I'd like to meet:
EXCERPT
The following morning, over two hundred guests gathered at St. Cross Church, Oxfordshire, to
witness the union of Lynne Graham to the Reverend Henry Swann. Already, the organist had played “O
Perfect Love†three times. The ceremony was running late and a collective murmur drifted up from the
filled pews.
Marcella had arrived with the magazine's photographer an hour early. Sallie had already shot two rolls of film. Only a small percentage of those photographs would make it to the finished article, but Marcella was leaving nothing to chance on this assignment. “Guess we’d better get seated. I wonder what the delay is? Hey, Sallie, you don’t
suppose Lynne’s having second—â€
A thundering blast of motorcycle exhaust drowned out her voice. Insult seethed in Marcella. This
lovely wedding morning, assaulted by motorcycle noise pollution. How dare anyone. She stormed out to
the front steps of the ancient stone church, Sallie following behind, and watched as a large black and
smoke motorcycle roared into the church lot.
The bike was ridden by a man in mirrored sunglasses, rolled-up shirt sleeves, and black dress trousers. He wove between the parked cars and stopped in the shade of a towering oak several feet away, where he hit the kickstand before turning off the ignition. Silence. Thank you.
Sallie let out a low whistle. “Whoa, a three-cylinder Triumph Thunderbird.â€
Marcella lost interest in the motorcycle. Its well-dressed biker raked a hand through his windblown chestnut hair as he climbed off the seat. Sunshine dappled his head through the foliage, creating a prism of sienna, gold, and auburn light in the thick waves.
He stood facing the bike, his back to Marcella, and as he removed the sunglasses, she took this opportunity to check him out. His white wing-collar shirt stretched across broad, square shoulders and tapered to lean hips. She figured him for no less than six-three, if not taller.
At once, her opinion of him soared. She adored tall men. As the long-legged Ragno, who had towered over her peers in her small Italian neighborhood, she had developed quite an appreciation for men of generous stature.
Marcella moaned the same sensual moan that escaped her whenever she bit into a dark chocolate raspberry truffle. Deelish!
She moistened her lips. To Sallie, she said, “I never realized you were into bikes.â€
“I’ve done some riding,†Sallie admitted with a shrug. “I agree. That biker’s a bit of a triumph himself.â€
Marcella smiled. “I wondered when you’d notice."
He turned, and just as they prepared for their first glimpse of his face, he slipped a handkerchief
from his back pocket and bent down to polish his shoes.
Marcella and Sallie exchanged expertly tweezed raised brows.
They continued to observe. The instant he straightened and began to roll down the cuffs of his sleeves, Sallie raised her camera.
“What are you doing?†Marcella demanded although she already had a pretty good idea once she saw Sallie adjust the zoom on her Leica.
“Having a closer look. This is a ninety-millimeter lense.†Sallie’s smile grew as she brought her subject into focus. “Whoa.†She pressed the automatic shutter and clicked off a series of shots.
“Whoa? Again whoa? Whoa, what? Why’d you take his picture? Is he gorgeous? Let me see.†Marcella reached for the camera but Sallie waved her off.
Too late, anyway. The guy was now walking to the back of his bike where he unzipped a tote attached to a small luggage rack.
Sallie lowered her Leica, and the excitement on her face boosted Marcella’s anticipation to a frantic level.
“Well?â€
Sallie let out a breath, then, “Awesome face. He has, like, a totally awesome face.â€
“Shut up!â€
“No kidding. I’m talking movie-star handsome. Classic features, an unassuming expression, intense eyes. Lots of character.â€
“Shut up, shut up!†Sallie’s articulate description excited Marcella, so much so she did a happy dance in her Sergio Rossi black stiletto mules. She turned for another eyeful, only to discover he was now shrugging into a knee-length suit jacket. She could see from his bearing, he had a confident, aristocratic air about him.
And was she hallucinating or was that a frock coat? On the seat of the motorcycle sat a black top hat. Huh? “Hey, what’d we miss?â€
“It appears he’s getting dressed for a wedding.â€
They watched him tie a perfect white cravat, then slip a pair of white gloves from out of the pocket of his morning coat. He pulled them on.
“Maybe we’ll meet at the reception.†Marcella sighed wistfully. “Maybe I’ll make a point of
meeting him. Who is he, I wonder?†She wondered a little too long because suddenly a disturbing thought occurred. “Oh-no, Sallie. You don’t suppose?â€
“Nah. Much too young. Even for Lynne.â€
Marcella couldn’t believe the relief that washed over her. Already, she was beginning to fall for this guy. She’d be heartbroken if he were about to be married. Or worse, married to her boss.
He set the top hat upon his glorious head at a rakish angle.
“Do you believe this? This tall, sexy stranger appears from nowhere, and in minutes transforms from biker to aristocrat right before our unsuspecting eyes.â€
“It’s a turn-on, isn’t it?†Sallie gave a seductive growl. “A new age Mr. Darcy.â€
Yes, Marcella was turned on, she had to admit. She lingered over her last glimpse of him as he headed for a side entrance with long, quickened strides, looking for all the world like some nineteenth century Regency lord. His royal hotness.
“He never even noticed us,†Sallie said.
“He’s in a hurry. And good thing, too, or he’d have cause to suspect he was being stalked by a couple of pervs. As it is, I feel like a peeping tom. Speaking of which, I want those photos when we get back to New York.â€
“Oh yeah? And what do you intend to do with them?â€
“Sleep with them under my pillow and hopefully improve the quality of my dream life.â€
Sallie linked her arm with Marcella’s. “You know, it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good motorcycle must be in want of a sexy American fox. As opposed to an English bird, that is.â€
Marcella fanned herself with her hand. “Do we know he’s single?â€
“Okay, let’s review the facts. He arrives late for a wedding, on a motorcycle, half-dressed, and with no date. What do you think?†Sallie spun her towards the door. “Let’s grab a seat, shall we? Before you combust and Jane Austen rolls over in her grave.â€
Inside, Sallie scooted into an empty pew, dragging Marcella in behind her. A fresh herb scent filled the air. The church had been decorated with garlands of greenery and herbs—mint, purple sage, thyme, and rosemary. Henry had taken his place at the altar by the vicar. He was a distinguished, whitehaired gentleman with half-moon-shaped glasses. A white rose filled the buttonhole of his frock coat.
The vicar and the vicar, Marcella thought, hee-hee. “Geez, I think I’m getting giddy.â€
“What?â€
“I think we’re sitting on the wrong side,†she whispered to Sallie as the organist began to play the processional music. “Family and friends of the bride are supposed to sit on the left.â€
Sallie rolled her eyes.
The congregation rose to its feet, and Marcella rose with them. She turned to face the back of the church. There, at the door, stood Lynne in a white silk column dress with a bouquet of white roses, her newest shade of ash blonde hair swept up in an elegant, classic, Grace Kelly style.
She took the right arm of the gentleman beside her and together they entered the church. Whoa. It was the guy from the parking lot. Adrenaline shot through Marcella in a rush, setting her libido on fire.
Then it hit her. Lynne’s nephew. The guy from the parking lot was Lynne’s nephew. Yes, she remembered now. With her father deceased, Lynne had mentioned she’d asked her nephew to give her away.
Lynne and her nephew proceeded down the aisle together.
Sallie’s description fit. He was gorgeous, intense and elegant all at the same time, and he was about to pass right by her.
Keep your focus on Lynne, she reminded herself. Happy, gracious smile for the bride. This is her moment. This is not a damned nightclub. Do not give her nephew the eye.
As they approached her pew, Marcella smiled at Lynne, then stole a quick glance at the nephew.
His aquamarine blue eyes had already found her and held a meaningful glint that was more than casual.
Marcella exchanged smiles with him. His gaze lowered to the cleavage peeking from between the lapels of her tailored black pantsuit, then returned to her face, where he cocked a brow, gave her an approving nod, and continued down the aisle.
Marcella stared after him, speechless for once in her life. The tables had been turned. He’d just checked her out.
Sallie nudged her in the ribs and sing-songed, “I saw that.â€
As a trail of six little bridesmaids, ranging in ages from four to twelve, followed them down the aisle, Marcella tried to recall anything and everything Lynne had told her about this hottie nephew of hers.
His name? What was his name? She didn’t know, but Marcella did recall Lynne mentioning he was an Oxford grad. He was acquainted with Henry because Henry taught at Oxford. In his day, her nephew had been a popular oarsman on the University’s rowing club.
Must be where those shoulders came from.
* * * * *
Bugger him, she nearly took his eye out, she was so beautiful.
Henry stepped forward as they approached the altar, and William handed him his bride, then moved to the left.
His gloved hands folded before him, William stared up into the stained glass and wondered, who is she? One of Aunt Lynne’s friends from the States? Yes, of course. Who but a cheeky American would wear her bosom to church as a fashion accessory? He’d always found them a big distraction during
service. Breasts, that was. Nearly as tall as he, she was obviously of Italian descent with her short black
waves, dark deep-set eyes, and full, expressive mouth that reminded him of a young Sophia Loren.
Aunt Lynne waved her bouquet, jostling William from his musings. First, late for the wedding,
now slacking in his duties. He wasn’t used to being on this side of the altar.
He took Aunt Lynne’s roses and turned around to set them on the front pew. As he did, he glanced down the row of pews and across the aisle, looking for the exotic giantess. Her dark head appeared above the crowd because she was straining her neck to watch him. Their eyes met across the
congregation.
“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you,†the vicar greeted everyone.
William quickly turned back round and joined with the others in answering, “And also with you.â€
He had committed his life to taking the tedium out of the Church of England and replacing it with fun, but a posh, impertinent American with a career in New York was a little too much fun for even this bloke. As the bishop and his mother had lately reminded him, it was time he got married.
William agreed, but a long-distance relationship and separate careers . . . not bloody likely he’d
be going that route again.
The dark-eyed beauty in the back was no choice for a vicar.
