He tasted good, like beer and bubble gum. His thumb slid into the tender place behind her earlobe while his other hand tunneled into her curls. No doubt about it. She was on the receiving end of one of the best kisses of her life. Not too hard. Not too soft. Slow and perfect. But of course it was perfect. He was Ted Beaudine, and he did everything impeccably.

She didn’t remember putting her arms around his shoulders, but there they were, and as his silver tongue worked its magic against her own, she melted.

He eased away first. Her eyelids fluttered, and as she gazed up, she met a look of shock that must have matched her own. Something had happened. Something unexpected. And neither of them was happy about it. Slowly he released her.

She heard a noise. He straightened. Sanity returned. She hooked a piece of hair behind her ear and turned to see Sunny Skipjack standing inside the French doors, hand at her throat, her customary self-confidence crumpling. Meg had no idea whether the kiss had been the same impulsive act for Ted that it had been for her or whether he’d known Sunny was standing there all along and recklessly initiated the kiss to discourage her. Either way, he regretted it, something that was as clear as the trembling in her knees. He was tired, his defenses had been down for once, and he knew he’d just screwed up royally.

Sunny struggled for composure. “One of life’s awkward moments,” she said.

If Sunny bolted because of this, the people of Wynette would sure enough blame Meg, and she had enough problems without that. As she gazed up at Ted, she reassembled her features into a portrait of a damsel in distress. “I’m sorry, Ted. I know I can’t keep throwing myself at you like this. I understand how uncomfortable it makes you. But you’re just so . . . so . . . frickin’ irresistible.”

One dark eyebrow shot up.

She looked over at Sunny, girlfriend to girlfriend. “Too much wine. I swear it won’t happen again.” And then, because she was only human, “He’s so vulnerable now. So sweet and helpless from the mess with Lucy. I took advantage.”

“I’m not vulnerable or helpless,” he said tightly.

She pressed her index finger to his lips. “An open wound.” With the dignity of a brave woman suffering from unrequited love, she edged past Sunny and headed for the patio, where she reclaimed her purse and set off for what currently passed as her home.


She’d just washed her face and slipped the happy printing company T-shirt over her head when she heard a car outside. A random Texas serial killer could have just shown up, but she was putting her money on Sunny Skipjack. She took her time hanging the Modigliani dress in the old choir robe closet, then let herself out the door by the altar into the main section of the church.

She was wrong about Sunny.

“You forgot your party favor,” Ted said.

She didn’t like the heady rush she felt at the sight of him standing at the rear of the sanctuary holding up a wooden paddleball stenciled with an American flag. “Shelby had a basket of patriotic yoyos, too, but I figured you’d like a paddle better. Or maybe that was just me projecting what I thought you needed.” He slapped the paddle hard against his hand.

Although her happy printing company T-shirt hung over her hips, she wore only an ivory thong beneath. She needed more clothes, like chain mail and a chastity belt. He took a few swipes at the rubber ball with the paddle and sauntered forward, his eyes all over her. “Thanks for helping me out back there with Sunny, although I could have done without your commentary.”

She eyed the paddle and then him. “You brought it on yourself. You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

His brow knit with phony indignation. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who kissed me.”

“I did not. You were all over me.”

“In your dreams.” He gave the paddleball an extra-hard slap. She cocked her head. “If you break a window with that thing, I’m reporting you to my landlord.”

He caught the ball, gazed at what he could see of her bottom, and ran his thumb along the curve of the paddle. “The strangest idea just came into my head.” The high ceiling fan ruffled his hair. Once again, he slapped the paddle against his palm. “I’d tell you about it, but it’d only make you mad.”

Sex hung in the air between them as explosive as the evening’s fireworks. Regardless of who had initiated their kiss, something had irrevocably shifted between them, and they both knew it.

So much for playing games. Although nothing was more repugnant to her than becoming another of Ted Beaudine’s sexual conquests, the idea of making him one of her sexual conquests was worth pondering. “You can have any woman in this town. Probably in the whole state. Leave me alone.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Because you’ve treated me like crap ever since I got here.”

“Wrong. I was perfectly nice to you at the rehearsal dinner. I didn’t start treating you like crap until after Lucy ran off.”

“Which wasn’t my fault. Admit it.”

“I don’t want to. I might have to blame myself, and who needs that?”

“You do. Although, to be fair, Lucy should have figured it out before things went so far.”

He gave the paddleball a couple of whacks. “What else have you got on your grievance list?”

“You forced me to go work for Birdie Kittle.”

He dropped the paddle on the brown chair, as if the temptation to use it was becoming too strong to resist. “It kept you out of jail, didn’t it?”

“And you made sure I was paid less than the other maids.”

He played dumb. “I don’t remember that.”

She nursed all the injustices. “That day at the inn, when I was cleaning . . . You stood in the doorway and watched me nearly kill myself trying to turn that mattress.”

He grinned. “I have to admit, that was entertaining.”

“Then, after lugging your bag of clubs for eighteen holes, you gave me a one-dollar tip.”

She shouldn’t have brought that up because he still held a grudge. “Three holes you cost me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that all my new head covers are missing.”

“You were my best friend’s fiancé! And if that’s not good enough, don’t forget that I basically hate you.”

He hit her full force with those golden brown eyes. “You basically like me, too. Not your fault. It just happened.”

“I’m going to make it un-happen.”

His voice turned to smoke. “Now why would you want to do that when we’re both more than ready to take the next step? Which I highly recommend we do naked.”

She swallowed. “I’m sure you’d like that, but maybe I’m not ready.” Coyness wasn’t her strong suit, and he looked disappointed in her for making the attempt. She threw up her hands. “Okay, so I’ll admit I’m curious. Big deal. We both know what that leads to. Dead cat.”

He smiled. “Or one hell of a lot of fun.”

She hated that she was seriously thinking about going ahead with this. “I’m not seriously thinking about going ahead with this,” she said, “but if I were, I’d have a ton of conditions.”

“Such as?”

“This would only be about sex—no cute pet names, no nighttime confidences. No”—she wrinkled her nose at the idea—“friendship.”

“We already have a kind of friendship.”

“Only in your twisted mind because you can’t stand the idea that you’re not friends with everybody on the planet.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

“It’s impossible, that’s what’s wrong with it. If this went any further, you could never tell anybody about us. I mean it. Wynette is the gossip capital of the world, and I have enough trouble on my plate. We’d have to sneak around. In public, you’d need to keep on pretending to hate me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I can handle that easy.”

“And don’t even think of using me to discourage Sunny Skipjack.”

“Subject to discussion. That woman scares the hell out of me.”

“She doesn’t scare you at all. You just don’t want to deal with her.”

“Is that all?”

“No. I’d need to talk to Lucy first.”

That caught him by surprise. “Why would you have to do that?”

“A question that once again proves how little you know me.”

He reached in his pocket, pulled out his cell, and tossed it to her. “Go for it.”

She tossed it right back. “I’ll use my own.”

He pocketed his phone and waited.

“Not now,” she said, starting to feel more frazzled than she wanted to be.

“Now,” he said. “You just told me it’s a precondition.”

She should kick him out, but she wanted him too much, and she was predestined to make bad choices when it came to men, which was why her female friendships had always been so important. She shot him a dirty look, the closest she could get to a face-saving gesture, and stomped toward the kitchen, where she banged the door behind her. As she grabbed her cell, she told herself she’d take it as a sign if Lucy didn’t answer.

But Lucy answered. “Meg? What’s up?”

She sank down on the linoleum and pressed her spine to the refrigerator door. “Hey, Luce. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” She unstuck a Cheerio she’d dropped that morning, or possibly last week, and crumbled it between her fingers. “So how’s it going?”

“It’s one in the morning. How do you think it’s going?”

“Really? It’s only midnight here, but since I have no idea where you are, it’s a little tough to allow for time differences.”

Meg regretted her testiness as Lucy sighed. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll . . . tell you as soon as I can. Right now everything’s a little . . . confusing. Is something wrong? You sound worried.”