One More Night

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* * *

OWEN WATCHED GRACE glide off, noting the way her jeans clung to her long legs. What he wouldn’t give to feel them wrapped around his waist.

“Here.” He blinked when a bar napkin was shoved in his face, then saw his sister grinning. “To wipe the drool from your chin.”

Owen accepted the napkin and dabbed at his chin. “Thanks.”

Mal’s smile widened. It was good to see her laughing. She hadn’t done enough of that lately. “Of course, it’d be better if Grace would quit giving you the brush-off.”

“True.” Owen tucked the napkin in his pocket. “She does like me, though.”

“She has a funny way of showing it.”

“Grace has some funny ideas. Says she can’t get involved with me because I’m a client.”

“Does Donovan know you’re planning to steal his bride and marry her in his place? Tacky, Owen, and just when the two of you were starting to get along.”

Owen snorted because the idea of him marrying anyone was a joke. “Maybe you should tell Grace that and put in a good word for me while you’re at it.”

“No.” Mal seemed to relish turning him down. “I won’t be your wingman.”

“So you just came over here to harass me?”

She nodded. “That and to help you with your drooling issue. You are the host tonight, Owen. Show a little couth.”

“A little—” He started to laugh, long and hard. He’d missed this snarky side of his sister. Even when it was directed at him. For the past few months, she’d been muted, all her color washed away. He threw an arm around her now, wrestled her into a headlock the way he had when they were kids.

“Owen, if you mess up my hair, I’m going to kill you.” But she was laughing, too.

He grabbed a handful of strands and gave a light tug. “How’s that for couth?”

“A poor showing.” Mal extracted herself—but only because he let her—and smoothed her hair. “Very poor. See, Owen, it’s behavior like that that keeps me from acting as your wingman.”

He laughed again. “If I promise not to touch your hair anymore, will you do it?”

“No.” She took a quick step back, hands raised to deflect any further hair-touching.

“What about if I act as your wingman, too?”

Her face fell. Damn. He’d thought she was doing better, was moving past whatever had happened between her and Travis.

“My offer to beat him up still stands,” Owen said. Yes, Travis was one of his best friends, but Mal was his sister.

Mal’s eyes were sad, her voice soft. “No. I appreciate the support, but it’s not necessary. No fighting required.”

Which was good because Travis was a good two inches taller than Owen’s own six foot one and his friend outweighed him by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. So really it would have been less of a physical beating and more of an “I don’t know what happened between you and Mal, but fix it because I promised her I’d beat you up and I’d prefer not to lose a tooth.”

“You sure?” This time when he put his arm around her it was to give her a hug.

“Positive.” But she held on to him a second longer. “Thanks, Owen.”

He watched his sister go, wondering if there was something else he could do to help. But Mal was proud and refused to tell anyone what had happened.

Owen grabbed a bottle of water from behind the bar and cracked it open. Which was why he thought it was better not to get too serious when it came to relationships.

Sure, he could end up like Julia and Donovan or his own parents, but they seemed to be the exceptions to the rule. Most people didn’t last, and wasn’t it better to go into the relationship with that already in mind?

Owen sipped his water and glanced at his sister, who was talking to Stef and smiling. But the cheerful expression didn’t reach her eyes.

Yes, it was definitely better to keep things light and casual. And a hell of a lot less painful.

* * *

GRACE TWITCHED THE HEM of her silvery-gray dress into place, ran a smoothing hand over her hair and slicked on a coat of pale almost-nude lip gloss as she eyed her reflection in the mirror of her compact. It was her standard event-planner uniform. Finished off with sapphire-blue kitten heels and a discreet pair of silver hoops at her ears, she looked cool and elegantly classic.

She knew some planners preferred suits. An exhibition of power and control, a statement that they were in charge and could handle any issue, but she found the same aura could be projected without looking as though she’d come straight from the boardroom. And, in her mind, she really shouldn’t be standing out at all. She and her team should move seamlessly among the crowd, looking like every other guest, just with earpieces.

She fussed with her dress again. Something looked off or maybe it was the twin flags of color on her usually porcelain skin. Grace pressed the back of her hands to the offending warmth on her cheeks, breathing slowly until the rosiness began to fade.

Better. Now she just looked as though she’d gotten a little sun. Which she might have if she didn’t have weddings every weekend.

Not that she was complaining. It was all part of her five-year plan, of which she had one year left to complete. She’d successfully started her own business, had three employees reporting to her, planned at least twenty weddings a year and last year had bought her own condo, a gorgeous one-bedroom with soaring loftlike ceilings on the downtown side of False Creek.

Surrounded by other affluent, educated types, Grace Monroe had come a long way from her roots and was proud of what she’d accomplished, even if her family didn’t understand. They didn’t have to. She was satisfied, which was more important.

She was actually a little ahead of schedule, since she hadn’t planned to buy the condo until next year. But she’d booked a wedding of one of the local hockey players, which had gotten her front-page coverage in not just the newspapers—both in print and online—but local magazines, too. All of that would have seen an increase in her business on its own, but when coupled with the inclusion of the wedding in a national lifestyle magazine that had dedicated an issue to the country’s most popular athletes, well, she’d hired that third assistant and receptionist pretty quickly.

“Grace?” Hayley spoke through her earpiece.

“Coming out.” She’d snagged access to the assistant manager’s office for the night for storage and anything else. Like changing clothes.

Grace locked the door behind her as she left. All her employees had stored their bags and purses inside, plus whatever financial items might be put in the assistant manager’s filing cabinet.

She adjusted her earpiece, eyes scanning the room. “What’s going on, Hayley?”

“The photographer just texted that he’s not coming.”

Small problem when Grace considered what else could go wrong. “Thank you, Hayley. I’ll handle it.”

The photographer was a new one whom she’d used once before and been pleased with his work, but she wouldn’t be using him again if he wasn’t reliable. And he clearly wasn’t. She’d be removing him from her list of contacts immediately.

Luckily, Grace had a solid list of vendors. She called Sherry Sanders, one of her most dependable photographers, and begged her to come for a last-minute gig tonight.

She’d figured the mention of Julia and Donovan’s names would be enough to pique Sherry’s interest, and she was right. Sherry had promised to grab her equipment and get there as soon as possible. Because there was a good chance a picture from the party would end up in one of the provincial papers, a photo credit line that would create an uptick in business. Not to mention, if Julia and Donovan were happy, they’d probably book Sherry for the actual wedding. And no serious photographer would be foolish enough to turn down the opportunity to work what looked to be one of the most talked-about weddings of the year.

By the time Sherry arrived and Grace had issued instructions about the number of family members and other important people in the couple’s lives, their style and general preferences, and made sure her team knew that Sherry was going to be handling all the photography, the wine bar had filled up. Grace recognized many of the guests. The who’s who in the city’s social scene, familiar faces in the papers’ society pages and industry professionals who were often as well-known as their restaurants. They glittered in expensive summer dresses and well-tailored suits. Jewelry and wineglasses shimmered under the lights.

Grace spotted Donovan’s parents and sister across the room. Gus Ford looked a lot like his sons, a blend of Donovan’s stoic seriousness and Owen’s easy smile. He wore a suit as well as they did, too. So clearly, there was no reason for her to get all jittery over the way Owen filled out his suit. It was simply good genetics. Like pheromones. Which Grace chalked up to animal instinct. Something she had overcome, much like her nontraditional childhood.

Evelyn was petite and energetic. Her eyes were bright as she chattered to her husband. Her elegant lilac dress set off her dark hair and complemented the deep indigo tie Gus wore. Grace smiled. She’d never had the opportunity to dress as a couple, except for Halloween, and she’d stopped participating in the costume and candy-consuming ritual when she was ten.

Grace headed over to greet them in person and assure them that they could come to her if they had any questions or concerns.

“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Grace Monroe.” She held out a hand to the brunette standing with Gus and Evelyn. Even if Mallory hadn’t looked like a taller, sleeker version of her mother, Grace would have known they were related by the way her parents looked at her. A mix of pride and love showered over their lone daughter.

“Mallory Ford.” Her grip was firm, the sign of a woman who lived and succeeded in a man’s world. “This is outstanding. Really. I can’t believe it’s Elephants.”

Grace decided she liked Mallory, or at least liked her taste. She seemed to look beyond the surface to note the effort and time that had gone into making each choice. Her strapless dress was aqua and gathered at one side with a slit that provided a peek of leg. With the wrong accessories or on a shorter, curvier woman, it might have looked trashy. But Mallory, with her hair left down to cascade down her back, simple gold drop earrings and bangle bracelet and matching shoes, looked upscale and luxe. Which Grace imagined she was. “Thank you.”

“I agree.” Evelyn looked around, appreciation clear on her face. “I know it’s our place, and I can recognize so much of it, yet it looks different. Like a version created just for Julia and Donovan.” Which was exactly what Grace had been going for. Evelyn clasped a hand around her husband’s arm. “Isn’t it wonderful, Gus?”

“Better than wonderful.” Gus’s voice was as warm as his eyes. “You’ve done a fantastic job, Ms. Monroe.”

Grace felt the warmth from the pair of them seep into her, like a flower absorbing the heat of the sun. She clasped each of their hands in turn, wrapping them with both of hers. “Please, call me Grace.”

She jumped when she sensed someone move up beside her and the scent of clover with a hint of smoke, like honey by the campfire, surrounded her. She knew that scent. She loved that scent, but wished she didn’t.

“How come you never say that to me?” Grace tried not to stiffen as she turned to look at Owen.

“Owen.” Evelyn seemed delighted to see her son. Grace wished she felt the same. Instead, she was left with a discomfiting heat swirling beneath her skin. Mallory hugged her brother and whispered something in his ear that made him throw back his head and laugh.

Grace felt a bubble of envy and shifted a step away, out of reach. She wasn’t jealous of Mallory, just of the easy relationship she seemed to have with her brother. Grace hadn’t spoken to her own brother in six months. Not since the last time she’d been over to visit the family farm. But then despite the only sixteen-month age gap, she and Sky had never been close. Different priorities, different lives. Sky had decided to stay on the family farm and take over the business with his pregnant girlfriend. While she had done the opposite.

Gus moved to stand beside her by one of the tables. “I like these.” He was admiring the birdcage of flowers, running a thick finger along the cage much as his son had earlier. Grace shoved away the thought of Owen’s hands caressing anything, even a stone bird, but her ears were attuned to the conversation he was having with his mother and sister. And she had to lecture herself not to inhale deeply before his scent drifted away, replaced by lemon cleaning products, the spicy shrimp appetizers being passed around and her own grapefruit-and-mint perfume.

“You’ve done a fine job, Owen. Julia and Donovan are going to love this.” Evelyn laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Really love it.”

“I hope so.” Owen’s tone was cheerful, as though Grace hadn’t just brushed him off. Again. “Grace certainly worked hard enough.”

A curl of pride wound through her. Not that she didn’t believe she deserved the accolades, but it was always nice to be recognized. And then she felt guilty for brushing him off, since he hadn’t been trying anything. Not this time.

She flicked a glance at him. He was looking back. She felt her breath catch, took that deep breath she’d been avoiding and caught a full breath of that smoky sweetness that was all Owen. Her knees wobbled. Or they might have wobbled on a less tightly controlled person. Grace simply locked her knees and turned her full attention to Gus, who was now scarfing down both the spicy shrimp and the slices of warm baguette being served with it, wearing the beatific look of a man on a diet.

“Not too many, love,” Evelyn called.

“I know, I know. I’ll eat some green stuff, too.” But Gus winked at Grace as he grumbled and then leaned forward as though to impart some wisdom. “She’s always pushing me to eat green stuff. But I really only like it when I grow it myself. You didn’t by any chance create a green-free menu?”

Grace laughed at his hopeful look. “I’m afraid not. But since Julia is a French-inspired chef, it’s all been cooked in lots of butter.”

Gus’s eyes lit up as he called over his shoulder to his wife. “I’ll eat some green veggies when they come out, dear.”

Evelyn smiled. “It’s a celebration. Try everything, just don’t overdo it.”

Gus went back to stand with her, the two of them drawing Mallory into a conversation about a guest they wanted her to meet. Owen moved closer to Grace, hovering by her side, not touching, but close enough.

She got another whiff of him and tried to take only shallow breaths. “My dad had a heart attack at the end of last year.” His voice was low in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “She’s still worried.”

“Of course she is,” Grace murmured. Mallory had excused herself and left Gus and Evelyn standing together, their heads almost touching as they whispered and smiled. Grace had known them for only a couple of minutes and already she could see how in love they were. It would be hard to recover from losing a love like that. Her heart skipped a beat. Of course, she had to find a man she liked enough to go on a second date with—okay, fine, a first date—before she jumped ahead to love and marriage and a lifetime of togetherness. “That must have been hard.”

“It was. For all of us.”

Grace tilted her head to look at him. His mouth was close to hers and she knew she should step back, but she was afraid she’d bump the table. Yeah, right. The table. That was what was holding her in place. “He looks good.” But she didn’t turn her head toward Gus. She was caught in Owen’s gaze.

“He does.” Owen reached out to brush a strand of hair off her neck. Grace felt the sharp buzz of attraction race through her. “He’s doing well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” And although she hadn’t known Gus Ford even an hour ago as anything more than the founder of the family company and father to Owen and Donovan, she was glad. Grace didn’t always understand her own parents and she knew they didn’t understand her, but despite their sometimes contentious relationship, she loved them and would be devastated if they fell ill.

“Thanks.” Owen brushed the side of her neck again, though Grace was pretty sure that the strand of hair wasn’t there anymore. She knew she should mind, should take that step back, table or not, and remind both Owen and herself that their relationship was strictly business. She didn’t move.

“And how are you handling it?” Her voice was soft.

“Fine. Most of the time.” He shrugged and moved closer. She could feel his body heat radiating through her thick silk dress, could imagine the hard bunch of his muscles beneath that stylish summer suit. “Maybe you want to hug me? Make it all better?”

And just like that the moment dissolved and washed away on the realization that Owen wasn’t serious. Not about anything. Grace took that step away and didn’t bump the table. “Nice try.”

Owen grinned. If he weren’t so charming, he’d be obnoxious. Actually, she bet he could be obnoxious despite that overabundance of charm. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

She could, but she didn’t. Instead, she pretended that one of her employees was calling her through her earpiece and excused herself from the little family grouping, but she risked a glance over her shoulder as she strode away and saw Owen watching her go, a sleepy appreciation in his eyes.

Grace didn’t want to find him appealing. Not with his insouciant manner, his casual attitude toward most things and his bright green sneakers. But she did. She made herself keep walking as a quiet ache unfurled in her chest.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_268b8954-d9a3-5742-b10f-3b5266c6be7c)

INTERESTING. OWEN WATCHED Grace walk away, that silver dress catching each curve as she moved.

She wasn’t as convinced that their relationship should be strictly platonic as she wanted him to think. And he didn’t need Mal as his wingman.

Owen smiled. No, he was doing just fine on his own. Just fine, indeed.

So fine that he was still grinning like a fool when his lookout texted him that Donovan and Julia had finally arrived. Owen gathered the family by the front door, wanting to give the happy couple a proper greeting.