On The Way To A Wedding

by Ingrid Weaver

  “Was it that bad?” he asked.

  At the plain question, she shook her head. Her hair tumbled out of what was left of its twist to fall around her face. “You know it wasn’t.”

  He pulled his hands from beneath her sweater and gently pushed his fingers into her hair. Gathering a handful together, he stroked the ends across her cheek until she returned her gaze to his. “What are you afraid of, Lauren?”

  “I’m not...” She couldn’t complete the lie. Yes, she was afraid. She’d known from the first moment she’d seen him that Nick was the kind of man to threaten any woman’s attempt at detachment. But she needed her distance. She didn’t want to be vulnerable, to risk being rejected and hurt again.

  Silence spun out between them as he continued to look at her, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to probe past the barriers she was scrambling to reerect. “Is it me? Or is it men in general?” he asked finally.

  It was both, she thought, bracing her hands on his chest. Setting her jaw against the temptation to caress him one last time, she pushed herself upright and straightened her clothes. “It’s late,” she said. “We both have work to do tomorrow.”

  Nick stayed where he was, his broad shoulders propped against the corner of the couch. He drew his right leg up, resting his arm on his bent knee. He watched her with the simmering restraint of a lounging predator. “It’s still our time off, Lauren.”

  She clenched her hand in her lap. “We made a mistake here tonight, but that’s no reason why we should let it interfere with—”

  “The only mistake we made was thinking we could keep ignoring what’s going on between us. I don’t believe that’s possible anymore.”

  Lauren looked at the way his bare skin gleamed in the lamplight, and how his dark hair curled at the base of his neck. Passion barely leashed glowed in the depths of his eyes, and his lips still bore a sheen of moisture from their kiss.

  No, it wasn’t going to be possible to ignore a man like that. “Nick, six years ago I promised myself that I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone again. Although I admit I’m attracted to you, I meant it when I said I’d prefer to keep our relationship strictly professional.”

  “Too late for that. What happened six years ago?”

  She realized he wasn’t going to give up on this unless she explained everything. Well, why not? It wasn’t exactly a secret, was it? “I was engaged to be married.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “You?”

  “Yes, me. Despite what I’d learned about the risks of marriage, I was foolish enough to give it a try.”

  “Who was he?”

  “His name was Harper Beauchamp. He was an assistant producer at the station. We began dating about three months after he started working there and became engaged a year later. We’d planned a June wedding with all the trimmings. He didn’t show up, so—”

  “Wait a minute,” Nick said. The muscles on his abdomen rippled as he slowly sat up. “Do you mean he didn’t show up for the wedding?”

  “That’s right. He changed his mind on our wedding day. Unfortunately, he didn’t see fit to notify me until I had been waiting in the church for almost an hour.”

  Nick leaned forward and covered her hands with his. “What did you do?”

  “I told everyone to go home.”

  “Then what?”

  “I changed into my suit, stuffed my wedding dress into a used clothing drop box and went to my office.”

  He moved his thumbs over her whitened knuckles, stroking gently. “And you tried to pretend what had happened to you was nothing but a picture on a postcard.”

  She blinked hard, shocked at the sudden moisture in her eyes. “Yes. I tried.”

  “But it didn’t work, did it?”

  “Not right away. There were so many things that needed to be canceled and people who needed to be notified. I had to do it from my office, because I’d already moved out of my apartment. I stayed with Angela for a few weeks until I found this place. It was very awkward seeing Harper at the station afterward, but he moved to Des Moines a few months later, so things eventually improved.”

  Nick was quiet for a while, his gaze focused on their joined hands. When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lauren. He must have hurt you deeply.”

  “It was a cowardly, hateful way to break an engagement, but it was probably for the best. Being jilted on my wedding day was a good reminder that some people simply aren’t suited to relationships. In a way, Harper did us both a favor.”

  Nick shook his head. “No. However you look at it, he still hurt you. But I’m not sorry you didn’t marry him.”

  “As it turned out, neither am I. I’ve been just fine on my own. I’ve learned from my mistake.”

  “You must love your sister very much.”

  His sudden change of topic puzzled her. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

  “All the help you’re giving her with her wedding must be a constant reminder of what you went through.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re all right as long as you have a pen in your hand and you’re making check marks on one of your lists. That’s how you cope, isn’t it? You bury your feelings and get on with the job.”

  Her throat felt thick with all the feelings she wished were buried. She’d held things inside for years, but it had seemed so easy to tell Nick. There was something about his blunt honesty that cut right through the layers that kept everyone else away. And somehow telling him about it had been more like draining a wound than opening one.

  “Considering what happened with your parents, it must have taken a lot of courage to risk marriage yourself,” he said. “I understand that you don’t want to be hurt like that again.”

  “That’s right.”

  “After my divorce, I swore I wouldn’t try again, either.”

  “So you do understand.”

  “Yeah. But Lauren?”

  “What?”

  “There are lots of different kinds of relationships.”

  “I know, Nick. I told you, I’m not that naive.”

  “And there’s a big difference between marriage and two adults enjoying each other.” He slid his hand up her arm, drawing her forward. “You know that, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Have I done anything tonight that you didn’t want me to?”

  She parted her lips to reply, but the answer she wanted to give wouldn’t come. There was that bluntness again. She couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t wanted his kiss. She sighed. “No.”

  He cupped the back of her head and fitted his mouth to hers. His kiss was deep and thorough, sweeping away the echoes of her remembered pain. He drew back slowly, his gaze holding her steady. “That wasn’t a proposal or a commitment, Lauren. That was simply a kiss. Think about it, okay?”

  It sounded so easy, the way he put it. “It’s late,” she said. “We’re both tired and not thinking straight. Let’s talk about this in the morning, all right?”

  “You can bet on it.” He kissed her again, then leaned back, stretching his arms out on either side of him. Lamplight gleamed softly on his hardened muscles, making him look lean and dangerous. And incredibly... male. “Until the next time, Lauren.”

  The next time. From anyone else, the comment would have been the height of arrogance and conceit. From Nick, it was more like a promise. She stood up and moved away. She’d almost reached the hall that led to her bedroom before she heard his voice once more.

  “And Lauren?”

  She paused, glancing behind her. “Yes?”

  He smiled. “Pleasant dreams.”

  After almost a week of overcast skies and drizzle, the sun streamed through the bedroom window the next morning with the earnest exuberance of a reformed sinner. Lauren groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. As hangovers went, this one wasn’t bad. The queasiness she felt was probably due more to lack of sleep than the moderate amount of wine she
’d had. She never overindulged. No, she was always under control, right?

  To say that she regretted what had happened last night was the ultimate understatement. Now that she’d tasted Nick’s passion, it was going to be more difficult than ever to keep this... thing between them from flaring again.

  This thing? she thought ruefully. He’d already made it clear it wasn’t a proposal or a commitment. Might as well be honest and call it what it was. Sex. Despite what she’d tried to tell herself during Angela’s shower, she wasn’t as immune as she’d wanted to believe.

  Yet just because the sexual attraction that had been building between them was finally out in the open, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t continue to work together. Nick had said the same thing himself, hadn’t he? So she should be concentrating on their investigation. They had a starting point now. At least, that’s what they’d been talking about before they’d been distracted by that kiss.

  God, the man could kiss. In those delightful, endless minutes, he’d given her more pleasure with his lips and his tongue than she’d thought possible. And the way he’d swept his hands over her back and around her ribs and had brought his thumbs so achingly close to...

  Muffling another groan, she kicked off the tangled sheet. He was doing it again, distracting her, and he wasn’t even in the room.

  She dressed carefully. She wouldn’t be needing to go in to work this weekend, so she didn’t have any excuse to armor herself with one of her tailored suits. Instead, she chose a pair of loose-fitting pants and a blue silk blouse, taking care to tuck the blouse securely into her waistband and topping it with a stiff tapestry vest. Nothing suggestive, nothing a man could get his hand up. Buckling on a thin leather belt, she finally forced herself to cross her bedroom and open the door.

  Music came from the living room. It wasn’t anything she recognized, but it had a simple, catchy tune. The whine of a steel guitar warbled over the twang of the singer, and she realized Nick must have already tuned the radio to a country station—it was his turn to choose the music today.

  Of course, he would be up by now. It had been a vain hope to be able to delay what was likely going to be an awkward confrontation. She knew he was an early riser. Something to do with all his energy.

  Well, she might as well set the proper tone right off, she decided, turning around to go to her closet. She leaned over to pull out the briefcase she’d brought from work with her latest notes on Duxbury.

  “Good morning.”

  At the sound of the low voice she whirled around, her pulse tripping.

  Nick stood in her doorway, his arms crossed, his shoulder propped negligently against the door frame. He wore his faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt that molded to his body like a lover’s touch.

  Pleasant dreams, he’d said. Lauren tried not to stare. How could he look that good in a T-shirt and old jeans? She tightened her grip on the briefcase. “Good morning.”

  He watched her in silence for a minute. “I’ve spread out a map on the dining table. We’ll need those notes about Duxbury’s real estate holdings.”

  Relief washed over her. He was going to be sensible about what happened between them, after all. “I’ve got them right here,” she said, crossing the room.

  He didn’t move out of her way immediately when she reached him. Instead, he cocked his head to the side and smiled slowly. “You left it loose.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your hair. Slipping up again, huh?”

  She lifted her hand, startled to realize she’d forgotten to style her hair into its usual twist. She looked around for her pins.

  “No, leave it how it is,” he said. “I like it that way.” He straightened up from the door frame and grasped the pointed ends of her vest. “You’re not wearing one of your suits,” he said, tugging her forward. “Just as well, for what I’ve got planned.”

  She brushed away his hands and stepped back. “We should be working on breaking Duxbury’s alibi.”

  “But that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’ll need to wear something comfortable. We might be gone all day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re going out.”

  “Out?” she repeated, clutching the briefcase to her chest.

  “How else are we going to follow up on the real estate Duxbury owns near that parking garage?”

  “Oh,” she said. “But it’s broad daylight. You’re bound to be recognized.”

  “Not if we’re careful. Besides,” he added, turning toward the hall. “I have a theory.”

  His limp didn’t slow him down much anymore, she thought, watching his progress as she followed him to the table where he’d spread out the map. He was starting to move with the same long, loose-limbed stride she’d first noticed on the plane, like a cross between a strut and a prowl. The rest of his injuries no longer seemed to bother him, either, considering the way he hadn’t flinched when he’d leaned back on the couch and pulled her down on top of him.

  No, she wasn’t going to think about that. She detoured to the kitchen to pour herself a mug of coffee, then she settled into the chair across the table from Nick. “What’s your theory?”

  He waited until she passed him the updated file of Duxbury’s properties, then ran his index finger down the list of addresses. “I’m betting he has a girlfriend.”

  “He’s been married for almost twenty years....” She paused. As she knew, marriage vows didn’t have much effect on faithfulness.

  “He married in order to get his hands on his wife’s money and family name,” Nick said, echoing the direction of her thoughts. “It wasn’t a love match.”

  “Probably not.” She looked at the yellow circle he’d highlighted on the map. “But he wouldn’t be careless enough to leave a paper trail to his mistress, even if he has one.”

  “That’s why we need to do some hands-on investigating, Lauren. And if there’s a woman involved, I’m going to need your help.”

  “Why?”

  “Whoever she is, she’d probably be more cooperative talking to another woman.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “And there’s another reason. Since I’m supposed to be dead, I can’t go around flashing my badge when I question people.”

  “That’s right.” Her brow furrowed. “You have to be careful about your questions, too. If it gets back to Duxbury that someone’s still investigating your partner’s death, he might get suspicious.”

  “Yeah. I can’t afford to make him nervous. We’ll have to cook up some kind of cover story when we find his girlfriend.”

  “Well, I’ll help any way I can.”

  “You already have.”

  “Gathering that information wasn’t difficult.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He reached for a chocolate-glazed doughnut that he’d left on the edge of the map. He glanced at the sugary ring on the paper, then wiped it up with his finger. “It’s because of you that I stayed awake most of the night thinking about sex.”

  She choked on her coffee. Coughing, she looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Nick!”

  He grinned, deepening the dimples beside his mouth. “Surprised?”

  No, she wasn’t surprised. If anything, she’d been expecting him to mention it before this. “I thought we’d agreed—”

  “We didn’t agree on anything, if I remember right.” He licked the sugar off his finger. “But while I was lying around feeling frustrated, I realized that the urge to have sex is one of the strongest in the species. Why should Duxbury be any different?”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this discussion.”

  “So I thought that maybe I’d been approaching things from the wrong direction,” he continued. “We’ve been concentrating on his business deals, but his reasons for being in that neighborhood might have been strictly personal.”

  She shifted, recrossing her legs and forcing herself to take a more controlled sip of her coffee. “We’d assumed that because it was
the middle of a business day.”

  He took a bite of his doughnut. “There’s no telling when people can get the urge. It’s not always convenient.”

  That much was true, she thought, watching the way his freshly shaved jaw flexed as he chewed. Urges definitely weren’t convenient.

  “You want some?” he asked, offering her his doughnut.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Can’t risk slipping up again, huh?”

  As a matter of fact, she couldn’t, she thought as he bit into his high-calorie, high-sugar, nonnutritious breakfast. She had always preferred fruit or yogurt in the morning, yet today she felt tempted to do something she hadn’t felt like doing in years. “Those doughnuts are terrible for you.”

  “That’s what makes them so good. Usually we enjoy the very thing we know is bad for us.”

  Her gaze moved over his face. “That’s why it’s so important to maintain our self-control.”

  He smiled. “Uh-huh.”

  Her gaze was drawn to his mouth. “You have chocolate icing on your upper lip.”

  With the tip of his tongue, he licked it off.

  Instantly she remembered what it had felt like last night, when his mouth had covered hers and his tongue had slipped so boldly past her lips. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her frame.

  “Do you like chocolate, Lauren?”

  “Depends on what kind.”

  “Let me guess. You’d like it fancy, something like expensive, imported ice cream. Cold on the outside but with the kind of taste that invites you to take your time and savor the experience.”

  She swallowed. “Good guess. What about you?”

  “I’m a simple man, easy to please.” His voice dropped. “I like the hot fudge sauce that covers the ice cream.”

  Fudge sauce. Maraschino cherries and whipped cream. Since when had food taken on this extra significance?

  “You’re looking hungry, Lauren.”

  “Nick...”

  “How about sharing my breakfast?”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Why not? I like the taste of something... sweet. Anytime. Day or night.”