Kitabı oxu: «Christmas Wedding»
Christmas Wedding
Pamela Macaluso
For: Tom and Cleo Barnes,
Dad and Mother,
who were married on Christmas Day
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
One
Was she seeing things? Or did the two-way mirror looking from the tattoo parlor office into the display area need cleaning?
Holly Bryant was used to seeing attractive men. But this guy was a major hunk. From his dark brown hair to his dusty black motorcycle boots—and all parts between. Including his enticing backside, which was displayed to absolute advantage in snug, faded denim.
In keeping with the warm October day in Daytona Beach, Florida, the top half of the man was decked out in a black leather vest. As he turned and walked farther into the shop, Holly could see that the vest showed off his broad shoulders, muscular chest and arms. The V neckline exposed a triangle of dark, curling hair.
And there wasn’t a tattoo in sight.
He was looking at the sample tattoo drawings and photographs displayed on the walls.
“Well, what are you waiting for? The guy’s a customer and Dad’s on lunch break,” Holly muttered to herself under her breath. She hoped she could wait on the guy without staring...or drooling all over him.
Opening the door into the front of the shop, she put on her best salesperson smile and walked out. “May I help you?”
He turned and looked at her with intense green eyes, but he didn’t smile.
Unusual. She was used to men smiling and flirting with her. Especially when she was decked out in the provocative outfits she wore to work in the tattoo parlor.
She’d been designing and making her own clothes long before she’d started taking fashion design classes at a local art school. For “Daytona Bike Week” and “Biketoberfest” she had a special biker-look wardrobe. It was sexy and daring. She thought of it as costuming for her job...playing a part.
Obviously the part of flirting temptress wasn’t working on this customer.
Up close Holly thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t place him. Of course, during Daytona Bike Week every March and the more recently added Biketoberfest in October, there were large numbers of repeat visitors year after year and also an occasional celebrity.
This guy was handsome enough to be an actor, but nothing clicked. Or maybe he was one of those cover models from the romance novels her friend Ellen read.
“I don’t see anything for Yankee riders,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth—the kind of voice that made you think about maple syrup.
“Most of these samples went up ten years ago, when my dad moved to this location. Yankee wasn’t around at the time, but he has done Yankee tattoos. If you’ll step over here, I have a book showing some of them. Plus, he’ll do custom designs, drawn to order or copied from something you bring in.”
He flipped through the book, glancing a little longer at the designs showcasing Yankee. Some were renderings of the Yankee logo, others declared the names of different models in decorative lettering: Yankee Clipper, Yankee Spirit, Yankee Pride.
“I take it you ride a Yankee,” Holly said.
He kept his position, but he glanced up at her. “Yes, I do.”
“They’re starting to be more popular. I’ve seen more on the road this Biketoberfest than at any biker event in the past.” Didn’t this guy ever smile? “It must be all the excitement over the Yankee Hunks.”
Now he was really frowning. “Or it might be that more people are starting to realize what great bikes Yankees are.” He closed the book.
“Did you see anything you liked?”
“Actually, I was looking for a specific tattoo I saw on a guy this afternoon. He said this is where he’d gotten it done.”
“Well, maybe if you described it for me.”
“It showed a caricature of a biker and he was holding a picket sign that read Yankee Go Home.” If there’d been the smallest hint of good nature on his face, it was gone now.
“Was the guy’s name Tiny?”
“Yes.”
It seemed like a strange choice for someone who rode a Yankee, but Dad’s first rule was that the customer was always right. “Tiny’s was the first of that design, and it was just done last week so it’s not in the book yet. But I can hunt up the original drawing.” Holly kept a perfect poker face as she asked, “And where were you thinking about having it placed?”
He had gorgeous muscular arms that could accommodate a tattoo. Plus there was plenty more body currently hidden from view by denim and leather.
“I was thinking about one of two places. Either the trash can or my attorney’s desk.”
“Excuse me?”
“Either the design goes, or you’ll find yourself being sued.”
Holly shrugged, hoping that if she looked calm this whole thing would turn out to be a practical joke or one of those hidden video shows. “I’m sorry you don’t like the tattoo, but I’m sure there’s no copyright on the phrase ‘Yankee go home.’”
“Not the phrase, but that particular rendering of the word Yankee is a registered trademark.”
“Are you a lawyer or something?”
“Or something.”
Holly realized why he looked so familiar. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Yankee Hunks.”
He folded his arms across his chest with a rippling of muscles that made Holly’s breath catch in her throat. “We prefer to be called co-founders or co-owners.”
She pointed to the book. “The other tattoos probably fall under the same trademark laws, do you want them removed, also?”
“I have no objection to the others.”
“Because they don’t knock your bikes?”
“Exactly.”
Holly didn’t know enough about the laws to argue with him. “I’ll talk to my father about it.”
“Is he the one who did the tattoo?”
“He did the tattoo, but I drew the design.” Tiny had come in on a busy afternoon. While he was waiting, he’d described what he’d wanted. Holly had made some sample sketches to give her father a general idea to work from. As it turned out, her sketch was exactly what Tiny had wanted, so her father had used it.
“You designed the tattoo?”
“Yes. Now, do you want a tattoo, or not?”
“Not.”
“Okay. Well, then, if there’s anything else I can do for you, ring the bell on the counter.” She turned and went back into the office, muttering under her breath about hunks who thought their good looks gave them a license to be grouchy.
* * *
Jesse frowned. His partners, Rorke O’Neil and Alex Dalton, and Yankee’s corporate attorney, Chad Ralston, were sitting around the table in a hotel suite overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
After they went over the daily agenda of their public appearances, Jesse told them about Tiny—who hadn’t gotten his nickname for any part of him that showed—and his tattoo. Jesse also told them about his trip to the tattoo parlor.
While he wanted to go for blood, the others didn’t seem as incensed by the tattoo as he was. Rorke and Alex actually thought it was funny.
Chad said, “Whether we have a chance of winning a lawsuit is not the issue, Jesse. What we have to consider is what the media will do with it. They’ll make it look like three big bad guys are picking on one poor artistic waif.”
“This waif is about five foot nine, dressed in black leather and built like a centerfold.”
Not to mention her long, luscious legs that made a man wonder how it would feel to have them wrapped around him. Or the long, strawberry-blond hair he would love to see spread across a black satin pillowcase. And the full, pouty lips, which under normal circumstances he would have wanted a taste of.
Chad interrupted his thoughts. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll make her look like Little Red Riding Hood. All sweet, trusting innocence.”
“Besides,” Rorke said. “If we make a big deal out of this thing, they’ll start broadcasting the picture and more people will see it. Once it gets that much exposure other people might decide they want one, too.”
“And then it will end up on T-shirts,” Alex said.
“Baseball hats,” Rorke said.
“Coffee mugs,” Alex added.
Jesse looked at Rorke. “Don’t you dare say refrigerator magnets.”
“I was going to say bumper stickers, but refrigerator magnets are good.”
“Chad, be the voice of reason in this wilderness,” Jesse said.
“As I told you before, Jesse, I really think the best thing for us to do would be to ignore this particular tattoo,” Chad said.
Maybe the sight of Chad and his briefcase would be enough to scare her into throwing out the design. “Could you at least go over there with me and take a look at the drawing?”
Chad shrugged. “I don’t see what good it will do, but you’re the boss.”
Jesse looked at his agenda for the next day. “Tomorrow at two o’clock, then?”
* * *
Holly made an appreciative sound as she washed her face free of her at-work makeup. The extra makeup went along with the sexy image of her clothes. She liked the effect, but by the end of her shift she was always ready to get rid of it. After toweling dry, she smoothed on some moisturizer and brushed on light brown mascara.
She changed into a colorful camp shirt and khaki walking shorts and braided her hair. Picking up her backpack, she headed for class.
Holly paused briefly on the front porch of the white-clapboard house. At one time the house had been a large, single-family home, but then had been converted into apartments. Similar changes had been made to most of the houses on the block, including the one next door where her father lived.
It was a nice arrangement having Red in the next building, giving them both the privacy of living alone while allowing them to share a car. They each had their own motorcycle for regular transportation, but they shared the car on those few days when the Florida weather wasn’t conducive to motorcycle riding. Holly usually took the car to school because it was easier to transport her portfolio back and forth.
Once in the car, she drove the familiar oak-and palm-lined route to school. She caught herself checking every motorcycle she passed. It was normal for her to look at the bikes, but today she was also looking for a particular biker.
Jesse Tyler. A Yankee Hunk with an attitude.
She’d looked through a stack of motorcycle magazines her father kept at the shop until she’d found one with a picture of the Yankee owners. The man who’d been in the shop today was Jesse Tyler. Two months ago, when the article had been published, he was the only one of the three owners who was still single.
So what?
The guy hadn’t looked twice at her. Besides, she wasn’t interested in getting involved with any man. She had a career to build and didn’t need the hassle of dealing with a member of the opposite sex at this point in her life. From what she’d seen her friends go through, she couldn’t imagine any man being worth the trouble and heartache they brought with them.
But Jesse sure was a pleasure to look at. She hoped she didn’t have the opportunity to watch him from opposite sides of a courtroom.
With his usual endearing optimism, her father had told her not to worry about lawsuit threats, but Holly couldn’t help it.
She wished she had promised Jesse they wouldn’t use the design again. She would have, but his attitude had annoyed her. If he’d asked nicely, instead of demanded, she probably would have complied.
And if he’d been the least bit congenial, she might have been able to ask him about the rumor going around school that Yankee Motorworks might be adding a line of motorcycle clothing to their business. It would be an incredible coup if she could get in on the ground floor of such a project.
It would be the chance she wanted—to make a name for herself.
Once she’d found her own success, she could stop worrying that she might fall into the trap of basing her self-worth on the man in her life. Her mother had done it; Holly was determined not to.
And once she established her self-worth, she wouldn’t repeat her mother’s mistake. She wouldn’t have to leave broken relationships, and possibly children, behind to upgrade the man in her life.
She turned into the school parking lot, pushing away all thoughts of her future, her mother, and Jesse Tyler from her mind. Leaving her free to concentrate on the class ahead.
* * *
The next afternoon Holly was putting the finishing touches on a pencil sketch of a jacket for her midterm project when the ringing of the bell by the front door signaled that someone had come into the shop.
“Holly, can you get that?” Red Bryant called out to her.
“Sure, Dad.”
There were two men wearing business suits in the display area. One stood just inside the door, facing the window. The other, holding a briefcase, stood by the counter. Holly guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties. Medium brown hair, deep brown eyes—he was attractive in an Ivy League sort of way.
He gave her a visual once-over, then glanced over his shoulder at the other man before turning to her again. He smiled.
“May I help you?” she asked.
He pulled a business card from his pocket and laid it on the counter. “Chad Ralston. I represent Yankee Motorworks.”
Holly’s heart sank to her toes. She picked up the card, trying to look casual.
Stay calm. Don’t let him see he’s got you rattled.
“So, what can we do for you, Mr. Ralston? A tattoo of a nice heart that says Mother? Or perhaps a shark? How about a great white?” The words poured out before she could stop them.
The man by the window laughed, then turned and walked toward them.
Holly was bowled over again by how good-looking Jesse was—even in today’s civilized business attire. But she would sleep on a bed of tattoo needles before she let him know she thought so. “Oh, so you like lawyer jokes, Mr. Tyler?”
When the laughter stopped, his face took its grim lines again. “It appears so, Ms....”
“Bryant. Holly Bryant.”
“I brought Chad in to see the design we discussed yesterday.”
“You’ll have to take him to see Tiny.”
“You said you had a copy.”
“I had the original drawing. I don’t anymore.” It was at home, hanging on her refrigerator, and the picket sign now read Jesse Tyler Go Home.
Chad shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then.”
Jesse held up one hand. “Hold on a minute.” He turned to Chad. “What’s to keep her from drawing it again?”
Holly planted a fist on each hip. “You can’t stop me from drawing anything.”
“Chad?”
“She’s right. She can draw it.” He turned to Holly. “But you can’t sell it or use it in any way to profit your business.”
“And what if I do?” The words were for Chad Ralston, but her eyes were on Jesse.
Holly felt her father’s hands settle on her shoulders. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He stepped to the side and held his hand out across the counter. “Red Bryant.” He shook hands with Chad and then Jesse. He was about the same height as the other men, but he had an extra twenty years and an extra fifty pounds on them. “What can we do for you today?”
Jesse answered. “We’ve asked Ms. Bryant not to reproduce a particular design. If she agrees, then we can all avoid the cost and headache of a lawsuit.”
Holly looked at her dad. “Tiny’s tattoo...I mentioned it yesterday.”
Red nodded. “I remember. Why don’t you go on into the stockroom and unpack the shipment and let me handle this?”
She looked at Jesse. The urge was there to spout philosophical ideals about artistic freedom of expression, but at the moment artistic freedom was balanced against her father’s livelihood, and she didn’t feel it was her place to jeopardize that.
Especially when the probability was that even if the sample drawing were in the shop she doubted there would be many requests for it. Tiny’s girlfriend had run off with a guy who rode a Yankee, which was why he’d come up with the idea in the first place.
Holly looked at her dad. “All right, but call if you need me.”
* * *
Ten minutes later her father joined her in the stockroom.
“Are they gone?”
“Yes.”
She set aside the packing list she was holding. “Well? What did they say?”
“For the most part, they repeated what they’d said to you.”
“You were listening?”
“I heard the whole conversation.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told them I wouldn’t use the design again.”
All artistic freedom and philosophical issues aside, it was the most logical solution. “Were they satisfied with that?”
“The lawyer seemed to be, but Mr. Tyler said he’d be happier if he’d heard it from you personally.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I should have said it, but something about the guy annoyed me.”
“I noticed. You were uncharacteristically edgy.”
“Edgy? I’m never edgy.”
“I know. That’s why it was such a surprise.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hopefully we’ve seen the last of them.”
Holly hoped so, too.
Or did she?
Two
Jesse was glad when Biketoberfest ended and he could get back to his real work—designing and planning the next generation of Yankees. Sales were rising, and their racing team was holding its own. But, the way he saw it, there was always room for improvement.
He had been spending long hours at work. It kept him from having to think about the shambles his once-active social life was in.
That blasted Yankee Hunk thing!
Jesse, Rorke and Alex had posed in full-faced helmets for a Yankee ad campaign. No one had expected the furor that had followed as all around the country women asked, “Who are those guys?” Once their identities were known, all hell had broken loose.
He’d always had a way with the ladies. But after the ad campaign there were more willing women than ever pursuing him. Unfortunately, rather than wanting him, the women were after the mystique of the Yankee Hunk. And just as he hadn’t wanted the Tyler family fortune handed to him on a silver platter, he wasn’t interested in women lusting after his image. Women who claimed undying love when they didn’t even know him.
He couldn’t even share the frustration with Rorke and Alex. With the phenomenal growth of the business, they all lived in different states now. Besides, Rorke had gotten married before the trouble had started, and Alex had tied the knot shortly after the news had broken.
Oh, well, he liked getting more work done, but other than that, his self-imposed celibacy was no picnic.
On this Saturday morning in November as he read the newspaper and thought about whether to go on a motorcycle ride or put in a few more hours at work, the phone rang. He considered letting the answering machine get it, but ended up picking up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jesse. It’s Joanna.”
Jesse smiled. The rest of his family had turned their backs on him when he’d gone into the motorcycle business, but he and his younger sister had stayed in touch and kept a close relationship in spirit if not in distance. “Hi, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”
“I have a really big favor to ask. Please don’t say no.”
“I’ll try not to. You know that.”
“Douglas proposed. We’re getting married in December, and I want you to be in the wedding party.”
Joanna and Douglas had visited him one weekend. He’d liked the other man well enough and could tell the two of them were crazy about each other. “Are you eloping to Vegas or Reno?” While he meant it as a joke, he couldn’t help thinking it would make his life so much easier if it were true.
“No, we’re getting married in Florida. At Dad and Mom’s.”
“JoJo—”
“Don’t say no, Jesse. I asked Dad and Mom. They said all right.”
“Can I have that in writing?”
“Jesse!”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. His parents’ house was the last place on earth he wanted to go. Actually, it ran a close second to the center of an active volcano. “Sweetheart, you know I wish you and Doug all the best—”
“I want you there...please?”
How could he say no? “All right.”
“You’ll come?”
“Yes. I’ll come.”
“Doug, he said he’d come!” Joanna called out. “Doug says he’s glad. Now, I want you to come down the week before, so we can do the tuxedo measurement thing and you can help me with all the last-minute stuff.”
“Isn’t that what bridesmaids are for?”
“Oh, they’ll be here, too. But you’re my brother. I want you around the last week.”
“I can have my measurements taken here and faxed to you, then come down the morning of the wedding. How’s that?”
“Jesse—”
“Don’t you dare say please again, Joanna. I’ll think about it and let you know.”
“Okay. Oh, and bring a date if you want.”
Later that same afternoon Jesse was thinking about his conversation with his sister and wishing the whole wedding was over and done with. He knew the family event would attract Tylers from all around the country.
He pictured them all outside soaking up the December Florida sunshine. Suddenly the growl of a motorcycle engine catches their attention. He rides up the driveway on his red Yankee.
Sitting on the passenger seat behind him would be his “date.” Her body pressed against him, her hair flowing out behind.
Of course it couldn’t really happen this way. Not with helmet laws, but this was his fantasy so her hair could flutter in the breeze.
He sat up with a jolt when he realized the woman’s hair was strawberry blond....
* * *
Holly turned her Harley-Davidson into the parking lot of the tattoo shop. Parking to the far right, she left the center spaces for customers. There was a Jeep Cherokee in one of them, and her father’s bike was on the far left.
She set the bike on its kickstand and got off. Reaching into one of the leather saddlebags, she pulled out the bag of fabric samples she’d collected for use in a homework assignment. If it was a slow afternoon at work, she would be able to get started on it. One of the perks of working in a family business.
After entering the shop, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting. When they did, she saw her father standing next to Jesse Tyler.
Was he here about the lawsuit again?
Jesse was wearing a business suit, which made her nervous.
But her father was smiling. That was a good sign.
She walked past the men and went to stand behind the counter, tucking her bag onto one of the shelves. “Change your mind about a tattoo, Mr. Tyler?”
“No, I was hoping to take you out for coffee. There’s a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”
Were the rumors true that Yankee was looking into creating a line of clothing? Had he found out she was studying to be a designer?
Holly slammed on her mental brakes before her imagination could get carried away any further with the unlikely scenario.
But whatever did he mean by “a business proposition”? “Can we talk here? I’ve just come back from my lunch break.”
Red spoke up. “Things have been slow. Go ahead and take an extended lunch.”
“But—”
“I insist.”
Holly shrugged. “All right, then.”
They walked to the door. Jesse held it open for her.
“Where to?” she asked.
“How’s the Coffee Bean?”
The Coffee Bean was a trendy spot specializing in a variety of flavored coffees, espresso, cappuccino and desserts. It was about a mile from the shop. “That’s fine.”
Jesse looked toward where Holly had parked. “Is that your bike?”
“Yes.” She was proud of her purple and silver Harley-Davidson FXR Low Rider.
“That’s a lot of motorcycle for a woman.”
“I’m aware of that, but I can handle it.”
She thought he was going to say more. Instead he helped her into the front seat of the Cherokee, then went around and got into the driver’s seat.
Holly watched him as he drove, his movements controlled and precise. She wondered if he rode his motorcycle that way, too...or if he made love that way.
When the silence got to be too much, she asked, “What is it you wanted to discuss? Tiny’s tattoo?”
Jesse kept his eyes on the road. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss the tattoo or any pending lawsuit without my lawyer present. What I want to talk about is a job offer of sorts.”
She was tempted to point out that she had a job working for her father, but the slim chance that it might be a fashion design job he was talking about kept her quiet.
Their arrival at their destination cut the conversation short, and the subject didn’t come up again until they had been seated and had given their orders to the waitress.
“Now then, Ms. Bryant, how would you like a one-week, all-expenses-paid trip to Lake Wyndham? Plus salary.”
The mention of the exclusive south Florida community, second only to Palm Beach in its wealth and old money status, made Holly suspicious. “Just what would this job entail?”
“Essentially, it’s an acting job.”
“An acting job. Shouldn’t you call a talent agent?”
“Let’s say I’m typecasting.”
“Typecasting? Why would you be looking for someone to play a tattoo artist’s assistant?”
“I’m looking for a woman to play the part of my fiancée for a week.”
She tilted her head to one side. “You think I look like the kind of woman you would marry?” The article she’d glanced at to learn his identity had linked his name with a prominent performance artist, several supermodels and a politician’s daughter.
He paused. “You look like the type of woman my parents would expect me to marry.”
She wanted to ask what kind of parents he had.
Jesse had only seen her in her black leather biker outfits and the hot pink jumpsuit she was wearing today—her work costumes. Would she be dressing this way in Lake Wyndham?
Would her school wardrobe be appropriate, or would she have to dig out some of the clothes she wore on visits to her mother and stepfather? But he said he was typecasting... “If I look the part, I’m assuming I don’t need a new wardrobe for the trip?”
“Everything I’ve seen you in would be fine. If you’d like, though, I’ll throw in a clothing allowance on top of the salary. All I ask is that you don’t pick anything stuffy or conservative.”
Now she was really curious about his parents. She knew anything he’d seen her in would shock most of the Lake Wyndham crowd. “I don’t know. Can I think about this and get back to you?”
He took out a business card. “I’ll put the dates here on the back.” He held the card out to her.
She took it. The tips of her fingers brushed briefly against his. His skin was warm. She wondered what it would feel like to hold hands with him.
If they were pretending to be engaged, wouldn’t there be at least that much, and probably more, physical contact between them? She tucked the card into her pocket. “Just how far does this acting job go? I mean, you’re not expecting me to sleep with you or anything?”
A streak of color highlighted each cheekbone. “Ms. Bryant, I’m offering a legitimate business deal. What you’re suggesting would be illegal.”
And I’ll bet the implication that you might be trying to pay me to have sex with you really ties your boxers in a knot, too. Besides, if he’d just lighten up and smile once in a while he could probably charm his way into any bed he wanted. She was sure he had a killer smile.
The waitress arrived with their coffee. Holly thought she fussed too much over Jesse, making sure his cup was lined up just so. It was the sort of thing a fiancée would notice.
Maybe she could pull it off, even without formal acting experience.
Once the woman left, Jesse continued. “You’ll have your own bedroom and the place has so many servants, you’ll think you’re in a hotel. We’ll need to spend some time together. Engaged couples do that sort of thing, I believe. But I’ll be sure you have time off to pursue your own recreational interests. There are horses, a sailboat, and the beach is about an hour away.”
Holly sipped her coffee. “You make it sound very tempting.”
“Good.”
“Earlier you mentioned a salary?”
He named a figure much higher than what she normally made in a week. With tuition for the next term coming up, she could use the money. And the shop could use some remodeling.
Such a large sum for only a week’s work...if you could call a week of playing “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” work.
The life-style was not completely unknown to Holly. When she was eight, her mother had left her tattoo-artist father and married a successful Florida land developer. Holly had visited them and their four children several times a year. While there, she’d acted and dressed the part of dutiful stepdaughter.
Other than that, she had little to do with them. Although she was certain they would give her money for school and probably for the remodeling, too, if she asked. After high school they’d offered her money to continue her education instead of delaying until she’d saved enough on her own.
Then, as now, she knew her father would have a fit if she took their money. He might frequently be short of the green stuff, but he was long on pride.
“You do make it tempting. But I need to think about this.”
* * *
She looked like the kind of woman his parents would expect him to marry.
What exactly had he meant by that?
Holly’s best friend Ellen worked at the library. The two had been close since elementary school. Holly knew she could trust Ellen not to tell anyone about Jesse’s offer. So she called her and asked her to find information about Jesse, especially anything on his family.
Ellen had a whole stack of things for her when Holly stopped by the library after work. Two hours later, after reading through a number of magazine and newspaper articles, she had the story.
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
