great time.”
“No.”
“Not even just one dri—”
“No.”
He stood there a moment longer, then shoved away from the counter. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He studied her for just a few seconds longer, then he bowed. The gesture should have looked silly, or patronizing, but Josie Lynn found his movement oddly elegant. Oddly appealing.
He straightened. “I do wish you would reconsider, but I also realize I overstepped proper etiquette and put you in an awkward and unfortunate position, and for that, I am truly sorry.”
Josie Lynn stared at him. He looked sincere—and even stranger than that, his way of speaking seemed from another time, yet utterly natural to him. And maybe stress and anxiety had taken what was left of her mind, but had he suddenly acquired an English accent?
Then he smiled, that mischievous, roguish grin that she was already far too familiar with, and Josie Lynn immediately felt like a fool for being sucked in by his charm—even for a moment. It was an act. Like all men’s charms.
The costume made total sense. He was dashing and dangerous and totally out for himself. And she wasn’t about to let her emotions get ravished again. Even by a very pretty pirate.
“Great,” she said with forced detachment. “Now please leave.”
“Okay.” In that one word all of his affected gallantry disappeared. In fact he sounded as if her rejection didn’t matter in the least to him, and even though she didn’t have any intention of going out with him, she was still hurt by the idea that he’d come on so strong, then was ultimately so apathetic about her rejection.
The pirate gave her another nod of his head and then sauntered out of the room.
She watched him leave, willing herself to not feel bad.
She refocused on her work. She needed to finish up two more platters of appetizers. She immediately went to the large fridge to pull out the spinach-and-feta turnovers that needed to be put in the oven now. And she needed to get the yogurt-dill dipping sauce into a serving bowl.
She checked the oven temperature and slid two baking sheets full of pastries inside. Then she returned to the refrigerator to get the sauce.
Where was her help? Eric was moving at the pace of a drowsy snail, no doubt. And God only knew what Ashley was doing. Probably flirting with one of the wedding guests.
An image of the pretty blonde smiling sweetly at the pirate popped into her head. She stirred the yogurt sauce with a little too much force, and some of the white mixture slopped over the side of the mixing bowl.
Okay, she needed to let this go. Who cared if the man was out there flirting with half the women in the room? Better them than her.
Yep. Better them than her.
She had just reached for a sponge to wipe up the glob of sauce on the counter, when she heard a sharp rap from across the room. She paused, surprised by the sound. Someone was at the back door.
She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Another knock sounded. This one louder than the first.
She grabbed a paper towel, wiping her damp hands as she headed tentatively toward the door. This was New Orleans, after all, and she wasn’t sure if she should even answer it. Who knew what unsavory character could be on the other side? She paused, listening, not that she could hear anything over the din of voices, laughter, and the beat of “Gangnam Style.”
Josie Lynn glanced back toward the kitchen door, wishing Ashley or Eric would come back so she wouldn’t be alone. She was probably being too dramatic.
She jumped as the back door shook under another knock.
Or not.
She hesitated a moment longer, then reached for the doorknob. The truth was, she didn’t have time for another distraction, and she needed to get rid of this one, too.
She jerked the door open, preparing herself for an unruly wedding guest, or maybe a vagrant coming to beg for food. She even considered someone shadier. So she wasn’t at all prepared for . . . Cher.
Five Chers, to be exact. And to be more exact, they were five transvestites dressed as Cher in different stages of her career. At least, Josie Lynn thought they were transvestites. She had to admit they looked pretty good.
“Can—can I help you?”
The one closest to her was dressed as Cher from the sixties with long, straight hair, a fur vest and red, orange, yellow, and green striped pants.
She flipped her hair and said, “Hi. Sorry to interrupt you, but we have a favor to ask.”
Wow, she/he even spoke like Cher.
“Okay,” Josie Lynn said uncertainly.
“We are friends of the bride,” Sixties Cher said.
“And we wanted to come in through the back to surprise her,” said Half-Breed Cher.
Sixties Cher glared at the Half-Breed one, clearly not appreciating the help explaining. Half-Breed Cher shrugged, the feathers of the elaborate headdress she wore bobbing, and Believe Cher blew one of the errant feathers out of her face.
“We wanted to come in through the back to make a dramatic entrance,” Bob Mackie Cher added, the thousands of sequins on her evening gown glittering in the light from the kitchen.
Josie Lynn looked at If I Could Turn Back Time Cher’s huge, curly hair, studded leather jacket, stockings and garters, and a mesh and V-shaped bodysuit that just barely covered her breasts and vajayjay. Did she/he have a vajayjay? And how on earth was she/he hiding the additional . . . junk, if she/he still had it? Either way, all these Chers couldn’t help but make an entrance no matter where or how they entered a room.
“We would be happy to pay you for your help,” said Sixties Cher. Bob Mackie Cher ran a pointed tongue over her top lip in signature Cher style, then pulled something out of her cleavage. She held it up. A hundred-dollar bill.
Josie Lynn frowned. Why would they feel like they had to pay her to be allowed in? Especially if they were friends of the bride’s?
Believe Cher seemed to see her concern, because she quickly said, “We know you’re busy working and just wanted to pay you for your time.”
“After all, we are all working girls here, right?” said Believe Cher, using an index finger to brush her black- and-red highlighted hair away from her face.
Josie Lynn hesitated, looking at the money. Then she thought about the sushi that had ended up on the floor. That money certainly would help with the loss of that. And given what she’d seen of the wedding guests, a gaggle of Chers certainly seemed like a natural fit as the bride’s friends.
“Okay,” Josie Lynn said as she took the money. She stood back opening the door wider. “Come on in.”
DRAKE SIGHED AS he walked back into the reception. It looked as if there would be no distraction tonight. Cupcake was not only a spitfire, she was tough. He’d seen that there was no way he was going to charm her into going out with him. Much less fall into his bed for the night.
“Which just blows.”
“What blows?”
Drake turned to see Obsidian beside him. He couldn’t convince Cupcake to give him a chance, and apparently he couldn’t convince the persistent maid of honor that he was not interested. But at least now she no longer carried her riding crop. Instead she held two champagne flutes of the wretched-looking punch.
She offered one to him and he accepted, seeing no way to deny her—at least if he didn’t want her to head back and retrieve her crop.
She lifted her glass in salute. “Yo ho ho, blow the man down.”
