The Ex Factor. Nancy Warren

to give the organist the heads up.

      As the strains of “Here Comes the Bride” boomed through the church, everyone rose. In her head she heard her own personal musical mash-up, the wedding march overlaid with her own version of “Another One Bites the Dust.”

      Once the wedding was underway, she eased back out of the church and called Chelsea who was already preparing food for the reception. “Heads up. We’re running behind about fifteen minutes.”

      “’Kay, thanks.” And the woman was gone.

      She then drove to the mansion where the reception was being held. The kitchen was a hive of organized chaos. Chelsea overseeing the sit-down dinner for one hundred and fifty that would take place as soon as the guests arrived.

      She walked into the huge ballroom-turned-dining room and was filled with pleasure. It looked beautiful. They’d gone with autumnal colors and the burgundies and golds and greens looked lovely against the rich mahogany wainscoting in the room. Real fires already burned in the two fireplaces and bouquets of autumn leaves, artfully arranged to look casual and natural adorned the space. Fat candles waited to be lit, the crystal shone, the cutlery glittered, and Cinderella’s confectionary coach lent a whimsical touch.

      Dee called her when the bride and groom were on their way, so she was at the front door to greet them.

      “We did it,” Melissa cried, holding up her left hand where a brand-new band glittered.

      “Congratulations,” she said, hugging the happy young woman. “I’ve got rooms upstairs for both of you so you can freshen up. Once all the guests have arrived, we’ll announce you and the reception can begin.”

      She took the extra ring that the groom pressed secretively into her palm, slipping it onto her right hand once more for safekeeping.

      As with most weddings, the guests enjoying the perfect event could have no idea of the infinite number of details handled and the disasters averted that went on behind the scenes. And that was exactly how Karen liked it.

      So she was less than pleased when Dexter surprised her at the end of the evening when most of the guests had departed.

      “You do good work,” he said. “I’m truly impressed.”

      “I thought you’d gone,” she snapped, then could have cursed her tongue for betraying that she’d noticed when Sophie left and assumed Dex was with her.

      “I told Sophie I had a ride.” He shrugged, looking impossibly gorgeous in a well-cut suit in shale gray. “Do you?”

      “I do if you give me a lift, otherwise I guess I’ll call a cab.”

      “Why didn’t you go home with your date?”

      “Because she’s not a date. She’s the fiancée of a good friend. I didn’t want anybody thinking there was something going on between me and Sophie when there isn’t.” He held her gaze. “You know how suspicious people can be.”

      Refusing to rise to such obvious bait she said, “Well, I guess I can give you a lift but you’ll have to wait until I’m finished here.”

      “No problem. Can I make myself useful?”

      “You can help load the supplies into the van.” In fact, she hired a company to take care of the cleanup, but she was annoyed with Dexter and half hoped he got something nasty on his pretty suit.

      As though he’d read her mind, he slipped off his jacket, and, to her surprise, slipped it over her shoulders. “Take care of that for me.” Then he rolled up his sleeves and headed toward the cleanup crew, turning quickly from wedding guest to menial laborer.

      The jacket was warm from his body and, weak woman that she was, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and enjoyed the sensation of wearing something of his. She caught an elusive scent of him, something hot and spicy and forbidden.

      Then she went into the kitchen to check in with Chelsea. Her caterer was pretty much ready to go, the kitchen cleaner than when she’d arrived and all her food and supplies loaded into her van.

      “How you doing?”

      “My feet hurt.” She grinned. “But we pulled off another miracle.”

      “I thought the Cinderella coach cake was a bit much, but everyone seemed to like it.”

      “Seems we’re never too old for fairy tales.”

      “Speaking of fairy tales, who’s the Prince Charming out there hauling tables and why are you wearing his jacket?”

      “That’s no prince, that’s my ex-husband.” She didn’t bother to explain the other part.

      “Wow.” Chelsea did a double take, and she followed her friend’s gaze to the sight of her ex’s delectable backside as he bent over, helping lift a heavy table. “That’s the scumbag? Too bad he’s a wretched human being. He sure looks good.”

      “Yeah.”

      They both watched out the window for a few more moments. “He doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, I’ll give him that.”

      “No.” She’d always loved that about him, the architect who was only too happy to get down and dirty with the construction aspects of his projects. She was never sure whether he appealed to her more when he was designing and envisioning a finished project, or when he was covered in sweat and sawdust, muscles bulging.

      Chelsea pulled herself away from the window first. “Okay, I’ve got my own eye candy at home. I’d better get back, David’s waiting for me.”

      “Sure. Have a great Sunday.” They hugged quickly.

      She was, as usual, the last one to leave. Only this time, she wasn’t alone. Dexter followed her to her car. The temperature had dropped suddenly and there was a sharp chill in the air.

      Once they were settled into her car, the heater humming, she turned to him and said, “So, where can I drop you?”

      He gazed at her mouth. “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off the other night.”

      5

      “WHAT?” The word bounced around the inside of her car, even though her shock was only pretense. She’d known the moment Dexter asked her for a ride home that he had more than transportation in mind. You didn’t love a man for six years, live with him for five, without knowing a thing or two about how his mind worked.

      Or have him know about how yours worked, she realized, as he gazed at her separated by nothing but a couple of feet of cold air, with an expression that suggested he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve been thinking about having sex with me, too. I know you’re too honest to pretend you haven’t.”

      Which was exactly what she’d planned to do. Deny, deny, deny. She sighed out a breath of mingled frustration and—no, it was all frustration, both the irritation of a woman dealing with a man she thought was out of her life, and the huge dollop of sexual frustration that being around Dex again was causing. Because she couldn’t be near him and not remember how they’d burned up the sheets together. No matter their problems, their sex life had always been superb.

      “I can’t—”

      “Whatever else was wrong between us, you can’t deny that when we got naked, everything worked,” he said, oddly echoing her own thoughts on the matter. Then he reached over, and ran a fingertip under the hem of her skirt. “Or not even naked,” he mused, his eyes crinkling as memories rose around them. “Remember that time when we took my first brand-new car out for a spin?”

      “No,” she lied.

      Which was a huge mistake because then, of course, he had to remind her of an incident they both knew she remembered perfectly well.

      “I’d only ever driven used beaters, and now suddenly I had a company car,