Carried Away. Donna Kauffman
in front of anyone in my underwear.”
“Then I suggest you haul your fanny over the seat and start getting dressed.” He didn’t even look at her. Or her fanny.
Not that she wanted him to, of course.
“Better get a move on. We’ll be there in three minutes.”
She had to curl her fingers against the very real urge to smack his chiseled, too-damn-good-looking profile. You’re a nurse. You heal, not hurt. At that particular moment, she really wanted to make an exception to that rule.
However, as she was faced with an extremely embarrassing situation, she didn’t waste any more time. She scrambled over the seat, swallowing her mortification as various parts of her body brushed far too close to various parts of his body, namely his face. All he had to do was turn his head and—
She made an ungraceful dive for the back seat, landing in a most unladylike sprawl. Not that he’d noticed any of it. Or any of her. Coldhearted bastard. She’d certainly noticed. Her pulse was pounding and not entirely in frustration. She gave in to the impulse to stick her tongue out at the back of his head, then looked with great trepidation at the melon-colored, sequin-and-chiffon creation that awaited her. Dear God, she thought. What on earth had Viv’s friend been thinking? It looked for all the world like an overpriced Las Vegas fruit salad.
But it was either dress like a glazed melon ball or face Kate, the assembled wedding party and every rubbernecker on the road in front of the church in her underwear.
Someday you’ll laugh about all this, she told herself, tearing the plastic bag off the dress. But as she squeezed her curvy size-twelve body into Viv’s narrow, size-ten dress, she had an increasingly hard time believing anything about this day would ever remotely amuse her.
2
TREVOR GRIPPED the steering wheel as if his life depended on it, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road and not the mirrored reflection of what was taking place in the back seat of his rental sedan.
Dear Lord, but that woman had curves on top of curves. He felt sweat bead up on his forehead and knew it had nothing to do with the summer humidity. What had he been thinking making her climb over that seat? She’d all but smothered his ear with…with body parts that hadn’t been rubbed against his ear in…well, maybe never. Not that he wasn’t an adventurous lover, or willing to be, but—Jesus, his ear felt like it was on fire. Good damn thing she hadn’t brushed up against anything else.
He still remembered the silky smooth feel of her legs under his hands. Of course, he’d been busy trying to ignore the combustible reaction she’d set off inside him when he’d pulled her half-naked, very warm and pliable body out of that bed. She’d draped herself over him like a warm blanket. Okay, so she’d been unconscious, but his body didn’t care about that!
Damn Kate and her stupid reunion scheme. He made the last turn and glanced in the rearview mirror as the church loomed into view. He was lucky he didn’t put the car in a ditch. Did she have any idea what she looked like in that dress? It fit like a second skin, and there was cleavage…everywhere.
This was a wedding, not Hugh Hefner’s latest bunny roundup. Had Kate really okayed that getup? Weren’t all eyes supposed to be on the bride? Because with all that exposed flesh in the front and her well-rounded backside being showcased just as outrageously, no warm-blooded male in his right mind was going to be looking anywhere else for the duration of the ceremony. Her shoulder-length hair was a wild swirl of brunette curls that would be a rat’s nest on any other woman, but coupled with those pouty lips and heavy-lidded, dark chocolate eyes…and that dress, she looked like sex incarnate.
Why in the hell would Kate allow herself to be upstaged like this? Or had she okayed the dress in hopes her pal would use hormone overload to win her ex-husband back? Of course, at the moment Trevor thought the man had been insane to let her get away in the first place.
“I just want you to know you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it,” she said, eyes flashing, smile a tad smug.
Okay, so maybe this Eric had been wiser than he gave him credit for. Vivian conjured all kinds of slinky, feline comparisons…including the sharp claws and teeth.
“Don’t pull any fast ones,” he warned, not that she could in that dress. He wasn’t sure how she was going to walk in it, much less run away.
He pulled up right in front of the church, parking behind the limo with Just Married painted on the rear window. The bridesmaids were probably already lined up, so she could just slip into the front and no one would know she was making a forced appearance. Kate could take it from there and he’d thankfully head to his place at the head of the chapel next to his buddy. He said a silent prayer for the pile of trouble Mike was about to marry. And a silent apology to Eric, as well. He’d never met the man, but he didn’t relish the reunion he was in for.
He patted his pocket as he unbuckled and got out, breathing a sigh of relief. Ring box was still there. An hour from now he’d be toasting the bride and groom and this whole ordeal would be over.
He went to open the back door, but Vivian had already swung it open and was trying to maneuver her way out. However, the snug fit of the dress was restricting her movement to the point that getting out without assistance would be mission impossible. He pushed her hands away—twice—and hauled her out.
“I can manage,” she ground out.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She made a face and he found himself stifling a smile. Definitely a handful. Several handfuls, in fact, he thought as he carefully set her on her tottering heels. His actions had caused her dress to roll dangerously high, well past her knees. The cut was so low in the front that she didn’t dare lean down to fix the hem for fear of spilling out of it.
Glaring at him, she simply motioned him to fix it. For some reason her autocratic, silent demand tweaked at him. “Do you require further assistance, ma’am?”
“You know damn well I do. It’s all your fault I’m even here, so the least you can do is make this horrid outfit as presentable as possible.”
Only years of intensive training saved him from laughing out loud. “So you didn’t pick this out yourself?”
She bared her teeth into what might pass for a smile. On a tiger. “Pull the hem down. Please.” This last was added as if under extreme duress.
And looking at the way her curves were strapped into way too little fabric, he realized she probably was. “Yes, ma’am.” He knelt in front of her and tried, really tried, not to notice the smooth expanse of leg in front of him, or how it had felt beneath his fingertips.
She twitched as he gingerly took hold of the thin fabric and tugged. She twitched again and made a strange gargling sound. No way was he lifting his head to check on her, however. “Be still. This thing isn’t giving.”
She snorted again, then snickered and finally swatted at him to stop. “Stop, stop, you’re killing me here.”
He did look up then. Big mistake. “Beg—” He had to clear his throat…and his vision of the bounty of cleavage in front of him. “Beg your pardon?”
“I’m ticklish, okay? And you’re being awfully damn polite for a kidnapper.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she talked over him. “Just leave the dress alone. It’s not like I’m going to have it on for very long.”
Perfectly happy to follow orders this go around, Trevor stood and eyed her, but thought it best not to respond to that last comment. But, oh, the lucky man who got to peel that dress off of her, he couldn’t help thinking. Providing he could find a way to keep her mouth shut, that is.
“Well, best to get this over with,” she said, but when she went to take a step, they both realized the dress wasn’t that flexible. Nor were the spiky heels that appeared wedged on her feet.