Lone Star Wedding (4 page)

“You're kidding.” Her disbelief showed in the tone of her voice. Recovering slightly, she said, “What kind of party?”

“I don't know. I just thought of it.”

“Parker, why are you really here?”

That was a good question. He worded his answer very carefully. “It isn't because I have a lot of idle time. It's just the opposite. Yesterday I was trying to talk an irate husband out of hiring a private investigator to follow his wife, whom he suspected was cheating. I was in the middle of trying to explain that in no-fault divorce states, there's no use. Suddenly your image crowded into my brain. You're interfering with my concentration.”

Hannah didn't know what to say. Doggone it, she felt complimented. She had no business feeling that way. She and Parker were complete opposites. While she planned weddings down to the smallest detail, he took marriages apart, asset by asset.

“Look. I have an appointment across town with a very anxious bride to be.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a price list and several brochures depicting the different themes she'd used in planning parties. Placing the pamphlets near the edge of her desk, she said, “You can look these over, if you'd like. If you truly want my help planning a party, let me know. Otherwise…”

He glanced at the brochures, the rest of her statement hanging in the air, unfinished. That “otherwise” spoke
volumes. He could hire her services as a party planner, but she didn't plan to see him socially.

“I see,” he said. “Maybe I'll do that.”

“Goodbye, Parker.”

Hannah watched him stride toward the door. It was in her own best interests to let him go. And she was letting him go. It was better this way. A clean break from what could have turned out to be a disastrous relationship.

She covered her lips with three fingers, remembering how it had felt to kiss him. If she let him go, how would she ever know what might have been?

She didn't need to know. It was for the best. For both of them.

She wondered if he'd really been burning the candle at both ends. Had there been shadows beneath his eyes?

“Parker?”

His fingers were already wrapped around the doorknob when he turned around. His eyes looked hooded. She couldn't read their expression from here. “You forgot your brochures.”

He retraced his steps, taking the brochures from her outstretched hand. Praying she didn't regret this, she took a breath for courage and said, “I can't have lunch with you, but I could free up my schedule for this evening. We could talk about this party you suddenly want to have then.”

The eyes staring into hers filled with a curious intensity. “Dinner?” he asked.

She pushed her chair out and stood. “That would be too much like a date.”

There was a good reason for that, Parker thought. “What else did you have in mind?”

“Do you own a bike?”

“A motorcycle?”

She shook her head. “A bicycle.”

“Not since I was thirteen.”

“That's what I thought. You probably don't have a pair of in-line skates in the back of your closet, either. Something tells me you get your exercise playing racquetball or walking on a treadmill. I prefer more spontaneous activities.”

Parker had the strangest urge to defend himself.

“Maybe we could go for a walk,” she said.

“You want to take a walk?”

She smiled. “That sounds lovely. Thanks, I'd love to.”

Parker shook his head. She thought she was so smart. That was okay. He happened to like smart women. “I'll stop by around seven.”

“You can if you want to, but I won't be back until seven-thirty.” She was grinning openly now.

“Seven-thirty, it is.”

“Oh, and Parker? I have one small stipulation.”

Of course she did.

“You can't try to arm wrestle me into using my influence to change my mother's mind about going public with her engagement to Ryan.”

Parker took a frank and admiring look at her. Her hair was down today, her dress a creamy beige that seemed to blend in with her surroundings. She had a great body, but he was beginning to realize that in front of him stood a woman who preferred to be recognized for having a great mind.

“If we arm wrestle,” he said, his gaze delving hers, “it'll be to determine how far we go.”

Leaving her to mull that over, he strode loftily out the door.

“L
ook, Parker, there's a paddleboat.”

Parker glanced at the contraption moored to the edge of the boardwalk that lined the San Antonio River. Yes, he supposed the apparatus floating on two plastic pontoons was in the paddleboat category. Why Hannah was hurrying toward it was beyond him. “Where are you going?”

She slowed down as she glanced over her shoulder, but he noticed she didn't stop completely. “I heard they were going to try these out again along with the newer, motor-powered ones they've been using these past several years. Let's take a boat ride. Hurry, before someone else beats us to it.”

Following her around a table of women who were lingering over desserts and iced teas along Paseo del Rio, or River Walk, a dining and shopping district in downtown San Antonio, Parker wondered if he was the only one who noticed that people weren't exactly lining up to ride the leg-powered devices. He figured there was a good reason for that. It required energy, something that Hannah hadn't run out of since they'd set off on their “little” walk an hour and a half ago.

It turned out he and Hannah had two entirely different approaches to walking. He'd expected a leisurely stroll down Smith Street, and had assumed that taking a walk involved walking. Hannah took flight. He'd planned to find a quiet table in a coffeehouse somewhere. Hannah had
informed him that she didn't drink coffee. It was the caffeine. It was bad for a person. When he got home, Parker was going to have to alert the press.
If
he had enough energy left to make it home.

She had more energy than she could contain.

She'd met him at the door wearing an airy brown skirt that rode low at the waist and stopped a few inches above her ankles. Once again, it wasn't the color that drew his attention, but the fit and style. Her shirt bared her arms and part of her shoulders. It wasn't tight, but it was cropped short at the waist. When she moved just right, he caught a glimpse of her navel. And the woman moved a great deal. If she ever found herself in need of another occupation, she could try her hand at modeling. Her mixture of wholesomeness and sensuality would undoubtedly sell everything from women's jeans to lingerie.

He was imagining her in lingerie right now. A serious mistake for any man who needed to keep his wits about him.

Hannah stepped onto the paddleboat. The seat was wide enough for two people. It occurred to her that Parker wasn't excited about climbing off the boardwalk and sitting on the other half of the seat. He appeared lost in thought, the same breeze that lifted the hair off her shoulders trifling with the collar of his knit shirt. “Are you coming?” she asked.

He slid his hands to his hips, peering first one way and then the other. “How far do you want to go?”

She stared up at him, remembering when he'd said they would have to arm wrestle to determine that. His gaze warmed at least ten degrees as it slid over her, letting her know he was thinking the same thing. Oh, no, he didn't. She wasn't touching that line.

“There's a little ice-cream store just beyond that curve
in the river.” She pointed to a series of lights upriver, but wound up waving at another paddleboat coming their way.

“I don't recall seeing an ice-cream place in the area.”

“It's been there forever. I thought you said you grew up in San Antonio.”

“My family wasn't the type to go out for ice cream.”

This was the first time he'd mentioned his family all evening. She'd met his father, the legendary J. D. Malone, at Lily and Ryan's party. She'd be hard pressed to say for sure whether she liked or disliked the man.

“My family didn't always have a lot of money for things like going to ice-cream parlors,” she said. His eyes narrowed, and she threw up her hands. “My mother isn't after Ryan's money, if that's what you're thinking.”

“I didn't say she was.”

“You didn't have to. My brother's an attorney. I know how your minds work. My mother may have been poor as a child, but there's no disgrace in that. She and my father worked hard in the grocery store they owned back in Leather Bucket. There's no disgrace in working hard, either. After my father died, my mother went back to college. She's perfectly capable of earning her own living on what she makes as manager of special functions at the Willow Creek Hotel. She's marrying Ryan because she loves him.”

In some far corner of her mind, Hannah was aware that Parker had taken the seat next to her, but she didn't consciously acknowledge his presence until her voice had trailed away and the only sound was that of the water falling over the paddlewheel at the back of their boat. She glanced up at him. He was looking at her in silence, making no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that he was watching her.

“Sometimes I get a little carried away defending the people I love.”

“I like a woman who gets carried away.”

Hannah knew better than to comment. She was becoming well enough acquainted with him to realize that Parker Malone rarely spoke without thinking. There were layers to what he said, hidden meanings, underlying messages. Cole was like that to an extent. Maybe all attorneys were. Her brother was good at what he did, and Hannah was proud of him, but Parker took innuendo farther than anyone she'd ever known.

“Let's get this boat moving, shall we?” she asked, manning the steering lever between them.

At five feet seven, she'd always considered her legs long, but Parker's were longer. He might have complained a little about the distance they'd come, but he hadn't so much as broken a sweat from the exertion. His flat-front khakis and navy-blue shirt were the kinds of clothes hundreds of sharp, young executive types wore, but Parker's hugged muscles that were obviously accustomed to a good workout. She wondered what drove him. She wanted to know everything about him, but she was beginning to realize that information of a personal manner was seldom forthcoming.

She steered around a paddleboat that was drifting slowly down the river, a Just Married sign on the back, the man and woman lost in a long, searing kiss. Once they were out of hearing range, Hannah whispered, “When my sister and I were little, we used to sing ‘first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Johnny pushing a baby carriage' every time we saw a couple kissing like that.”

Hannah's thoughts became introspective. There
were
fond memories of good times and shared secrets between her and Maria. A few.

“In five years,” Parker was saying, his deep voice drawing her out of her musings, “they'll be fighting over who gets to keep the baby carriage.”

Hannah shook her head. “You're a natural born romantic, Parker.”

“I'm a realist.”

“I don't have my thesaurus handy. Is that another word for pessimist?”

“If it isn't, it should be.”

They'd reached the landing area in front of the trendy ice-cream store. Parker stepped out and moored the boat to a little pier, but Hannah made no move to climb onto the lighted dock. “You make divorce sound inevitable.”

He brushed his hands on his thighs. “Fifty percent of all marriages in this country end in divorce. In other words, half of the people who have stars in their eyes when they come to you will be shooting daggers at each other by the time they come to me.”

She took the hand he held out to her and stepped onto the dock. His cynicism was more difficult to accept. “What about the other fifty percent?”

“I didn't invent the statistics, Hannah. I'm only repeating them.”

The river swirled by, lapping at the paddleboat, splashing softly against the pier. Hannah was very aware of the color of the sky in the deepening twilight, of the warmth of Parker's hand around hers, and the directness of his gaze. “Do you still want that ice cream?” he asked.

She shook her head. The ice-cream parlor had merely been a destination. Now, she wanted to make him understand. Better yet, she wanted to change his mind about his views on marriage. “All your statistics don't seem to be slowing people down,” she said. “My day planner is full of names of couples who still believe in marriage. It seems
as if I'm invited to a bridal shower every other week. I'd just come from one the first time we met. It was where I'd received that embarrassing little package of consolation prizes.”

He released her hand. As if by unspoken agreement, they started back toward Smith Street. “I thought those little numbers were only passed around at bachelor parties.”

“Men pass out condoms at bachelor parties?”

“It's been known to happen.”

This was a subject that had always made her curious. “What else do men do at those things?”

“Telling you would require using obscenities.”

She looked up at him in silent expectation.

“I don't talk dirty to a woman so early in a relationship.”

“We're not having a relationship.”

“If you'd agree to come home with me, that would change.”

The deep cadence of his voice was as dusky as a whisper, as sensuous as a kiss placed ever so softly on her bare shoulder.

“Do you play chess, Hannah?”

Hmm. Her steps slowed and her breathing deepened. She was trying to follow the course the conversation was taking, really she was, but a young woman with dark hair and a skintight dress drew her attention. Why, it almost looked like Maria.

“Or are you more the arm-wrestling type?”

What would Maria be doing in San Antonio? She never came to the city anymore. Hannah's heart beat a little harder. She loved her younger sister, and she ached for a glimpse of her. She wanted so much more.

“Hannah?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything all right?”

She glanced up at Parker, and then back at the sidewalk across the street. She'd lost the young woman in the glare of headlights. Hannah surveyed the entire area. There were other dark-haired women out and about, but the woman in the brightly colored dress was nowhere to be seen.

“I'm fine,” she told Parker. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

She told herself it couldn't have been Maria. Surely there were a lot of women in San Antonio who bore the dark, exotic traits of their Apache and Mexican parentage. And Maria certainly wasn't the only girl in Texas who had a walk she claimed measured seven point five on the Richter scale.

“An old flame?”

She tried to recall how the conversation had gone from bachelor parties to old flames. They'd reached an intersection a few blocks away from The Pink Flamingo. Waiting for the crossing signal, she studied Parker's profile. His nose was straight, his chin was well defined and set at an angle that was the epitome of smugness. He glanced down, his gaze homing in on hers.

“Not an old flame. My sister. But it wasn't. Either of those things. An old flame, I mean, or Maria.”

Hannah wondered when she'd become daft. While she was at it, she wondered when she'd been so drawn to a man she had no business being drawn to. She was so caught up in what was happening between her and Parker that she didn't notice the voluptuous redhead until she'd sauntered up to Parker, ran a long, bloodred fingernail along his cheek, and slipped something into his pocket. She wiggled her hips, winked, puckered up her painted lips and kissed the air near Parker's cheek.

With a quirk of her eyebrows, Hannah watched her saunter away. Oh, no, Maria most definitely did not have sole rights to provocative moves and gestures.

The Walk signal came on. Ignoring it, Hannah reached blithely into Parker's pocket, pulling out a skimpy pair of panties. “How sweet.”

“That isn't what it looks like.”

Hannah lifted her gaze to his. “This isn't a pair of silk, thong bikini panties?”

“Silk? Really?”

She batted his hand away. “It's white, but in this case I doubt it's virginal.”

Parker regarded the item in Hannah's hand. She was right. Paula was definitely no virgin. “All right. It's what it looks like, but it isn't what you're thinking.”

“Then, she isn't a friend of yours?”

“A client, actually. A former one. Paula's just trying to show her appreciation.”

“For what, pray tell?”

The unusual combination of vitality and sarcasm in Hannah's expression made it difficult for Parker not to smile. His heartbeat sounded in his own ears as they started across the street, hurrying at the prodding of a car horn.

Reluctant to release her elbow even though they'd reached the other side, he said, “I won her ten thousand dollars a month, the summer place, the winter condo in Florida, and if I remember correctly, the family poodle.”

“What did the husband get?”

“Let's just say he's never slipped a pair of his Jockey shorts into my pocket.”

“I'm relieved to hear it. Tell me, Parker…never mind.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“It's none of my business.”

“I'll be the judge of that.”

They'd reached the sidewalk in front of The Perfect Occasion. She stared up at him, but she didn't finish her question. He answered as if she had. “No, I don't, Hannah.”

Her eyes must have shown her surprise, because he said, “That's what you wanted to know, wasn't it? If I sleep with my female clients?”

Some would call her a fool for believing him, but her instincts told her he was telling the truth. After all, he might have jumped to the wrong conclusion when they'd first met, but he hadn't taken her up on what he'd thought she was proposing.

“Or were you wondering if I sleep with every woman who slips her underwear into my pocket? Why don't you try it and find out?”

“That isn't my style.”

He seemed to be assessing her statement. “Your style of panties? Or your style of invitations?”

She fought a valiant battle not to smile. And lost. “Neither.”