Always A Bridesmaid. Kristin Hardy

bringing him to the last table.

      “And best chick,” Ariel added.

      “Maid of honor,” Alan translated. “And you already know Jillian, here.”

      “Informally,” Gil said. He extended his hand. “Gil Reynolds, meter caddy.”

      “Jillian Logan, usher wrangler.” She reached out.

      Her hand was soft and cool in his. It felt fragile but he’d been right about the strength that underlaid it. He’d expected that.

      He hadn’t expected it to be trembling.

      In surprise, his gaze shot to hers and he saw her eyes widen before she glanced away. She tugged her hand to free it from his. Some perverseness made him hold on a moment longer than necessary, though, until she looked at him.

      And he saw the gold of her eyes had darkened to deep amber.

      Then he released her to nod down at the empty place setting at her side, the last one left. “Well, how about that? Looks like this is my seat.”

      This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Jillian thought with a mixture of giddiness and alarm as she concentrated on taking slow breaths to try to quiet her system. It was supposed to have been a smile on the street, a quick experiment, a little change—emphasis on little. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It definitely wasn’t supposed to last the entire evening. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to make her world feel as though it had tilted on its axis.

      Surreptitiously, she rubbed at her right hand where it was hidden in her lap.

      Forget about the quick, impersonal eye contact she’d perfected to keep people at a distance. Gil Reynolds’s gaze had drilled right through her, right into her. And now he was sitting just inches away and she was supposed to be able to hold a conversation as if nothing had happened?

      Nothing had, she reminded herself. He’d only been playing games.

      Gil picked up the beer that the waiter brought him with the salad course and grinned. “To the happy couple,” he said to Jillian.

      She tapped his glass with her champagne flute. “To the happy couple,” she said coolly.

      “Come on, I apologized. See? I’m not a complete creep.”

      “I never said you were.”

      “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

      Jillian eyed him over the top of her glass. “I don’t know. Should you be?”

      Gil broke out laughing. “You’re a tough case,” he said. “Lisa forgave me.”

      “That’s because you went all Continental and started kissing her hand.”

      “I’d be happy to kiss yours, too,” he offered, a gleam in his eyes.

      “No fair using the same trick twice,” she objected, moving her hand hastily away. “Think up something else. Come on, you’re a smart guy.”

      He eyed her. “This isn’t going to be one of those quest things where I’ve got to go bring back a hair from the beard of the Great Chan, is it? Or find the Golden Fleece?”

      “How about cleaning the stables of all the Budweiser Clydesdales in a single day? Of course, then you’d mess up that nice suit.”

      “Come on, cut me some slack. I’m a working schlemiel. Why do you think I was late?”

      “What do you do?”

      His mouth curved. “Make trouble.”

      “Why am I not surprised?” Her voice was dry. “And where do you make trouble?”

      His grin widened. “Anywhere I can. No throwing things,” he added quickly, as she reached for the basket of bread.

      “That wasn’t my intention,” she said with dignity. “Although, now that you mention it…”

      “Okay, okay. Blazon Media,” he said, relenting.

      “What, like an advertising agency? You’re not one of those account exec types, are you?”

      “That’s a harsh way to talk about the people who help you decide how to spend your exorbitant salary.”

      “Exorbitant?” She couldn’t prevent the snort.

      “Or not,” he added. “What do you do?”

      “I’m a social worker.”

      “Okay, maybe not so exorbitant.” He raised a brow. “A social worker, huh? And here I thought you guys were all softies.”

      “Here I thought you advertising types all had hundred-dollar haircuts and a closet full of Armani,” she countered.

      “I’m dressed down for casual Friday,” he said.

      “I’d hate to see you when you really put on the Ritz.”

      “Just wait until tomorrow.” He winked. “Then you’ll see my really grubby clothes.”

      The bartender leaned against the wall in his white apron and watched as the last of the rehearsal party left their tables and headed down the carpeted stairs. They’d closed the place down, Jillian realized in surprise, as she reached the bottom and turned for the lobby. She’d blinked once or twice and the hours had slipped away.

      It was a shock, to say the least. Parties weren’t her thing. To be honest, she’d looked forward to the rehearsal dinner with about as much enthusiasm as she would have a root canal. Outside of Lisa and Alan, she’d known no one. Somehow, though, that hadn’t mattered. Forget about the usual rehearsal-dinner work of making conversation with people she didn’t know and had little in common with. She’d spent the entire evening laughing.

      And every time she’d turned to Gil, he’d been watching her with that little glimmer in his eyes.

      He was beside her now as they walked out into the night. She tightened her jacket against the cool breeze. “I guess it’s not quite summer yet.”

      “Give it another month and it will be,” he said. They turned down the sidewalk toward her car. “You going to be okay driving?”

      “Sure. I stopped with the champagne a while ago.” Stopped early enough that her feet should be firmly grounded. Why was it, then, that she still felt the little bubbles of effervescence, that she felt like skipping?

      “Good. Wouldn’t want you to oversleep and miss my grand entrance at the wedding. I’m planning to be two hours early.”

      “Spoken like a true responsible citizen,” she said.

      “Making you proud of me is my life.”

      “It must have been dull until we met tonight, then,” she said lightly, turning to him as they reached her car.

      “It was,” he agreed. “I much prefer this.” And suddenly he was looking at her with a look she couldn’t quite categorize: speculation, anticipation, some special concentration.

      Nerves vaulted through her. “Well, I guess you’d better get home and get dressed if you’re going to be two hours early for the wedding, shouldn’t you?”

      He nodded, never taking his eyes off her. “I suppose so.”

      “It was nice to meet you.” She concentrated on digging out her keys. If she did that, then she wouldn’t focus on that mouth and wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

      “It’s nice to see you.”

      “It’s late,” she said desperately.

      “Then I guess you’d better get going, Cinderella.” With a flourish, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Heat flashed through her. “See you at the altar.”

      Chapter