All Fired Up (Kate Meader) Read Free Page A

preventing her from losing her ever-loving mind.
    Before she went off on him, it might be easier to soften him up on the dance floor. Besides, there was something just so adorkable about his enthusiasm. She uncrossed her legs and flexed a perfectly pedied foot clad in a Jimmy Choo peep toe. Her feet looked stunning in fuchsia.
    Shane’s gaze brushed fire across Cara’s skin as he reached for her sister. “Lili, would you do me the honor?”
    Lili slid out of Jack’s lap and Cara’s heart slid into her stomach.
    “That’s if you don’t mind, Jack,” Shane added.
    “Oh, you wouldn’t catch Jack dead on the dance floor,” Lili said. “He’s much too image conscious.”
    “I’m not afraid of looking foolish. You’ve heard me sing,” Jack said blithely. “I draw the line at the ‘Chicken Dance,’ though.”
    “It’s ironic,” Cara said, aiming for levity after being snubbed by Shane because there was no doubt that’s what had happened here.
    “Ironically stupid,” Jack replied. “Just make sure I see daylight between you two.”
    Laughing, Shane led a willing Lili out onto the dance floor and jumped into flapping his arms with gusto. Lili fanned her hips with both hands and then moseyed into the fray with jerky hitches more appropriate to a Taser victim.
    Cara’s heart boomed at ten times the beat of the music as she fought to recover her aplomb. It was easy to see why Shane would prefer to dance with Lili, who was never afraid to get into the spirit of things. Unlike stuck-up, no-fun Cara, who needed to drink her weight in vodka to go a little bit wild.
    A buzz of her phone alarm reminded her that the next wedding planner task was imminent and that she had more important things to worry about than the mistake that had followed her home from Vegas. She would deal with Shane Doyle later.
    *  *  *
     
    If Shane were to look up “pissed off” in Roget’s , he had a feeling Cara DeLuca would be one of the synonyms.
    Damn, he wished that didn’t turn him on so much.
    Every time he so much as dared a glance in her direction, he got the brittle-blonde stink eye or a nice dose of dismissive ignoring. Exactly how long could she stay mad at him?
    She’s a woman, Doyle. There’s no expiration date on female fury.
    The ballroom of this swanky hotel was filled with everyone in their Sunday best, save the horrific bridesmaids’ garb, but Cara stood an elegant head and shoulders above the crowd in a classy black number that exposed one of those beautiful shoulders to the world. That same shoulder his lips had grazed when he’d wrapped his body around her a week ago and slept the sleep of the tired, drunk, and stupid.
    Scout’s honor, his lips were only resting on her silken skin. Lying beside her in that Vegas hotel room, he hadn’t dared to kiss any part of her—beautifully curved shoulder or otherwise. Well, he was far too plastered to make a decent job of it and there was no sense in ruining the moment, not when there would be plenty of time for that later. The morning after had a tendency to throw the brilliant decisions of the night before into sharp, rueful relief.
    Instead of returning to Cara’s frosted-over table at the end of the dancing, he headed for the bar. Not to order a drink, mind you. After a childhood spent with a constantly wasted father, he’d vowed not to fall into that cycle or become the stereotype of the Irish drunk. So much for his vow of moderation. One night in Nevada had kicked his principles to the curb, leaving in their wake a night of idiotic mistakes, a throbbing head, and the wrath of a beautiful woman.
    He really should have kissed that shoulder.
    At least then, he might feel justified in his role as the fall guy, because the way Lemon Tart was carrying on, you’d swear it was all his fault. For the past week, she had known exactly where to find him—elbow deep in pastry dough at the restaurant where they both worked—but not a whit of effort had been put forth by