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wedding planner, and I had a long, miserable meeting with probably the worst client I’ve ever had in my career. She has the ability to turn the gentlest of people into raving lunatics.”
    “You don’t look like a raving lunatic.”
    “No, but it was close. I did feel the overwhelming need to stop for a drink on my way home, thanks to bridezilla. That’s not something I usually do.” She didn’t want him to think she was a lush … not that it really mattered what he thought. She’d share a drink with him, then she’d head home and that would be that.
    Men didn’t make Jaclyn nervous. She knew who she was, and that was all that mattered … usually. Eric Wilder, though, made her nervous. Not jumpy nervous, not uncomfortable, just on edge and sharply aware , as if her skin had become too tight and too sensitive. Looking at him was suddenly too much, so instead she glanced around the bar with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.
    “Wedding planner,” he said. “Sounds like an interesting job.”
    “I’m technically an events planner, but most of our business is weddings. And I have to admit, some days are more interesting than others.” She forgot about nonchalant and looked directly at him, which delivered another jolt to her nervous system because he didn’t look away. Instead, those intense eyes—yes, they were hazel—remained locked on hers.
    “In my experience, a wedding is a really crappy way to start a marriage,” Eric said.
    “This opinion is based on what?” she asked, both amused and a little testy because there was a possibility that he could be right.
    “My own wedding,” he said bluntly. “The entire weekend was a nightmare. I think I’m the only one who didn’t cry, and we’re not talking tears of joy, here.”
    The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Jaclyn could feel her spine straighten, her unexpected enjoyment of the conversation shutting down. “You’re married?”
    “Not anymore. Divorced. Six years, now.” He lifted his beer. “You?”
    “Divorced, too.”
    Thank God, that little detail was out of the way. They were both divorced and, apparently, available. Not that availability was required for a simple conversation, but it was nice to know.
    “Were you a wedding planner when you got married?”
    “I was. Mom and I had just started the business.”
    “So, does a woman who plans everyone else’s wedding go whole hog with her own? Or were you already tired of the whole deal?”
    “To answer in reverse order, I wasn’t, and I did,” she admitted, and added wryly, “The marriage lasted only slightly longer than the ceremony. But, no, I don’t get tired of what I do. When everything turns out just right and everyone has fun, it’s something to remember.…
    “And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t cry at my own wedding,” she added, teasing.
    “I don’t imagine you did.”
    She took another sip of her margarita, and Eric signaled for the waitress. “Let me get you another drink.”
    Jaclyn shook her head at the girl who was headed her way, covered the top of her glass to signal that she didn’t want a refill, and turned to Eric. “Only one drink for me. I’m driving.”
    “You didn’t come here to get lost in a lime and tequila haze?”
    “I never get lost in any kind of haze,” she said.
    “What do you get lost in?” he asked, and she could almost feel that intense gaze boring beneath her skin.
    “Work,” she answered with honesty, though a part of her, a part that had been dormant for a long while, realized that she could very easily get lost in Eric Wilder. “You?”
    “Work.”
    “Better a workaholic than an alcoholic,” Jaclyn said, thinking of her father’s struggle with booze. It wasn’t an accident that there was no liquor in her house, that she always limited herself to one single drink. She’d never had a drinking problem, but she was always aware of Jacky Wilde’s weaknesses and the possibility that she might’ve