The Wedding Band Read Free

wedding, but not.
    Across the half-­acre tent, a string quartet played Mozart while wannabe actors passed hors d’oeuvres, playing the role of obsequious staff.
    Well, she was role-­playing herself, wasn’t she? The difference was, her role hadn’t always been an act.
    Long before turning herself into earnest journalist Christine Case, she’d been sultry chanteuse Christy Gray, touring with Zach and his big band, playing Europe and Vegas and zillion-­dollar weddings like this one.
    Zach sauntered over. “You okay, honey pie? It’s been a while.”
    She forced a show-­must-­go-­on smile. “Like riding a bike.”
    He rubbed her arm. “You’re a pro, babe.” He left the rest unsaid, but she’d heard it before: “ That’s why you belong in the spotlight, singing for thousands instead of churning out boring stories a hundred ­people might skim. ”
    Easy for him to say. He didn’t know what it was like to be Emma Case’s daughter. To Zach, Emma was just another one-­night stand, noteworthy because she’d been a great lay, twice his age at the time, and a famous journalist, in that order of importance.
    He likely would have forgotten all about her if she hadn’t given him Chris: his first child, his only daughter, and, as he frequently told her, the best torch singer he’d ever had the pleasure to work with.
    He wanted her to follow in his footsteps every bit as much as Emma wanted Chris to follow in hers. The upshot was that Chris’s life had never been her own, just a choice to be made between their two extremes.
    Today, though, Chris and Christy shared the stage, the singer and reporter rubbing against each other like wool and silk, making static. Making her sweat.
    With one hand, she squeezed the knots in her neck. If she was going to get through this without disgracing herself, she had to stay calm. Avoid surprises, complications, and messy entanglements—­
    Zach peeked through the curtain and broke out in a grin. “Well, well. This should be interesting.” He stepped back.
    The curtain parted and a big man strode through.
    A big man.
    In her heels, Chris stood six feet tall, but this man had four inches on her, a chest like a billboard, and shoulders that could hold up the tent if it started to fold.
    Dakota Rain. Wow.
    â€œZach, right?” He stuck out a hand built to wield Thor’s hammer. “I’m a big fan.” His deep drawl rumbled like distant thunder.
    Then his eyes—­bluer than a Highland sky—­shifted from Zach to her. And popped.
    For a moment those startled eyes stared. Then down they inched, peeling her gown to her ankles, leaving it in a puddle while they cruised back up, erasing her panties, her bra. Igniting her skin, lingering on her lips, until finally they settled on her eyes and held there while his Adam’s apple bobbed.
    â€œMy daughter, Christy,” she heard Zach say through the ringing in her ears.
    â€œNice. Dress.” The words came out on a rasp that seemed to stick in Dakota’s throat.
    She was tongue-­tied herself, awash in a flood of testosterone. The man pumped it out with every breath.
    They shook hands and held on, caught in a mutual spell, until a petite woman with short black hair and a pointy elbow jabbed him in the ribs. “Reel your tongue in before you step on it.”
    Dakota dropped his gaze to give her the hard eye. “This is Em. She used to be my assistant. Now she’s looking for a job.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you both.” Em shook their hands. “If you need anything, just let me know and I’ll make sure you get it.”
    â€œAppreciate it,” said Zach, “but we’ve got everything we need.”
    â€œOkay, then we’ll leave you alone.” She clamped a hand on Dakota’s wrist and headed back out through the curtain. He let her tug his arm out straight,