Page 82 of One Wild Wish

That and the unrest in the Middle East. “No one has noticed, and look how many people have bid on Dad’s painting. The whole thing is a success.”

She squeezed my elbow. “You’re right, as usual. It’s just taken so much time and—” She stopped midsentence and scrutinized my wrist. “Is that a rash, Rachel? Is your purse on you? Use some cortisone right away and again tonight. If it’s not better in a day or two, make an appointment with Dr. Rancor.”

“On it,” I said. No need to share that it was a mosquito bite. Why rob her of her daily dose of overreacting?

A trait that had her examining my choice of wardrobe. “And that outfit is way too revealing. This isn’t a costume party.”

“That’s a shame. I was counting on winning the Most Likely to Get Arrested for Prostitution costume award.” I could only imagine how she’d react to my piercing.

“Honestly, Rachel. You and your brother will be the death of me. And did you hear Piper Lewis named her daughter Feather? Of all the things.”

She ran with her new topic, and I didn’t bother keeping up. I glanced at my legs, admiring their length in my heels and short skirt. No, my outfit didn’t blend with the pantsuits and cocktail dresses adorning the crowd. The notion only heightened my confidence. If anything, I felt sexier. Jimmy would have stood out, too, if he were here. All rough and inked, drawing curious looks from the guests. He would have had me hypnotized.

“Ma,” I said, interrupting her rant. “If Jimmy and I were still together, would you have given him a hard time, too? You know, asked that he dress a certain way, have him cover his ink?”

She placed her hands on both of my cheeks, sending her shoulders pads near her ears. “You’re my girl, and I’m sorry for what I said. You look beautiful today. I’m just stressed and nitpicking.” She patted my cheek and released me.

The compliment was lovely, but she’d avoided my question. “What about Jimmy, Ma? When I was with Gabe, you banned us from your parties. Would having Jimmy here have made you uncomfortable?” Her answer didn’t matter. It wouldn’t sway me from my decision to accept Jimmy’s apology, but it would be nice to know she’d have welcomed him here.

Her reply came slowly. “When you were with Gabe, I’d been going through a tough time. Most of my friends were friends of convenience, and I never really felt like I fit in. I took some of that out on you. Things are different now. I’ve met wonderful women through this organization, and Jimmy is nothing like that Gabe boy.”

I held my breath, nosy and nervous. “So you like Jimmy? I mean, it looks like you’ve been working with him on this event, so I’m guessing you’ve spent time with him.”

Her eyes sparkled, like when she’d passed me my tuition check, pride in her glowing smile. “When I first saw Jimmy, I only saw his rough exterior, and those…tattoos. Afterward, I saw a strong man who was led by his emotions. A potentially dangerous combination, but Jimmy has a heart of gold. Your father would have liked him, too. I’d be proud to have him here.”

“Really?” I couldn’t fight the scratchiness in my throat. I’d stopped listening to my father’s voicemail as of late, waiting on advice that would never come, but her admission meant the world. I’d have been proud, too, and honored and thrilled to have him at my side.

I wanted him here with me now.

“Yes, really,” my mother replied as she waved to a friend. “Jimmy is smart and creative, and his knowledge of wine is astounding.” One foot forward to mingle, she added, “You should enjoy yourself today. I hear the souvlaki is something special.”

She winked, leaving me speechless and slightly creeped out. (Reminder to self: never discuss sex with my mother.) Her inappropriate comment also had my heart thundering. My eyes flitted around, sure Jimmy and his “souvlaki” were here. My neck tingled, just below my ear, a place he’d often worshipped, with his tongue and teeth and lips. I touched the spot, shaking slightly.

Was he watching me now?

As if on cue, a deep voice curled from behind me. “That outfit should be illegal.”

So should his rumbling baritone. I stood, faced forward, my body alive with desire. “Just something I picked up.”

I wanted to see myself through his eyes. My calves lifted by my high heels. The curve of my spine revealed through the dipping fabric. I wanted to see him. See if his eyelids had lowered like they did when he was aroused. Check if his jaw had slackened.

“I’d like to strip it off you.” His hot breath hit my ear. Goose bumps cascaded down my neck.

Holy hell. Four weeks. It had been four weeks of confusion and longing, and now he was here, just behind me. I imagined us in a game of trust, those team building exercises where I’d have to fall and believe he’d catch me. And I did. If I gave up my balance and let go, I had no doubt he’d latch his arms around me and hold tight.

Unable to resist a glance, I peeked over my shoulder and whimpered. He was in dark jeans and boots, his gray button-down shirt tucked in, a purple vest stretched over his chest, thin black tie disappearing below. Wild hair. Dark scruff. Cuffs rolled to his elbows, all that glorious ink on display. The clincher was his eyes—hope and love and regret swirled in ribbons of blue.

I was done for.

“You’re not exactly dressed to blend in,” I said. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.” Definitely.

“All is fair in love and lust, then.”

“Isn’t it ‘love and war’?”