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“Last night’s escapade has been all over the news. Now every agent in Hollywood wants to come down to Deuces and discover the next Stacy Roberts.”
Stacy laughed. “That’s…great, I guess.” Her voice trailed off because a lump suddenly wanted to form in her throat. She took a deep breath, looked at her friends, and said quietly, “You guys are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Uh-oh. She’s delirious,” Ginger quipped, and elbowed Ari. “We better find that cute doctor we met on the way in and get his sexy ass down here right away.”
The brunette’s lips stretched into a slow, wicked smile. “If I find him, I don’t bring him here for a while.”
“Yeah, yeah, I see what kind of priority I am for you girls.” She planted her hands on the mattress and tried to push herself into a sitting position. It turned out to be a lot harder than she expected. “Before you go seduce Dr. Feelgood, can one of you help me sit up?”
“That sounds like a job for me,” a deep voice replied. Stacy looked up to find Trevor coming through the door, carrying an enormous bouquet of cheerful yellow sunflowers. Kylie followed, holding three huge, happy-face Mylar balloons that read “Get,” “Well,” and “Soon.”
Stacy watched as everyone exchanged greetings and hugs. Then Kylie took the bouquet from Trevor and walked to the window to add their arrangement to the bounty already taking up most of the surface of the cabinet. Ginger, Ari, and Lee Ann followed to help rearrange all the flowers.
“You’re looking a little better than last time I saw you.” Trevor leaned down to kiss her cheek. Then he slid one arm around her back, hooked the other under her knees, and lifted her higher in the bed.
“Thanks.” She hit the button to raise the bed. “Of course, last time you saw me I probably looked like I was about to fall off a light rig and crack my skull like an egg.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and pinched her chin. “I could go awhile without seeing that again, so in addition to putting your Worst Nightmare in custody where she belongs, I’m putting a five-foot vertical limit on you.”
She settled back and grinned at Kylie. “Man, he’s a tough one. Bossy.”
Kylie snuggled against his side and smiled up at him. “He has his softer side too.”
“You’re not supposed to tell anybody about that,” Trevor complained, and then tipped his bride-to-be’s chin up and kissed her with a thoroughness that had every woman in the room sighing.
“All right, break it up, you two,” Ginger joked, and tossed a handful of rose petals up in the air so they rained down on the lovebirds. “Save something for the wedding.”
“Can I join the party?”
Stacy’s heart stuttered at the question. She swung her eyes toward the door. There stood Ian, leaning against the doorframe, holding a dozen red roses and looking unfairly gorgeous in wash-faded jeans and the emerald-green cashmere crewneck she’d gotten him for Christmas last year because it was the exact same shade as his eyes.
“Whoops, would you look at the time!” Ginger pointed to her nonexistent wristwatch. “We gotta go. See you tomorrow, Snowflake. C’mon, Vern.”
“What? I just got here!”
Ginger elbowed him, hard, and glanced pointedly at the door.
“All right. All right. I’m going.”
The girls headed out in a flurry of hugs, good-byes, and waves.
“We better go, too,” Kylie said. “We’ve got that thing.” She tugged Trevor’s arm.
“Right. The thing. Bye, Stace. Remember, five-foot vertical limit.” He clapped a hand on Ian’s shoulder as they passed.
Ian straightened and sent Stacy a crooked grin. “Do I know how to clear a room or what?”
She laughed, and then, to her utter horror, burst into tears.
He dropped the roses and had her carefully gathered in his arms before they hit the floor.
“It’s okay. Shh. C’mon, Stacy, don’t cry.” The low words vibrated from his chest to her cheek. His hand rubbed slow, comforting circles over her back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m ruining your s-s-sweater, t-that’s what. And I…I l-love you, goddammit.” Well, shit. That hadn’t come out right.
The hand on her back stilled for a moment. His heartbeat sped up a couple notches, but all he said was, “I know.” The response was so typically Ian—calm, cocky, completely in control—she almost laughed. But then he followed it with, “Glad you finally worked up the courage to say the words,” and she wanted to cry all over again, this time out of shame for how she’d handled things.
Instead she lifted her head, wiped her face, and looked at him, drinking in those patient, observant eyes, the thick fringe of eyelashes God sometimes wasted on a man, and the firm, expressive lips. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and she realized he wasn’t as calm and cool as he let on. She owed him an explanation and an apology, and hoped that for once in her life she could find the right words, because even if he’d figured out for himself a long time ago that she loved him, she’d let him think she did so against her will, or at least her better judgment. And, honestly, that’s exactly how she’d felt. He needed to know how much she regretted her lack of faith in them.
