The Unexpected Wedding Guest

Reese turned to face him, braced for the battle ahead. “Trust me, Mason,” she said firmly. “Our disastrous marriage was not on my mind when I chose this dress.” Bad enough she had a wedding planner that questioned her every decision—now she had to defend her choices to her ex-husband? “You need to leave now.”

“But I just got here.”

“Well, I have a wedding coming up. And I don’t have time for your pathology.”

His eyes creased with shocked surprise. “Pathology?”

Holding his gaze, she refused to back down as the silence lengthened around them. He knew well and good what she was referring to. When he’d finally returned from Afghanistan all those years ago, they’d tap-danced around the issues long enough to fill two seasons of Dancing with the Stars. Reese, gently trying to help.

Mason, coldly pushing her away.

Her ex finally broke their staring contest and headed in the direction of the door, and her heart soared, hoping he was leaving because of her insult. Instead, he turned and sank into a Louis XV-style, wingback chair. And her hopes sank along with him. He stretched out long legs encased in well-worn jeans that emphasized his raw power, and crossed his ankles. The lazy posture was all an act. Because beneath the laissez-faire attitude was a definite edge, as if he was always scanning his surroundings, taking in every detail. Looking for danger. Prepared to react.

Except, of course, when it came to relationships.

“Pathology,” he repeated, now looking amused by her choice of words.

Irritation swelled. Wasn’t it just like the man to treat the serious issues so cavalierly?

“Surely you didn’t come all this way to give me a running commentary on my dress,” she said.

“True.”

Irritation swelled when he didn’t elaborate. “Or comment on my figure.”

“Right again.”

“So—” seeking comfort, she smoothed a lock of hair behind her shoulder “—why are you here?”

And, even more importantly, how was she going to get the stubborn man to leave?

TWO

Why are you here?

It was a helluva question.

Should he be flippant and say he wanted to drive her crazy? Because she’d always been sexiest when riled? After ten years she still looked so beautiful that the first sight had been like a blast to his chest—surprising, since his lack of a sex drive lately had started to scare the heck out of him.

Or should he go with the blunt truth: because his shrink had sent him?

Pathology, indeed. A soft grunt escaped, and his lips twisted wryly. As if his screwed-up head could somehow be treated by facing the “unresolved issues in his past.” Mason had scoffed out loud at the psychiatrist’s words.

Personally, Mason was pretty damn sure his “issues”—the relentless insomnia, the crippling migraines and a sex drive that had gone AWOL—were all the result of the IED that had exploded eight months ago, nearly killing him. Traumatic Brain Injury was the diagnosis, leaving him with a crappy short-term memory, as well. But what difference did a name make when sixteen sticks of C4 had knocked him on his ass on a pothole-filled road in Afghanistan? Where he had lain, unconscious, for two hours before his buddies could extract him from the concrete-littered street.

Why he was still alive, he had no idea.

But essentially, he was here today because he’d more or less been ordered to come. He’d tried everything else, and the medical doctor’s only words of encouragement now were that things should get better with time. The operative word being should. And then his shrink had insisted that Mason reach out to all the people he’d pushed out of his life over the years, which had been easier said than done. Because, seriously, finding closure after his disastrous FUBAR of a marriage with Reese?

Impossible.

But life was difficult while dealing with searing headaches that struck without mercy. If there was any chance at all, no matter how small, that Mason could get closer to his fully functional, pain-free life, he’d grab it with both hands.

Even if he did believe the mission to be a complete waste of time.

He rubbed the scar at his temple, easing the tensed muscles. “Maybe I’m just here to wish my ex well before her big day,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t believe him.

Hell, he didn’t believe him.

Reese stared back with those inscrutable blue eyes that, at one time, had been his whole world. But that felt like a thousand years ago. And he’d been a different man. Whole.

Pathology-free.

The irony brought a smile to his mouth as he studied Reese. Her sleek blond hair gently curled at ends that lay just beyond her shoulders. The style was shorter than when they’d first met, her long hair then a remnant of her youthful years. A girl hovering at the edges of womanhood. Bright. Beautiful. And hopelessly optimistic. And unlike every other female he’d known before or since, completely classy. She had radiated an elegance that had bedazzled the guy from the run-down suburb in New Jersey. Fortunately, his long-term memories were vividly intact, his fondest ones consisting of teaching Reese the joys of down-and-dirty, sweaty sex.

She’d enjoyed every minute of it, too.

He had yet to experience that kind of intensity with anyone other than Reese—couldn’t work up an appetite for anything since the explosion eight months ago. And while the memories were a reminder of his currently missing libido, unfortunately the shared enjoyment of each other’s body had failed to bridge the monumental gap between them. It had simply blinded them both to the brutal reality.

“Not that I think you’re telling the truth—” Reese hooked a hand on a hip “—but consider your well wishes received.”

“My wedding gift is in the truck.”

She looked as if she wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, and then drew herself up to her full height, all five foot four inches of her.

Reese jerked her head toward the door. “You should leave now.”

He could, but he was taking a moment to enjoy the view.

The fair features. The wide eyes, so blue they reminded him of a cloudless summer sky. The full, pink-tinted lips that had loved every inch of his body.

His voice dropped an octave. “In a hurry to get rid of me, Park Avenue?”

A small furrow creased her brow. “I’m too old for nicknames anymore.”

“Not true,” he said. “We just need to adjust the name.” He nodded at the dress that was fit for a royal wedding, her legs surrounded by a frothy amount of netting. Perfect. Because she was a foamy, girlie latte whose upbringing had left her too delicate to withstand his bitter, black coffee self. “I say drop the Park Avenue and just leave it at Princess.”

Was it his imagination, or did her nostrils just flare in anger?

“My fiancé Dylan is due to arrive any minute,” she said crisply.

“Dylan, huh?” he repeated out of habit.

He pulled out the small notebook in his pocket and scribbled the name down, in the off chance he needed to remember. Reese eyed his movements as if he was mocking her by his actions.

If only.

“And I don’t think you should be here when he arrives,” she said.

Unconcerned, he lifted a brow. “Is he going to kick my ass?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said with a meaningful look. “He’s way too classy for such a juvenile response.”

Mason bit back the smile at the indirect insult, tucking the notebook back in his pocket.

No doubt Dylan was the sort of man Reese should have married a long time ago. Successful. Rich. And from the right kind of family. The kind of man her parents would happily include as a member of the family. Certainly not an enlisted Marine.

But damn it, after eighteen hours of driving—and a migraine that had laid him up in a hotel for another twelve, puking his guts out and so dizzy he couldn’t stand—he was motivated, and refused to leave without trying for some sort of understanding. He’d been sent on a mission, and he was going to complete it to the best of his ability.

“We broke things off fairly abruptly.” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he went on. For some strange reason, he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Left a lot of things unsaid. Said some things we shouldn’t have.”

In the pause that followed, he finally returned her gaze.

Her voice was firm. “I meant every word that came from my mouth.”

His lips twisted grimly, and he hesitated before trying again. “I was hoping we could get a little...” He barely managed not to roll his eyes at the sissy-sounding word his shrink had used, reminding Mason of a bunch of women on a damn talk show. He finally spit the word out. “Closure.

“I am not discussing the past with you, Mason.”

“I just want to resolve some—”

“No.”

Her voice, her face, was resolute.

He stared at her a moment more. Although her demeanor was composed, the underlying animosity rolling off his ex-wife was about as subtle as a friggin’ sonic boom. She was too refined to yell or scream—or, as she had all those years ago, hurl objects at him. Back then her emotions had brimmed just beneath the surface, a product of her college years, a brief time when she’d been liberated from her family’s thumb. Since then she’d been reschooled, retutored and reprocessed, the real Reese buried under a refinement that made an honest discussion impossible. Being married to her had been downright difficult. But now she was more unapproachable than ever before.

His original assessment was correct; coming had been a wasted effort.

Because one look at Reese’s very beautiful, very angry face, and he knew there’d be no resolving any “lingering issues” with the woman. Not only were they too different, too much time had passed. Too many wounds had been inflicted. The kind he was sure went too deep to heal.

Just like his freakin’ head.

He pinched his eyes closed, remembering the physical therapy, the struggles with his memory and the resignation that he would never be the same.

Mason heaved out a breath and pushed up from the chair. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time,” he said, his gaze lingering a moment on the woman he’d once thought he could do forever with.

Her hair, the color of sunshine. The clear, creamy skin of her shoulders. The thinner figure that still held enough curve to entice a man, encased in a dress that was vastly different from the simple sundress she’d worn at their impulsive wedding. The dress he’d been in such a hurry to get her out of so they could spend as much time in bed as they could before he shipped out. Best just to remember their better moments and let go of the bad.

Even if his ex had chosen to do the opposite.

A ghost of a smile tipped his mouth. “Be happy, Reese.”

And with that, he headed out of the room.

* * *

Wasn’t it just like the man? Show up out of the blue and tease her mercilessly. Get her all worked up—on purpose, she was sure—and then wish her well before walking back out the door?

“I can’t believe he came,” Reese said into her cellular as her emotions continued to reel.

She just couldn’t wrap her head around the turn of events. When her phone had rung, she’d been staring at the door Mason had just disappeared through. And she was inordinately grateful to hear her friend’s voice.

Gina’s British accent sounded over the phone. “Who came?”

“Mason.”

“The ex?”

Still wearing her wedding dress, Reese braced her hand against the window and stared down at the estate driveway, feeling spent. A delivery van was parked out front, a man unloading the champagne Dylan had ordered for the wedding. A familiar, beater red truck with huge tires was parked next to her Mercedes-Benz convertible. Mason still drove the same stupid vehicle. The Beast, she’d called it. The truck had been old when she’d met him, and now it was positively ancient. The first place Mason had ever made love to her.

She pressed her lids closed, hating how weak she’d been back then.

“Why did he come?” Gina asked.

“He wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” Gina said. “I thought you two despised each other?”

Chaos churned in Reese’s head, as she remembered the way he’d made her feel at the end of their marriage. Alone. Shut out. Unimportant.

And the man hadn’t changed one bit.

Reese fisted her hand against the window. “We do.”

Though it was hard to separate the hate from the pain.

After he’d arrived back from his first tour in Afghanistan, all the hope she’d felt the day she’d married him slowly seeped away. She’d tried to prepare herself, reading about all the issues of returning to civilian life, PTSD, depression, just to name a few. Hoping to get a jump on the problems to come. But no matter how hard she’d tried, or how understanding she’d been, the old Mason was nowhere to be found. The Mason who’d returned was cold. Unreachable.

Dark.

But most importantly, he hadn’t seemed to care, refusing to attend therapy with her. He’d had access to the best care money could buy, but he’d refused to meet her even a quarter of the way. She knew she’d probably pushed him too hard, but she’d missed his wicked sense of humor, the easy laughter. And nothing compared to the anger and hurt when he’d announced he was reenlisting and going back.

Because he’d chosen war-torn deserts and dismantling bombs over his wife.

The remembered fury clamped hard in her heart, and she pressed her forehead to the window, the cool glass soothing her whirling thoughts. Because ten years had given her a little perspective. She’d been unprepared for the change, ill-equipped to adjust from a Mason that had seemed to worship the ground she walked on—in retrospect, an unrealistic reality—to one who completely shut her out. Having him turn his back on her had felt so...so...alien.

She was wise enough now to realize part of their problems had been her expectations.

“Reese?” Gina’s voice sounded concerned. “Reese, are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Just take a breather and have a Cosmo or something.”

Reese heaved out a breath, feeling in need of a drink. “Right after I get out of this dress.”

Which, with the millions of buttons down her back, was a feat in itself.

Too bad the rest of the Awesome Foursome had yet to arrive. She needed her bridesmaids by her side. She needed a cathartic bitch session with her girlfriends. Unfortunately, ten years ago their last night as roommates hadn’t ended as planned, their friendship ripped apart by a secret that had fractured their group into pieces. And her world had never felt right again.

No matter how hard Reese had tried, she hadn’t been able to put the foursome back together again. Her wedding was the first time they all were to be in the same room again. And Reese imagined it was a bit like having divorced parents attending your wedding. How did you keep the peace? How did you keep the old resentments from rearing their bitter heads?

Reese was determined to start her happy life with Dylan by repairing the rift between the friends. What better way to celebrate a bright future with the man who made her happy?

Unlike her impulsive marriage to Mason. The Wedding Mistake, as she liked to call it. Reese bit her lower lip.

“Forget about the annoying ex, Reese,” Gina said.

She puffed out a breath. “Believe me, I have.”

“And don’t let him ruin your wedding.”

She pictured Dylan’s face and immediately felt calmer. “Nothing is going to ruin our day.”

Below, Mason appeared in the driveway, heading for his truck, and Reese let out a sigh, the last bit of tension leaving her body. She’d moved on and refused to look back, and she was grateful he was leaving and taking all the turbulent emotions with him.

Because, by God, she wasn’t going to let her ex spoil things, no matter how fit he looked in his jeans.

“How are you feeling?” Gina said.

“Good,” Reese said, both in answer to Gina and in response to Mason reaching for the door handle on his truck, preparing to leave. She could get back to focusing on her to-do list. The guests would be arriving in a few days, and she wanted everything to be perfect, which included smoothing the road for a reconciliation between her friends. She swallowed hard, remembering why she’d left a message for Gina to call. “I just need to tell you something before—”

Dylan appeared in the driveway, cutting off Reese’s train of thought. As her fiancé headed toward her ex-husband, her heart accelerated.

Reese pressed her hand against the window. “Oh, God.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Dylan is with Mason out on the driveway.”

“Do you think they’ll exchange words?” Gina asked.

Mason turned to watch Dylan approach, and she recognized the stance her ex assumed. Squaring his shoulders, feet slightly apart. Tensed, as if preparing for an altercation.

The muscles in Reese’s shoulders taut, she said, “Knowing the hotheaded, smart-ass Mason can be—” her eyes darted between the two men “—I wouldn’t put it past him to muck with Dylan’s normally coolheaded demeanor.”

Reese trusted Dylan, but she didn’t trust Mason. Frustrated, she tried to focus on their expressions, but they were too far away to read.

“Do you think they’ll get into a fistfight?” Gina said.

A fistfight?

Of course they wouldn’t. Would they?

Reese’s knees threatened to buckle. “I don’t think so.”

Then again, she never in a gazillion years would have thought that, after all this time, Mason would track her down.

“You better go down there, Reese,” Gina said. “Make sure your fiancé doesn’t wind up with a black eye in his wedding pictures.”

Reese pressed her lids closed, searching for strength.

Don’t just stand here like you’re helpless. Do something, Reese.

Now.

Reese whirled away from the window. “Gina, I’ve got to go.”

“Call me with a report,” Gina called out just before Reese punched the disconnect button and tossed the phone onto the couch.

Desperate, Reese reached for the buttons at the back of her dress. If she could just release the top few, she might be able to wriggle out. But her arms burned with pain in her attempt, fingers scrambling. Stretching was useless. Straining didn’t work. Grunting from the effort didn’t help, either.

After five minutes of concerted effort she finally had to accept that, unless she suddenly acquired the abilities of a contortionist, there was no time to change. Abandoning the plan, Reese rifled through her bags, tossing lingerie and toiletry articles aside. Where were her shoes?

Where were her shoes?

Please, please. Just let them remain reasonably calm until I get there.

Her hands landed on her Manolo Blahnik satin pumps and relief surged as she slipped them on. She couldn’t wear flats and let the dress drag, but maneuvering up the endless hall and down the grand staircase in four-inch heels was going to take time. Time she didn’t have.

Because she had to reach them before it was too late.

* * *

Mason exited Bellington Hall and crossed the brick driveway leading to his truck, passing a deliveryman wheeling a dolly loaded with boxes of expensive champagne. And, although she was all he needed, the Beast didn’t fit in at Bellington any more than Mason did, his truck looking out of place parked next to the stately stone mansion and graceful gardens.

A harsh reminder of the feeling of “otherness” that had marked his marriage and his childhood.

As a military brat who rarely attended the same school twice, and a bit of a loner to boot, he’d been the outsider constantly looking in. Mind-numbingly bland years memorable simply for his monotonous existence—a monochromatic gray where his soul had faded and lapsed into a coma. Ironically, while the military-brat lifestyle left him feeling the odd man out, ultimately his military career had given him the first sense of real belonging—thriving in the tightly knit team environment integral to doing his job.

A job he could no longer perform.

With a resigned acceptance, Mason pushed aside the familiar feeling of loss. So life sucked and then you died, but the mere fact that he hadn’t—died, that is—was enough of a miracle to put the rest of his mucked-up life into perspective.

Though he was still struggling to apply that attitude to his screwed-up head.

Mason reached his truck and then paused, clutching the door handle. A convertible Jaguar had joined the Mercedes-Benz in the drive, and it wasn’t hard to guess who the car belonged to. Apparently the successful fiancé had already arrived. Most likely seeking out his bride-to-be at this very moment.

Definitely time for Mason to leave.

A sense of inevitability settled in his gut. He’d tell the doc he’d done his best to put this ghost to rest. But all he’d managed to achieve was discovering just how time had made his ex more beautiful. And more thoroughly pissed off at him.

A scoff of bitter humor escaped just as a masculine voice called out.

Mason spun on his heel and spied a tall, black-haired man exit the front entrance in athletic shorts and running shoes, clearly about to set off on a jog. Despite the casual attire, the clothes reeked of money. And there was something in the man’s eyes and posture that screamed breeding. The fiancé.

What was his name again?

For the nth time since the explosion, Mason cursed the short-term memory that had been knocked and scattered like the proverbial loose screws on the floor, making simple tasks a daily struggle. Amazing how much he’d taken for granted the ability to retrieve information from his brain.

“Can I help you?” the man said as he drew close.

For a brief moment Mason considered lying and claiming to be a delivery guy. There was certainly enough activity going on preparing for the big day that one more truck transporting goods wasn’t a stretch. But as his mind scrambled for an item he could have believably delivered, he realized he didn’t have a clue what kinds of things would be needed in preparation for a regular wedding, much less one at a location as luxurious as the Bellington Estate.

As Reese’s fiancé drew closer, Mason eyed the man warily, trying to recall his name. The guy had a good inch or so on him, but Mason was more muscular. He knew he could take him. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“You must be be...” Drew? David? He refused to look at his notes. “Reese’s fiancé.”

“Guilty as charged.” The man came to a stop in front of him and stuck out his hand. “Dylan.”

“Dylan.” Hell, maybe this time it’d stick. He returned the shake. “I’m—”

“Mason Hicks,” Reese’s fiancé said. “Awarded Two Marine Corps Good Conduct Medals, a Humanitarian Service Medal and a Purple Heart.” Dylan released his hand. “Just to name a few.”

Surprise left Mason briefly speechless as he tipped his head in question. How did he know all that?

Dylan calmly studied him. “When Reese and I started seeing each other I had you investigated.”

Normally the news would have put Mason on alert, but there was no hostility in the man’s gaze. Nothing overt anyway. But there was a cool wariness, a “why are you here?” question in his eyes that was dressed in such a classy air that Mason didn’t feel unwelcome. The elegant manners were impressive. The bride and groom-to-be truly were two of a kind.

They were five-star accommodations while Mason could make do in a dusty hole in the ground, if need be.

“Investigated?” Mason said.

Dylan hooked a hand on his hip. “I wanted to know a little about my predecessor.”

“What for?” Mason said.

“So I could better understand the man who made Reese so unhappy all those years ago.”

Shifting on his feet, Mason rubbed his chin. His day-old growth was rough, and he hated that he felt scruffy next to the well-groomed fiancé. And the man’s steady gaze was making Mason uncomfortable. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t belong here.

It was well past time for him to climb into The Beast and make tracks.

“I’m taking off now.” Mason bit back a grin. “That should definitely make her happy.”

Better than the lame engraved picture frame he’d brought as a gift.

“But you just arrived,” Dylan said. “There’s no need to rush off.”

Stunned again, this time the ability to speak took longer to return. Was he serious? Or was he just being polite? Or maybe he wanted him around so he could mess with Mason’s mind or something—like it wasn’t screwed up enough. But Dylan didn’t strike him as the type.

“In case you haven’t been informed, time has only increased my ability to make my ex unhappy,” Mason said dryly, surprised lightning didn’t strike him for uttering such a massive understatement.

“I’m not sure that’s even possible,” Dylan said in agreement.

Mason let out a humorless bark of laughter before going on. “I can only imagine,” he said. “I figure the best wedding gift I can give the two of you is my departure. Because Reese was adamant that I leave.”

An emotion Mason couldn’t interpret flitted across Dylan’s face, a slight tightening of the eyes that could have meant anything. “I can imagine she was.”

He eyed Mason, as if sizing him up. But not only was there no hostility, Mason didn’t sense any resentment, either. Just a wary curiosity from the man who was about to marry his ex-wife. At least his hellacious road trip here hadn’t been a total waste. If nothing else, he now knew that Reese wasn’t marrying a jerk. But did Dylan love her?

But the bigger question was, why the heck did Mason care?

The silence stretched, leaving Mason uneasy. Edgy. He should leave. Reese was not his concern anymore. What difference did it make how Dylan felt about her? It sure as hell wasn’t any of Mason’s business.

But no matter how hard he tried to push the past aside, seeing Reese had brought up some disturbing memories. Things he’d thought he’d buried long ago. Clearly he wasn’t going to get the resolution he sought. But, at the very least, he wanted to take a better measure of the man she was about to spend the rest of her life with. If he knew she was going to be treated well, then that was enough. He’d be content.

And content was as much as he could hope for these days.

Dylan nodded in the direction of a temporary basketball pole set up at the end of the driveway. “You play?”

“Yeah,” Mason said slowly. “Seems an odd thing to have had delivered days before a wedding.”

“Reese’s cousin, Tuck, is my friend and best man. It’s a long story, but he had it set up as a joke,” Dylan said, and then looked at him curiously. “You up for a little one-on-one?”

Mason leaned back on his heels and shaded his eyes from the sun, studying Reese’s fiancé. Playing basketball with his buddies had saved his sanity during the wearisome downtime in the choking dust of a sweltering Afghanistan desert. And there was nothing like a little friendly competition to take your measure of a man.

Dylan was probably thinking the same thing.

Mason couldn’t resist a cocky smile, the universal I’m-gonna-wup-your-ass grin that only a man could understand. “You’re on.”