Four Weddings and a Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (9 page)

“His
what
?” Veronica screeched, going dizzy. “I have to sit down.” She moved to the couch, but stopped when she thought about what the stalker might’ve done there. “I can’t sit. I can’t—”

“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” Logan caught her by the arm and pulled her against him. He smelled good. Strong and fresh, with a musky, manly scent. It roused something inside her—the desire to lean her head against his chest and let him care for her. “I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on. You’ll stay with me if you have to.”

She buried her head in his chest and nodded.

“Okay, we’re going to lock up and go to the Sanchez reception. You’re going to call Heather and have her take care of the ceremony.” Logan stroked his hands over her back and rested his head on hers, soothing away her worries little by little. “After the wedding, we’ll figure out the safest place for you to stay, even if that means checking in to a hotel for a while.”

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe he was here.”

Logan’s body tightened. “Seems like he’s everywhere, and getting closer. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it happen again.”
Veronica didn’t know how he would keep his word, since the stalker seemed to be two steps ahead of him thus far, but she believed him. This time, when Logan held her against him and spoke tenderly against her hair, his words felt like an oath. A promise. The way a lover tells his partner that there’ll never be another.

Veronica wished he’d make those promises to her, too.

But as he’d said, time and again, it wasn’t meant to be…

Chapter Ten

Veronica stood near the back of the Nightshade hotel’s ballroom and took in the glitz and glamour that had become the Sanchez reception.

Ice-blue linens were draped over the tables, and large floral centerpieces were perfectly centered over the tops. Accenting ribbons were tied around each chair. The chandelier hung in the center of the dance floor and picked up the DJ’s lights, reflecting them into the room beautifully. Glittery swags of tulle swooped from the chandelier and into the corners of the ballroom.

It was reception perfection. Bridal orgasm.

Heather filled Veronica in on all the Sanchez wedding details. The ceremony went wonderfully, even without Veronica there to oversee every detail. The bride had cried during the vows, and hadn’t really looked like the crying type. Her dress was exquisite: strapless, floral petals decorating the bottom, a short train, and a long veil that brushed against her eyelashes when she looked up at her groom. And in her hands were flowers that spelled her groom’s name.

“This is the last one,” Logan said, striding from the hallway branching off the main hall. He’d been such a huge help with the last-minute details; she probably wouldn’t have been able to finish before the wedding party arrived if it hadn’t been for his willingness to assist wherever was needed. His hands were wrapped around an oversize crystal vase, and his head was buried in a gathering of bushy flowers. The only reason Veronica knew it was him was from the stimulating rumble in his voice. “Thanks for the help,” he added.

“It was my pleasure,” Susan Reinhart, the event planner for the hotel, said from behind him. She hadn’t left his side since they arrived at the hotel. Not that Veronica noticed or anything. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

As Logan set down the vase on a nearby table, he caught Veronica’s eye.

“How’s your sniffer?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your nose,” she said, pointing to the flowers over his shoulder. “How are your allergies holding up?”

“I’m good to go.” Logan patted his coat pocket—the one opposite where the stalker’s box was placed. God, her thoughts swarmed around that box. “Non-drowsy Benadryl.”

As the DJ played a John Mellencamp song, Veronica forced the thoughts of the stalker behind her and backed away to get an overall vision of the room. It was precisely how it should’ve been. Workers were moving around the room at a much slower and more controlled pace, putting final touches on the flowers and lighting candles in the center of the tables. The tulle arrangement centered over the dance floor was to die for. Logan had scaled the ladder and balanced on the top rung no problem—as if he was used to the height and had hung decorations sky-high a dozen times before.

He folded his arms over his chest and bumped against her. “So what do you think?”

“I think we did a damn fine job under the circumstances. It’s all we can—hey, excuse me!” she shouted, as a group of rugged-looking men walked in from a side door leading to the lobby. They weren’t wedding guests—she would’ve remembered seeing an entire rugby team dressed in suit and tie. The guys were enormous, broad-chested, and walking right toward her with strides that ate up the dance floor. “There’s a wedding taking place here tonight. Can I help you find something?”

“Yeah.” The one walking a beat in front of the others spoke up first. He was at least six foot six of bodybuilding muscle, with a flop of chestnut-brown hair and ice-blue eyes. His accent was slow and rough, as though he’d just woken up. “I’m Carter, and I’m looking for Logan Black.”

“Carter!” Logan said, sliding beside Veronica and shaking Carter’s hand. “’Bout time you showed up. Thanks for agreeing to be here, I know it was last-minute.”

“You invited guests?” Veronica gritted through tight lips.

“Susan mentioned that the security team the hotel contracted isn’t coming tonight. Considering what happened at your house earlier, that wasn’t acceptable, so I took matters into my own hands. Don’t worry,” he said, putting up his hands as she was about to question him, “I took care of it, and called my most trusted friends. Rest assured that the Sanchez wedding will be the most protected wedding in Seattle.”

Veronica scrutinized the faces of the men. They were stoic and unreadable with jutting brows and sharp, slanting bone structures. Their expressions were dark and mysterious, giving off lethal vibes that clung to Veronica like the stench of smoke. Judging from their demeanor alone, Veronica knew they’d take the job seriously. They were already scoping out the exits and sizing up the workers. She didn’t want to trust these guys—they’d probably only been fingerprinted inside the four walls of a police station—but if the hotel’s security team wasn’t coming, what else could she do? If Jake trusted Logan, and Logan trusted these guys, they had to be in safe hands…
right?

“This Veronica Vale?” Carter directed his question at Logan. “The one who—”

“Yes, this is Miss Vale,” Logan blurted. “But there’s no time for intros. I need you stationed outside those doors. Two of you can stand there, and there. Another two near the bathrooms, and a few more in the lot.”

Veronica wondered what Carter had been about to say. Logan had mentioned her? To his friends? If he was only going to mention that she was the one Logan had been hired to guard, why the rude interruption?

The team of rugby hunks split up as though someone had just yelled, “Break!” and called the next play.

“These guys will be the best replacements you’ve ever seen.” Logan smiled deviously. “Do you trust me?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Then don’t worry about a thing. You’ll be safe here tonight,” he said, and walked away.

Veronica checked the head table, scooted the chairs in, and made the final rounds of the room as guests filed in. Susan—the gorgeous blonde in the red strapless dress—approached Veronica, an iPad secured in the crook of her arm.

“The place is a dream,” Susan said. “Probably the most beautiful I’ve ever seen it.”

“Thanks.” Veronica watched as Logan yelled something to the DJ, then opened the door wide for an elderly woman to pass through. “I appreciate your help setting things up.”

“I didn’t do much of anything. You should be thanking your go-to guy, Logan.”

“My go-to guy?” The way she said his name, unhurried and sensual, sparked a hint of jealousy in Veronica’s belly. Across the room, Logan bent to pick up something off the floor, giving the ladies a striking view of his rounded backside. “He doesn’t work for my company.”

“Really?” Susan said, leaning in close to Veronica’s ear. “So who is he to you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Veronica minded very much. But why? She had no claim to him.

“It’s complicated, but we’re not together, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I see.” Susan pursed her lips. “It’s not every day that I get an Ian Somerhalder look-alike walking around helping me carry things.”

“Ian who?” Veronica couldn’t take her eyes off Logan.

“You know, the hot guy from
The Vampire Diaries
? The one with the dark, messy hair and the light eyes?”

Veronica bit her lip. “Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to focus the rest of the night,” Susan said, fanning herself with dramatic flair. “I still have a ton of work to do around the hotel, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from him. How do you do it? How do you keep your hands off and stay focused?”

Logan turned around, put his hands in his pockets, and smiled, a tiny dimple pricking his cheek. Had he heard what Susan said? He couldn’t have. He was too far away. Why, then, was he looking at Veronica as if he was waiting to hear her answer?

“It’s not difficult to focus on work,” Veronica said. “Not when he’s made it perfectly clear that I’m not his type.”

…

Not his type?
Not his type?

Logan’s heightened hearing had allowed him to eavesdrop on the conversation. Now he was certain the woman had lost her mind. He could barely glance at her without the blood in his veins melting to liquid lust. Veronica had an innocent kind of beauty: porcelain smooth skin, soft brown eyes, dark hair that fell in subtle waves past her shoulders, and rosy cheeks. She was a voluptuous version of Snow White, plucked straight from his fantasies. Looks aside, Veronica was his polar opposite. It was clear she longed for a serious, stable relationship, and that’s the last thing Logan wanted. She was a night owl, and he rose with the sun. She always noticed the good in people and he…well, years of bad experiences had taught him better.

Veronica was intriguing. Being close without reaching out and touching her the last week nearly broke him.

The reception had been flowing for hours. It was nearly seven o’clock and the first dance had been waltzed, dinner had been served, and the cake had been cut. There was no sign of the stalker, though every time someone snapped a picture of the happy couple, Logan wanted to rip the camera out of their hands and stomp it into the floor, just in case there were pictures of Veronica on the disk. The bride and groom looked blissfully happy, but Logan wasn’t fooled.

“Poor bastard,” Logan said as the dance floor filled. “Doesn’t know what he’s walking into.”

Veronica appeared in Logan’s line of vision. She was standing against the bar, swishing around a yellow blended drink in a crystal martini glass. A George Clooney look-alike stood next to her, drinking something that looked like sparkling water. He wore a pin-striped suit with a blue tie and spit-shiny shoes. They were talking. Laughing.

Logan had left her alone for two whole seconds and the wolves had descended.

Only this guy wasn’t throwing off the scent of a wolf. Good thing, otherwise Logan would’ve marked him as stalker suspect number one and escorted his ass out back.

Not liking their interaction, Logan walked toward the bar and pressed the button on his earpiece. “Everything under control out there, Carter?”

“You could say that,” Carter said from his position behind the hotel. “I just escorted a ninety-year-old woman to her car. She pinched my ass and dropped a quarter into my back pocket as a tip.”

Logan couldn’t force out a laugh. Not when Veronica’s eyes lit up and she smacked the stranger playfully in the shoulder.

“Highlight of the night, huh?” Logan started a slow trek to her position. He kept his voice low. “Just remember what I told you. If you even sense a wolf in the vicinity, alert me immediately.”

“Will do.”

Logan turned off his earpiece and stood at Veronica’s side, so closely that he brushed against her shoulder. “I’m Logan Black,” he said, extending his hand.

The guy squinted, and then shook Logan’s hand. “Patrick Bennett.”

“We’re old friends,” Veronica said, laughing. “I’ve known him since I was six.”

Patrick must’ve said something funny just before Logan walked up.
Oh, everyone loves a clown.

“He’s a pastor now,” she continued. “Though it’s still so hard for me to imagine:
Pastor
Bennett.” She shook her head. “To me you’ll always be Patrick.”

“A pastor, huh?” Logan rested his arm on the back of Veronica’s barstool. “Do they make you take a vow of celibacy when you wear the cloth?”

“Celibacy is a personal choice.” Patrick glared. “Veronica, I have to thank you for contacting me,” Patrick said, scanning the dance floor. “I think this wedding makes ten I’ve ministered for Veronica Vale Weddings.”

“Eleven, if you count Leah’s.” She took a drink. “You’re already contracted for that one, and you can’t back out now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “I love weddings. I’m
honored
to be a part of a couple’s special day.”

“That’s refreshing to hear.” Veronica looked up at Logan in amusement. “Don’t you think?”

“Honored,” Logan parroted, dramatically placing his hand over his chest to match the pastor’s. “Absolutely.”

Logan kept his gaze on the reverend, but brushed his hand up and down Veronica’s back. Her shoulders rolled beneath his touch, and she shot him a glare he didn’t understand. And although Logan wasn’t picking up scents that would set him off—other than the odd scent of something peppery, which wasn’t a cause for concern so much as it was disgustingly strong—he didn’t like Pastor Bennett. The guy was too damn…
happy
.

“I should probably take off.” Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “Will you be at the rehearsal Friday night?”

“Yes,” Logan and Veronica answered together, and she laughed.

Patrick stared, his gaze shifting from one to the other. “Wonderful. See you then.”

Logan watched the pastor leave the ballroom. “That guy’s a twit.”

“He’s not a twit.” Veronica turned back to the bar and nursed her drink. “He simply doesn’t like you. Can’t really fault him for that.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.” Logan leaned over the bar and signaled the bartender. “You two close?”

“No. Not anymore, at least. We went to the same schools, and hung out off and on until our senior year. He moved and we lost touch after that, but when he came back to Seattle a few years later, he gave me a call. By then we’d grown apart and couldn’t find the time to catch up again.” She shrugged. “Guess that happens sometimes to childhood friends.”

“It does.”
To humans.
Growing up, Logan had wolf-pack friends and they were still thick as thieves, willing to do anything for one another. “How’d he end up working for your company?”