right, sweetheart?”

Lane would have looked like a fool sputtering objections to what the others must regard as mere playfulness, though she knew better. In any case, he didn’t give her the opportunity. With the ease and swiftness of a military tactician, he installed himself beside her, his expressive mouth registering a smile of satisfaction. Lane felt her careful defenses already under assault. It was going to be a long meal.

Allison, amused by Jack’s strategy, was seated between Hale and Dan before she suddenly noticed the table setting. She glanced up at Dorothy, who was waiting to serve them. “There are only seven places. Why aren’t you and Nils and Chris joining us?”

“We’ve already eaten in the kitchen. Would anyone like freshly ground pepper for their salads?”

“Even if you were hired to help with the weekend,” Allison persisted, “you’re friends, not servants.”

“Chris wanted it this way.” Dorothy’s response was quiet, impassive.

“But I didn’t intend—”

“Allison, let it go,” Hale cautioned her.

The uncomfortable moment passed, but a tension remained in the room. They tried to ignore the ceaseless wind blasting around the lodge as they concentrated on the savory beef burgundy that the caterer had provided for the occasion.

Dan, an able diplomat, made an effort to distract them. He told them how his Norwegian grandmother was responsible for the style of the house. Even the chapel was her design. It was his side of the family who had once owned the island. Neither Whitney cousin offered to explain how the property had passed to Allison’s father.

Lane endeavored to enjoy both the food and the conversation but, thanks to Jack’s potent nearness, she found herself with an appetite for neither one. Maddening the way he had his chair positioned so unnecessarily close to hers. She could actually feel the sensual heat of his hard body.

It was no accident either when, rescuing the napkin slipping from his lap, his hand came brushing against her thigh. She caught her breath, feeling as though fire had stroked her.

“Something wrong?” he murmured, his strong-boned face all innocence.

“Not a thing,” she assured him, and silently damned him for tormenting her. He was deliberately testing her, of course, wanting to know if she was still susceptible. Because whatever else had been wrong with their marriage, the sex between them had always thrived. Then she damned herself for her own weakness. Where Jack Donovan was concerned, she was still volatile.