The Wedding Secret

“Congratulations,” Luke said.

Cecile took a moment to size him up. With her heels, they stood eye to eye, and since she was five foot ten, that made him about six feet. He was trim and his tux fit. Perfectly.

She swallowed and rallied. “As to the other part, Lisa just wanted to know if there were any single men here tonight. I couldn’t disappoint her.”

“I’m glad I could help out,” Luke said, his blue eyes twinkling. “In fact, I happen to agree with you one hundred percent on my attributes. If you’d like, I’d be happy to return the favor and list yours. That is, if Bob won’t mind and think you’re hitting on me. I’d hate to stop you from turning over a new leaf.”

“Believe me, you won’t,” Cecile said, regaining the upper hand. “Not that I date anyone named Bob. Really, I’m sure we should be getting back.”

As if by kismet, Devon’s mother approached, her loud “There you both are!” echoing off the walls. “Luke, I send you to find her and you get lost, too!”

“Sorry,” Luke said. He bent down and kissed the petite woman’s cheek. “Got distracted. Cecile was telling me about Bob.”

“Bob? Is he here, at the wedding?” Amanda Pinewood asked.

Luke was a cad, and Cecile resisted the childish urge to stomp on his foot. He had overheard and understood everything and he wasn’t afraid to tease her with it. As if confirming his rogueness, Luke winked as Cecile sputtered, “Uh, no, Bob’s not here.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Amanda said, relieved. “It’s time to line up, and you two are not in your proper place.”

“Heaven forbid,” Luke teased, that wicked smile of his widening again. Cecile knew that Luke and Devon had grown up as next-door neighbors and buddies. Luke held his arm out to Cecile. “Shall we?”

She’d had to touch him last night at the rehearsal. Then, he’d caused her metabolism to shift into fast-forward, as if she’d just chugged an energy drink. A big believer in chemistry, Cecile wasn’t sure what type of pheromones Luke possessed, but he oozed them. Especially now, when they were all directed at her.

But she was Cecile Duletsky, talk-show producer and woman who’d met celebrities on a daily basis when she’d been a talent procurer. She could handle Luke Shaw.

Cecile slipped her bare arm in his, the smooth feel of his tuxedo creating friction against her bare skin. She tried to ignore the immediate heat, but it was near impossible to ignore the presence of the man who walked easily by her side as if he somehow belonged there.

Ushers were working to get the last guests seated so the ceremony could start. Belatedly Cecile remembered her cell phone. She glanced in horror at the silver device still dangling from the strap on her wrist.

“Let me,” Luke said, his deep voice close to her ear as he leaned into her. He slid the phone from her wrist, the gesture intimate. Quickly he pressed a few buttons to silence the ringer and then slipped the phone inside his jacket pocket. He grinned. “You can get it from me later.”

Later. That word had been loaded.

Wedding magic, Cecile decided. That was all this tickling sensation Luke Shaw incited was, nothing more. She could produce an entire talk-show episode on wedding magic entitled “Wedding secrets—who else shared the night besides the bride and groom?”

While wedding magic wasn’t anything tangible, the results often were. For some reason, all the happiness in the air at weddings often led to many singles hooking up. No one wanted to be alone when two people were making a lifetime commitment.

Heck, even Lisa and Mark had shared a passionate kiss in the hallway outside Joann’s reception eight years ago. Now they were getting married, proof that wedding magic was real and could lead to something more than one night.

Cecile had arrived solo to Elizabeth’s nuptials. She was family and she’d learned long ago that when you were a member of a bridal party, it was often better to attend the official events alone unless you were really serious about some guy.

Luke Shaw was attending stag, as well, according to Elizabeth, who had seen fit to impart the information to Cecile just last night. Her sister had even added that Luke wasn’t dating anyone. Cecile hadn’t misread her sister’s matchmaking attempt and she didn’t believe she was currently misreading Luke’s not-so-subtle signals that he was interested, especially as he took her arm when the string quartet began the processional music.

“You’re starting to fit there,” he whispered.

Cecile sucked in her breath and smiled. Yep. Luke was one hot package, and the pendulum of maybe indulging versus maybe not was swinging back and forth. Was she interested in indulging in a little wedding magic? Cecile wasn’t one who let the good catches get by without a little taste.

Yet she’d set a goal to stop wasting time on Mr. Man of the Moment, a resolution Lisa had told Cecile to start tomorrow. Luke chose that second to reach over with his free hand, lightly touching the arm she’d looped through his. Heat increased between them and Cecile shifted. Reality was, she knew nothing about him except that he lived in Chicago and he was Devon’s best friend. Time to swing the pendulum back the other direction, toward “better not.”

“Ready?” Luke arched a blond brow in her direction, and Cecile tried not to shiver with desire. She doubted she’d ever be prepared to totally take on this man. He wasn’t like other guys who she could best or control. Instinct told her that in a match of wills, the battle would be close and the victor not predictable.

“I’m good to go,” Cecile said bravely.

And with that, Luke and Cecile headed down the aisle.

They didn’t speak to each other again until after the ceremony, when he took her arm and they followed the newly married couple out. She lost him when she went to stand in the family receiving line, found him again during endless wedding party pictures that seemed to last ages. He disappeared when the photographer began the multigenerational family shots, which took forever since her entire family was there—her mother, father, Elizabeth and a bunch of aunts, uncles and cousins that Cecile saw only at events like these.

“Fun, isn’t this?” her father asked during a father-daughter picture. Being in his late fifties, his hair had grayed substantially.

“Elizabeth’s very happy. That’s what matters,” Cecile said.

“Just promise me you’ll elope,” her dad joked as the photographer gestured Elizabeth over for the next photo.

“No need to even mention me and marriage in the same sentence,” Cecile said. “Lisa’s engaged, though. You remember Lisa?”

“I do. Tell her to elope. Invest the money instead.”

Cecile laughed, and as Elizabeth arrived to join them, everyone paid attention to the photographer’s instructions. By the time the photos were finally finished, all Cecile wanted was a pair of comfortable tennis shoes. Barring that, she wanted a very large glass of white wine.

The limos were waiting for the last of the immediate family; the other guests and wedding party members were already enjoying an open bar and appetizers at the Millennium Knickerbocker’s Crystal Ballroom while they waited for the bride and groom to arrive.

“You look like you could use this,” a deep voice said when Cecile finally walked into the reception. “The line’s terrible.”

“Thanks.” Cecile turned and gained a sudden new appreciation for Luke Shaw as she took the wineglass he offered. The line for the bar was eight deep.

“Just stick with me,” Luke said. “I know my way around these things.”

“I can tell,” Cecile murmured appreciatively as she rolled the wine over her tongue. “So are you giving a toast?” she asked.

“That’s Devon’s brother’s job, and I’m glad of it,” Luke admitted cheekily. “Can’t stand the things. ‘To the bride and groom. May your love last a lifetime and all that happy jazz.’”

Cecile arched her eyebrow. Here was a man she could identify with, especially if this was his attitude. “You sound cynical.”

“Realistic?” Luke queried. “Don’t weddings make all the single people feel like they’re left out of some exclusive club?”

“Yes, they do, and you’re a brave man to admit it,” Cecile said.

That fabulous grin widened, revealing naturally pearly whites.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Luke said. “Of course, now I’m going to have to think of one for you. Can’t be something cheesy or trite, though, or given right at this moment. Better when you don’t expect it, that way you’ll get the full effect.”

Down, girl, Cecile told herself at his innuendo. She reminded herself that she’d earlier resolved not to get swept up in the wedding magic. And Luke was obviously a flirt. Cecile hadn’t had a chance to question her sister further about the man, but any female with half a brain could gauge Luke Shaw’s type.

Even Cecile couldn’t say she was unaffected. He was like a tickle—welcome and yet needing to be stopped at the same time. He was sexy, and already other unattached women were giving him the eye. In fact, one of them was making her way over now. Cecile plastered on a smile as the daughter of one of her father’s business associates came over. Cecile hadn’t seen her since high school, but one thing could be said about Loretta—years later, the blonde was still stunning.

“Cecile,” Loretta said in greeting. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in ages. You look terrific.” She turned to Luke. “Hi, I’m Loretta Foster.”

“Luke Shaw,” he said easily as he shook her hand. Cecile noticed that Loretta’s ring finger was bare, and that jogged a memory—Cecile’s parents had told her last Christmas about Loretta’s wedding and the subsequent scandal when her husband had had an affair with his secretary only a few months later.