âMaybe we should get to know each other a little better first â¦â
âBut I was getting the distinct feeling that you didnât want to get to know me better, so I thought Iâd speed things up a little bit.â Devon grinned his signature, megawatt, killer grin. The one that used to inspire girls to throw their panties at him up on stage.
Kylie shook her head at him.
âWhat?â
âYou,â she pronounced, âare a mess.â
âYou think I donât know that?â
Then she nodded, drumming her fingers on her champagne glass. âI think you might do.â
âDo?â
âMmm-hmm. You just might.â But then she turned on her heel and walked away, her actions, like her words, sending damned confusing signals.
Devon downed the rest of the hated champagne. Then in three long strides he caught up to Kylie and stepped in front of her. âIâll do? Do what, exactly?â
She flashed that Swiss-bank-vault smile. Then she patted his cheek. Her touch sent an electric current through him, from his jaw to his toes and then back up to toast everything south of the border.
âMe,â she replied. Then she walked off again, leaving him staring in her wake.
Dear Reader,
There are so many reality TV shows that feature ex-rockers, superstars whose posters we may have had on our bedroom walls when we were twelve. This made me wonder what life becomes for a guy who once took the spotlight for granted, yet now is just a regular Joe. Itâs got to be a tough adjustment, no?
And so former bad boy Devon McKee and his black leather pants were born. Heâs the second groomsman in my ALL THE GROOMâS MEN trilogy.
Devâs got a big heart and a lot of emotional baggage, but likes to pretend that he doesnât. A serial womanizer, he now wants a real relationship with a woman, but heâs not quite sure how to go about itâeven though heâs spotted the right woman in Kylie Kent.
But Kylieâs got his numberâand refuses to give him hers. The very last thing she wants is another degenerate man in her life. She just got rid of one, thank you very much. Her career and a cat will do fine â¦
I hope you enjoy Devâs story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know by contacting me through my website, www.KarenKendall.com.
Happy reading,
Karen Kendall
KAREN KENDALL is an award-winning, bestselling author of more than twenty novels and novellas, many of them romantic comedies. She is the recipient of a Maggie Award, plus Booksellerâs Best, Write Touch and RT Book Reviews Reviewersâ Choice Awards. Karen lives and laughs in south Florida with her husband, two rescue greyhounds and one cat. She loves hearing from readers! Please visit her website at www.KarenKendall.com.
For Don,
who has always been my rock star
With special thanks to my consultants on all things Swedish, Julita Zaborovsky and Martin Pirgiotis. Chef Bodvar wouldnât be the same without you.
DEVON MCKEE FELT LIKE a hyena at high tea. He did not belong at a fussy rehearsal dinner in a country club. But he was a groomsman, and the wedding party and all the relatives had been invited, so here he was. Chatting with his buddyâs Great Aunt Mildred and trying to resist the urge to add about four ounces of rum to his plain Coke.
If he added the rum, heâd be all too responsible for the consequences. He might do things that heâd regretâand his head still ached from the bachelor party the previous night.
Mark was getting married, and for Markâs sake, Dev would do his best impression of a gentleman, comical though the act might be.
Heâd known Mark since college and he loved him like a brother. He might heckle him about going over to the Dark Side, but he was secretly enviousâand that was just plain weird.
Dev first spied the girl of his dreams through Aunt Mildredâs hairdo, which was teased and sprayed to an awe-inspiring volume, in spite of its sparseness. Aunt Mildredâs hairâa spiderweb combed into an upside-down urn shapeâwas almost transparent, gossamer in the overhead lighting.
Through it, Dev got a glimpse of the girl. She had a smile like a Swiss bank account: secure, glamorous and a bit secretive. A regal neck and aristocratic shoulders, revealed to perfection in her short, navy silk dress. Dark blond hair with shimmers of gold throughout. And legs that were nothing short of spectacular.
Devon, once the lead guitarist for the Miami band Category Five, was a connoisseur of such things. Heâd always been a leg manânot that he disliked cleavage or sassy asses. Far from it. And he saw plenty of those now that heâd opened a successful South Beach bar.
What he didnât always see wasâno other word for itâclass. This woman dripped it the same way many others oozed availability. She fit in perfectly here in the country clubâs garden room.
His first coherent thought was that he wanted to lick those incredible legs of hersâbut not through Aunt Mildredâs hairdo. So he extricated his hand from the old ladyâs and told her heâd return with a glass of champagne for her.