The receiving line was another casual affair. The invited guests who stopped to congratulate the newlyweds included most of the Winfield racing team, the pit team, some of the office staff, other NASCAR drivers, Kendall’s family and a few friends from Oregon, and a few of Dylan’s people.

  She’d imagined feeling sorry for his parents being robbed of the fancy wedding they’d so wanted, but two minutes in their company was enough to cure her of that weakness. Dylan’s parents wandered around looking richer than everybody else—not an easy feat when the ground was thick with NASCAR drivers—better dressed and superior. The younger version of Dylan’s mother turned out to be his sister.

  Taylor was quite ready to despise her when she saw the woman kiss Kendall and, speaking low enough that her mother couldn’t hear, said, “If I ever get married, you are organizing the wedding. I’ve never seen my parents so neatly outmaneuvered.” Then, much louder, she said, “Welcome to the family. Pull down the emergency bar, honey, the roller coaster is pulling out of the station.”

  Dylan turned in time to hear the last part. He put an arm around Kendall. “She can handle us.” He cut a glance to his parents, who were standing with Gordon Winfield. “All of us.”

  “I am so happy for you,” she said, hugging Dylan with much more warmth than his mother had managed. “Be happy, bro.”

  Dylan had chartered a friend’s yacht and they were spending a short honeymoon sailing in the Bahamas before flying back in time for next weekend’s race.

  A hugely pregnant woman floated over to Dylan. She looked so delicate and ethereal that it was hard to imagine her small frame carrying a child, but her belly went before her proudly.

  “Ashlee, honey, should you be traveling?” she heard Dylan say to the woman. Behind her stood a stolid-looking young man who hovered adorably, looking both protective and proud.

  “No, she shouldn’t. I told her, the doctor told her, her mother told her.” He shrugged in a helpless way that suggested to Taylor that his wife wasn’t one to listen to advice even when it was excellent.

  “The baby’s not due for a whole month, and I could not miss your second wedding.” She dimpled adorably. “I was there at the first one, after all.”

  “She was the bride,” Kendall whispered to Taylor. Kendall didn’t seem at all bothered by the obvious devotion between the former spouses, smiling fondly when they embraced.

  “You don’t mind them kissing in front of you?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s because of Ashlee that we met.” She smiled as though at a really good memory. “I was Dylan’s date for his ex-wife’s wedding.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Taylor said.

  “Neither can I,” said Mike, standing at her side. “Poor fool should have stayed away.”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime. Trouble was, Ashlee still thought she was in love with Dy and spent a lot of effort trying to get him back.”

  “Ah, didn’t you say you met her at her wedding?”

  Kendall chuckled. “Like I said, it’s a long story. Since she realized she’s in love with her husband and not mine, life’s been easier for all of us.”

  “I bet.”

  Kendall gasped. “Did you hear that? I called Dylan my husband.” She laughed. “First time ever. But Ashlee’s a good person. And I think being a mother will suit her perfectly.”

  When Ashlee and Dylan let go of each other, the mom-to-be shrieked at the sight of Kendall. “Oh, honey, you look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” They hugged and Taylor enjoyed the spectacle of Dylan’s former and brand-new wives embracing.

  Dylan and his ex-wife obviously had a good relationship even though they’d both moved on to other people.

  She wondered if she and Mike would be able to do that. She turned toward him, but found him talking to the beautiful young wife of a driver. No, she thought, as she gazed at him, which caused the usual mix of emotions swirling around inside of her, she didn’t think they would ever have an easy friendship.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TAYLOR HAD LONGED FOR and dreaded this day in equal measure.

  Once the receiving line broke up and the guests enjoyed canapés and champagne, it was time for the wedding photos. The formal soon morphed into informal as Dylan and Kendall called family and guests over for a photo.

  Carl Edwards strolled by looking surprisingly formal in a suit. “Carl,” Kendall squealed in a most un-Kendall-like way. “I want a picture with Carl.”

  His blue eyes twinkled as he hooked one arm around Kendall’s waist and another around Dylan’s shoulders. The three of them grinned into the camera. After the shutter had clicked a couple of times, Kendall hugged Carl.

  “If you hadn’t given me advice on dating a driver, I might not be here today,” she said.

  “If I’d taken my own advice, I might not have so many ex-girlfriends.” He shook his head in mock sadness, but Taylor thought he looked pretty happy with his life.

  He shook hands with Dylan. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope I get a dance with the bride,” Carl said. “Since I kind of brought you two together.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Cool.”

  As he walked away, Kendall sighed. “It’s a good thing I fell in love with you, first,” she said to her new husband.

  “Good thing for me, too.”

  Dinner was served under the big tent, and Taylor sat at the head table and gazed out at guys she usually saw in racing uniforms and helmets looking quite different in formal wear and fresh haircuts.

  Mike was the best man and also the MC and she thought Dylan couldn’t have chosen better. He was funny, but not stand-up-comedian steal-the-show funny, and he kept things on track. Even though they weren’t married anymore, she couldn’t help feeling proud of him.

  Not even Mike could dim the pinging of cutlery against glasses and Kendall and Dylan didn’t seem too upset about the number of times they had to stop and kiss each other.

  Mike rose and said, “Every bride needs someone to support her on the big day. Kendall chose Taylor Robinson and, in my humble opinion, she couldn’t have chosen better.”

  She’d forgotten there was a toast to the bridesmaids—in this case only her—and it hadn’t occurred to her that the best man would be giving that toast. The etiquette books pegged the groom for that job, but when Kendall had told her that Dylan, who wasn’t at all afraid to drive at 180 miles an hour around a track, was hopeless at preparing a formal speech, she’d assumed they’d forgo the toasts.

  Now it was Mike toasting her. When he uttered the words he looked right at her and she felt a shiver run along her skin. He looked so serious, so sweet. She tried not to blush, but she had a feeling she was pinker than the roses in Kendall’s bouquet.

  “I’ve had a chance to get to know Taylor since we’ve been involved in this wedding, and I’m getting to know a woman who is smart, goal-oriented and makes the best of things.”

  He then recounted a mildly amusing story about pew bows that hadn’t seemed funny at the time. The florist had forgotten them and the van had roared off to pick them up, arriving only minutes before the ceremony. Taylor had given a near-hysterical Kendall strict orders to sit down, preferably with her head between her knees, and then had calmly borrowed two rolls of sticky tape from the Winfields’ housekeeper. She’d given Mike one roll, taken the other, and as guests were arriving, the sound of scritching could be heard as the two of them taped the bows to the rows of chairs in the garden.

  “I like to think that a woman like that is a good one to have around. Can I just say, on a personal note, that I also think she looks gorgeous.”

  There was enthusiastic clapping from a couple of the NASCAR tables and an ear-piercing whistle that she rather thought came from Hank’s direction, but she never took her gaze off Mike’s. She couldn’t. Her blush deepened.

  “Ladies and gentleman, please join me in a toast to the maid of honor. To Taylor.”

  Glasses rose all around. “To Taylor.”

  After the dinner and speeches were done, dancing began. Taylor spent most of her time feeling like a chaperone at a high-school dance. She was worried that Hank was going to do someone an injury, he danced so wildly. Fortunately, Louise Hunnicut, if she couldn’t keep him in line, could certainly keep up with him.

  Taylor stood there watching them, smiling to herself when she considered how Hank had planned to sport a gorgeous model or starlet on his arm at every race and how quickly he’d become a one-woman man. They made a striking couple. Louise, with makeup on, her hair up and wearing a stylish dress, was gorgeous. Hank, looking pretty good himself—when he wasn’t dancing—was obviously smitten.

  Taylor had no idea how serious the romance would become, but she was thankful the woman didn’t own a teacup Chihuahua. Now that he had Louise in his life, Hank had less time to devote to stupid pranks, like arranging for Mike to take his place as Dylan’s stand-in groom.

  She was watching Hank and Louise dance so closely it was practically illegal when a voice said in her ear, “I take a lot of pride in that romance. It’s the only match I ever made.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Mike. “You introduced them so you could get a story.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, but I still got them together. I get points.”

  “Not many.”

  “Care to join them?”

  She nodded and melted into Mike’s arms. There was something so magical about this night. The music, the happiness flowing around them, the feel of the man she had loved so passionately moving with her on the dance floor.

  “Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Mike said in her ear.

  “Being at a wedding?”

  He nodded, his cheek brushing her hair. “It brings back memories.”

  “Some of them are even good.”

  “Sorry I was such a lousy husband.”

  She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “You weren’t so bad. Sorry I was such a lousy wife.”

  “You weren’t so bad, yourself.”

  TAYLOR MADE SURE TO STAY out of the way when Kendall threw the bouquet.

  “Don’t you want a shot at catching the flowers?” Hank asked her as she joined the married women and the hooting men. Hank was watching Louise, who was part of the giggling group of single women.

  “I want to catch that bouquet about as much as I want to catch flesh-eating disease.”

  Once the bride and groom headed out in a limo on the way to the airport, the reception turned into an all-out party.

  Dylan had hired a firm to make sure everybody who drank got a drive home, and the party was well under control between the catering staff and the Winfields. Which meant that Taylor was off the hook.

  About midnight, she was thinking of heading out when she found Mike behind her. “Hey, pretty lady, can I give you a ride home?”

  He gestured behind him to where a town car was waiting, a uniformed chauffeur holding open the door.

  “I could get used to this,” she said, as she slid into the backseat of the luxurious car.

  “Marry a driver and you can.”

  She laughed. “Most of them are taken.”

  “Hank Mission’s single. If you could keep him off the dance floor he’s not a bad guy.”

  She turned to him in the dim light, seeing his eyes darker and more intense than usual. Was it possible he was feeling a little insecure? Mike who never cared about material possessions? Or was he jealous?

  “Hank’s my boss. Not my boyfriend.”

  “Okay.”

  “He’s seeing Louise exclusively.”

  “Cool.”

  For some reason, his suggestion annoyed her. The car slid smoothly onto the highway, heading for her apartment.

  “Nice party,” Mike said after silence had reigned for a few minutes.

  “I can’t believe you would even think that of me.”

  “Think what?”

  “That I would be interested in Hank. It would be totally unprofessional of me to date him, not to mention the fact that he’s not my type—”

  “He’s also at least five years younger than you are.”

  Her irritation level notched higher. “Are you saying I’m too old for him?”

  “What do you care? I thought you weren’t interested in him.”

  “Well, if I was, I wouldn’t be too old. Older women and younger men are very fashionable these days.”

  “Sure. Sorry I brought it up.” He sounded like he couldn’t care less.

  She was so annoyed she felt her heart begin to hammer. “Is there something you’re getting at here? I don’t appreciate snide innuendoes.”

  She saw his head turn her way. “Did you have too much to drink or something?”

  “I can’t believe I was ever married to you,” she said in a fierce undertone. “What was I thinking?”

  “I don’t think either of us were thinking.”

  Her jaw pretty much unhinged itself at that. “Are you deliberately trying to insult me?”

  “No. What is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You used to think I was pretty hot, buddy. All I had to do was flick my hair and you were mine.”

  “Yeah. That was a while ago.”

  Was he really that immune or was he trying to bait her? She was so riled she couldn’t tell. But there was one way to find out.

  “So, if I flicked my hair right now, it would have no effect?”

  “Well, your hair’s a lot shorter. And it’s pretty dark.”

  “And if I undid the buttons on my dress, I guess that wouldn’t matter because you couldn’t see.”

  “You could tell me what you were doing,” he said, his voice slowing and deepening. “I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”

  “And you’d feel nothing?” she shrieked.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Anger was turning into something else, something she really didn’t want to think about right now.

  There was only one way to put this guy in his place once and for all. She leaned over and kissed him, right on his arrogant, goading, lying mouth.

  Even as her brain shouted, Bad idea, her mouth found his and it was so familiar, still so hot between them, that she was startled by the blast of lust that roared through her system.

  She was in his arms and he was pulling her against him, their mouths hungry for each other, hands reaching, grasping.

  They were barely aware that the car had stopped. The door opened and the very correct chauffeur stood politely, eyes gazing into the distance as they dragged themselves out of the interior with a quick word of thanks.

  They didn’t run, but they walked pretty fast to get to her apartment. No words were exchanged. No invitation issued, no permission asked. They reached the door and she fumbled open the lock, almost dropping her keys when he slid his warm palm along her arm.

  Once inside, she led him straight to her bed. Their need for each other was so strong, she felt like her skin was on fire. They knew each other so well that there was no fumbling or uncertainty. This was so familiar, and yet somehow new.

  She could barely make out his features in the dim light of the moon shining into her bedroom, but she felt his fierce concentration. Tasted his need when they kissed.

  She fell back into the greatest passion she’d ever known.

  When at last they curled together to sleep, she thought it was the most content she’d felt in a couple of years.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MIKE OPENED HIS EYES, wondering first where he was and second why he felt so bone-deep good. He turned his head on the pillow and there was Taylor sprawled beside him sound asleep, taking up more of the bed than any woman of her size ought to be able to.

  He, of course, was pushed to the edge of the mattress. It was all so familiar, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. How had he missed being shoved around in sleep by a woman half his size? He looked at her, her face relaxed, and he felt a painful twist in his chest. How had they screwed this up so badly?

  He watched her for a bit, simply enjoying the moment and the fact that, amazingly, they were here again. So, he knew one thing for sure, she was still as hot for him as he was for her. It was all he knew, but it was a start.

  Thinking over the events of the past few hours, he decided it was a damned fine start.

  He’d always been the earlier riser of the two, so he proceeded to fall back into the morning routine of their marriage. He rolled out of bed carefully so as not to wake her and watched, amused, as she stretched her leg out to claim the spot he’d occupied. She could spread herself out on a queen-size bed the way most people would cover a twin.

  When they moved back in together, he thought, they’d have to invest in a king-size mattress. Then he thought, nah, he preferred the intimacy of the queen. While he was puttering around finding where she kept the coffee stuff, and then putting a pot together, it hit him. He was already thinking of them getting back together.

  He blinked against the steam as he sipped his first coffee of the day. The caffeine gave him a second jolt. Wow. Was it just a great night that had him thinking of putting himself back with a woman who had caused him so much grief?

  He carried his coffee to the front door to get the paper he knew he’d find outside, then, realizing he was naked, backtracked to the bathroom where he grabbed Taylor’s white cotton robe off the hook. It didn’t reach his knees, and since his ex-wife was definitely a lot slimmer in the middle than he was, he barely made it to decent. He opened the door cautiously, stuck his head around it, and then, seeing no one in the hallway, stooped for the paper.

  As though he’d done it a thousand times before, which was not far from the truth, he topped up his own coffee, poured a second mug with a big slurp of skim milk in it, tucked the paper beneath his arm and carried the works back to the bedroom.

  Her furniture was sparse to the point of monastic and the collection didn’t boast bedside tables, so he put her coffee on top of the stack of books that sat by her side of the bed. As he straightened, he found her eyes opened and on him, with the unfocused expression of the barely awake.