The Right Choice(5)
Author: Carly Phillips

“Would you really have pulled rank on him?” Mike asked, seeking to understand this unlikely twosome. He knew that only a threat to Peter’s career would keep his single-minded brother from getting lost in work and forgetting an appointment. Even for his own wedding.

“We’ll never know, will we?” She sighed and glanced at her watch.

“He isn’t late yet.”

“I never said he was. I’m the one on a tight schedule today.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Both. I’ve got a late-afternoon deadline for my column and a four o’clock meeting.”

“Pete mentioned something about an advice column and some kind of counseling.” Mike glanced in Carly’s direction, more than a little curious about the many facets of Carly Wexler.

“Mmm. I write a magazine column for teens and I’m also a high-school guidance counselor.”

“Social worker?” he asked.

“Psychologist.”

“Sounds like you’re busy.”

She shrugged. “It’s seasonal. The fall is pretty hectic, but the summers are my own.”

“A job with perks. I like that.”

“Considering you’re a world traveler, I don’t doubt it,” she said with a grin.

From across the room a loud burst of male laughter was followed by distinctly feminine giggles. “What sort of advice do you give these kids?” Mike gestured in the direction of the carefree teens.

When was the last time he’d been that carefree? he wondered and immediately realized the incongruity of the question. He went out of his way to keep his life unencumbered by ties or commitments, yet lately he felt more burdened than ever before.

“They write in asking about how to deal with life. Friendship in some cases, love in others.”

“And you answer with the voice of experience?”

“Hardly.” She blushed a becoming shade of pink.

More like the voice of inexperience? Suddenly he wondered—about Carly, Pete, Carly and Pete— about a lot more than he had a right to know.

“I can’t be late for that meeting.” She not so subtly changed the topic.

“School appointment?” he asked.

She shook her head. “A publisher contacted me through the magazine. They’d like me to consider turning my columns into a self-help type of book.”

“I’m impressed.”

She waved away his compliment. “Good thing this shouldn’t take long. Black double-breasted tuxedos, white shirt, wing-tipped shoes and black bow ties and cummerbunds. What could be simpler?”

“Or more boring.”

She tilted her head backward and glared up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” Fire flashed in her dark eyes, an unbelievable contrast to the controlled woman who’d sat with Peter and bartered over wedding arrangements.

The simmering passion intrigued him, made him want to dig deeper, beyond the exterior to the woman beneath. “Ever hear of color?” He deliberately baited her. “Or do you want the wedding party to resemble the Sunday Times?”

“Mike…”

“Sorry. Bridesmaids dresses bring in color, right? What would you pick? Pink?” He shook his head. “Too childish. There’s yellow…”

“Mike.”

“Peach.”

“Mike.”

“Or my personal favorite, purple.” He eyed her intently. “Which is it?”

“White.”

He groaned aloud. “Your choice?” he asked. Not a chance in hell. Behind those rigid lists and schedules lurked a woman brimming with passion and fire. He’d bet his favorite camera on it.

More than once he’d ignited sparks in those expressive brown eyes. Sparks he’d yet to notice between Carly and her fiancé. His brother, he harshly reminded himself. “White,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Not my choice exactly. I wasn’t sure. Peter wanted elegant, my mother wanted formal, so we…”

“Compromised,” he finished for her. “It’s a good thing you’re so compliant.”

“You make me sound like a well-behaved pet. Are you looking to start trouble?”

Looking for trouble? No. Looking for a glimpse of the untapped sensuality that sizzled beneath the conservative facade? Definitely. “Of course not,” he said.

“Good. I just pick my battles carefully.”

“I’ll remember that. It’s just…” He shook his head. “Never mind. None of my business.”

Her eyes narrowed with distrust… and a slight spark? “What?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“This is your wedding, right?”

“Stupid question.”

“Is it? For someone loaded down with wedding books and bridal pictures you’re giving up control of some major issues.” He reached for her, covering her ice-cold hand with his warmer one. He gazed into her eyes. The spark erupted into a flame of unchecked desire.

His thumb brushed over her third finger, avoiding the large diamond ring that looked so out of place on her delicate hand. Traitorous desires consumed his body while conflicting emotions swirled inside his head. The pad of his thumb traced a pattern just above her knuckle, where her wedding band would sit. “Think about it,” he murmured.

She shot him a look that could freeze hot coffee and wrenched her hand free from his.

“Miss Wexler?” a salesman greeted her. The rush of high-school students disappeared out the door, taking the loud laughs and boisterous shouts along with them. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“That’s okay.” She stood, obviously grateful for the interruption.

“If you and your fiancé are ready to get started…” Mike remained standing against the wall and glanced at Carly.

She fingered her bangs, a nervous gesture he found awfully endearing. And sweet. The woman would never hold her own in a game of poker, but at least he’d never be left guessing about her true feelings.

“He’s not my fiancé,” she finally said.

“Future brother-in-law.” The label grated. Mike forced a smile and shook the other man’s hand.

“Are we waiting for the groom?”

“No. We can start with the best man. Peter will be here soon,” Carly said.

Wisely, Mike didn’t touch that statement. Ten minutes later he stood in front of a full-length mirror, decked out in formal attire. “Jacket’s too tight,” he said, rolling his bad shoulder to alleviate the discomfort. He’d deal with the bow-tie issue later.