The crowd went wild.
Kevin blushed beet red.
Not Kyle. No, he just sat there, clearing enjoying the show. He certainly couldn’t miss it, Annie thought darkly, as the exceptionally built, redheaded stripper kept putting her…parts right in his face.
It repelled her, disgusted her. It did.
But it also made her legs inexplicably rubbery. It made her thighs ache, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
And when it was over, she was still standing there, mouth a little open, when Kyle came up to her, obviously still full of himself and mischief.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
He lifted a brow. “You’re not too uptight to admit that was fun, are you?”
Uptight? She wasn’t uptight! There wasn’t an uptight bone in her body!
“Are you a prude, Princess?”
She was still assimilating the uptight insult. When she managed to switch gears, she had to pause.
Uptight, no she definitely was not uptight.
But prude…? Damn it, maybe she was. Being a tomboy had given her a certain degree of freedom when it came to how she lived her life. But it had also limited her when it came to relations with the male of the species. “I just still think sex is overrated, that’s all.”
His good humor faded and his eyes darkened with a light of challenge she couldn’t miss. “Then you haven’t been with the right man.”
“Oh, yes. Do tell.” She crossed her arms to hide the fact that even her nipples reacted to his sexy voice. “I suppose
“Are you asking?”
But his lids had dropped over his eyes a little bit, giving him a sleepy, sexy look as he studied her mouth.
Her tummy fluttered.
“Princess?”
How was it possible that just his voice could render her a twisting, melting mass of hormones? No man had ever done that to her before, and she’d tried. Oh, baby, how she’d tried.
“Are you asking?” he repeated with infinite patience.
“No. I’m definitely not asking.”
“Hmm.” The sound assured her he saw right through her. “You be sure to let me know if you change your mind.”
She ignored her body. Not an easy task since said body was fairly humming in a completely foreign way she suspected was helpless lust. “I won’t.” But because she sounded weak, she tightened her arms and repeated it. “Of course I won’t.”
But a little shameful part of her wanted to.
7
THE BACHELOR-BACHELORETTE party lasted a lifetime. Two lifetimes.
Annie couldn’t wait until the last toast. Couldn’t wait to get to her room, strip down, shower and go to sleep.
Once asleep she would dream of such comforting things as ice cream. Of her home in Grunberg where the sharp, magnificent mountain peaks and comforting, familiar alpine towns and people provided her with all she needed.
Or better yet, she wouldn’t dream at all.
She certainly wouldn’t think of pink satin.
Or the upcoming wedding.
Or of one sexy but cocky, stubborn, smart-aleck cop named Kyle Moore.
Nope. Not a single thought would be spared for the man she didn’t care one iota for.
That decided, she smiled and toasted and actually salvaged a good time, from this nightmare party. And when it was over, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Once back at the inn, in her room, she switched her slacks and sweater for her favorite pj’s, which consisted of a spaghetti-strap tank top and a pair of men’s cotton boxer shorts.
“Perfect.” She flopped on the bed, grabbed the remote, and prepared to be amused by late-night American television.
But then the phone rang. It was the front desk. A message had been left from Her Serene Highness Natalia Faye Wolf Brunner of Grunberg.
Natalia. Her best friend. One of the few people Annie trusted through thick and thin. Nat would never let her down, never. She must be coming in early, Annie thought with giddy relief. A familiar, loving face in the midst of this horrific wedding, thank you God!
Then what the desk clerk said sank in. “Could you repeat that, please?” she asked with remarkable calm, because clearly, she needed a hearing aid.
“Yes, ma’am, I can repeat. She has poison ivy and will not be attending the wedding.”
“Poison ivy?”
“Poison ivy.”
“But…” Annie shook her head. Natalia, the leather-wearing, multipierced sister who acted so tough, and yet was afraid of animals much less the outdoors, had poison ivy? Was that even possible? “How did she get it?”
“Well-”
“Where is she?”
“I’m sorry. That’s the message in its entirety.”
“It can’t be.”
“It is, ma’am.”
Annie had no idea what the real story was, but it wasn’t poison ivy. She set the phone down and felt far more sorry for herself than her sister, who certainly had found something better and more exciting to do than attend a wedding.
Annie would kill her when this was over. With pleasure.
Just then the door adjoining her room to another guest’s opened, and in piled a group of women, with Lissa leading the pack.
Shocked, Annie sat straight up.
“Didn’t I mention I had the next room over?” Lissa beamed. “Cool, huh? Now we can have an official girl party.”
She carried a tray filled with what suspiciously looked like makeup and accessories. Annie narrowed her eyes as the three women with her-Lissa’s sisters, and all bridesmaids-plopped on the bed. “What is that stuff?”
“The ingredients for a girl party, of course.” Lissa looked at Annie critically. “You’ve got good skin, but there’s no telling what’s just beneath the surface. A full facial,” she said over her shoulder. “We’ll all do full facials. Then we’ll start in with the pedicures. Must have good toes. Did someone bring the pink nail polish?”
Facials. Pedicures. A fate worse than death. Annie hated makeup with the same passion she hated pink satin dresses and pink satin nail polish. She wore mascara because she looked like a zombie without it, and sometimes she even remembered blush. But gloss was the most she used on her lips, and she’d never, ever, had a facial. “I
