One Wild Wedding Night_ Three-Way Part 1

Three-way.

One Wild Wedding Night.

by Leslie Kelly.

Prologue.

Scheduling a January wedding in Chicago probably hadn't been among the world's best ideas. Especially since the Windy City had been humped all week by a meteorological snow monster that seemed to want to stick around for the entire winter.

Somehow, though, despite the thick, white flakes that had swirled down around the church, everything had gone as planned. And now a winter wonderland surrounded the hotel where the afternoon reception had been held.

In Izzie Santori's opinion, the day had been perfect.

"Happy, Cookie?" her new husband, Nick, asked as he kicked the door to their room shut. His hands were too full to do the job. Full of Izzie, still clad in her long-trained wedding gown.

"Deliriously."

He pressed a kiss on her throat as he lowered her onto her own feet. "Only you could make a white wedding gown look sinful."

"I'm a natural at sin."

"Don't I know it. I work with you, remember?"

Arching toward him, she twined her fingers in his black hair, which had grown out from its military cut since he'd left the marines. The length suited him, especially when he pulled the silky strands back into a ponytail at Leather and Lace, the upscale strip club where they both worked. "I'm so glad we had an early wedding so everyone from work could come."

"Me, too. I doubt that church has held so many strippers, c.o.c.ktail waitresses and bouncers at one time before." He kissed his way to her earlobe. "You were so beautiful today, Iz. Like always, you made every other woman fade into insignificance."

"I did have some very pretty bridesmaids," she pointed out.

He nodded, lifting her hand to start unb.u.t.toning the long row of tiny b.u.t.tons at her wrist. "You did, not that they looked anything alike. Talk about variety."

That was true. Izzie's bridesmaids had certainly run the gamut. Her maid of honor-and cousin-Bridget, was a quiet, sweet-faced brunette who never had a harsh word for anyone. She'd been Izzie's best friend since childhood.

Bridget was nothing like Leah, a feisty stripper who worked with Izzie at the club. The girl was young and sweeter than anyone would suspect, given her rough background. Blond and bouncy Leah was definitely the ant.i.thesis of Izzie's sister Mia, with her short, jet-black hair and hard edge.

Mia's years as an attorney, prosecuting some pretty awful crimes, had made her even tougher than she'd been growing up. A fighter and a tomboy, Mia had eschewed big sister Gloria's good-girl desire to be a housewife and little sister Izzie's bad-girl desire to be a dancer. Frankly, Izzie had held her breath after asking Mia to be in the wedding, knowing it was not her sister's thing. But family was family. She'd come through.

Then there was Vanessa. While, like Mia, she had some serious att.i.tude, Vanessa also oozed s.e.x appeal and warmth. The stunning African American was a good friend of Izzie's from her Radio City days.

Finally came Gloria, the oldest Natale girl. Married, thirtysomething. Pretty in an Italian housewifey way. Gloria was bossy and old-school, which was why Izzie had both a maid and a matron of honor. Gloria would have been mortally offended if Izzie hadn't asked her.

Definitely a varied menu of bridesmaids. All of whom had looked stunningly beautiful in their dark red velvet gowns. All of whom were women she adored, for their strengths and their kindness, their intelligence and their loyalty. "They were so wonderful and supportive," she murmured.

"Well, hopefully some of my single cousins are keeping them company downstairs in the hotel lounge this evening."

"Sorry to disappoint your cousins, but Leah just led a group of them to a bar up the street."

Nick frowned for the first time in days. "In this weather?"

"It's stopped snowing and I'm sure the roads are slowly being cleared." Nibbling her lip Izzie added, "It's only a couple of blocks away and I paid the limo driver to make sure they got safely back here to their rooms tonight."

"Look out, Chicago , h.o.r.n.y bridesmaids are on the prowl."

"I don't imagine too much can happen since Gloria's with them." Gloria was happily married to Nick's oldest brother. The mother of three had seemed relieved when her husband had offered to take their boys home so she could enjoy the night on the town with the rest of the bridesmaids. "She'll play chaperone."

"Oh, right. Chaperone to a lawyer, a bookkeeper, a stripper and a Rockette."

"You got something against strippers and Rockettes?" she asked, c.o.c.king a challenging brow.

He had finished working her sleeves open and slid around behind her to start on the long row of tiny b.u.t.tons up the back of the dress. As he slid each one free, he kissed the tiny bit of skin revealed, sliding his lips over each of her verte-brae with heart-pounding restraint and sensuality.

"Uh-uh, Cookie. Some of my favorite people are strippers and Rockettes."

She dropped her head forward, sighing as he continued to undress her. Conversation was the last thing she wanted. Thoughts of her bridesmaids began to fade.

But before thrusting the whole subject out of her head altogether, she rea.s.sured them both. "They'll be fine. They're grown women, they're not driving, and they're in a group. What could possibly happen?"

Chapter 1.

"Oh, G.o.d, is that the fire alarm? We've got to get out of here. Is that smoke? I think I smell smoke!"

There was no smoke, Mia Natale instantly realized. Not unless you counted the steam rising off the skid marks the customers near the door had made when the fire alarm started wailing. The club was emptying rapidly.

"We have to get out of here...we'll be crushed, stampeded!"

Leave it to Gloria to go nuts in a crisis. Mia sighed, not sure whether to argue that there was no smoke, or just push her sister's melodramatic, married b.u.t.t toward the door.

Vanessa saved her from having to make the decision. "Follow me," she announced. The woman was tall-Amazonian-almost six feet without the bridesmaid heels. So when she moved toward the exit, the crowd parted. It was like watching a queen on parade.

"How does she do that?" Gloria whispered as they followed.

Mia shrugged. "No idea. But I'm glad she's with us." She'd just met Vanessa this week, but she already understood why her younger sister, Izzie, counted her among her closest friends and had asked her to be a bridesmaid.

The other bridesmaids made just as much sense. Gloria, of course, would have been mortally insulted had she not been asked. And Leah was a good friend from work. Bridget and Izzie had been inseparable as kids, more like twins than cousins.

Yes. All perfect bridesmaid material.

Except Mia. She didn't fit. Frankly, she was pretty sure that if Izzie hadn't felt obligated because they were sisters, she would not have asked Mia to be in the wedding.

And that would have been okay.

It wasn't that she didn't love her sister-sisters-but she wasn't like them. Even when growing up, she'd known she was different. Not homey and traditional like her older sister. Not flamboyant and talented like her younger one.

She'd been the tough kid. The sc.r.a.pper, her father had called her the son he'd never had. She'd spent her childhood pitching baseb.a.l.l.s and playing street hockey with the boys, rather than taking ballet lessons like Izzie or playing with an Easy-Bake oven like Gloria.

Her adult life hadn't changed matters much. She still played with the boys-rough games like, I'll Put You in Jail for Life, You Sc.u.mbag, and Don't You Dare Underestimate Me Because I'm a Woman. Her job with the Pittsburgh D.A.'s office had been a full-contact sport, and she'd been d.a.m.n good at it. At least, until she'd decided to try playing for the other team, accepting an offer with a Chicago firm specializing in criminal defense.

"There's the car," Gloria said as they burst outside, pushed along by the crowd. "Bridget and Leah must have had the driver come straight back."

Vanessa suggested leaving immediately and Mia couldn't agree more. She wanted to go back to her room and go to bed. Actually, she wanted to go to her apartment and go to bed, but each member of the wedding party had been given a minisuite at the hotel. It would have been rude to refuse.

A few months ago, when Mia was busting the chops of every pimp, druggie and pusher in Pittsburgh , she wouldn't have cared about something like rudeness. But she was back home now. All the niceties she'd let slide in her drive to succeed were oozing their way back into her life, whether she wanted them to or not.

Along with them had come regrets. There'd been moments when she'd wondered if she'd done the right thing in coming back. Maybe more than a few moments...especially this week. Reaching the date on which she'd pinned a lot of hopes and built a lot of sensual fantasies-and spending it alone-had been more painful than she'd antic.i.p.ated.

She still couldn't believe she'd stood Brandon Young up on the night they were supposed to become intimate in every way.

Don't think about him. Fortunately, Gloria jabbered throughout the ride, so Mia couldn't think about anything but how badly she wished she'd brought her drink from the bar. Ten bucks a shot or not, Mia was breaking into the minibar in her room the minute she got there.

Inside the hotel, Vanessa asked, "Want to hit the lounge?"

"I can't," Gloria said. "Tony and the brats are waiting."

Mia made a snarky comment and got a snarky comeback. Typical sister stuff, part of their MO after all these years. Despite that, she knew her sister didn't mean the word brats. Gloria's adoration was plain; she was a born mother.

Mia couldn't even imagine that. It was hard enough to do something as girlie as a girls' night out. Though, she had to admit, tonight had been fun. But it hadn't come naturally. She was exhausted from the effort to keep up with the conversations about s.e.x, relationships and the three M's: men, makeup and marriage. None of which she currently had in her life.

So, exhausted, she refused Vanessa's offer. "But let's meet for breakfast in the morning," she said before heading for the other tower of the high-rise hotel. She just couldn't socialize anymore. Weddings might bring out the jolly side of most women.

But Mia wasn't most women.

She could have been. Could maybe even have had those things the other women had been talking about all evening. She'd come close to having them.

Six weeks ago she'd been involved with a great guy who'd made her totally happy. They'd planned to take their relationship to the next level this week, after he'd returned from a long overseas trip. Then, on their last day together, he'd told her he was falling in love with her.

Maybe that's why she'd left.

Because Brandon Young had been too nice, too boy next door, too laid-back and thoughtful and wonderful. An easygoing software designer, he was liked by everybody.

And Mia was a cold, bra.s.s-balled b.i.t.c.h. Hadn't everyone-her boss, defense attorneys, even the Pittsburgh media-said it?

As had her one serious lover. The only man she'd ever lived with, a colleague from the D.A.'s office, had accused her of having a heart of ice as he'd walked out the door.

Mia hadn't opened herself up to another man again...not until Brandon had caught her off guard with his warmth and his self-deprecating charm. "You did the right thing ending things with him," she reminded herself as she got on the elevator.

Maybe if she hadn't been falling in love with him, too, she could have been ruthless enough to take what she could get. But she had been falling and falling hard. So she'd done the right thing-for him-and ended it before he got hurt.

The good intentions didn't make her feel any less a witch for leaving town with nothing but a message on his machine while Brandon was out of the country. She could have at least called to make sure he got back okay and to wish him well.

She did wish him well. With someone...nice. Someone una.s.suming, gentle and kind. Someone with a big heart. Someone loving and maternal. Someone who was everything Mia was not.

That she already hated that unknown someone for having him when she, herself, couldn't, just proved what everyone had always said about her. She was a first-cla.s.s b.i.t.c.h.

By the time the elevator reached her floor, Mia had unbuckled her high-heeled shoes and slipped them off her aching feet. They dangled by the straps from her hand. To her annoyance, however, as she stepped out, one fell from her grip. The sparkly torture tool landed inside the elevator...and the doors closed before she could retrieve it.

"Wonderful," she muttered, picturing having to chase an errant shoe in this huge hotel. From her experience with high-rises, she knew that particular elevator wouldn't be near her floor again for several minutes. d.a.m.ned if she was going to wait or leap into another one and chase it down. "Screw it."

She strode barefoot down the empty corridor. Reaching her room, she slid the electronic key card into place, turned the handle and walked inside.

It wasn't until she tried to push the door closed behind her-and couldn't, because it was being blocked by a large, strong hand-that she realized she'd been followed.

He'd been waiting for Mia Natale all evening. Having kept an eye on her sister's wedding festivities earlier in the day, knowing the reception had ended around seven, he'd expected her to come back to her room much earlier than now. He'd figured she'd come up to change or take a nap or even pack up her stuff for her return to her apartment...which he'd also swung by after his arrival in Chicago yesterday.

Oh, yes, he'd been watching her. Waiting to make his move. Planning on how best to gain his revenge...and make his point. Judging by the instant of fear, followed by shocked recognition on her face, his point wouldn't be that difficult to make.

She was intimidated by him...by his presence here. For the first time since the night they met, he had the upper hand.

And he intended to use it.

" Brandon !"

"h.e.l.lo, Mia," he murmured, pushing the door back open and following her into her suite. He wasn't waiting for any invitation. Waiting for Mia to invite him into her bedroom certainly hadn't done him any good during the weeks they'd dated. Because, though they'd planned to move their relationship to the next level as soon as he returned from an overseas business trip this month, she'd skipped town before ever following through.

Now he was going to make sure she followed through. Not by force, of course. He planned to make her beg for it. He'd played the gentleman before but that wasn't what she'd wanted. Now he'd see if she really liked the kind of man she thought she did.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too," he murmured as he took stock of her suite. It was the same as his, which was just across the hall. This first room had a writing desk, love seat and broad windows with a view of the city. And the next-also just like his, as he saw through the open doorway-contained a huge king-size bed.

His gaze fell on the bed. The covers were turned down, the pillow replete with a mint. A silky pink nightgown rested there, obviously laid out by a member of the attentive hotel staff.

The nightgown caught his attention. And kept it. It was silky smooth, about the color of Mia's full, lush curved lips. It would be striking against her pale skin, and her short, jet-black hair. Mia was more s.e.xy than beautiful and would have to be called dramatic, not pretty. Yet she'd stopped his heart the first time he'd seen her when he'd been testifying against a former embezzling client.

She'd ripped it out when she'd run away like a cowardly little girl rather than let something real and meaningful develop between them, as Brandon knew it could have.

"I see you made it back safely from j.a.pan ."

As if she cared, considering she'd packed up her apartment and left the state in the six weeks he'd been gone. Calling her and receiving a "this number has been disconnected" message had been shocking. Calling his own answering machine from j.a.pan and hearing her cryptic, "I've taken a job and am moving back home to Chicago ," message had made things worse, not better.

She owed him more than that. She owed him, at the very least, an explanation.

He'd get to that. Eventually.