The Morning After The Wedding Before Read Free

out without a valid reason. But she hadn’t answered her mobile and concern gnawed at his impatience. He tapped the steering wheel while he waited at a red light. A trio of teenagers skimpily dressed for a night on the town crossed in front of him, their feminine voices shrill and excited.
    Maybe Emma wasn’t the same girl these days. Maybe she had decided to swap those self-imposed obligations for some fun at last. After all, apart from those few minutes yesterday, when neither of them had actually been themselves, how long had it been since he’d seen her?
    His gut tensed an instant at the memory. He knew exactly when he’d last seen her. Seven months ago at Stella and Ryan’s engagement party. He knew exactly what she’dbeen wearing too—a long, slinky strapless thing the colour of moon-drenched sea at midnight.
    Or some such garment. He forced his hands to loosen on the wheel. Unclenched his jaw. So what if he’d noticed every detail, down to the last shimmering toenail? A guy could look.
    He’d arrived in time to see her leave hand in hand with some muscled blond surfie type. Wayne something or other, Stella had told him. Apparently Emma and Wayne were a hot item.
    Maybe Surfer Boy was the reason she’d lost track of time …
    Frowning at the thought, he pulled into the Byrnes’ driveway overlooking the darkening ocean. The gates were open and he came to a stop beside an old red hatchback parked at the top of a flight of stone steps.
    Perched halfway down the sloping family property was the old music studio, where he remembered spending afternoons in the latter days of high school. Early-evening shadows shrouded the brick walls but muted amber light shone through the window. Emma lived there now, he’d been informed, and she was obviously still at home. In the absence of any other car on the grounds, it seemed she was also alone.
    Swinging his car door open, he pulled out his phone. ‘Ry? Looks like she hasn’t even left yet.’ He strode to the steps, flicking impatient fingers against his thigh. ‘We’ll be there soon.’
    Pocketing the phone, he continued down the stairs. If
he
could make it on time to this wedding dinner after the hellish day he’d had, trying to stay on top of two businesses, so could Emma. She was the bridesmaid, after all.
    Some sort of relaxation music drifted from the window, accompanying the muted
shoosh-boom
of the breakers onthe beach. He slowed his steps, breathing in the calming fragrant salt air and honeysuckle, and ordered himself to simmer down.
    The peal of the door chime accompanied by a sharp rapping on her front door jerked Emma from her work. She refocused, feeling as if she was coming out of a deep-sleep cave. She checked her watch. Blinked.
Oh, no
. She’d assured Stella she’d be right along when the family had left nearly half an hour ago.
    Which officially made her the World’s Worst Bridesmaid.
    She stretched muscles cramped from being in one position too long and assured herself her lapse
wasn’t
because her subconscious mind was telling her she didn’t want to see Jake. She would
not
let him and that crazy moment yesterday when their eyes had met and the whole world seemed to fade into nothing affect her life. In any way.
    Rap, rap, rap
.
    ‘Okay, okay,’ she murmured. She slipped the order of tiny stacked soap flowers she’d been wrapping back into its container and called, ‘Coming!’
    Running her hands down the sides of her oversized lab coat, she hurried to the door, swung it open. ‘I …’
    The man’s super-sized silhouette filled the doorway, blocking what was left of the twilight and obscuring his features, but she knew instantly who he was by the way her heart bounded up into her throat.
    ‘Jake.’ She felt breathless, as if she’d just scaled the Harbour Bridge. Ridiculous. Scowling, she flicked on the foyer light. She tried not to admire the view, she really did, but her eyes ate up his dark good-looks like a woman too long on a