Lacey gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Cat. I’d be lost without you.”

“Tell me about it. And don’t worry. If Loverboy tries to throw you under the bus, I’ll make sure everyone hears the truth,” she assured Lacey, giving her arm a gentle pat.

Galen really didn’t want to get involved in this mess. Something had been happening over the past couple years, and he didn’t like it. The obligatory annoyance combined with grudging affection that guys typically felt toward the good longtime friends of their sisters had begun to change when it came to Lacey. She was no longer a gangly, awkward teen—and he knew it. Luckily, that was right about the time she’d saddled herself with Marty the dishrag, so it hadn’t been an issue. Hell, he’d only come because his sister’s latest boy toy had bailed, and she needed a plus one. “Listen, I—”

“Galen. Please. I can’t go back in there.” Lacey’s voice had lost the shrill gloss of panic and now sounded resigned. Beat down.

God, he was a sucker. He closed his eyes for a long moment and nodded. “Okay. I’ve got my bike, though.” He cast a dubious eye at her floor-length gown.

“We’ll make it work.” With the promise of imminent escape, she sounded stronger already. She jammed her arm through his so their elbows were locked and raised her chin. “Cat, I’ll call you later once I’m settled.”

“You threw your phone,” Galen reminded her.

“Indeed I did.” Her chin dipped a little before she rebounded like a champ. “Cat, I will e-mail you later if I can’t find a phone.”

“Cool. Love you, babe. And I promise, in a few months, after we’ve exacted our revenge, we’re going to look back at this and laugh,” Cat said.

Galen frowned and his sister shrugged. Between the two of them, they were screwing this up royally. Maybe he’d think of something good to say on the way out.

He led Lacey toward the main exit, but she tugged him toward the bar in the deserted lounge area. “One second.” She yanked her arm from his. “Excuse me, sir?” she called to the balding bartender washing glasses at an industrial-sized sink in the corner. Balancing precariously on the wooden footrest skirting the bar, she reached over the counter and plucked a bottle of champagne nestled in an ice bin. “Put this on my husband’s tab, would you? Marty Clemson, the wedding in the Rose Room.”

She didn’t wait for a response but stalked out the door with the bottle clutched in her hand.

He stared helplessly after her, then looked back to the bartender. “Can you even do that?”

The guy shrugged. “What am I going to do, chase after her? Given the look on her face, I’m going to say that seems like a bad idea.”

Galen sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a fifty. “Will that cover it?”

“Yep.”

Two seconds later, he exited the building and glanced around. Lacey had stopped at his Harley and set down the champagne. She couldn’t ride with that gown on. She’d get them both killed. They were going to have to—

He paused mid-step when Lacey reached behind her neck. What was she going to do, strip?

“Some help here?” she mumbled, grappling with the hooks down her back.

Some help here? Little Lacey Garrity wanted his help taking off her wedding dress. The shy teen his sister had forced to drink four wine coolers before she would go skinny-dipping. And even then, she’d made them all close their eyes until she was in up to her neck. This was officially the weirdest fucking day of his life. “I’m not sure exactly what the plan is, but I can tell you right now, it’s ill-advised,” he said, ignoring the baser part of him that roared to life at the thought of seeing what was under all that dress.

“Damn it,” Lacey muttered, scrabbling at the catches.

He didn’t dare smile. She might not be gangly anymore, but she was still a little awkward, in the way that a woman was when she had no true sense of her worth. But that aside, the outer packaging was right and tight. Easy enough to put it out of his mind when she was engaged to another man. Not so easy now that her relationship had disintegrated and she wanted him to help her disrobe.

“I’ll help you if you tell me what we’re hoping to accomplish. You can’t ride on the back of my bike naked. You realize that, right?”

“I have a full slip under here that comes down to my knees. It’s no more revealing than some cocktail dresses I’ve seen, so don’t worry. I won’t get us arrested.”

The emotionless resignation in her tone made him want to go back into the hall and treat Marty Clemson to the uppercut that had earned him the nickname Whalin’ Galen. One shot, right to the fucker’s nonexistent chin. But then he saw the tremble. It wasn’t much, just a little shiver of uncertainty that snaked through her and left her readable. And what he read spelled sadness. The deep, I don’t even know what to do with myself kind of pain. Damn.

At that moment, if she’d asked him to dance a jig, he’d have considered it if it meant cheering her up even a little. He stalked up behind her to push her hands out of the way. “I’ll do it. We’re going to have to take it really slow riding. If we took a spill, your legs would be a mess.”

The slender line of neck teased him, and he vowed to make quick work of it. He’d gotten through the first trillion buttons and was about halfway done when her shoulders started to shake.

He froze. “Are you crying?”

“Can you hurry?” She loosed a pathetic sniffle. “I just want to go.”

He eyed the long line of pearls dubiously. Making an executive decision, he grasped both sides in his hands and yanked. The dress split in two down to the middle of her thighs. He let it drop into a pool at her feet and she didn’t even blink when she stepped out of it.

“Thanks,” she said with a brave, watery smile.

He nodded but opted not to speak. She was right. The slip did cover her, much in the way a coat of candy-apple-red paint covered a Mustang. It didn’t so much hide the car as it enhanced exactly how badass it was. Spaghetti straps of white silk lay in stark relief against the darker, golden skin of her shoulders. Her full breasts strained at the material binding them. If he looked a little harder he’d just be able to make out the contour of her nipples—

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Her sad eyes went wide. “Is there a bug on me? Is it a spider?” She screeched the last word and began frantically swiping at her slip.

“No, you’re fine. Stop it. I was thinking what a douche bag Marty is.” It was as close to the truth as he could manage, given the circumstances.

She stopped all her fussing and stared at him. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now get me out of here before people start coming out, would you?”

“Where to, squirt?”

“Not home.”

He waited for further instructions, but that was clearly all he was getting out of her. “Not home it is.” He yanked his helmet off the handlebar and plunked it on her head. “Tighten the chin strap.”

He took the bottle from her and stowed it in his pack, then climbed on. When she straddled the seat behind him, he had to steel himself. Her slip rode up high enough to reveal slim, toned legs encased in silk stockings. A thin, lace garter in blue and white hugged one thigh. She snuggled in close, molding her front to his back, and he said a silent little prayer.

Dear Satan. I don’t know why you’re testing me, but I don’t like it. No love, Galen.

Chapter Two

Lacey shuddered, pressing her face against the warmth of Galen’s broad back. What had started off as a balmy afternoon had turned into a crisp evening. She seriously regretted stripping off her dress and regretted leaving it in the parking lot even more.

Not just a dress, she reminded herself. Her wedding gown. With its delicate row of seed-pearl buttons meant for the eager fingers of a man who loved her more than anything else in the world. Instead, it had been torn off by a guy who couldn’t give two craps about her, aside from some ingrained but reluctant sense of responsibility. She sniffled and shoved the thought away. Marty wasn’t worthy of that dress anyway.

“Are we almost there?” she shouted, suppressing another shiver. Galen had offered his jacket more than once, but she’d put him out enough for one day.

He nodded. She wrapped her arms tighter around his middle and closed her eyes, breathing in the comforting smell of Irish Spring soap that had been the Thomas family’s preference for as long as she’d known them. She tried not to think about the past few hours or the difficult days to come, but she was a planner down to her very marrow and the latter went against the grain. Fact was, she had no clue what the hell she was going to do now. All her neatly laid-out plans had been soundly obliterated with one bang. Literally.

Actually, that might be putting too much of a shine on it. It could’ve been multiple bangs. With multiple women. She thought she’d known Marty better than that, but now? Blech. Anything was possible. Thank God on the rare occasions they’d actually done anything in bed, she’d insisted he use a condom despite his complaints. And to think, tonight was the night she’d planned to tell him she’d gone on the Pill in hopes of ramping up their love life. She’d thought her wedding night would be the night she finally got to see what all the fuss was about. And now this.

Bastard.

In an effort to keep the anger burning hot enough to distract her from the sting of her wounded pride, fear of the unknown, and depressing thoughts about Becca, she spent the remainder of the ride concocting wild revenge schemes, most of which involved red ants, honey, and Marty’s testicles. She’d finally settled on a winner when the deafening rumble of the bike stopped abruptly.

She opened her eyes and saw the Thomas family’s lake cottage. The saltbox house was painted a faded china blue and had been for as long as she could remember. She’d loved this place growing up, and the memories of long summer days filled with ice-cream sandwiches and catching fireflies wrapped around her wounded soul like a quilt. Grateful tears clogged her throat, and she bit her lip.

“This is our stop. Okay for you?” Galen said, and flipped out the kickstand with the heel of his boot. “We can at least get you some clothes and a glass of that bubbly until you figure out where to go next.”

“Perfect.” She slipped off the bike and stretched, surprised at the stiffness in her thighs. She must have been holding on more tightly than she realized. Tugging off the helmet, she met Galen’s gaze.

Their relationship over the years had been mostly snide banter with the occasional big-brother warning mixed in, but he’d gone above and beyond today and it was imperative he knew how much she appreciated it. On a day like this one, that kind of loyalty meant something. She hadn’t just lost her husband. She’d lost one of her closest friends. Cat and Galen coming through for her was one of the few things she had to cling to.

“You’re a saint for rescuing me. I can’t thank you enough.” She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then turned to jog up the stairs before he could react.

She knew from experience what had happened today was all going to somehow come down on her. Her mother was the queen of assigning blame. Lacey made a decision in that second. She wasn’t talking to any of them about the merger or anything else until she had some time to lick her wounds and repair her armor. It was going to get ugly, and the accusations would fly, mostly in her direction. “Not your fault, Lace,” she muttered.

“Most definitely not,” Galen agreed. He climbed onto the porch and gave her shoulder an awkward rub. “I don’t care how annoying you are; no one deserves that.”

She gaped at him for a second before catching the mirth in his eyes in the moonlight. Taking comfort in the familiar, she snorted. “Me, annoying? This from the guy who used to let the air out of my bike tires on a regular basis.”