How To Be A Blissful Bride. Stacy Connelly

the hell it was he thought he and Alexa had found in a five-star hotel penthouse suite.

      But cured or not, he couldn’t help taking a few shots of his own. “You look so...familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met somewhere before?”

      “I, uh, don’t think so.”

      “No? So we didn’t meet—I don’t know, parasailing along the Waterfront? Or maybe bungee jumping off the Bridge to Nowhere?” Chance wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Alexa turned even paler, and he really started to feel like an ass. He stopped himself before he mentioned her last whispered wish.

       Making love under the stars.

      “Alexa is hardly the type to go bungee jumping,” the golden boy at her side said drily.

      “Maybe someday she’ll have the opportunity to take that chance.”

      Her turbulent blue-gray eyes met his. Their gazes lingered, clung, like they had that night in Santa Barbara.

      Come on, Lexi, he’d whispered, take a chance.

      And she had. For a weekend. And no, they hadn’t had time to fulfill her wild and thoroughly facetious bucket list wishes of parasailing or bungee jumping. But he’d flown high enough and fallen hard enough that for a moment he thought he could have died happily in her arms...

      But it was just a moment. One weekend, and Chance had never met a woman that he couldn’t forget once he moved on. Maybe that was the problem. Ever since the explosion, he hadn’t been moving. Not on to a new job, not on to a new assignment, not on to a new country across the world. He was stuck. And like some kind of shark, if he didn’t keep in constant motion, he couldn’t breathe.

      That was the only reason why his chest hurt as he gazed at Alexa.

      The man by her side glanced between them before murmuring, “Something tells me that’s not happening anytime soon.”

      Chance opened his mouth to argue like the fool he was when his cousin, Evie McClaren, spotted the group from across the lobby. “Chance, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

      “If you’ll excuse us,” Alexa murmured to Rory.

      “Oh, of course. We can finish the tour later.”

      “Thank you for taking your time with us this afternoon.”

      Always so polite, always so damn proper, Chance thought with a twist of a smile that had Alexa’s elegant head lifting to an even higher angle when she caught sight of it. “Mr. McClaren.”

      “Ms. Mayhew... It’s been a pleasure.”

      He drew out the word long enough for a riot of color to storm her cheeks before she turned away. Her golden boy kept his arm around her shoulders as he turned her toward the hallway leading to... Her room? His room? Theirs?

      Chance shoved his hands in his pockets, fists clenched tight enough that the hairpin gouged into his palm. He didn’t care about women—any one woman—enough to be jealous. Not anymore.

      “Chance? Hello, Chance?”

      His cousin waved a hand in front of his face to capture his attention. “Your doctor’s office called about moving your therapy appointment.” She gave him a stern look. “They said they tried your cell, but you weren’t answering.”

      “Oh, Chance.” Rory frowned at him, her blue eyes so similar to his own darkening in concern. “You really should have your phone with you especially when you go out by yourself.”

      Chance sighed. “Yes, Mom.”

      His cousin’s arch expression wasn’t nearly as concerned as his sister’s. “Not your mom. Also not your secretary. Answer your own darn phone calls.”

      “Yes, Evie.”

      At the moment, the very thought of therapy exhausted him. Dammit! He used to run for miles, and now just a twenty-minute walk on the beach left him weak, winded...and in a hell of a lot of pain.

      Something that must have been more obvious than he wanted to consider as Rory said, “Speaking of Mom... She says she hasn’t heard from you lately and is talking about making a trip down to check on you.”

      Chance’s jaw tightened. “You can tell her I’m fine, Ror.”

      “You can tell her yourself,” his sister chided. “And are you so sure about that? You look...” She hesitated, biting her lower lip, her soft heart clearly worried about hurting his feelings.

      “Scary,” Evie interjected.

      “Evie!”

      “What?” His sharp-witted, sharp-tongued cousin flicked a slender hand in his direction. “He’s frightening the guests. I thought that poor woman was going to faint at the sight of him.”

      “Oh, I don’t think that was about Chance,” Rory argued. “It’s a big decision, you know. Choosing where to get married.”

      When he first woke after the explosion, a dull roar had filled his head, the pain making it almost impossible to think. With that bomb his sister dropped, a second wave hit like an aftershock.

      Alexa. Married. At Hillcrest.

      * * *

      “Chance...are you sure you’re okay?”

      He ran a hand down his face, several day’s growth of stubble scraping against his palm. “When?” he asked, his voice sounding just as rough.

      “What?”

      “When’s the wedding?”

      “Oh... Well, they haven’t picked a date yet either. Why?”

      “I was just wondering if I’d still be here when it happens.” Hell, he needed something to make him forget about the woman. Maybe seeing Alexa marry another man would do the trick. So far nothing else had worked.

      “Don’t they make the cutest couple?” Rory sighed.

      “Adorable.” And watching them exchange vows, promising to love each other until death did them part and sealing the words with a kiss... Chance’s jaw locked tight. He’d just as soon stick that hairpin into his eye.

      “Seriously, Chance,” Evie interjected, tucking a strand of straight, chin-length hair behind one ear, “we both know I’m nowhere near as love-stupid as this one—”

      “Hey!” Rory protested as their cousin waved a hand her way.

      “—but if you’re going to photograph the weddings around here, you need to get on board with this whole happily-ever-after crap.”

      “Oh, lovely,” his sister muttered. “We’ll be sure to put that in one of our brochures.”

      “I’m on board, Evie.”

      Her pointed gaze raked him from the tip of his too-long hair, to his faded to gray T-shirt, to his rumpled khakis. “Frightening the guests,” she repeated.

      “I’ll get a haircut. And shave,” he added when her look didn’t change. He all but groaned, “And go shopping.”

      “Before this weekend?” Rory asked, catching her lower lip between her teeth once more.

      “This—” He choked back a curse. This weekend was his first official Hillcrest House event.

       Chance McClaren—wedding photographer.

      “All right. All right. Before this weekend. You know, the two of you really should be nicer to me,” he said without thinking. “After all, I almost—”

      He cut himself off before he could finish the old joke, one going back to a serious injury when he was a kid. A skateboarding accident had left him in a coma followed by months of physical and occupational therapy.

      Rehab