Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(10)

When she came back with a bag of ice, she had a shirt on. It was probably wrong to feel the quick tug of disappointment. She crouched down again on what he noticed-now that her breasts weren't in view-were very long legs.

"Here, try this." She put the ice in his hand, put his hand on his throbbing forehead. And sat back on her haunches like a catcher behind the plate. Her eyes were the green of a magic sea.

"Who are you?" she asked him.

"What?"

"Hmm. How many fingers do you see?" She held up two.

"Twelve."

And smiled. Dimples creased into her cheeks with the curve of her lips and his heart did a little dance in his chest.

"No, you don't. Let's try this. What are you doing in my studio-or what were you doing here before you concussed yourself over my boobs?"

"Ah. I have an appointment? Or Sherry does. Sherry Maguire?" He thought her smile dimmed a little, and the dimples disappeared.

"Okay, wrong place. You want the main house. I'm Mackensie Elliot, photography end of the business."

"I know. I mean I know who you are. Sherry wasn't very clear, which is usually the case, on where."

"Or when, since your appointment's not until two."

"She said she thought one thirty, which I know means she'll get here at two. I should've gone by Sherry Time, or called to confirm myself. Sorry again."

"It's no problem." She angled her head. His eyes-very nice eyes-were clear again. "How do you know me?"

"Oh. I went to school with Delaney, Delaney Brown, and with Parker. Well, Parker was a couple years behind us. And, you, sort of. For a little while."



       
         
       
        

She shifted for a closer look at him. Dense, disordered brown hair that needed a style and trim by most standards. Clear, quiet blue eyes surrounded by a forest of lashes. Straight nose, strong mouth in a thinnish face.

She was good with faces. Why didn't she place his?

"I knew most of Del's friends, I think."

"Oh, we didn't exactly run in the same circles. But I tutored him once, when we were studying Henry the Fifth."

That clicked. "Carter," she said, pointing at him. "Carter Maguire. You're not marrying your sister, are you?"

"What? No! I'm a stand-in for Nick. She didn't want to do the consult alone, and he got held up. I'm just . . . I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, actually."

"Being a good brother." She patted his knee. "Think you can stand up?"

"Yeah."

She straightened, held out a hand to help him. His heart did another little dance as their hands met. And by the time he'd gained his feet, his head was beating the drum for the rhythm. "Ouch," he said.

"I bet. Want some aspirin?"

"Oh, only enough to beg."

"I'll get it. While I do you can sit down on something that isn't the floor."

When she went back in the kitchen, he started to, but the photographs lining the walls caught his eye. Magazine shots, too, he noted, and had to assume them hers. Beautiful brides, sophisticated brides, sexy brides, laughing brides. Some in color, some in atmospheric black and white-and some with that odd and compelling computer trick of one spot of intense color in a black-and-white shot.

He turned as she came back and had the errant thought that her hair was like that-an intense spot of color.

"Do you take anything else, photographically?"

"Yes." She handed him three pills and a glass of water. "But brides are the focal point and the selling point of a wedding business."

"They're wonderful-creative and individual. But she's the best." He stepped over, gestured to a framed photo of three young girls, and the blue butterfly resting on the head of a dandelion.

"Why?"

"Because it's magic."

She stared at him for what seemed like forever. "That's exactly right. Well, Carter Maguire, I'm going to get my coat, then we'll walk over and take our consult."

She took the bag of melting ice out of his hand. "We'll get you fresh at the main house."

Cute, she thought as she went for a coat and scarf. Very, very cute. Had she noticed he was cute in high school? Maybe he was a late bloomer. But he'd bloomed nicely. Enough that she'd felt a little twinge of regret when she'd thought he was a groom. 

But a BOB-Brother of the Bride-that was a different kettle.

If she were interested, that is.

She put on the coat, wound the scarf-then remembered the blast of wind earlier, and pulled a cap over her head. When she went down, Carter was putting his glass of water in the sink like a good boy.