Winning Back His Bride

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The elevator dinged, and the doors whispered open. Geneva stepped inside and Michael joined her. What was it about being alone with this woman in an elevator that made him want to pull her into his arms? And why still this woman? At the moment, lust trumped revenge.

He could smell her perfume and remembered the scent that always made him want to taste the hollow just below her ear. It was a dangerous thought and not exactly the way this plan of his was supposed to work.

“Why did you pay me back for the wedding? It didn’t happen.”

“That’s why.”

“Meaning?” he asked, irritated.

She sighed. “It was my fault, Michael. I had doubts and they didn’t just surface the day of the ceremony. I should have called everything off before—” She stopped and caught her top lip between her teeth. “Before I did. Before we lost more than just the deposits.”

“I don’t need the money.”

“But I needed to pay it back.”

“So it’s about you?”

“If that’s the way you want to look at it. Yes, I didn’t go through with the ceremony. Yes, there were a lot of people who saw me not go through with it. Yes, the reporters pestered us mercilessly to find out why. Definitely I’m sorry I put you through all of the above. But no way would I let you foot the bill for my mistake and somehow use it against me.”

He was stunned that she’d believe such a thing. “Did I ever give you reason to think I would do that?”

“We weren’t together all that long, Michael. I don’t know if you would. However, I do know some people would.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter.” When her purse strap slid down her arm, she settled it more firmly on her shoulder. “The point is, I chose to stop the wedding. And there was fallout from the decision.”

“Decisions have a way of biting you in the ass.”

“Yeah. Decisions.” She met his gaze and hers was filled with the hurt she struggled to hide with anger. “And I’ll tell you how you’ll know I won’t walk out on my responsibilities to you. I mortgaged my condo to pay you back. I need the job. And I don’t turn my back on the hard stuff.”

“Neither do I.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“Not in so many words, but the implication is there.”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything. No one knows better than me that you do the right thing.” The elevator stopped on the floor housing the executive suites and she stepped out. “But sometimes, Michael, the right thing can be a mistake.”

He watched her walk away, puzzled by what she’d said. How could doing the right thing ever be a mistake?

Wasn’t he working with her for the good of the project? So far that decision was biting him in the ass. Doing the right thing was pushing his desire into the danger zone.

CHAPTER THREE

GENEVA grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, then stepped into the outer office where her assistant was typing up notes.

“Chloe?”

“Yes, boss?” Chloe Milton was a blue-eyed redhead with a freckle-splashed nose and sass to spare.

“I’m going to be out of the office this afternoon.”

“I got your note. Too bad you’re not playing hooky. Or, better yet, playing with fire.”

That only happened when Michael was around, Geneva thought. And he wouldn’t be. She planned to sneak out before he could drop in and demand to know if the chapels had pews, chairs or picnic tables.

She hadn’t seen him for a week, not since she’d told him doing the right thing can be a mistake. An army of psychiatrists would have a field day figuring out that remark. Michael Sullivan? He probably thought she was one Jimmy short of a pair of Choos and had steered clear of her, considering himself lucky that five minutes of humiliation had saved him a whole lifetime of weird. But the change in his daily visits made her uneasy.

“I put in a call to Melina St. George in New York,” she briefed her assistant. “I want to talk to her about doing the food for the grand opening of Sullivan Towers.”

“Isn’t she the chef who did that celebrity event in Santa Barbara?”

“That’s the one,” Geneva confirmed. “If she calls, let me know and I’ll get right back to her.”

“Will do, boss.”

“See you tomorrow. I won’t be back before you leave for the day.”

Blue eyes widened in surprise. “So your note only says you’re checking out chapels. I’m assuming you’re not looking for a religious experience?”

“Hardly.” Not since Michael. She sighed. It seemed all thoughts led back to him. Geneva wasn’t sure how to stop that. It had been so much easier when she didn’t have to see him at all.

“Who’s getting married?” Chloe asked. “Anyone I know?”

“Teri Sullivan.”

“She asked you to plan it?” Chloe couldn’t have looked more shocked if Geneva had stripped naked and jumped into Bellagio’s dancing water.

“Michael did the actual asking.”

“That’s diabolical.”

“Revenge has nothing to do with it,” Geneva countered.

“Who said anything about revenge?” Chloe stared skeptically. “But now that you mention it—what fantasyland are you living in? What other reason could he have?”

“I’m good at my job?” Geneva said wryly.

“That’s true. But revenge has got to be right up there at the top of his list.”

“We both know Michael could have let me go. Instead he put me in charge of two projects.” Geneva could do paranoia on her own and really didn’t need it reinforced.

“Payback can take many forms.” Chloe nodded sagely.

That had already occurred to Geneva, but she did owe Michael. She’d promised to do whatever she could to help him succeed and wouldn’t go back on her word. She’d show him that she wouldn’t let him down again.

“Bye, Chlo.”

Geneva stopped at the elevator and pushed the down button. She heard someone behind her and turned.

“Where are you off to?” Michael asked. “A working lunch?”

Damn. She’d almost made it. Did he have a homing device on her? “Actually I’m checking out more chapels.”

“Good. I’m glad I ran into you. I’ll come along.”

Was it technically running into her if he did it deliberately? Clearly he had an agenda, she just wasn’t sure what he had in mind. “Along?”

“I’d like some input. We can take the limo.”

Geneva hoped he wasn’t serious or it was going to be a very long afternoon. “Thanks anyway, Michael. But I need my car. I have things to do. Appointments,” she said vaguely.

“I’ll take you where you need to go.”

“I understand you want details. But I’m the wedding planner. I’m supposed to be doing the legwork.”

“The thing is, I like legwork,” he said, his gaze dropping to her hem.

Geneva resisted the urge to look down. She already knew her skirt was short, but now she wished it was a suit of armor.

“Michael, this is my job,” she insisted, looking up at him. “However much you feel the need to micro-manage, you must have more important things to do than weed out wedding chapels.”

“Nothing is more important than my sister.” His eyes darkened.

“You don’t need to supervise. I have nothing to report yet. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’ll do my best to make sure Teri has exactly what she wants,” Geneva assured him.

“There are some things she wants that you can’t do. Like the family touch.”

And she wasn’t family. She’d almost been a Sullivan. But almost only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades.

“This is important to me,” he said. “Teri doesn’t have her mother to help shop for her wedding dress. She doesn’t have her father to walk her down the aisle.”

“Teri has you.” Geneva hadn’t meant to say that, but the words popped out. Probably because Geneva felt a twinge of remorse for being so cynical. Michael was many things, but a jerk wasn’t one of them.

He’d been both mother and father to his sister and he’d done a fine job raising her when he was practically a boy himself. He was a good man. It would be so much easier if he wasn’t, if she could simply dislike him. But she couldn’t. And that was the biggest problem of all.

He looked down. “And I don’t want her to forget that I’ll always be there for her, especially on her wedding day.”

Geneva nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

That wasn’t a lie. Michael was always on her mind, whether she wanted him there or not. But she saw the shadows in his eyes for a split second and the expression tugged at her heart. This wasn’t about her.

The elevator dinged just before the doors opened. Michael looked at her. “Geneva, stop arguing and get in.”

She got in and a few minutes later was sitting beside him in the back of his limousine. The luxurious interior was leather, plush carpet and the spicy scent of Michael. As they pulled out from beneath the covered hotel entrance, tinted windows shielded them from the desert heat and curious stares, because limos in Vegas signaled a possible celebrity sighting.

Geneva glanced at Michael and knew there wasn’t anything to shield her from him. His showing up unexpectedly was probably part of his ongoing strategy to mess with her mind. How annoying that it was working.

She stole another glance and noticed he was casually dressed in a black knit shirt and khaki slacks. Another good look, although she doubted he had a bad one.

Then she thought about what he’d said. The words about family hung heavy in the air and she searched for something to break the tension.

“You know,” she started, “I don’t think you ever met my family.”

He frowned, thinking. “Now that you mention it… Why is that?”

“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say that if my parents had been at our wedding, my bombshell would have been just a footnote to their hostilities.”

“Oh?”

“Mom would have argued with Dad that her husband should walk me down the aisle and give me away.”

“Even though he’s your stepfather?”

“She’d have come up with a reason and dug her heels in. And Dad—” She shook her head. “If she said white, he’d say black.”

“Fight do they?”

“Like the Montagues and Capulets,” she agreed. In her own story the only casualty had been her heart, by her own hand. But it was still a tragic ending thanks to the baggage she carried, a by-product of her childhood. “I always thought it was ironic that they named me after a city in a country that prides itself on remaining neutral. The two of them can’t be in the same room and have a civil conversation. But it was worse when they were actually married.”

“How long ago did they divorce?”

“A long time. I was about ten,” she said, remembering the fear and uncertainty she’d felt, huddled in her room with her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the fighting, the nasty accusations and name-calling. She met his gaze, trying hard to hide the remembered pain. “But it was for the best. Things were ugly between the two of them for a very long time. And they kept trying to make it work because of me.”

“Is that what you meant when you said sometimes the right thing can be a mistake?”

Actually she’d meant Michael’s reason for going through with their wedding. But it would be best to let him think that she’d been talking about her parents.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “That’s what I meant.”

He studied her. “You never told me about growing up in a battle zone.”

“No?”

She frowned as she thought back. It was hard to believe she’d never mentioned her traumatic childhood. Then she remembered the combustible attraction she and Michael had shared. When they’d been in the same room, sparks flew. Everything about their affair had been red-hot and they’d been consumed only with each other. They’d done everything with their mouths except talk.

It was inevitable that the passion would burn out, that the embers would turn to ashes. If there’d been more than the baby holding them together, Michael wouldn’t have disappeared without a word. If the wedding had gone forward, they’d have ended up hating each other. Divorce wars would have been inevitable. That fate was part of what had scared her about marrying him.

She didn’t want to end up hating Michael. She also didn’t want to be attracted to him, but so far she hadn’t figured out how to make her attraction stop.