Rescued by Love Page 2

  I climbed into my truck and started it, watching him walk to his car. He was better looking than back when he was eighteen, and back then he was gorgeous.

  But I had to keep my shit together tonight. He might have some weird hold on me, but I was strong and I was ready to prove I could stay away from him.

  Wow, delusional much?

  ****

  “Hi, Rory, you’re sitting at Table Three.” Matron of Honor, Willow Harper-Hills, smiled, balancing on her four-inch black patent heels. She added softly, “With the cool kids.”

  “Of which I’m not,” I whispered back and she laughed. “But I’ll do my best to pull it off.”

  Willow headed toward the door to control the influx of people wandering and searching the hand-printed name cards on the wedding reception tables. The location of the event spoke a lot to the couple and their journey. Jude and Presley Saylor chose to celebrate their nuptials in the same place they first met and fell in love, Run-Ride-Rock Gym. Nicknamed Triple R, tonight the gym was closed for the private function and the room was decorated in red and black with hundreds of candles lighting the room. The romance factor was off the charts.

  The room was soon filled with the ting ting tap of knives on wineglasses, and Mr. and Mrs. Saylor made the Midwestern tradition worthwhile with prolonged tender kisses. My grandmother had once told me the tradition was to ward off evil spirits while the couple demonstrated how strong their love was and how protected they were by friends and family. I loved the idea. Protective friends and family was something I’d grown up around and I believed everyone should feel the warmth and comfort of that blessing, too.

  To witness the beauty of Presley and Jude’s love was overwhelming—in a good way. I clung to the dream of finding someone who gazed at me like Jude did Presley. Of the seven billion men in this world, there had to be more than one like Jude. Right? Unlike my dream, those odds don’t sound too great.

  I searched the number stands for “Table #3” and finally saw my name card and then … him. Right next to my chair. Shit.

  Presley and Jude couldn’t have known our past and what they were doing to me, so I gritted my teeth, applied a fake smile, and clamped my hands onto the slipcovered chair back. “Good evening, everyone.”

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Rory Jessen.” He patted the seat next to his. “Sit. Do you know everyone?” He grinned this cunning smirk that made my jaw clench. “What am I saying? I forget the sheltered life you live held captive in the tower of your parents’ palace. I’ll introduce you.”

  I sat in the chair, “accidentally” grazing the pointed tip of my raspberry-colored suede stiletto boot across his ankle as I settled in.

  He reached down to rub the damage. “Damn, watch those heels! I think you removed skin.” When he straightened, he rubbed his shoulder as if the pain had transferred locations.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason.”

  Drexel Mason was one of the top salespeople at my father’s car dealership, Jessen Auto. He had a talent for selling cars, but he also had a talent for being the one person I couldn’t forget, but maybe after tonight I could. He’d been gone from my life for nearly six years when one day I saw him across the gym floor here at Triple R. Encounters after had only told me he was someone I needed to stay far away from. He was different now—closed, cold, and arrogant. He hadn’t always been this way. Once, he’d saved me and we’d shared something I thought was pretty special. But I didn’t need to be saved anymore. I wanted more than a few toe-curling kisses and over-the-clothes groping, which was how our last interaction ended a couple of months ago after Jude’s birthday party.

  I want the whole fairy tale, not a frog that will never turn into a prince.

  Thankfully, across the table was one of my favorite couples, Holt and Ollie. Before they made their commitment to each other as forever and forever, I’d had a little thing for Ollie.

  Little? Okay, so I wanted to lick the sweat off every inch of his tight and sinewy body.

  “So, do you know everyone?” Drexel asked again, draping his arm over my chair. I pushed it off and he put it back up there, so I leaned forward to avoid any contact.

  “Not everyone. Hi, I’m Rory Jessen.” I waved across the table to the woman carrying Holt and Ollie’s baby. We hadn’t met, but I knew who she was from pictures Ollie had shared with me.

  “Hi, I’m Chloe Royer.”

  Ollie was the genetic father of the baby, and he and Holt would be raising the child together while Chloe continued her education. They both seemed to be over-the-moon happy and in love, and all three appeared excited about being parents to one lucky baby.

  Another couple and a single guy sat down to my right.

  Drexel refilled my water glass as a carafe of wine was passed around the table.

  “No alcohol for you, Miss Underage.” He flipped my wineglass over as the guy to my right passed me the container of white wine.

  I flipped the glass back over and he moved it to the other side of his plate. I reached for the glass and he shook his head.

  “Drexel, I’m sure Jude and Presley won’t mind if I have a glass or two of wine or champagne. Plus, it’s a private event celebrating love. All normal rules are off, right?” I glanced to the person who looked the youngest, and she nodded and smiled.

  “I agree,” the redhead affirmed her position. “When do you turn twenty-one?”

  “Eleven days.”

  She seemed to be doing the math in her head. “You were a New Year’s Eve baby?” Her red curls of hair slipped over her shoulder as she leaned toward me. “I’m Avery, by the way.”

  “I’m Rory. Yeah, Mom tried to hold out to be the first baby of the year, but I was born at 11:58 p.m., December thirty-first. And thanks for the support, Avery. Some people just don’t understand what celebrating is all about.” I rolled my eyes at Drexel and turned to Chloe. “When are you due, Chloe?”

  “May sixteenth, so nothing exciting date-wise.”

  “Maybe Mother’s Day?”

  “Never thought of that. Could be a great first Mother’s Day for all of us.” She beamed and Holt gave her a side hug.

  Our meals were served by a few of the Triple R personal trainers. All decked-out in tuxedos, every guy filled his suit like a GQ model.

  “Are you Aurora Jessen?” a deep voice asked from behind me.

  I strained my neck to see what matched the rumble. His dark skin shined in the soft candlelight, and sparkling eyes filled my vision. “Hi. Yes. I’m … Rory.” I found myself speaking robot-style in single syllables. I shook my head. “I mean Aurora.”

  “I believe you’re a vegetarian?”

  “I am.”

  “Excellent choice. Your meal.” He placed the plate in front of me and his bulky arm grazed my bare shoulder. “Enjoy, Miss Jessen.”

  “Thank you.”

  His smile matched his crisp, white dress shirt and I returned the gesture.

  “My pleasure. My name’s Jamal.” His dark eyelashes flashed as he winked. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  After the server had left the table, Drexel cleared his throat. “What was that for?”

  “What?” I picked up my fork and dug into the pasta, loaded with colorful vegetables and a bright green pesto sauce. The lemony hint of basil and tangy bite of peppers ignited my palate. Chef Willow outdid herself.

  “That annoying breathy sigh when you looked up at Jamal? And then the teenage-girl giggle when he winked?”

  “I didn’t sigh at him—I sighed at the food. And as far as I know there is no law against giggling that you should feel the need to enforce. I can laugh whenever I want.”

  Drexel leaned close, his overpowering cologne filling my nose with raw sandalwood and a pungent musk. “He’s too old for you.”

  “Get away! You smell like a discount cologne counter exploded on you.” I pushed on his shoulder but he didn’t budge.

  “It’s new and it’s very expensive. Pheromones from Italy.”

 
“Expensive doesn’t always mean good, Drexel. The Italians might know pasta, but I’m not sure they have the same talent when it comes to cologne.” I returned to enjoying my dinner.

  Avery and I chatted. She worked at my dad’s dealership—same as the bride, Presley, and the reeking Drexel.

  “You have a beautiful hair, Avery,” I said, taking another bite.

  “I agree,” Bryson, her boyfriend, added, his hand weaving into the curls.

  Avery blushed. “Thank you, both of you. Did I hear the waiter call you by another name?”

  “My given name is Aurora. I’m sure my parents wrote that on the response card.”

  Drexel cleared his throat. “I forget your real name’s Aurora.”

  Outwardly I nodded, but my body rode a wave of desire, tickling deep inside of me. The way he said my given name, low and rumbling, was sensual when I wanted it to be repulsive. My nipples tightened beneath my dress.

  This is going to be a problem.

  Avery smiled. “Like Sleeping Beauty’s Princess Aurora?”

  “Kind of weird, right?” I reorganized my napkin in my lap. The association always came up some way or another.

  “Why ‘weird’? She’s gorgeous, and blessed by fairies, and finds her prince. One of my favorite childhood movies.”

  “Mine too,” Chloe piped up from across the table.

  I wiped my mouth. “And she’s cursed by a witch, talks to animals like a crazy person, and almost dies.”

  That seems more my style.

  “True love is worth dealing with a witch or two.” Avery’s eyes darted to her boyfriend. I presumed there was more to the comment but I didn’t need to ask what. He guided her body to his and kissed her forehead. Totally jealous. “Maybe you can both come over to my place to watch the movie sometime?” Avery asked, glancing between Chloe and me.

  Chloe pulled her phone from her purse. “I’d really love that. I just finished with finals and I could use a distraction from deciding anything else about my future.”

  “I’m in.” We all exchanged phone numbers.

  Drexel pushed his dinner around on his plate.

  “You didn’t like your dinner, Drexel?” Chloe asked.

  “I ate a big lunch. I should’ve known Willow would go all-out and put on a multicourse feast for her best friend’s wedding.”

  True to his latest form, after Chloe showed a polite curiosity, Drexel mistook it as genuine interest and he activated his salesman charm on her. Oliver and Holt gave each other disapproving looks that Drexel ignored or disregarded in his valiant efforts to make an impression on her.

  I eyed up my wineglass and gave him the death rays from my eyes that I was sure were there.

  Chloe didn’t seem impressed, but when he asked about her work she kept the conversation friendly and casual and it did peak her energy levels. “I’ve been accepted into the Genetics Ph.D. program at several East Coast universities. I’m supposed to accept one by January first, but this development”—she rubbed the tiny ball of belly holding a growing body—“has me thinking closer to home.”

  “I’d be glad to show you around Kansas University. That’s where I went to college.”

  “Thanks, Drexel. I haven’t looked into their programs and that isn’t far from Omaha. Good idea.”

  “Maybe we could take a weekend and go down there?” he asked, then sipped his beer.

  Oliver stood. “I need another drink. Anyone else need anything?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take—” Drexel held up his beer, but Oliver ignored him and started for the bar, shaking his head and cursing under his breath.

  I touched Drexel’s arm and he leaned to me. “Are you hitting on Chloe?”

  “I’m pretty sure the two who brought her aren’t interested, so why not? She’s beautiful, obviously intelligent, and the bun in the oven tells me she’s not afraid to have some fun.”

  “You are unbelievable, Drexel.” I huffed, pushing my chair back from the table. “I think I need a drink, too. And not water.”

  Chapter Three

  Drexel

  Oliver placed his order, but left the room before Rory reached him.

  “Excuse me, I think Miss Jessen might need some help.”

  At the bar, I listened as she ordered a glass of champagne. Leaning over her shoulder, I straightened my back as her soft floral perfume floated into my nose. “Hey, bartender, are you authorized to serve minors?”

  He did a full-body sweep of Rory. “Is that true?”

  Hey, keep those eyes up here, buddy.

  I slapped the bar surface and Bar Boy snarled at me.

  Rory batted the sparkling blonde eyelashes surrounding her blue eyes at him and swept her curls around to one side of her body, leaving her shoulder bare. “Now, do I look underage?”

  My blood pressure ticked upward. She wasn’t the same girl I’d kissed in the gazebo. No, she was all woman now and Bar Boy took notice. I’d tried to forget, but with her hip bumping into mine, that wasn’t happening.

  She’s the boss’s daughter, don’t do it…

  “I think I’ll take my chances.” He poured a glass of champagne and handed it to her. “And maybe later you’ll give me a chance to get to know you?”

  I cleared my throat. “Rory, can I see you for a minute?” I tugged on her arm and she shook my hand off without looking at me.

  She stopped giving Mr. Alcohol bedroom eyes to gaze at me, sighed, then turned back to the bartender.

  I didn’t often use polite words, but I softened my voice. “Please.”

  “So, are you from Omaha?” she asked him, then sipped her drink.

  My blood pressure could have fueled a rocket into space with how fast it was rising.

  “Actually, I’m from—”

  “Excuse us.” I wasn’t interested in hearing his life’s story and she shouldn’t be either. I grabbed her elbow and led her to the glass door. Outside of the yoga studio, I guided her in front of me in between the two racks of guests’ winter coats.

  As she spun to face me, her curls trailed across my lapels. I rubbed my hands down my jacket, brushing away any remnants of the honeyed twirls. The darkened gym glowed red light from the EXIT signs, and my view of her mouthwatering ass in the mirrored walls behind her made my cock want to interject a vulgar comment, but I kept my third leg from saying what he wanted to.

  For now.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked her.

  She held up her drink. “I was getting a drink at an open bar. What did it look like I was doing?”

  “Your dad is here.”

  She toasted the champagne toward me. “Yeah, I know. And I guarantee, after seeing the Glenmorangie 18-year single malt scotch at the bar, that he’s having a drink, too. Drexel, you’re not my brother or my father. Dad doesn’t care if I have a drink. You shouldn’t either.”

  She’s right. I shouldn’t care. So why do I?

  “Then … I’ll drive you home,” I declared as she sipped her drink.

  Her eyes widened and sputtered the drink like my comment had caught her off guard. “Thank you, but that’s not going to happen. I remember the last time you drove me home. We don’t need a repeat performance of that craptastic disaster.”

  “It wasn’t a disaster, Rory.” It was a step down from disaster. “But I did end up with a case of blue balls that had my gut in knots for days,” I added, remembering the kiss outside of her place and how it twisted my ‘nads in their sack.

  “That testicle condition wasn’t my fault. You ran away from me.”

  It wasn’t because I wanted to leave her. I had to leave her.

  My issues. Big issues.

  I was firm with my words. “Rory, I will drive you home. I need you to be … safe.”

  “Need? Safe?” The words spit from her mouth. Her eyes held to mine. “I don’t need you to need me to be anything.” She attempted to slip past me.

  “Rory, for fuck’s sake! You don’t drink! You’re too much of a lightwe
ight. Just let me drive you home.” My voice was escalating beyond what was appropriate for the event.

  “Whatever.” She downed the rest of her champagne and tried to shimmy past me.

  I stepped in front of her again. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me like you’re twelve, Jessen. Only proves you shouldn’t be drinking, and you definitely shouldn’t be drinking and driving.”

  Her eyebrows almost touched each other. “I’ll do whatever I want to.”

  As she continued to defy my civil offer, I stepped closer. My blood felt like it was a high-speed Internet and information was zipping through my veins communicating things I didn’t want to know.

  I gritted out, “Could you be any more stubborn?”

  “Look who’s talking! You’re an arrogant jerk who only thinks of himself.”

  It’s the white devil that keeps me from feeling, but not this time, Miss Jessen.

  “How is that even reasonable? I’m offering to drive you home safely.” My hands grasped her pillowy hips and my fingers dug into her yielding waist, keeping her in front of me.

  “You’re only offering because you want to suck up to my father.”

  “No, I’m not. I respect him but I’m actually trying to save you from getting into trouble.”

  She inched closer. Her supple breasts brushed my hard chest. The sweetness of the alcohol on her breath intoxicated me, too, but in a different way.

  Don’t do it. This girl isn’t what I need.

  Need and want were so close at this moment.

  Just jonesing for something else, Mason. Get it together.

  “I’m almost twenty-one years old. I’m tired of people thinking they know what’s best for me. I’ll get into trouble, if I want to get into trouble.”

  “I guarantee you’ve never been in real trouble and there’s no good reason you ever should, Aurora.”

  “Stop saying that!” She shoved on my chest, but I stood my ground.

  “Saying what?”

  “Aurora!”

  My hands felt like flames on the cool, slick dress fabric. “Why?”

  “Because … because I like the way you say it, and lately I don’t want to like anything about you!”