Close Call by Laura Disilverio Read Free Book Online

happy—Jason’s a good dude. He loves you.”
    She hugged him back and then pulled away. “There’s more. I’m moving to Indonesia, so you’ll be in charge here. But don’t get any delusions of permanent emperorhood. I’ll be back in a year.”
    His smile faltered. “I don’t know if I’m ready—”
    â€œYou’re ready.” She smiled at him through a strange mist. She blinked it away. “You’ll do a fabulous job. Hotchkiss and the board will probably tell me to stay in Indonesia.”
    â€œNot likely, boss,” D’won said drily. “Hotchkiss would kick my Catholic black ass to the curb tomorrow if he could. I swear that man thinks I practice voodoo in my basement.” He flapped a hand as if to clear away a bad smell. “I’m not spoiling your big news by thinking about him. Have you talked about a date?”
    â€œNext week. Maybe Tuesday.”
    â€œDamn, that’s fast. This calls for a celebration. I’m taking you to lunch.”
    â€œYou don’t have to—”
    â€œDownstairs. Ten minutes.”
    â€œIt’s only ten o’clock.”
    â€œSo?” He cocked a challenging brow.
    She smiled, feeling giddy. “Meet you down there.”

    Sydney was waiting on the sidewalk in front of Winning Ways when D’won pulled to the curb in his yellow Miata. She hopped in and he wedged his way back into traffic, sticking his arm out the window to give the finger to a honking station wagon behind them. “Moron.”
    â€œWhere are we lunching?” she asked, used to D’won’s continuing commentary on road hogs, tailgaters, speeders, and generic incompetents who should never have received a driver’s license. He was endlessly tolerant and patient in the classroom but a total flamer on the road.
    His glance darted to her hand. “Where’s your ring? The engagement’s not official until there’s a great big sparkly on your finger.” He lifted his left hand from the wheel to waggle his fourth finger.
    â€œHe’s a college professor,” Sydney objected, massaging her ringless finger. “I’m pretty sure he’ll have a ring for me tonight,” she added, wanting to fast-forward to the moment when she could be with Jason again.
    â€œHe’s probably had it for a year and a half, waiting for the right moment, waiting for you to get over your commitment phobia enough that you wouldn’t run screaming for the hills like someone avoiding a chain-saw-wielding serial killer at the mention of the M word,” D’won said, swooping into a small parking lot outside a two-story brick building with Delia’s in elegant script across the front. Only one other car, a late-model Mercedes, sat in the lot.
    â€œIt doesn’t seem very popular,” Sydney said, choosing to ignore D’won’s exaggerated description of her natural caution about a second marriage. They walked around the side of the building and approached the entrance. “What kind of food—?” She didn’t finish the question as she stared at the display windows, then turned a disbelieving face to D’won, who was grinning like a fool.
    â€œD’won! What—?”
    â€œThis is where my brother’s wife, Angelique—you’ve met her—got her dress.” He shrugged as if taking Sydney shopping for a wedding dress was no big deal. “I called for an appointment and we got lucky. You don’t have any time to waste if you want to get married before flying off to Indonesia.”
    She flung her arms around him and hugged convulsively, unable to say anything because of the lump blocking her throat.
    â€œJust don’t get anything white,” D’won said, pulling away, “because the whole world knows for damned sure you ain’t no virgin.”
    She laughed and they ascended the two shallow stairs leading into the bridal