The Stand-In (16 page)

Oh, who was she kidding? Staging
The Phantom of the Opera
with a bunch of seniors. Okay, so her production consisted of basic blocking and a ninety-year-old piano accompanist, but she’d done her best. God only knew her cast was uncooperative at the best of times, preferring to flirt and crumble biscuits between their dentures. Some days, she swore she wore a name tag that said
Winn Busby, Chief Cat Herder
.

Grandpa shuffled over and motioned toward a couple of empty chairs. “Sit, Winnie.”

She did, eyeing him the whole time. “Gramps, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I know my girls.” He eased into his chair and cursed his sore hips. “I can tell you’re having love problems. You’re easy to read.”

“So Enid tells me.”

“She’s sharp, that one. Nothing gets by our Enid.” He put a hand on her leg. “And my Winnie is the soft one. Tell your grandpa who hurt you so I can rearrange his face.”

She laughed but tears gathered at the corners of her eyes at his possessive tone. “I don’t want to be the soft one, Gramps.”

“I know, but you are. And it’s not a failing in my book.” He grinned and his own eyes watered. “You remind me of your grandmother, God rest her sweet soul. She was the warmest, most lovable woman I ever met. And if I could have her back, even for a day, I’d spend that time telling her how much I loved her softness.”

“Oh, Grandpa.”

He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with a faded handkerchief from his pocket. He reached over and wiped Winn’s eyes and then blew his nose into the hanky with a trumpeting noise. “Don’t be ashamed you’re sensitive. It’s the best thing about you.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, who’s the young buck who got you upset? That man you brought to my birthday party?”

“He didn’t hurt me. In fact, he’s been really nice to me, but I’m afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Knucklehead, look at me, an old man. I don’t regret aging, but if I could go back and do anything over, I’d have worn my heart on my sleeve a lot more.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Sweetheart, I know you had your heart broken, and badly. But not every affair ends in tragedy and not every man is Shithead Mike.”

“Oh my God. Does Enid have you calling him that, too?”

“He is a shithead. And if I could see more than two feet in front of my face, I’d teach him a thing or two.” He bit into his gingersnap, chewed, and swallowed. “Now, are we going to rehearse? I think I’m finally getting the hang of this Phantom role.”

She giggled. “Gramps, you’re not the Phantom.”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

As he groaned and got out of his chair, she considered his words. Should she be trying harder? Should she really tell Patrick she…felt things for him? The idea scared her so much her knees knocked.

Oh, well. She imagined she had time to consider it. After all, they weren’t really talking right now. As much as she wanted to text him, just to say “hello,” she wasn’t sure she had the nerve yet.

Of course, another wedding loomed on the horizon, and she figured he’d still want to attend. Perhaps she should just ask him and be done with it.

While she was at it, she could tell him his touch made her feel more alive than any other’s man’s touch had ever done. That his whispered words in her ear made her feel hot and sexy and cherished in a way she didn’t understand. That he turned her normally strong stomach into a home for flutters and quivers.

Yeah, and maybe she should just jump in the lake.

“Come on, Busby,” she urged herself in a whisper as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Just a quick text. Say hi and leave it at that.”

Breathing in deeply, she flipped to his contact information and prepared to hit the phone icon.

Before she could touch the screen, the phone buzzed and vibrated in her hand. Almost dropping it in surprise, she retrieved the incoming text. When she saw it came from Patrick, her jaw dropped.

“Hey, Busby,” he wrote. “I hope this week finds you well. You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t run down any more recycling bins.”

She let out a soft laugh, a puff of air.

“I have a question for you,” he continued. “You’ve been nice enough to allow me to escort you to two weddings and I haven’t reciprocated. I just found out I have to attend a family wedding this weekend. The prospect was so boring it totally slipped my mind. How would you feel about being my guest?”

She stared at the screen. Emboldened by his friendly tone, she dialed his number and waited for him to pick up.

“Is this my favorite pirate wench?”

His deep voice made her heart commence a series of acrobatics in her chest. “Hello, Patrick. I’m not dressed as a pirate today.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you wearing? Gimme detail.”

“Hmm. Lederhosen and thick, woolen tights.”

“Oh, mama,” he answered on a growl. “And Birkenstocks?”

“Of course.”

He made choking noises, as if having a lust-inspired heart attack. “No, really. What are you wearing?”

“None of your business, you horn dog.” She paused, remembering her grandfather’s advice. “You really want to take me to a wedding?”

“Well, to be precise, it’s just the reception. They had the wedding a month ago in a civil ceremony because the groom travels a lot. Just an excuse for them to throw another lavish party for people they don’t know. So you won’t have to worry about passing out because no actual vows will be said.”

“Always a plus.”

“Exactly. Only there’s one caveat.” He paused and she almost heard him grinning from ear to ear. “You have to wear the pirate outfit.”

“Is it a pirate wedding?”

He sighed. “Sadly, no. It’s at my parents’ club.”

“La-dee-da.”

“Come on, Winn. I hate these things. Being with you makes them slightly less unbearable.”

“I’m touched.”

“I’m wearing you down with my charm, aren’t I?” He chuckled at his own joke but she heard the tense inhalation of breath that followed. “Look, I know we promised to keep things professional and I’m prepared to live up to our agreement. But when I realized I had to attend this thing, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather take. You know, in the interests of continuing my
Macarena
training.”

She let out a giggle, as warmth infiltrated her bones, making her giddy. “Very well. In the interests of continuing your
Macarena
training.”

“Okay, then. I’ll send you the details.” He paused. “While we’re on the subject of nuptials, have you had any more panic attacks? I’ve been…concerned.”

She sucked in a breath and her eyelids fluttered. Stupid, weak eyelids. “No. Not for a few days.”

“Good. I didn’t want to give you reason to have another one.”

“Oh, I’ll be all right. And anyway, you managed to talk me down from the ledge before.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.” Was that relief she heard in his lilt or had she made it up? “I appreciate you doing this, Winn.”

“Finally a wedding where I can have a drink and relax. It sounds fun.”

“Yeah, you haven’t met my family yet. Take care, Busby. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Patrick.”

Had she seriously just used her flirty voice in signing off? And after she’d told him they could, under no circumstances, flirt with each other anymore?

Yep. It seemed she didn’t know how to stop flirting with him. Her horny eyelids were obviously in cahoots with her voice box and dumb heart.

Maybe joining him for another wedding wasn’t such a good idea.

* * * *

“Would you unzip me?”

Winn gawked at him as he emerged from the dressing room. “Patrick!”

He stood in the suit-store-fitting area and held out his hands in mock surrender. “What? When I came to your dress fitting, I helped unzip you.”

She cocked a blonde brow. “Yes, but I couldn’t reach the zipper at my back. You’re asking me to unzip your fly.” Her gaze dropped toward his crotch and made the slow journey back up to his face.

“It was worth a shot.” He tried not to smile but seeing her blush made it difficult. “Ah, come on, Winn. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“When I agreed to come to your tux fitting, I didn’t sign up for adventure.” She cast a glance up and down his frame once more, her gaze lingering here and there, despite how much she tried to disguise her interest. “So, this is the tux. You look nice.”

A compliment. Sure, she’d delivered it in her I’m-here-in-a-strictly-platonic-way voice, but it was still a compliment. “Thanks.” He loosened his bow tie. “I hate black-tie affairs. So damned stuffy.”

“Can’t you just wear a suit?”

“Nah. Sierra would kill me. It would interfere with her master plan for party of the century.”

“Sierra is your cousin, right?”

He moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, somewhere down the line. I forget now.”

“Your sense of family is heartwarming.”

He rolled his eyes but then pinned his gaze on her. “I appreciate you coming to this thing with me. I can’t promise it’ll be as fun as Elena’s or Sunshine’s weddings, and it’ll certainly involve less strippers and pirates.”

“More’s the pity,” she replied, laughing. “I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful reception.”

“Oh, it will. I fully expect doves and harpists and two-hour speeches. Kill me now.”

“You’re such a romantic, Patrick.” She looked toward the store clerk, the one tallying up his order. He followed her gaze. The other woman stared at him, clearly hoping to catch his gaze so she could make bedroom eyes at him. At another time, he might have reciprocated.

But he couldn’t drag his gaze from Winn. He still couldn’t quite believe she was here with him. He knew he’d been pushing his luck, asking her to join him for the reception, but he hadn’t expected her to agree when he suggested she come to his final tux fitting. And even though he was supposed to be checking out the cut of his suit, he couldn’t stop checking her out.

Dressed in Bermuda shorts, a ruffled T-shirt, and sandals, she might have looked like any other woman shopping on a summer’s day. But to him, she was a wet dream come true. Now that he’d seen her naked, now that he’d had the opportunity to appraise every inch of her luscious body, he knew what hid under the demure articles of clothing.

The body of a fucking goddess. One whose moans still replayed over and over in his ears every night as he fell asleep.

This woman would surely kill him.

He knew dwelling on their intimacy did him no favors, but the little devil on his shoulder egged him on constantly.
Call her
, it said.
You know you wanna taste her again
.

“Um, Patrick?” Winn said, interrupting his cock-teasing thought process. “The clerk asked you a question.”

He blinked a few times to dispel the cobwebs and gawked at the clerk. “I’m sorry?”

“If you’re ready to get changed, I’ll package the tux for you.” The young woman blushed and slipped her business card into his hand. “In case you, uh, need any last-minute alterations. I could come to your place to make it easier.”

He frowned at the card but took it. “Oh. Thanks.” Daring a glance at Winn, he couldn’t miss the angry streak of pink across her cheeks.

Well, well. His pirate wench was a jealous lass. If he really was a player, like Jake, like the man he used to be at university, he’d make the most of her green-eyed monster. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t want Winn to feel ill at ease with him. He wanted her to be happy, so freaking delirious rainbows shot out her ears.

Because when they let their guards down, when they relaxed around each other, that was how she made him feel.

She made him feel good, and even if this relationship went nowhere, he needed to make her feel good, too.

That thought in mind, he handed the business card back to the sales clerk. “Actually, the tux looks fine. I won’t need any other alterations, thanks.”

“Right.” The woman took the card back and hurried over to the cash register, keeping her gaze locked on the counter.

Patrick looked at Winn. She held his gaze and her eyes sparkled. Her lips did an adorable twitchy thing and then spread into a shy smile that made his heart want to beat out of his chest.

Damn. He was in big trouble here.

Chapter 9

Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Lowell

Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Dickinson

request the pleasure of your company

in celebration of the marriage of their children

Sierra Elizabeth

and

Conrad Elliott

on Saturday, the seventh of August

two thousand fifteen

at eight o’clock in the evening

St. Lawrence Country Club

Caledon, Ontario

* * * *

“I told that woman, ‘If my nails are not perfect, I will rain hellfire down on your salon.’ Luckily for her, she did a good job. You have to be firm with people in the service industry. It’s all they understand.” Sierra Dickinson, blushing bride and Patrick’s distant cousin, thrust her fingers into Winn’s face. “What do you think of my French tips? Tell me the truth.”

“Uh, they’re very…French,” Winn stammered, moving a step back.

The other woman practically purred. “Thanks, hun. You get what you pay for. That’s why Conrad and I spent a fortune on this reception. The wedding planner suggested we do it somewhere else to save money, but I told her she needed to book me the St. Lawrence Club. I said, ‘Britney, if you don’t make this happen, I’ll have your head.’ Those were my exact words.”

Winn blinked, unsure how to respond. Luckily, Patrick returned from the bar at that moment, bearing a couple of Cokes. She grabbed one out of his hand and sucked at the straw, grateful to discover he’d thrown some rum in hers.

He frowned at her reaction, clearly having heard the exchange, and turned to his cousin. “Sierra, you would have made an awesome Amazon.”

“Oh, Patrick,” she tittered. “Allow me my bridezilla moments. It’s my first wedding, after all.” She turned her attention back to Winn. “I’m so excited to meet you, Winn. My cousin never brings women to family gatherings. Oh, wait. He doesn’t come to family gatherings.”