Right Bride, Wrong Groom Page 2

  Jeffrey came up for air slowly. “You haven't been kissed for a while,” he observed, holding her trembling frame to keep her steady.

  "Not like that,” Lynne admitted, trying to slow her breathing. “I've missed you."

  A slow grin spread across his face and he pulled away from her reluctantly; keeping his face so close Lynne could feel his moist breath against her lips, teasing her. She put her hands on his shoulders feeling the warmth of his skin through the material. With effort he pulled back further, tapping on the tinted privacy window between them and the driver. The window noiselessly slid down an inch or two.

  "Let us out in the middle of the next block,” Jeffrey ordered in his soft voice. He studied Lynne with his dark eyes slightly narrowed and calculating.

  Lynne gazed back at him nervously, unable to read the weight of his stare, but she knew Jeffrey well enough to know he was scheming. He was aware she was still half afraid of him. Afraid of that unpredictable side—yet drawn to his wildness like a magnet. She had an impulsive side of her own, though she seldom allowed it show.

  "What are you up to, Jeffrey?"

  He smiled mysteriously.

  "No need to waste a beautiful bride,” he said cryptically, as the limo pulled over to the curb.

  He was out of the limousine before the driver could leave his seat. Jeffrey held the door open for Lynne, taking her hand and pulling her out of the vehicle. She was still reeling from the kiss, his reappearance, and the escape from St. Paul's.

  For a moment, Lynne could see no reason they had stopped in the middle of a busy Manhattan street—then she saw it. A wedding chapel. Her heart stopped beating and for a moment she thought that she might faint. She clutched Jeffrey with both hands, steadying herself.

  "Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice coming from somewhere far away. He didn't know if he needed a license or not, but that was one of the perks of being an undercover agent. One call to Langley and he could make it official.

  Lynne shut her eyes. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

  "Awww, come on, Lynne, you don't expect me to get on my knees in front of all these people, do you?” he asked. Exasperated, he gestured toward the crowd of New Yorkers who parted like the Red Sea and flowed past them on either side without a second glance.

  Lynne opened one eye to peek at Jeffrey. “You would do that?"

  He was surprised to find that he meant it. “If that's what it takes."

  * * * *

  "We need to talk first,” Lynne said. She dragged Jeffrey off the sidewalk and toward the garden at the back of the wedding chapel where other nervous couples stood waiting their turn.

  She pulled him aside, into a private little niche between two purple trailing vines of Wisteria in full bloom. He lit a cigarette, waiting for her to speak.

  "You disappear for two years then you pop back into my life and expect me to marry you? What the hell are you up to, Jeffrey Shelton?"

  "You don't want to marry me?” he asked, eyeing her cautiously through a light haze of smoke. She recognized the uncertainty lurking just under the surface of his brown eyes.

  "I didn't say that,” Lynne said. “But it's been two years. Two years without a single word from you."

  "I made a mistake,” he said, looking her straight in the eye without dropping his gaze.

  Lynne closed her mouth to stop the angry words she was forming.

  A mistake.

  Plain and simple.

  A mistake.

  She was aware of Jeffrey's history. She had held him through the nightmares and the flashbacks that had pushed him so close to the edge she thought she would lose him to the past. Therefore, it had come as no real shock to her when he disappeared without a word. Jeffrey tried, at all costs, to avoid the vulnerability of emotional attachment.

  Now, he was offering her what she had always wanted from him but never thought would be hers. Lynne knew how much that had cost him. She also knew that dealing with Jeffrey was like handling spun glass; he was fragile.

  He shrugged at her hesitation, his expression growing distant. “Fuck it. What did I expect?"

  Lynne cupped his face with her hand. A face almost too delicate to be male. She forced him to look at her and knew by the expression in his eyes she had one chance to get it right.

  "I'll marry you, Jeffrey Shelton, but don't think this is over yet,” Lynne warned. “I'm just calling a truce for the moment."

  Jeffrey gave the slightest ghost of a grin. He could handle punishment for his sins; after all, he had done that his whole life.

  * * * *

  Jeffrey took a thin silver band from his pinkie finger, slipping it on Lynne's hand after the minister pronounced them man and wife. “I'll buy you a better one,” he promised, his eyes soft with affection.

  "I love you,” Lynne whispered.

  He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. Her hair smelled like lilacs and he breathed deeply, filling his senses with her.

  Lynne looked up, “Jeffrey?"

  "Ummm?” his arms tightened around her.

  "I said I love you."

  "I know.” Jeffrey was smiling to himself.

  "So?"

  "So what?” His smile began to dim a little around the edges.

  "Do you love me?” Lynne persisted.

  Jeffrey stiffened, looking slightly irritated. “Are we on the same page here, sweetcheeks? I just married you, didn't I?"

  Lynne drew back out of his arms, putting her hands on her hips. He knew it was her classical fight stance. “I want to hear you say you love me."

  "Well, fuck,” Jeffrey exclaimed. “Isn't that kind of obvious, Lynne?"

  "Jeffrey, don't piss me off. We haven't been married fifteen minutes. I don't want to fight."

  He rolled his eyes in frustration. “That would be a record even for us, wouldn't it?"

  The officiating minister looked back and forth between them, beads of sweat popping out on his brow.

  "Sir, it is quite common for the groom to tell his bride he loves her,” he ventured hesitantly.

  Jeffrey pointed a finger and glared. “You—shut the fuck up. We don't need any help here."

  He didn't know why she couldn't just drop it. He'd certainly proven he loved her but he knew she wanted to hear him say it. To make him say it. She couldn't resist pushing his buttons. She crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her distance from him.

  Jeffrey recognized that stubborn look on her face. He sighed. She was going to be a hard one to tame—but he always liked a challenge. “Okay, okay,” he acquiesced, holding his arms out away from his sides in defeat. “I love you. Is that enough?"

  She didn't budge. “I want you to say it like you mean it."

  He stepped forward threateningly. “Lynne...” he drew her name out, grabbing hold of her upper arms, jerking her against his lean body. “I'll tell you at a more appropriate time."

  "Our wedding isn't appropriate enough?” she countered, her sapphire colored stare colliding with his deep brown. She gave him a challenging look as they stood toe to toe.

  Jeffrey looked down into her face and felt a stab of pure lust shoot through him. Damn, she was baiting him.

  "You little bitch,” he whispered in her ear. “You know I love you, you were just trying to get a rise out of me."

  "Looks like I did that,” Lynne whispered back sweetly, her hand between them, hidden from the minister by the voluminous folds of her dress. She gently squeezed his erection through his jeans and felt him jerk. “And I got you to tell me you love me."

  "Don't gloat, it's not becoming,” Jeffrey replied quietly, but his eyes were filled with amusement. “Besides, you know what they say about paybacks."

  "Promises, promises,” Lynne countered mischievously.

  Chapter Two

  Eva Barnett sat in the office at St. Paul's with her never to be son-in-law. He had a bottle of champagne on the desk between them and had just finished filling Eva's glass for the second ti
me.

  "Are you sure you're okay?” he asked solicitously.

  Eva nodded. “It's you I'm worried about, Perry."

  Perry gave a dismissive wave of his hand, looking away out the window. “I'm crushed, Eva. I love Lynne, but I'm more concerned for her safety. I mean ... do you know if this guy is stable? Will he take care of her? Is this someone she just met? I don't know what's going on here."

  Eva swirled the champagne around in her glass before turning it up to nearly drain the contents. “He's not what I would call stable. No. But he won't hurt Lynne."

  Perry frowned. “Are you certain of that?"

  Eva nodded again. “His name is Jeffrey Shelton. He's a federal agent. Lynne used to work as a secretary in the office where he was stationed. He was always pulling wild stunts and following his own agenda, but he somehow managed to pull it off."

  Perry steepled his hands under his chin, staring off into space. “CIA then?"

  "Yes. CIA,” Eva confirmed.

  "Well, I won't keep you longer, dear,” Perry said standing up and coming from around the desk to hug Eva. “I'm sorry it worked out this way."

  Eva held onto him for a moment. “Me, too, Perry. I'm just...” she stopped. He could see it in her face, she was glad Shelton had showed up. She couldn't even get out a believable apology. “Thank you for taking it so well."

  Perry opened the door for her. “We'll meet again, Eva,” he promised, waiting till she was safely down the hall before adding, “At your daughter's funeral."

  When Eva disappeared around the corner, Perry pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, punching in a speed dial number. “Frankie, I have a name. Jeffrey Shelton. Central Intelligence Agency, so be careful.” He shut the phone with a slight smile of victory. By this time tomorrow his troubles would be over.

  * * * *

  The Braxton Hotel was an elegant remnant of architecture from a more genteel time. Plush red carpeted floors and pink Italian marble walls led to a bank of elevators across an expansive lobby housing an old-fashioned mahogany reception desk.

  Heads turned as Jeffrey led Lynne through the crowded lobby to the elevators. Even in New York it was unusual to see a groom wearing pseudo gothic gunslinger clothing when his bride was in a classically formal wedding dress. A soft buzz of whispered conversation and twittering laughter followed them across the high vaulted room. Jeffrey waited until the door of the elevator was closing before raising his middle finger to the gawking crowd. Lynne giggled at their outraged faces.

  He turned on her the moment the doors closed. “So, what does your boyfriend do for a living?"

  "He's a lawyer."

  "Oooh, I'm scared,” Jeffrey mocked, turning back to watch the buttons light up for the passing floors. On the fifteenth floor the elevator stopped and he held his arm out to usher Lynne past him. Before she took two full steps Jeffrey grabbed her back, slamming her against the wall behind him.

  "Stay,” he ordered, peeking his head carefully around the metal doorframe. The soft splat of silenced bullets sent him diving for cover inside the elevator. He pushed a button to close the door but the gunman was too near.

  The shooter jammed his pistol into the elevator, making sure to keep his body on the other side of the metal door. Shooting at random, the gunman empted the clip in a quick spray of bullets.

  Jeffrey returned fire, keeping the assassin cowering behind the door while he shot blindly, hoping for a lucky shot.

  When the shooter ran out of ammo, he retracted his hand, and the elevator door began to slide shut, but not before Lynne got a glimpse of him from behind Jeffrey's back.

  "Frankie?"

  The elevator began its descent and Jeffrey quickly reloaded his gun. “You recognize that guy? I thought he was after me."

  "Frankie DeMarco, he's one of Perry's friends. He was in our wedding."

  "Hell of a friend,” Jeffrey commented dryly. “Think I'll keep my enemies."

  He slapped the clip into the gun and then hit every button on the panel so Frankie wouldn't know which floor they exited on.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Yeah, I need a background check. Frankie DeMarco. New York City.” He held the phone with one hand and the gun with the other. When they reached the second floor, he peeked out of the elevator.

  Nothing.

  He motioned for Lynne to follow him.

  They crept down the hall toward the stairwell and Jeffrey's attention went back to the voice on the phone. “Organized crime? Yeah? Doesn't surprise me. I'm in the Braxton Hotel. No. I don't have time to wait for backup, this fuckwad's trying to kill me."

  When they reached the stairs, Jeffrey opened the door to look inside. “Run this name too. Lawyer. Perry Angelo.” This time the response was immediate and Jeffrey glanced over at Lynne like he was seeing her for the first time. “Thanks,” he said, hanging up the phone and slipping it back into his pocket.

  "What?” Lynne asked, at the look on Jeffrey face.

  "Sweetcheeks, we've just crossed the mob."

  "Mob? What do you mean, mob?"

  Jeffrey grabbed the front of Lynne's pearled wedding dress, scattering tiny beads everywhere. “The mob! Syndicate! The Godfather!"

  Lynne swallowed hard. She was unable to speak.

  Jeffrey gave her a little shake of frustration. “Did it never occur to you to check this guy out before you agreed to marry him? He's a Mafia boss."

  Lynne shook her head hesitantly. “No. No. They must be wrong."

  Before he could give her the details, Jeffrey heard footsteps on the stairs above them. “You want to tell that to Frankie ‘The Trigger'? I think he's got a nice little piece of lead for us as a wedding present from your ex."

  "What have I done?” Lynne whispered, letting herself be pulled along behind Jeffrey while she dealt with the shocking news.

  * * * *

  It isn't easy to hide a bride. Even in New York City. Jeffrey dragged Lynne along behind him muttering every curse he could think of. Several of them in foreign languages. He had accumulated quite a vocabulary of cuss words in his career and he used them with frequency. Today he was especially vocal as he searched for a way out of the hotel.

  At last, he spotted a delivery entrance that exited into a passageway strewn with boxes and pallets. Outside, Jeffrey quickly lodged wood slats under the handle of the door, temporarily blocking Frankie's way out. He was counting on slowing the hit man enough so they could escape from the entrapment of the alley. Otherwise, they were ducks in a shooting gallery with nowhere to run.

  As he rounded the corner of the building he came face to face with a group of motorcyclists. All Harley-Davidsons. The cyclists were wearing leather, do-rags and tattoos, lounging on their bikes, smoking pot. At first Jeffrey thought his luck had gone from bad to worse. He didn't want to interrupt a group of bikers making an illegal substance buy in a back alley. Then he noticed the small Harley-Davidson sign on the metal door behind the bikers.

  It was a cycle shop.

  Jeffrey knew he had hit the lottery.

  He walked up to the biggest guy in the group and turned to Lynne, smacking her playfully on the ass. “Go on inside, sweetcheeks. I'll be there in a second. I need to talk to this guy about a ride.” The crowd of guys snickered and Lynne seethed, but one look at the warning in Jeffrey's eyes and she entered the shop without saying a word.

  She had already picked out a pair of jeans, an Orange County Choppers tank top and leather jacket when Jeffrey came sauntering in. “Go put ‘em on, while I pay,” he ordered. “Better grab a pair of boots too."

  Lynne could barely fit into the tiny dressing room. Her skirt filled the area and she couldn't reach the miniature buttons that ran down the back of the dress. She struggled helplessly for a few minutes, managing to unfasten only the top button.

  Jeffrey popped his head through the door with a frown. “Come on, Lynne, we haven't got all day."

  "Fuck you, Jeffrey! I'm trying."

  Jeffrey's dark eye
s narrowed in irritation. “What's the matter?"

  "I can't get this dress unfastened."

  Lynne would have backed up if there had been space, but there was nowhere to go. Jeffrey pushed his way into the room, carelessly stepping on her skirts. He whirled her around placing her hands against the wall like a police suspect ready to be frisked. She could feel his fingers working at the impossibly small pearl buttons.

  "Hell's bells,” he muttered, struggling with the buttons until his patience gave out.

  Lynne felt his fingers slide inside the fabric and with one jerk he ripped the dress apart, splitting it all the way down her back. She felt his warm lips on her shoulder for the barest moment before he leaned into her, pushing her suggestively against the wall.

  "Now get dressed,” he whispered, backing out of the room, leaving her breathless and shaking.

  The thing about Jeffrey was you never knew what to expect. Despite the fact a killer was stalking them, he was quite capable of taking her right there in the cycle shop as she leaned against the wall, and a part of her wished he had.

  * * * *

  When Lynne came out of the dressing room Jeffrey was waiting for her in leather. He'd bought himself a pair of biker boots with skull and crossbones on the back and the jacket he was wearing had the same design as the boots. Lynne licked her lips. Some guys look good in leather. Jeffrey looked like a wet dream.

  She didn't need to touch him to know the leather jeans were as soft as butter. It made her want to run her hands up his legs and across his muscled ass. The boots made him strut when he walked. She could catch glimpses of the skulls peeking out from under his jeans every time he took a step. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead, he looked hot. He looked like a modern day pirate.

  "Ride's out back,” Jeffrey said with a grin, jangling a set of keys at her.

  They exited the shop the same way they had entered. The big, bearded guy on the Harley gave a brief nod of his head and Jeffrey tossed him a wad of bills that he caught in one beefy hand. The group of bikers parted to let them through. Jeffrey stopped in front of a cycle that looked like a sleek black and chrome predator.

  Lynne stood back to watch him step across the polished bike. She thought there was something sexual about a man straddling a powerful cycle. Especially when he could handle it. Jeffrey settled himself on the Harley with confidence. He was used to riding and it showed in the boneless way he lounged on the seat. When he turned the key, the Harley roared into life, purring throatily. He gave a small jerk of his head to Lynne.