What happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas.
He’s there to stop a wedding.
Maxwell Bonander’s sister has been engaged six times in the past five years without any marriages. Tiff has the worst taste in men. So when she announces she’s marrying a man after only knowing him two days, Max knows he’s got to stop the ceremony.
She’s there as a bridesmaid.
Lorelei Spencer thinks Tiff has finally found the right man. When Tiff asks Lorelei to keep Max occupied, she takes her job seriously. Too seriously.
They never expected to wake up married. Can this unlikely couple unravel what happened in Vegas? And when they uncover the truth, will they really want an annulment?
Heat level: PG
You May Now Kiss the Bridesmaid, The Bridesmaid Series (Novella 4)
No one was answering the phone in the hotel room next door.
Lying on her stomach, Lorelei Spencer awoke from a deep sleep with a pillow over her head. She stuffed it tighter against her ears, but she could still hear the ringing, over and over, until she yelled, “For the love of Mike! Answer the phone!”
There was a noise. Movement. And then a man’s rumbling voice. “Hello.”
Lorelei’s fingers curled into the pillow. That ‘hello’ didn’t sound as if it came from the next room.
“I was sleeping.” A masculine voice. A deep voice. A voice she recognized.
Lorelei sucked in too much air. Thank heavens she didn’t smell woodsy aftershave or minty gum. All she smelled was bleach and clean linen, which meant it couldn’t be him. She was on a business trip to Las Vegas for a candy convention. He didn’t go to candy conventions.
She must be dreaming. Or maybe the hotel walls were thin. Or there was a connecting door. Or she’d developed superhuman hearing, like a ninja.
“Why are you asking me, Tiff?” Maxwell Bonander’s steely voice skated down Lorelei’s spine on cold blades.
She sealed the pillow over the back of her head, hoping for ninja invisibility along with superhuman hearing. He couldn’t be on her side of the wall. He just couldn’t. It was just that he sounded so close.
From a distance, Max was hot–dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, tall enough that a woman could wear heels without threatening his masculinity. On paper, Max was even hotter–one of the heirs to the Bon-Bon Chocolate empire, one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, owner of a brownstone near Central Park and a luxury home in the Florida Keys. But up close, Max was cold–a scowling, brooding, high maintenance pain-in-the-butt.
“Tiff…Tiff…Tiff!” Max roared.
The bed shifted.
The bed? Her bed?
Lorelei didn’t dare move, didn’t dare take the pillow off her head, didn’t dare think this was anything but a dream. Maxwell Bonander was not the kind of man she found in her bed in the morning.
Truthfully, she’d never found anyone in her bed in the morning. Nerds tended to have boring social lives.
“I haven’t seen Lorelei since Candy-Con.” Max’s annoyance hacked his words into hard rough bits. “Don’t call back.” A cell phone clicked. The bed shifted again.
Lorelei’s veins flushed hot.
And not the powerful, sexy kind of hot. No. This was the mortifying, stupid-stupid-stupid kind of hot.
The Story Behind the Story
My mother used to love watching the old black and white romantic comedies. Those stories were sometimes the inspiration for the Bridesmaids - not any specific plot or movie, but something about the way Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy interacted, or a piece of dialogue Cary Grant and any number of actresses playing opposite him. Take a miracle formula, add two people who've been resisting their attraction to each other, set it in Vegas and viola! You've got the premise for You May Now Kiss the Bridesmaid.