One Wild Wedding Night

Look what people are saying about Leslie Kelly’s Santori stories…

“Kelly’s sweet, made-for-one-another couple

and her warm-hearted Italian family are

impossible to resist.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on That’s Amore (“There Goes the Groom”)

“Don’t Open Till Christmas by Leslie Kelly is a present in itself where the humour and the sizzling sex never stop. Top Pick!” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Leslie Kelly’s Christmas-themed Blaze [novel]

has plenty of good things to be cheerful about:

an adorable look at romantic Stooges dealing

with over-the-top Christmas festivities, a hero

that is simply too adorable for words, and

plenty of nicely written sexual tension to

keep the worst chill at bay.”

—Mrs Giggles on Don’t Open Till Christmas

“Well-written and fast-paced, Asking for Trouble is a page-turning delight and a delicious contemporary nod to the Gothic novel.” —The Romance Reader’s Connection

“Leslie Kelly’s entry ably combines the

traditional spooky elements of a gothic with the

modern sensibilities of a more contemporary

tale. The result is a highly enjoyable read I

ate up like a starving person.”

—All About Romance on Asking for Trouble

LESLIE KELLY

A two-time RWA RITA® Award nominee, eight-time Romantic Times BOOKreviews Award nominee and 2006 Romantic Times BOOKreviews Award winner, Leslie Kelly has become known for her delightful characters, sparkling dialogue and outrageous humour. Since the publication of her first book in 1999, Leslie has gone on to pen more than two dozen sassy, sexy romances. Honoured with numerous other awards including the national Readers’ Choice Award, Leslie writes sexy novels for Blaze and single-title contemporaries. Keep up with her latest releases by visiting her website, www.lesliekelly.com, or her blog site www.plotmonkeys.com.

Dear Reader,

Well, this is it. I’ve finally come to the end of my journey with the Santoris of Chicago.

I’ve had such a fantastic time creating this family, revisiting them now and again and getting to know them a little more with each book. Honestly, when I wrote the first story – Sheer Delights in the BEHIND THE RED DOORS collection – I had no idea that I was stepping into the lives of a whole Chicago Italian clan for the next five years. And I’m so very grateful to my editor and my readers for supporting me as I snuck back for visits now and then, both in novellas and in Mills & Boon® Blaze® novels.

This particular book allowed me to close the overall story and also to really stretch myself as a writer. Being asked to launch the new Blaze® ENCOUNTERS mini-series was an honour. Actually sitting down to write five individual-but-connected stories in one book was an incredible challenge. I wanted them to stand alone, I wanted them to be different from each other, with different types of plots, characters and conflicts. And, of course, I wanted them to be hot.

I think I accomplished all of that in this book. I sincerely hope you agree.

Happy reading!

Leslie Kelly

ONE WILD WEDDING NIGHT

BY

LESLIE KELLY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the Santori family. I know you’re fictional…

but thank you for becoming so real in my

heart and in my mind.

And to my editor Brenda Chin.

Thanks so much for letting me take this family

all the way to the end. you are the best!

Prologue

SCHEDULING A JANUARY wedding in Chicago probably hadn’t been among the world’s best ideas. Especially since the Windy City had been humped all week by a meteorological snow monster that seemed to want to stick around for the entire winter.

Somehow, though, despite the thick, white flakes that had swirled down around the church, everything had gone as planned. And now a winter wonderland surrounded the hotel where the afternoon reception had been held.

In Izzie Santori’s opinion, the day had been perfect.

“Happy, Cookie?” her new husband, Nick, asked as he kicked the door to their room shut. His hands were too full to do the job. Full of Izzie, still clad in her long-trained wedding gown.

“Deliriously.”

He pressed a kiss on her throat as he lowered her onto her own feet. “Only you could make a white wedding gown look sinful.”

“I’m a natural at sin.”

“Don’t I know it. I work with you, remember?”

Arching toward him, she twined her fingers in his black hair, which had grown out from its military cut since he’d left the marines. The length suited him, especially when he pulled the silky strands back into a ponytail at Leather and Lace, the upscale strip club where they both worked. “I’m so glad we had an early wedding so everyone from work could come.”

“Me, too. I doubt that church has held so many strippers, cocktail waitresses and bouncers at one time before.” He kissed his way to her earlobe. “You were so beautiful today, Iz. Like always, you made every other woman fade into insignificance.”

“I did have some very pretty bridesmaids,” she pointed out.

He nodded, lifting her hand to start unbuttoning the long row of tiny buttons at her wrist. “You did, not that they looked anything alike. Talk about variety.”

That was true. Izzie’s bridesmaids had certainly run the gamut. Her maid of honor—and cousin—Bridget, was a quiet, sweet-faced brunette who never had a harsh word for anyone. She’d been Izzie’s best friend since childhood.

Bridget was nothing like Leah, a feisty stripper who worked with Izzie at the club. The girl was young and sweeter than anyone would suspect, given her rough background. Blond and bouncy Leah was definitely the antithesis of Izzie’s sister Mia, with her short, jet-black hair and hard edge.

Mia’s years as an attorney, prosecuting some pretty awful crimes, had made her even tougher than she’d been growing up. A fighter and a tomboy, Mia had eschewed big sister Gloria’s good-girl desire to be a housewife and little sister Izzie’s bad-girl desire to be a dancer. Frankly, Izzie had held her breath after asking Mia to be in the wedding, knowing it was not her sister’s thing. But family was family. She’d come through.

Then there was Vanessa. While, like Mia, she had some serious attitude, Vanessa also oozed sex appeal and warmth. The stunning African American was a good friend of Izzie’s from her Radio City days.

Finally came Gloria, the oldest Natale girl. Married, thirtysomething. Pretty in an Italian housewifey way. Gloria was bossy and old-school, which was why Izzie had both a maid and a matron of honor. Gloria would have been mortally offended if Izzie hadn’t asked her.

Definitely a varied menu of bridesmaids. All of whom had looked stunningly beautiful in their dark red velvet gowns. All of whom were women she adored, for their strengths and their kindness, their intelligence and their loyalty. “They were so wonderful and supportive,” she murmured.

“Well, hopefully some of my single cousins are keeping them company downstairs in the hotel lounge this evening.”

“Sorry to disappoint your cousins, but Leah just led a group of them to a bar up the street.”

Nick frowned for the first time in days. “In this weather?”

“It’s stopped snowing and I’m sure the roads are slowly being cleared.” Nibbling her lip Izzie added, “It’s only a couple of blocks away and I paid the limo driver to make sure they got safely back here to their rooms tonight.”

“Look out, Chicago, horny bridesmaids are on the prowl.”

“I don’t imagine too much can happen since Gloria’s with them.” Gloria was happily married to Nick’s oldest brother. The mother of three had seemed relieved when her husband had offered to take their boys home so she could enjoy the night on the town with the rest of the bridesmaids. “She’ll play chaperone.”

“Oh, right. Chaperone to a lawyer, a bookkeeper, a stripper and a Rockette.”

“You got something against strippers and Rockettes?” she asked, cocking a challenging brow.

He had finished working her sleeves open and slid around behind her to start on the long row of tiny buttons up the back of the dress. As he slid each one free, he kissed the tiny bit of skin revealed, sliding his lips over each of her vertebrae with heart-pounding restraint and sensuality.

“Uh-uh, Cookie. Some of my favorite people are strippers and Rockettes.”

She dropped her head forward, sighing as he continued to undress her. Conversation was the last thing she wanted. Thoughts of her bridesmaids began to fade.

But before thrusting the whole subject out of her head altogether, she reassured them both. “They’ll be fine. They’re grown women, they’re not driving, and they’re in a group. What could possibly happen?”

* * * * *

Getaway

1

THROUGHOUT THE EXCITEMENT of the past week, Bridget Donahue had managed to keep a happy expression on her face. It hadn’t been easy. Because while she was genuinely happy that her cousin Izzie had landed the guy she’d loved for years, Bridget had two big worries on her mind almost constantly.

First, she had to testify in a criminal trial against her former boss in two days. And second, her own experience with love had left her a little sour.

Not love, she reminded herself. She hadn’t been in love with the guy who’d broken her heart. Damn it, she hadn’t. She hadn’t even gone on a real date with him.

But they’d kissed. Oh, that one day last August, they’d kissed wildly, passionately, right in her own office. And his kisses had left her weak in the knees. So, she supposed she had cared about him, maybe even more than she wanted to acknowledge. Dean Willis had snuck into her heart back when she’d thought him a simple used car salesman. That he’d done it intentionally was what made it so hard now.

Done it as part of his job. The bastard.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” asked her cousin Gloria, Izzie’s oldest sister. Though they sat at a table with the other bridesmaids, surrounded by the loud patrons of a trendy Chicago bar, Gloria had obviously noticed Bridget’s pensive mood. “Sweating the trial?”

“A little. I’ve been dreading it. It looks like the defense has run out of motions and I have to testify this week.”

The petite brunette, a mother of three who managed to pull off sexy and maternal, waved an airy hand. “They’ve got this guy cold. He was slime, laundering drug money through the car lot while pretending to be so nice.” She frowned. “To think I liked his ‘Come down to the most honest guy in town’ commercials.”

“Which just proves you have questionable taste,” said the black-haired woman to Gloria’s right, a slight grin on her lips.

Gloria smirked at her sister, Mia, who was the middle Natale sister. Wagging her left hand in the younger woman’s face, she quipped, “A married woman with bad taste.” Mia’s single status was apparently especially rankling now that both her sisters had tied the knot.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing,” Gloria said to Bridget. “More people need to get involved, step up and do what’s right.”

Mia jumped in. “I wish there were more people like you. Would sure have made my last job easier.” Mia had, until recently, been a prosecutor in Pittsburgh. Now she was back in Chicago, though honestly, Bridget didn’t see her cousin much more than she had before. Mia was a private one.

Bridget didn’t doubt she was doing the right thing in testifying against Marty, her former boss at Honest Marty’s Used Cars. But the trial, which started Monday, could also bring her face-to-face with him. Dean Willis. The FBI agent who’d used Bridget to get the evidence he needed against her boss.

“That doesn’t look like an ‘I’m nervous,’ expression. Looks more like a ‘who was that guy who knocked me on my ass’ one.” This came from Vanessa McKee, a friend of Izzie’s from her days with the Rockettes. The striking woman wagged her eyebrows. “Come on, we’ve been sharing man tales.”

“Not Mia,” said Gloria, her tone saccharine sweet.

Her sister made a rude gesture, which Gloria ignored.

The last of their group, Leah, a sweet-faced young woman who worked with Izzie at a local strip club, tapped her fingers on the table and frowned. She was so cute, trying to look fierce when she resembled, more than anything, a Kewpie doll, with her blond curls, pink cheeks and full lips. “Ignore them. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, Bridget.”

The others appeared to follow her lead and fell silent. Good. Bridget truly didn’t want to talk about it. Only Izzie knew the full details—the way Dean Willis had feigned interest in her, then backed off the minute he’d realized she was not involved in her boss’s illegal activities.

He’d made a fool of her. And there was no way Bridget was going to talk about that. Especially not to a bunch of tipsy bridesmaids who’d just come from a gloriously romantic wedding.

Fortunately, the subject quickly changed, everyone distracted from Bridget’s problems by the sight of a tall, rock-solid hottie walking by their table. The distraction was a good time for her to take her leave. “I really am tired. I think I’ll head out now. I’ll send the car right back for the rest of you.”

A chorus of nos followed, but she didn’t relent. She’d had a long few weeks. As Izzie’s maid of honor, she’d been planning showers and bachelorette parties. All while worrying herself to almost physical sickness over the trial.

Besides, she’d never been into the bar scene. She preferred quiet evenings with someone special. Not that there’d been anyone special in a long time. And considering how hard it had been to get over Dean, she didn’t see that changing soon.

To her surprise, Leah rose, as well. “I have to nap off those mai tais in case I decide to go in to work tonight,” she said with a yawn.

After hugs good-night, Bridget led the way to the exit. The place was packed and she and Leah got a lot of looks. It was probably due to their lovely red gowns…though, Leah, at least, was sexy in a girlish way, with a body to die for.

Bridget, on the other hand, was no inspiration for lust. She was a bookkeeper, with boring, straight brown hair and an average figure. Still, the looks she got said the men in this place were too far gone on twenty-dollar martinis to notice.

Once outside, Bridget spied their stretch limousine. Then she saw another one, very similar, parked just beyond it. “Which one is ours?” she mumbled with a frown.

Hoping Gloria would know, she decided to give her cousin a call rather than go back through the club. But when she opened her tiny purse, she realized she couldn’t. “Oh, no. I lost my cell phone.” While in the ladies’ room earlier, she’d dropped her bag, spilling its contents. She must have lost the phone then.

Leah, a few steps ahead, swung around. Bridget waved her on. “Go on. No sense in both of us going back.”

Without waiting to see if Leah obeyed, she hurried inside. The bouncer offered her a smile. “Back so soon?”

“I think I lost my cell phone in the ladies’ room.”

The guy took pity on her, obviously seeing her distress. “There’s a back way, if you don’t want to go through the club.” He opened a door marked Employees Only. “Go to the end of this hallway. The last door on the right comes out by the bathrooms.”

Smiling her thanks, she followed his directions. The long, narrow passageway seemed far removed from the bright neon beer signs and loud patrons next door. Her own footsteps echoed loudly, reiterating with every tap that she was entirely alone.

Following the directions, she found the ladies’ room easily. “Oh, please be here,” she whispered as she went inside.

As far as public restrooms went, this one wasn’t too nasty. Still, she hid a grimace as she bent down and felt around on the dingy, tiled floor where she’d dropped the purse. Her fingers touched moisture. Ick. Then…

“Yes!” Pay dirt. Tucking the phone into her purse, she hurried out, heading back into the dark, private hallway.

It was so dark that Bridget didn’t even see the man until she almost ran right into him. He stood in the shadows, silent and still, tall and broad. Maybe even dangerous. Why she should think that, she didn’t know. He could very well be hanging around outside the ladies’ room waiting for his date.

The Employees Only side of the empty ladies’ room.

Uh-huh. Bridget’s breath sped up. Her entire body went on instant fight-or-flight alert.

Don’t be ridiculous, you’re in a public place.

Right. There were a hundred people in the next room. So why was her heart racing just because she’d almost walked right into a very tall, very broad, black-clothed man who emanated heat and hinted of danger? One who seemed to be intentionally clinging to the shadows. One who smelled like…

“Oh, God,” she whispered, instinctively reacting to that warm aftershave she’d only ever smelled on one other man before.

The heart that had been racing before stopped for a full second before bursting into a rapid thud hard enough to be heard in the next room. Her thoughts racing, she strove for calm…but could find none. Anger, fear, regret, they all fought for control of her emotions.

She tried to spin around, to hurry back the way she’d come. But his firm hand on her arm stopped her, squeezing and keeping her still. “Stay here.”

“Let go of me.”

“You have to come with me. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she snapped. “Get your hands off me.”

“We don’t have time for this.” He pulled her tightly against him, though, judging by the way he kept his attention fixed on the distant end of the hallway, where Bridget had come past the bouncer, that was where his true interest lay.

Good. Because toward the big, burly bouncer was exactly where Bridget intended to go. He could deal with this overbearing man whose distraction had caused him to finally loosen his grip. She took advantage of it, trying to spin away. Seeing a sliver of light emerge as the door at that end of the hallway opened, she prepared to shout for help.

But she couldn’t. Because before she could make a sound, she was hauled up against a big, rock-hard body. And a firm, hot mouth was descending onto hers. Gasping, she inadvertently parted her lips and he took full advantage, plunging his tongue against hers, stealing her breath and every bit of her brainpower. Bridget just hung there like a rag doll, too shocked to pull away and punch his face off.

To be honest, she also didn’t pull away because she was starting to like it. But as she began to mentally admit that—and to contemplate fully participating in the kiss—he let her go.

“They’re gone.”

He was cold, determined, not at all breathless or shaky the way Bridget felt. Which infuriated her further. She opened her mouth to tell him that, but before she could, his strong hand came up to cover it. “Don’t make a sound.”

Her intelligence had returned, along with her anger and she was done taking orders or being distracted. She tried to scream, biting at his fingers.

“Damn it,” he muttered, lifting her off the floor as if she weighed nothing. He reached for a fire alarm on the wall. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we just have to get out of here.”

Without another word, he yanked the handle down. A piercing siren wailed overhead. And before Bridget had even had time to acknowledge the fact that he really had set off the fire alarm in this crowded club, she found herself tossed completely over his shoulder. She emitted an oomph as her stomach hit those flexing muscles. Scorching heat enveloped her, every inch of her body curled against the man, touching him—though not in a typical man-woman position.

With his hand cupping her bottom and her palms pressed flat against his back, she could hardly process everything that had happened in the last few minutes. It didn’t help that the achingly sensual scent of his skin filled her head and rattled her thoughts. Or that she could feel his warm breath against her hip, through her coat and dress.

From the sound of it, loud patrons of the club were heading for the front door. But she couldn’t focus on that. Couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of him. And without saying another word, he pushed through a rear emergency door and carried her out into the cold night.

It was really happening. Bridget was being kidnapped, right out of a public place.

By Dean Willis. The FBI agent she’d spent the past several months loathing.

SPECIAL AGENT DEAN WILLIS had been following Bridget Donahue for three days. Long, painful days during which he’d mentally kicked himself a hundred times for ever letting this happen. Any of it.

He regretted getting involved with her. Taking advantage of her. Using her.

Falling for her. Hard.

Oh, she’d never believe it, especially because of the way she’d found out that he was working undercover. She’d known him as nice, solid, boring car salesman Dean Willis, with the ill-fitting suits, the shaggy hair and the crooked glasses.

He’d wanted her to know him like that. To like him, to trust him. And he’d played on that like and trust, needing to know—to be sure—that Bridget had not been involved with her employer’s financial games. Her boss had been cleaning up some filthy money for a couple of local drug-dealing thugs.

Bridget Donahue had been his bookkeeper.

Everyone—including Dean, at first—had assumed she was an accomplice. It was only after he’d met her that he’d begun to suspect everyone was wrong. He’d become determined to prove it, and he had—but only after he’d gotten close to her. Close enough to make her trust him. Close enough to make her care about him.

Close enough to care too much himself.

She had been—still was—the loveliest woman he’d ever met. Sweet and funny. Good-natured and intelligent. Everything he’d always wanted in a woman…but he’d had to use her.

So she had a right to hate him when the truth came out, when she’d walked into the dealership one morning and found him there, with his team, tearing the place apart and taking Honest Marty into custody. She hadn’t wanted to hear a thing he had to say. She’d brushed him off, not sparing him a second thought,

She wouldn’t have trusted him now if he’d come to her to tell her she was in danger.

So he hadn’t come to her. He’d stayed out of sight, certain she hadn’t spotted him. But oh, he’d definitely kept his eyes glued to her. Sometimes walking close enough behind her to breathe in the remnants of her soft, flowery perfume lingering in the air after she’d passed through it. He’d kept his hawkish gaze on her slim, vulnerable back, the long, light brown hair falling in a curtain over her shoulders. He’d caught tantalizing glimpses of her creamy cheek and her full lips when she smiled and heard the echo of her laughter more than once as she’d participated in her cousin’s wedding.

All the while knowing someone wanted to kill her.

“Damn it, put me down,” she snapped.

He complied, lowering her to stand on her own feet, though he kept one arm around her waist to prevent her from making a run for it. With the other, he unlocked the door of his SUV. It was parked out back, behind a Dumpster, near a few cars in private employee spaces. Unimpeded by the crowd probably gathering out front…with easy access to a rear alley. He’d left it here when he’d followed Bridget’s limo earlier this evening, anticipating the possible need for a fast getaway.

“Let me go!”

“Shut up, Bridget, we’re getting out of here. I’ll explain everything later.”

She wriggled and kicked, seeming to suddenly have eight arms and legs, all of which were battering at him, demanding her freedom. “I swear I’ll scream.”

“Nobody’ll hear you over the emergency alarm,” he replied, not a bit fazed by her threat. “Now get in and stay down… This is serious.” He pushed her into the backseat. Knowing he couldn’t trust her not to make a break for it the moment he moved to the driver’s seat, he took her chin in his hands. Staring into her blazing eyes, he said, “Someone’s been following you.”

“You,” she spat.

“No,” he replied, crouching down behind the open door. “Someone doesn’t want you to testify next week and they’re going to try to make sure that you don’t.”

Her mouth opened, then quickly snapped closed. Bridget’s eyes narrowed and her brow scrunched as she tried to make sense of his words. To process the idea that someone might actually want to hurt her.

He still hadn’t quite processed it. Because since the moment he’d found out—after being called in by the Bureau chief three days ago—he’d been operating on pure anger and adrenaline.

God help the bastard sent to harm her. When Dean found him, the guy was going to wish he hadn’t been born.

“Trust me, Bridget,” he asked, his voice low and resolute. He needed her to cooperate. Now. “I know you hate me, and that’s understandable. But I swear to you, I’m trying to protect you.”

She glared and he knew she was planning a sarcastic response. That sarcasm and strength were two of the things he liked about her, especially because they were so unexpected given her quiet demeanor and beauty.

Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off by the sound of sirens approaching. She glanced toward the building and the driveway leading to the front lot as if contemplating taking refuge among the crowd with the rescue workers. Then she looked back at Dean. The frown faded. And though the anger remained, the distrust disappeared from her expression.

The woman was furious, all right. But she was not stupid. She might hate him, but she knew he could protect her.

“All right. What is it you want me to do?”