Lone Star Wedding. Sandra Steffen

control and precision, she pulled the premoistened towelette from the little package in her fingers and shoved it into his hand. “You’d better get your mind out of the gutter, mister. And while you’re at it, clean your own stinking tie.”

      She spun on her heel and left him standing there, his eyes wide, his mouth set in a grim line, a crinkled, premoistened towelette in his outstretched hand.

      Hannah rushed headlong through the restaurant and out the side door. She hadn’t found Adrienne, but her instincts had been right. Excitement had been just around the corner. Excitement and embarrassment, that is. And nestled tightly between the two had been an incredible awareness of the man’s height, the breadth of his shoulders, his chiseled features softened slightly by a small cleft in his chin. For a moment when she’d first seen that little indentation, she’d wanted to place her finger there, ever so gently.

      She’d never felt so instantaneously attracted to a man. It had almost been lyrical. She’d practically heard violins.

      And he’d thought she was a hooker.

      Reaching her boutique in record time, Hannah unlocked the door that led to her apartment and quickly took the stairs. Feeling slightly off-kilter, she opened some windows and thanked her lucky stars that she never had to see that man again.

      “What I want to know is why y’all didn’t get his phone number?”

      Adrienne Blakely lifted the lid on a container she’d brought with her from the restaurant, sniffed, and replaced the lid, only to move on to the next container. A former Miss Atlanta runner-up, Adrienne was drop-dead gorgeous, loved bright colors, and had maintained her Georgia accent despite the fact that she hadn’t been “home” in nearly ten years. “And why in hades aren’t you using the air-conditioning?”

      Hannah scribbled a note on the wedding planner on her lap then popped a cocktail shrimp into her mouth. A fan stirred the hair at her nape. She’d changed into shorts and a tank top hours ago. Her feet were bare, her face clean-scrubbed. Returning to her notes, she said, “You know I like to dress light when I’m home.”

      The two women were upstairs in Hannah’s apartment, and as they often had these past three years since they’d met, they were spending a companionable evening together eating the leftovers Adrienne had brought with her after closing The Pink Flamingo for the night.

      Stretching out on Hannah’s sofa, Adrienne fluffed a pillow and placed it beneath her head. “And the other portion of my question?”

      “I told you,” Hannah said, shaking her head because Adrienne never let a question go, no matter how relaxed she appeared. “The man’s a shark.”

      “So?”

      “What do you mean, ‘so’?”

      “So y’all stay out of the ocean. That doesn’t mean you have to stay out of his bed.”

      “I’m not getting into his bed.”

      “Whyever not? Just because I’ve decided never to have sex again is no reason you shouldn’t.”

      “He mistook me for a prostitute. That’s hardly a good basis for a relationship.”

      “Who said anything about a relationship? I was thinking more along the lines of head-reeling, toe-curling, mind-boggling sex.”

      “Get real.”

      “I am real. One hundred percent.” Adrienne glanced at her chest. “It’s what cost me the crown. My mother reminded me of it a little while ago over the phone. Now, if I would have been born with a chest like yours, I would have been a shoe-in, but I didn’t develop large breasts naturally, and I just couldn’t put silicone in my body, not even for a title and a shiny tiara. My mother still hasn’t forgiven me.”

      “I thought you said it was the congeniality contest that got you.”

      “Oh, that.”

      Hannah smiled. Adrienne joked about that fated beauty contest from time to time, but she’d once confided in Hannah that the real reason she’d lost was much more scandalous and heart-breaking. Rather than reminding Adrienne of painful memories, she said, “Besides, if you had a chest like mine, you’d have to wear a bra.”

      Adrienne wrinkled up her nose. “That wouldn’t be any fun. But we digress. I thought he was sort of cute.”

      “Sort of cute? The man was a god in a suit and an imported silk tie, which you’ll probably be sued for, by the way.” Adrienne waved the notion away, and Hannah added, “And even if I was interested, I don’t know his name.”

      “Parker.”

      Hannah looked up from the wing chair where she’d been curled up for the past hour, and slowly lowered her feet to the floor. “What did you say?”

      “His name is Parker.” The trendy Southern blonde had Hannah’s undivided attention now, but Adrienne continued to stare at the chipped purple nail polish on her big toe. “Parker Malone.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “He told me.”

      “You’ve met him?”

      “Somebody had to save my newest waiter from the interrogation your john was giving him.”

      “J—John?”

      Adrienne laughed at the stricken expression on Hannah’s face. “You know I love to kid. Did you really dump a whole box of pastel-colored condoms at his feet then politely tell him to follow you? My, but you do know how to make an impression. No wonder he was so interested.”

      “He wasn’t interested.”

      “He wanted to know your name. Actually, I think he would have appreciated any information he could have weaseled out of us. Your phone number, your driver’s license number, your social security number, your birth date, address, star sign, shoe size, whatever.”

      “You didn’t tell him!” Hannah was on her feet, and Adrienne raised noisily to a sitting position.

      “Relax,” she said, pushing her short blond hair behind her ears. “Jason doesn’t know you yet, and I’m not intimidated by the Parker Malones in this world.”

      Hannah fell back into her chair. “How did you get so much backbone?”

      “I was raised in the South, remember? Y’all don’t think those finishing schools only teach girls how to drink tea with their pinkies in the air, do you? What are you working on, anyway?”

      “Plans for my mother’s wedding.”

      Adrienne paused in the middle of picking up their used paper plates to glance at the lists Hannah was making. “I still can’t believe your mother is going to marry one of the Fortunes of Texas. My mother would die to marry me off to a rich man. I’m thirty-three. I think she’s giving up hope. But Ryan Fortune is rich, and his ranch, the Double Crown, is one of the biggest, most prestigious and profitable ranches in the entire state. It’s just so romantic that your mother loved him when they were both practically children, and now they’re finally being reunited. Have y’all decided what you’re going to wear to the engagement party next weekend?”

      “Mother refuses to call it an engagement party. It’s just a get-together.” Hannah motioned to a tiny closet in the alcove between the living room and her bedroom. “I picked up a dress the other day.”

      “Tell me it isn’t beige.” At the expression on Hannah’s face, Adrienne said, “Sugar pie, you should wear something bright pink or purple, or better yet, red.” She spoke into the closet, causing the words to sound muffled. “Something that’ll make y’all shine.”

      “It’s my mother’s big night, Adrienne. She’s the one I want to shine.”

      Adrienne swung around so suddenly the long dress in her hand swished. Her eyebrows formed two identical blond arches, her lips shaped around a long