The Wedding Secret. Michele Dunaway
“Let me,” Luke said, his deep voice close to her ear as he leaned into her. He slid the phone from her wrist, the gesture intimate. Quickly he pressed a few buttons to silence the ringer and then slipped the phone inside his jacket pocket. He grinned. “You can get it from me later.”
Later. That word had been loaded.
Wedding magic, Cecile decided. That was all this tickling sensation Luke Shaw incited was, nothing more. She could produce an entire talk-show episode on wedding magic entitled “Wedding secrets—who else shared the night besides the bride and groom?”
While wedding magic wasn’t anything tangible, the results often were. For some reason, all the happiness in the air at weddings often led to many singles hooking up. No one wanted to be alone when two people were making a lifetime commitment.
Heck, even Lisa and Mark had shared a passionate kiss in the hallway outside Joann’s reception eight years ago. Now they were getting married, proof that wedding magic was real and could lead to something more than one night.
Cecile had arrived solo to Elizabeth’s nuptials. She was family and she’d learned long ago that when you were a member of a bridal party, it was often better to attend the official events alone unless you were really serious about some guy.
Luke Shaw was attending stag, as well, according to Elizabeth, who had seen fit to impart the information to Cecile just last night. Her sister had even added that Luke wasn’t dating anyone. Cecile hadn’t misread her sister’s matchmaking attempt and she didn’t believe she was currently misreading Luke’s not-so-subtle signals that he was interested, especially as he took her arm when the string quartet began the processional music.
“You’re starting to fit there,” he whispered.
Cecile sucked in her breath and smiled. Yep. Luke was one hot package, and the pendulum of maybe indulging versus maybe not was swinging back and forth. Was she interested in indulging in a little wedding magic? Cecile wasn’t one who let the good catches get by without a little taste.
Yet she’d set a goal to stop wasting time on Mr. Man of the Moment, a resolution Lisa had told Cecile to start tomorrow. Luke chose that second to reach over with his free hand, lightly touching the arm she’d looped through his. Heat increased between them and Cecile shifted. Reality was, she knew nothing about him except that he lived in Chicago and he was Devon’s best friend. Time to swing the pendulum back the other direction, toward “better not.”
“Ready?” Luke arched a blond brow in her direction, and Cecile tried not to shiver with desire. She doubted she’d ever be prepared to totally take on this man. He wasn’t like other guys who she could best or control. Instinct told her that in a match of wills, the battle would be close and the victor not predictable.
“I’m good to go,” Cecile said bravely.
And with that, Luke and Cecile headed down the aisle.
They didn’t speak to each other again until after the ceremony, when he took her arm and they followed the newly married couple out. She lost him when she went to stand in the family receiving line, found him again during endless wedding party pictures that seemed to last ages. He disappeared when the photographer began the multigenerational family shots, which took forever since her entire family was there—her mother, father, Elizabeth and a bunch of aunts, uncles and cousins that Cecile saw only at events like these.
“Fun, isn’t this?” her father asked during a father-daughter picture. Being in his late fifties, his hair had grayed substantially.
“Elizabeth’s very happy. That’s what matters,” Cecile said.
“Just promise me you’ll elope,” her dad joked as the photographer gestured Elizabeth over for the next photo.
“No need to even mention me and marriage in the same sentence,” Cecile said. “Lisa’s engaged, though. You remember Lisa?”
“I do. Tell her to elope. Invest the money instead.”
Cecile laughed, and as Elizabeth arrived to join them, everyone paid attention to the photographer’s instructions. By the time the photos were finally finished, all Cecile wanted was a pair of comfortable tennis shoes. Barring that, she wanted a very large glass of white wine.
The limos were waiting for the last of the immediate family; the other guests and wedding party members were already enjoying an open bar and appetizers at the Millennium Knickerbocker’s Crystal Ballroom while they waited for the bride and groom to arrive.
“You look like you could use this,” a deep voice said when Cecile finally walked into the reception. “The line’s terrible.”
“Thanks.” Cecile turned and gained a sudden new appreciation for Luke Shaw as she took the wineglass he offered. The line for the bar was eight deep.
“Just stick with me,” Luke said. “I know my way around these things.”
“I can tell,” Cecile murmured appreciatively as she rolled the wine over her tongue. “So are you giving a toast?” she asked.
“That’s Devon’s brother’s job, and I’m glad of it,” Luke admitted cheekily. “Can’t stand the things. ‘To the bride and groom. May your love last a lifetime and all that happy jazz.’”
Cecile arched her eyebrow. Here was a man she could identify with, especially if this was his attitude. “You sound cynical.”
“Realistic?” Luke queried. “Don’t weddings make all the single people feel like they’re left out of some exclusive club?”
“Yes, they do, and you’re a brave man to admit it,” Cecile said.
That fabulous grin widened, revealing naturally pearly whites.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Luke said. “Of course, now I’m going to have to think of one for you. Can’t be something cheesy or trite, though, or given right at this moment. Better when you don’t expect it, that way you’ll get the full effect.”
Down, girl, Cecile told herself at his innuendo. She reminded herself that she’d earlier resolved not to get swept up in the wedding magic. And Luke was obviously a flirt. Cecile hadn’t had a chance to question her sister further about the man, but any female with half a brain could gauge Luke Shaw’s type.
Even Cecile couldn’t say she was unaffected. He was like a tickle—welcome and yet needing to be stopped at the same time. He was sexy, and already other unattached women were giving him the eye. In fact, one of them was making her way over now. Cecile plastered on a smile as the daughter of one of her father’s business associates came over. Cecile hadn’t seen her since high school, but one thing could be said about Loretta—years later, the blonde was still stunning.
“Cecile,” Loretta said in greeting. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in ages. You look terrific.” She turned to Luke. “Hi, I’m Loretta Foster.”
“Luke Shaw,” he said easily as he shook her hand. Cecile noticed that Loretta’s ring finger was bare, and that jogged a memory—Cecile’s parents had told her last Christmas about Loretta’s wedding and the subsequent scandal when her husband had had an affair with his secretary only a few months later.
“It’s nice to meet you, Luke,” Loretta said, her attention fully on him.
Cecile’s negative reaction to Loretta’s interest in Luke startled her. Surely Cecile couldn’t be jealous. She hardly knew Luke. She might think he was sexy, but she wasn’t going to pursue him. Or would she say yes if he asked her out? With her new career needing her full focus, she’d been thinking only of the wedding reception when talking earlier with Lisa, but suddenly the idea of a date with Luke held appeal. And so did not letting anyone else have him.
Cecile glanced at her wineglass. Time for a refill and some much-needed space so that she could figure out exactly why she suddenly felt muddled and as if she were walking on quicksand. Cecile focused. Loretta must have