The Morning After The Wedding Before. Anne Oliver

her rearview mirror she caught the glare of his headlights. She deliberately slowed her speed, hoping he’d overtake, but he seemed content—or irritated enough—to cruise along behind her. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head.

      She let out a shaky sigh and drew a deep, slow breath to steady herself. Easier to blame him than to admit to that old attraction—because no way was Jake the Rake the kind of man she wanted to get involved with on an intimate level.

      She accelerated recklessly through a yellow light, Jake hot on her heels. She wasn’t herself tonight. Wrong. She hadn’t been herself since she’d come face to face with Jake in his dingy office yesterday.

      Even as a teenager he’d always made her feel … different. Self-conscious. Tingly. Uncomfortably aware of her feminine bits.

      Her fingers clenched tighter on the steering wheel. She needed to get herself under control. She didn’t figure in his life at all, nor he in hers. And tonight wasn’t about her or him or even them; it was about Stella and Ryan.

      She tensed as the well-lit upscale restaurant came into view, and glanced in the mirror again just in time to see Jake’s car glide into a parking space she’d been too distracted to notice right outside the restaurant.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake, this was ridiculous. The restaurant was on a corner and she stopped at a red light, tapping impatient fingers on the dashboard. Seriously, if it wasn’t Stella’s night she’d turn around and go home, pull the covers over her head and not surface till Christmas—

      The thump on the car’s roof nearly had her foot slipping off the brake as Jake climbed in beside her. ‘Don’t you know better than to leave your passenger door unlocked when you’re driving alone at night?’

      She hated his smug look and lazy tone and looked away quickly. ‘Don’t you know better than to scare a person half to death when they’re behind the wheel?’

      ‘Light’s green.’

      She clenched her teeth, pretending that she hadn’t noticed his woodsy aftershave wafting towards her, and crossed the intersection. ‘What are you doing here? There’s no sense in both of us being late.’ She saw a car pulling out ahead, remembered at the last second to check her rear vision and slammed on the brakes.

      ‘We’ll walk in together, Scarlett.’

      ‘Don’t remind me,’ she muttered. She slid the car into the parking spot, yanked the key from the ignition, jumped out and locked her door before he’d even undone his seat belt.

      Jake took his time getting out, watching her walk around the car’s bonnet to the footpath. Not looking at him. No trace of the blue-eyed poppy tonight, he thought, locking his own door. She was as prickly as a blackberry bush.

      The pedestrian light turned green. She left the kerb and he fell into step beside her. ‘If we’re going to pull this wedding business off, we need to be seen to be getting along.’

      She jerked to a stop outside the restaurant. ‘Fine.’

      Catching her by her slender shoulders, he turned her to face him, noticed her stiffen at the skin-on-skin contact. ‘We’ll need to have a conversation about that at some point.’

      ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

      Light from the window spilled over her face. Wide eyes stared up at him, violet in the yellow glow. He slid his hands down her bare arms, felt her shiver beneath his palms and raised a brow. ‘Nothing?’

      ‘Nothing.’ She rubbed her palms together, her gaze flicking away. ‘It’s chilly. I should’ve brought a jacket. I left it on the bed …’

      No, he thought, she’d been distracted. Grinning, he let her go. ‘Lighten up, Em, and give yourself permission to enjoy an evening out for once.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      WITH a light hand at her back, Jake ushered Emma into the upstairs restaurant. Exotic Eastern tapestries lined the burgundy walls. On the far side, through double glass doors was a narrow balcony crowded with palms. Dreamy Eastern music played softly in the background. The tempting aromas of Indian cuisine greeted them as they made their way towards the round family table already covered in a variety of spicy smelling dishes.

      ‘Apologies, everyone.’ Jake nodded to the happy couple. ‘Glad to see you’ve already started.’

      Emma murmured her own apologies to Stella while Ryan spooned rice into two empty bowls and passed them across the table. ‘We wondered whether you two had decided to play hooky.’

      ‘We thought about it—didn’t we, Em?’ Jake grinned, enjoying her appalled expression, then turned to Ryan’s father.

      Gil Clifton, a stocky man with wiry red hair and always a genuine smile, rose and shook hands. ‘Good to see you again, Jake.’

      ‘And you. We must get around to that tennis match.’

      ‘Any time. Just give us a call and drop by.’

      ‘I’ll do that.’

      Gil’s smile faded. ‘I was sorry to hear about your father. If there’s anything I can do …’

      The mention of the old man left nothing but a bitter taste in Jake’s mouth and an emptiness in his soul that he’d come to terms with years ago. As far as he was concerned Gil and Julie Clifton were the only adult support he’d ever needed. ‘Got it covered, thanks, Gil.’

      He kissed Julie’s cheek. ‘How’s the mother of the groom holding up?’

      ‘Getting excited. And, to echo Gil’s words, if you want to drop by and chat … you’re always welcome.’

      If Jake was ever to be lost for words now was that time. Ryan’s family were the only people who knew about his dysfunctional childhood, and now the whole table knew about Earl. He forced a smile. ‘Thanks.’

      Emma watched Julie give Jake’s arm a sympathetic squeeze. It occurred to her how little she really knew of his background beyond the fact he was Ryan’s mate.

      ‘So how’s business?’ Gil asked as Jake moved to the two empty chairs.

      ‘Busy as usual. Evening, Bernice.’

      ‘Jake.’ Emma’s mother acknowledged him coolly, then turned the same stony gaze on Emma. ‘Thank you for collecting my unpunctual daughter.’

      Emma reminded herself she was Teflon coated where her mother’s barbs were concerned. The others resumed their conversations while she took the empty seat that Jake pulled out beside her mother and whispered, ‘Sorry, Mum.’

      ‘Have to admire our Emma’s work ethic, though,’ Jake remarked as he sat down beside her. ‘It’s not easy juggling two jobs.’

      ‘Two jobs?’ Bernice bit off the words. ‘When one’s a waste of time, I—’

      ‘Mum.’ Emma counted to ten while she reached for her table napkin and smoothed it over her lap. ‘How are you enjoying the food?’

      Bernice stabbed at a cherry tomato on her plate. ‘You need two proper jobs to be able to afford a dress like that.’

      Jake smiled at Bernice on Emma’s other side. ‘And it’s worth every cent. She looks sensational, don’t you think? Wine, Em?’

      ‘No, thank you. Driving.’ She acknowledged Jake’s support with a quick nod and reached for the glass of water in front of her. She took several swallows to compose herself before she said, ‘I bought it at Second Hand Rose, Mum. That little recycle boutique on the esplanade.’

      When her mother didn’t reply, Emma turned to Jake. ‘I didn’t know about your father,’ she murmured as other conversation flowed around the table. ‘I’m sorry.’

      He didn’t look at her. ‘Don’t be.’ He tossed back his