by Cathryn Fox
“Right.” He lets go of my arm and walks into the hall. I’m seconds from collapsing in a mess of hot tears and need when he turns back around.
“Megs,” he says softly.
“Yes.”
He opens his mouth, hesitates and scrubs his hand over his face. “I’ll be waiting on that schedule.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alec
FOR THE LAST WEEK, I’ve been everywhere with Megan, and so help me fucking God, it’s been torture. Torturous not to kiss her at whim, not to pull her into my arms, carry her to my bed. I’ll be glad when this wedding is done and over with and I won’t have to spend every second with her. But will that stop me from spending every second thinking about her, fantasizing about her being in my arms, between my sheets.
Probably not.
Christ, I should have kept my mouth and hands to myself. Never should have given in to weakness. The last time she was in my bed, I was beginning to believe there could be more between us, but when I woke up and she was gone, it was the slap in the face I needed. I can’t be the man she needs.
As I stand in the dressing room trying on my tux, my brother, Will, in the room beside me, and Megan standing outside waiting, I think back over the week. Megan managed to get the invitation out in record time, considering the sizable crowd we’re having. Since I cared little about the details, we picked peonies for the flowers, and vanilla for the cake, a popular crowd-pleaser and both Sara’s favorites. I consider that a moment longer. I’m sure if it were Megs’s wedding she’d pick daisies for the flowers and lemon for the cake.
I tug on my jacket, and glance at myself in the mirror. I’m not in love with the lavender color, but in the end does it really matter?
“Almost done?” Megan asks.
I open the door and her eyes go wide as she takes me in. “You look amazing,” she says under her breath. Just then my cell pings, and I grab it from my pants on the chair.
“It’s Sara,” I say, and frown at the phone. “Shit.”
“What?” she asks.
“She’s stuck in Atlanta for the next couple days.”
Will comes from his dressing room and smooths a hand over his lapels, breaking the moment.
“I’m not so sure about this color,” he says scrunching up his face.
“Not your choice, bro,” I say, with a slap to his back.
“Are you whipped already, Alec?” he teases. “Light purple. Couldn’t we have at least picked something a little more manly?”
“Like soft blue,” Megan says, and I take in the soft blue dress she’s wearing. I’m guessing that would be her color of choice.
“That would work,” Will says, and gives himself a once-over in the mirror. “You owe me for this, bro.”
I laugh. “When you get married, I’ll wear pink.”
Will’s face drops, and he grumbles under his breath, something that sounds like “never going to happen,” when the clerk steps up to us.
He pulls out a measuring tape and gets to work on sizing us up. Once we’re both back in our regular suits, I step from the change room and find Megan on her phone. She glances up at me and smiles. “I guess you don’t need me anymore.”
Oh, how wrong she is.
She gestures with a nod. “I have to head next door to do a dress fitting.”
“You’re picking out Sara’s dress?”
“Crazy as it sounds, I am. All designers want to be worn by your bride, so they’re bending over backward for me.”
Bending over backward.
Kill me now.
I check my watch. “I can come help, if you want.”
“I’m sure you must have more important things to do on a Friday night.”
“This is the highlight reel,” I say, and she laughs.
“What about Will?” she asks, pointing a finger back and forth between the two of us as Will checks his phone. “You two must want to hang out.”
She’s giving me an out, and if I knew what was good for me, I’d take it. I’m about to agree because any more time with her is going to do me in.
“Can’t,” Will pipes in. “I’m off to St. Thomas.”
Megan frowns. “You have work in the US Virgin Islands?”
“A little work, but I plan to take some much-needed rest and relaxation before Alec’s wedding,” Will says.
“Why not go to St. Moritz?” Megan asks, and I note the way her gaze darts to mine at the mention of the ski resort. Have her thoughts gone back to the night she came to my room? “Your grandfather owns half the place.”
“All the more reason for me to go to St. Thomas, where I have my own private villa,” Will says.
“He likes his privacy,” I say, and Megan nods.
“Okay, well, if you have nothing better to do, then come help me pick out a dress,” she says to me. I shouldn’t go. I should just go home and down a few brandies and forget all about Megan, but I’m clearly some kind of masochist, because I nod and follow her out of the store. We go to the bridal boutique one shop down and I open the door for her. Her body brushes mine and I bite back a moan of want as she slips inside.
We head to the back of the store where there’s a dais and a series of mirrors. Megan introduces us to Maria, who will help her try on gowns, and I pick up a magazine and flip through it blindly when she’s led into the change room. A few minutes later Megan comes out looking elegant in a big ball gown. While it’s nice, and it fits her beautifully, it’s not something I can see her wearing on her wedding day. Then again, it’s not her who’s going to be wearing it and walking toward me as I wait at the altar.
She steps up onto the podium and examines herself in front of the mirrors. I lean forward, brace my elbows on my knees. She’s frowning when she turns to me.
“What do you think?”
“You look beautiful,” I say. She smooths her hand over the big skirt, and the bling on her waist glitters. “Although the bling isn’t you,” I say.
“I know, but I think Sara would love it.” I sit back and nod. “Wait, let’s take a picture,” I say, “and I’ll send it to her.” I pull my phone out, snap a picture and send it to Sara. As we wait to hear, Maria suggests we try on another.
Megan continues to try on different styles and send pictures to her cousin. But still no response from Sara. After the tenth dress, Megan comes from the change room and I nearly bite off my damn tongue.
“Holy shit,” I say, as she walks to the podium in a strapless, body shaping gown that showcases her beautiful curves and creamy skin. I stand before I even realize what I’m doing and walk up to her.
“This one,” I say. “This is the dress.” I run my hand along the exposed skin on her back and when a shiver moves through her, Maria makes an excuse and rushes off.
Megan turns to me, a flush on her cheeks, her eyes wide as I touch her. “When we were kids you talked about a ball gown princess dress—”
“You remember that?” she asks, cutting me off.
“Yeah. But I have to tell you, Megs. This is the one. It’s stunning. I’ve never... What made you try this on?”
“I just... It was a mistake.” She lets her words fall off, turns from me fast, averting my gaze, but there is a hitch in her voice when she says, “I need to get out of this.” She nearly falls as she steps down from the podium. I hurry to her, catch her in my arms, and when I do, everything I feel for her comes racing to the surface. I dip my head and at the same time she swipes her tongue over her lips like she’s preparing her sweet mouth for me.
“Megs,” I whisper, just as my damn phone pings.
Megan pushes away from my arms. “That’s probably Sara,” she says, her voice rough and breathless.
I glance at my phone. “She said to pick whichever one you like best. She has no preference.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, then
disappears into the changing room. I sit back down and restlessly flip through the magazine, every nerve in my body agitated and on fire. When she finally comes out, her face is pale and she looks like she’s just seen a ghost.
I jump from my chair, close the distance between us. “What is it?” I glance at the phone in her hand. She’s gripping the thing so hard her knuckles are turning white. “Are you okay?” She blinks once, then twice, then shoves her phone into her purse so I can’t see what has her so rattled. “Megs?” I ask again.
“Everything is...fine,” she says, but I know her well enough to know she’s lying.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Megan
I’VE HAD A KNOT in my stomach since I received that text from Sara at the bridal boutique.
Sara: Met the hottest guy at the convention. He’s a god in bed. Won’t be home for a couple more days. Hope the planning is going well. You look amazing in all those dresses.
I didn’t respond. Didn’t know how. Jesus, she’s engaged to Alec and having hot sex with a guy at her convention. Something tells me the convention was long over, and she was hanging back just to have a little bedroom fun. How the hell could she do this to Alec? Okay, yes, I get it. Alec and I have been having sex like bunnies, but the key words here are have been. We stopped the second he got engaged to Sara. Alec might be a lot of things. A LOT of things. But he’s no cheater. He once told me he wasn’t a nice guy. Fine. Maybe he does deals at work that destroy businesses and livelihoods, but when it comes right down to it, I know in my heart he’s monogamous.
“What are you going to do?” Amanda asks from the chair facing my desk as she sips her latte. I reach for mine, grateful that I have a friend who knows when I need my favorite drink.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. I’m an honest girl. At least I try to be. I only fib when I have to, when I know it’s for my best and someone else’s. When was the last time I fibbed? Oh, when I thought I could have sex with Alec and not feel anything more.
My lips tingle with the memory of him, and the intimate way he always claimed my mouth.
Stop thinking about him already.
I push from my chair. “I can’t tell him.”
“If it’s a marriage in name only, will he even care?”
“I don’t know. I mean eventually they’ll have sex, right?” Unease worms its way through my veins. “I’m sure they’re already having sex, actually.”
“It’s not too late, you know.”
Pacing in my office, I spin to face my friend, who is staring at me with those astute brown eyes. “If you’re suggesting I tell him how I feel, yes it’s too late. He’s getting married in less than a week, Amanda. Everything is set. I’m not about to jump in now and ruin this. Think about what this wedding will do for your business.”
“If you’re worried about me, don’t. Some things are more important than fame and the bottom line.”
I take a big breath and let it out slowly, wishing I’d gone to yoga this morning.
The bell over the front door jingles, and I plop back down into my chair as Amanda excuses herself and darts to the front. I put my head on my desk, but perk up when a familiar voice reaches my ears. Amanda pokes her head in, her eyes wide.
“Someone here to see you,” she says.
I stand when James comes in, his cane banging on the floor.
“James, what are you doing here?”
“Now what kind of greeting is that, child?”
“Sorry. It’s nice to see you. Please have a seat. Can I get you a coffee, tea?”
“Any brandy?” he asks and I grin.
“No sorry.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “No matter.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Just checking in to see how plans are going? Haven’t seen Sara in some time now.” His eyes narrow and I almost squirm under his scrutiny. It’s like the man can see through me, see how I feel about his grandson.
I nibble my lip, and hate to lie to the man but say, “She got tied up at a conference in Atlanta.”
“Tied up, huh?” he says, like he’s privy to something I’m not.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, calling on all my bravado.
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to answer,” he says, and I laugh.
“You sound like Alec.”
“That boy means the world to me.”
“I know he does and he’d do anything for you, James.”
“He’s one of the good ones.”
That gives me pause. If he thinks he’s one of the good ones, why did he tell Alec his image was hurting the family? Why is he pushing him to marry to clean up his act?
“How so?” I ask.
“Did he ever tell you about his grandmother?”
“When we were younger, he mentioned her. She was gone when I came into the picture.”
“I’m not sure what it was, but out of all the grandchildren, they had a special bond. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she treated all the grandkids the same, but she said there was a different light inside Alec.” He pauses and smiles as if recalling and relishing an old memory. “They spent a lot of time in the garden. Did he ever tell you he has a green thumb?”
“No,” I say, and smile at that. I couldn’t keep a plant alive to save my soul. But then I remember the one plant at his place. I thought it seemed out of place, surrounded by his cool gray decor.
“Oh, yes, he spent a lot of time with his grandmother in the garden. He took it the hardest when she died.”
“How...” I shut my mouth, not wanting to dredge up sad memories, but James’s eyes flicker.
“Ovarian cancer,” he says, frowning. “Damn cancer. That’s why he set up a trust fund.”
“Trust fund?”
“He didn’t tell you.”
“No.”
“He finances a dozen deserving medical school students each year. Pays the entire shot. He’s determined to find a cure. He’s quite the philanthropist, that one.”
If I wasn’t seated, my knees would have given out on me. “He does?” My mind races, back to when he told me he wasn’t a nice guy. Why would he do that? “Why wouldn’t he tell me about this?”
“He’s secretive. Very private. All my grandkids are. Not much wonder with the paparazzi in their faces all the time.” James laughs, but it holds no humor. “The loss of his grandmother hit him hard, though and if the media found out about the charities, they’d dig deeper. His grandmother guarded her private life, and Alec goes to great length to ensure it remains protected, even after all these years.”
“What do you mean?”
“Damn media will start asking questions on why he finances students, and he doesn’t want any of his grandmother’s business made public.” A warm smile touches his mouth. “Deep down that boy is soft.”
“He is?” I ask, even though I know it’s true.
“Every time Blackstone puts someone out of work, he secretly makes sure he finds a position for them.” He puts his finger to his lips. “That’s a secret, too, though.”
As my heart pounds behind my eyes, I try to make sense of this. Alec is a good guy, and his granddad knows it. Then why did Alec tell me otherwise, and why did James specifically ask me to find his grandson a wife and get him settled because his lifestyle looked bad on the family, dragged down the Carson name?
“James?”
“Yes, child?”
“Why me? Why did it have to be me to find Alec a wife and then plan his wedding?”
“How else was I going to get you two lovebirds together?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Megan
I’VE BEEN WALKING around in a daze for the last few days, pulling together the last-minute details for tomorrow’s wedding as I try to process what James told me. Lovebirds? Alec and me?
He can’t be right. If he is, then why is Alec marrying Sara?
Restless and on edge, I walk to my window, peer out at the street below, then go back to my sofa. Even though everything is set and I’m about to pull off a grand wedding that will make everyone stand up and take notice, I grab my journal and go through tomorrow’s arrangements one more time, until a knock sounds on my door. My heart jumps into my throat, desperately wanting it to be Alec. For the last week I’ve wanted to talk to him, tell him what James said to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The man rejected me once, all those years ago, and I’m pretty sure I can’t go through that kind of humiliation again.
Stop being a chickenshit.
I shut down that inner voice, stand quickly and take a couple deep breaths. I don’t want to appear too anxious or needy.
I pad softly to my door, pull it open and frown when I find Amanda standing there. “Oh, hi.”
She huffs. “Nice to see you, too.”
“I’m sorry.” I widen the door to welcome her. “Come in. I am happy to see you.”
“Are you expecting someone else?”
“No.”
She lifts a bottle of wine. “Then maybe you’ll want to drink this with me tonight.”
I grin, even though I don’t feel like smiling. “You know me too well.”
I shut the door, set the lock and follow my best friend into the kitchen. She roots through my drawers, pulls out a corkscrew and opens my favorite wine, but when she does, my thoughts go back to Alec, and when he had my favorite brand of vino in the limo. God, that limo drive. Not only was the sex amazing, but when he took me to the duck pond, it touched my heart on a whole new level. The man knows me well, that’s for sure.
But what I don’t understand is why he told me he wasn’t a good guy. Did he not want me to like him?
I reach for the stemware, and Amanda adds a splash of wine to each glass. We walk back to the living room and she moves wedding magazines and papers to sit in the comfy buttery-yellow chair across from me, then tucks her feet underneath her. I do the same. Once comfortable, Amanda takes a sip of wine and rubs the line on her forehead. I brace myself.
