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His features darken. He leans forward and I light his cigar. He straightens, puffs out a cloud of smoke, then pulls the cigar from his lips. "It’s not the wedding that’s a problem, but the wedding planner."
"What do you mean?"
"A wedding planner engaged by my bride-to-be who has to be the most annoying, most exasperating, most aggravating woman ever. She turns every wedding rehearsal into a cartoon show. She sets my teeth on edge, has my blood pressure going through the roof. I fear, at this rate, by the time we make it to the wedding,ifwe make it to the wedding, only one of us will remain standing, and it’s not going to be her."
I whistle. "That’s a little bloodthirsty, don’t you think?"
He shoots me a sardonic look. "You haven’t met this woman. She’s tiny, this tiny" —he raises his hand so it’s on level with his forehead when he’s sitting down— "but she has a presence that's larger-than-life, a voice that’s designed to cut the knees out from under a grown man, and that which distract everyone in sight—men and women. Not to mention, a temperament which has me wanting to push her into the nearest closet—"
"—and follow her in."
"Eh?" He blinks, uncomprehending.
"Sounds like there’s serious chemistry between the two of you."
"Oh, there’s something between us all right, but it’s not chemistry. It’s one-hundred percent pure anger. We can’t stand the sight of each other."
"Hmm." I take a puff from my own cigar. "You sure about that?"
"Of course, I am. Don’t confuse your inability to keep your paws off the woman in closest proximity to you with my problem of wanting to throttle this annoying little hellfire—"
"Shouldn’t that be your bride-to-be?"
"What?"
"The woman in closest proximity to you most often, shouldn’t she be your bride-to-be?"
His lips firm. "She is."
"What was her name again?"
"You mean Isla?"
"I mean your bride."
"Ah, her name is..." He blinks. "Is..." His throat moves as he swallows. "It’ll come to me any second."
"Who are we talking about?" Michael Sovrano prowls over to drop into the third seat at our table.
"I see I made it in time to see Liam at a loss, again?" Sinclair smirks, then eases himself into the only remaining chair at our table.
"The wedding preparations getting to you?" Sinclair glances at the fallen king, then at Liam.
"I’m not the one with the attention span of a lizard, unlike..." He jerks his chin in my direction.
"A chameleon," I offer. "One who blends in with his surroundings and pounces when his prey is least expecting it."
"You planning a coup of some kind?" Michael asks in an interested voice.
"Something like that, yes," I agree.
"Hmm." Liam places his cigar on the ridge of the ashtray. "Sounds more like a takeover to me," he offers.
"Could be." I raise a shoulder. "But we were talking about Liam’s upcoming nuptials."
"Who’s the unlucky bride?" Sinclair asks.
"That’s what I was trying to find out. Seems he doesn’t have the foggiest idea who he’s going to marry."
