Free Touch of Amber: Hot Rods, Book 7 by Jayne Rylon Page A

definitely notice that. I don’t need her calling me out in the middle of the ceremony or siccing Tom London on me or something. He’s still a beast, for an older dude.”
    Amber laughed so hard tears threatened her mascara. Sometime after midnight, he’d confessed about her mother’s threats and her keen eye for detail. It didn’t bother her. She’d never be able to hide her affair with Gavyn from either her mom or Nola. Not that she wanted to anyway.
    Her cheek ached, though she suspected it was more from how happy Gavyn made her than the lingering bruise there. When she yanked the door open, armed with her tablet, copies of the vendor contracts, a timeline, the reception speech she had memorized and emergency contacts, she froze.
    What were those clouds doing over there, looking dark and ominous?
    “No. No, no, no.” She stopped dead and Gavyn bumped into her backside.
    “Forget something?” He kissed her neck.
    “I checked the weather forecast every day for the last month. It’s never once showed a hint of rain.” She shrieked, “What is that?”
    “There are some things you can’t control, love,” Gavyn reminded her. “No one’s going to blame you if the weather doesn’t cooperate.”
    “That’s not an option.” She put her hand on her hip then took off for the main house.
    Wisely, Gavyn didn’t speak to her as they speed-walked, as fast as she could manage in her crazy getup, to the main house. Kayla and Dave had offered to let the brides get ready there, together, for their special day. They’d already been at it for a couple hours, according to the texts she and the other ladies had exchanged this morning when she’d pinged them to confirm they were on track.
    When they reached the cabin, she stormed up the stairs and burst through the door.
    “Wow. What’s up?” Sabra asked. She looked perky and fashion-forward in the short blue dress that accentuated her fine Asian features. A longer, gauzy, polka-dotted section in the back created the illusion of a full-length gown and train. It was exactly her style.
    “I hate to tell you this. All of you. But…have you seen the sky?” Amber’s brows drew together and her frown tugged at her sore cheek.
    “Kinda sucks,” Carver said from the kitchen, where he was eating some kind of breakfast sandwich.
    “First of all, what are you doing in here?” The grooms had their own designated area. If she didn’t know where people were, things were going to get off track quickly.
    “Hey, I’m pretty much a bride, right?”
    “No. Not at all,” she corrected. “Secondly, what do you mean kinda sucks?”
    “Well, I’d hoped we’d get to use the pergola the crew built and the rest of that fancy shit you set out yesterday. The plants and chair coverings and everything looked really cool. Not likely that’s going to happen. So the guys moved the chairs under the reception pavilion, just in case.” He shrugged, seeming more concerned about the bacon he dropped on his shirt not making it to his mouth than the mark it would leave behind on his formalwear or that his entire wedding day might be ruined.
    “They disassembled my setup?” She was a few heartbeats away from a panic attack.
    “Um, yep.” He kept talking, one leg crossed over the other, ignoring the women waving their hands over their heads like aircraft controllers behind Amber’s back. “We can redo it if the sun comes out. Didn’t take more than a half hour. Definitely not as pretty as how you had it, since it’s kind of squished onto the dance floor under the tent, but, eh, it’ll do.”
    “I can see your reflection in the damn window, Nola,” she barked at her sister. “Why stop him now? Tell me what else is screwed up, Carver.”
    “Oh. Shit.” Meep looked from her face, which had to be stormier than the sky outside, then to her sister and their friends before making good on his nickname. “Well, uh, I think my phone is buzzing. Probably Roman. You know, with groom stuff.