Kate and Mike emerged through the doors just then in a cloud of white chiffon and flowers. They only had eyes for each other, and even as Christy did her best to become one with the wall, she couldn't ignore the lump that rose in her throat. She was happy for them, just as she'd been happy for Vivian three years before.
And look where that had ended up, her inner voice mocked. She only hoped Mike had the fortitude to put up with Kate. God, did she sound like a cynical old maid or what? She wasn't that bad, was she? She was only twenty-eight for heaven's sake. Hardly over the hill. How can you ever marry if you never date? Her mother's oft-repeated words echoed inside her head. She'd never paid attention to them, knowing her mother would only go from wanting weddings to wanting grandbabies, and she was in no hurry to do either.
But she was twenty-eight. With thirty on the horizon. And no prospects. The bridesmaids started out the door and Christy shrank even farther back, knowing the assembled guests were next, praying they'd keep their eyes straight ahead. She didn't want prospects, she told herself. She had a demanding job she loved and if someone came along who demanded her attention in the same way, fine. But that hadn't happened. So what if logic dictated she had to actually be looking in order to meet someone? She certainly wasn't going to hunt down a guy just because all her friends were getting married.
They were also getting divorced, she reminded herself. Well, Vivian had anyway. And if there had ever been a couple who seemed meant for one another, it was those two. And yet, there they were, miserable and alone. Why should she be in any hurry to become another statistic?
She was actually doing the wise thing, focusing on her own life, her career and not searching for love. If love wanted her attention, it would just have to find her.
"You ready to go?"
His deep voice vibrated just behind her ear, so low and sexy it sent shivers of awareness throughout her entire, shrink-wrapped body. Okay, so she wasn't looking for love, but an afternoon of mindless sex was sure sounding pretty good at the moment. And oh, did he sound good. Better than good. He sounded like—
Horrified at the sudden direction of her thoughts, she stiffened, which immediately lost her the support of the wall … and pitched her directly into the support of his lean, hard body.
He immediately folded her against him, steadying them both, but rather than stand her back upright, he scooped her into his arms.
"No!" she rasped, looking frantically about, certain they were drawing stares. But the crowd was pushing as one out the front doors, and before she could protest further, she was being whisked away, down the side hallway, mercifully out of sight. "Thank you," she said sincerely, if a bit breathlessly. That last part was due to the dress cutting off her air supply, not because of the feel of his body pressed against her. She was certain of it.
He put her down near the door to the rear parking lot of the church. "Wait here."
He was so close, his body felt so nice and hard against hers … she all but swooned against him.
"Steady," was all he said, then carefully propped her in a corner and disappeared behind a white paneled door without another glance.
Well, she thought, scowling at the now-vacant spot beside her. Apparently she was the only one suffering from hormone shock. She definitely had to forget those blue eyes looking into hers while he told her he wished they'd met under different circumstances. They hadn't. And even if she was willing to forgive him—and she wasn't saying she was—the rental car made it clear he was not a permanent fixture around here, or anywhere if the uniform meant anything. She let her eyes slide shut. And Lord, he was a man meant to wear a uniform. Protecting lives and making the world a safer place. A bubble of laughter pushed up her throat. Unless of course you were a bridesmaid ditching your pal's wedding. Then he was a dangerous man.
She thought about the way he'd taken her out of the house. Yes, he might be charming and polite when he wanted to be, but there was no doubt that he was a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted it.
The door popped open again and he was back, taking up way too much of her personal space and invading her emotional comfort zone just as effortlessly. She, on the other hand, apparently hadn't made the least little dent in his. He handed her what looked like a long white gown.
"Choir robe," he said. "I thought you might want to get out of that dress before we left."
Visions of him doing just that came right into her mind without even asking permission. She shoved them aside and hugged the robe to her chest. "Thank you." Then she realized she hadn't completed her descent into Bridesmaid Hell. "Um … apparently I'm going to need some help getting this thing off."
Where other men might have drooled openly at the opportunity to help any woman out of her clothes, he actually looked uncomfortable. She could almost like him for that.
"You didn't seem to have the least compunction in carrying me out of my house in my underwear," she reminded him, even as her little voice told her it wasn't wise to goad the man. What did her little voice know anyway? It hadn't kept her out of this mess in the first place, now had it?
"Is there a … zipper or something?" he asked, looking her over as if her dress was some sort of secret military weapon.
If she hadn't been so tired and uncomfortable, she might have enjoyed making him sweat a little. It was the least he deserved. "I rolled it on basically." He just stared at her. Now it was her turn to feel a bit uncomfortable. Okay, more than a little. Having his hands on her, pulling this dress off— You're in a church, for heaven's sake, she reminded herself. She cleared her throat. "We should probably hurry up. Don't you have to be in the pictures or something?"
"They're taking the group photos at the country club."
"Well, then let's get this over with so you can drop me off and be on your way."
He knelt in front of her, lifted his hands to the hem that was still scrunched up around her knees, then dropped them again. "I'm, uh, not sure where to begin."
She carefully held her arms out and delivered her best smile. Maybe making him sweat was going to be more fun than she thought. "I think the Band-Aid approach is best. Just yank."
He looked up at her then and she felt her stomach drop and her heart begin to pound. Here she was, standing in a church, in a fancy dress, with a gorgeous man on one knee in front of her. Scowling. She couldn't get anything right.
"Hold on to my shoulders," he directed. "If I can roll this up a bit, maybe then you can, you know, take it from there."
His hands, with those long fingers … all up and down her thighs. Jesus, she'd never survive it without disgracing herself. But then, that wasn't much of a stretch at the moment, was it? "Okay, okay." She took a deep breath, or as deep a one as the dress would allow. "But close your eyes."
He grabbed hold of the hem and shoved upward, but the fabric stopped just below crotch level, bound lightly around her hips. She wobbled and came dangerously close to pitching forward, which would have pressed his face … well, right where no man should have his face when inside a church. "Stop, stop," she said breathlessly. "Get me out of these shoes." She should have done that first anyway.
He did, all warm fingertips brushing at her skin, sending a tingling sensation all the way up to … well, where his face had almost been moments ago. Who knew ankles were erogenous zones?
She came dangerously close to moaning when she felt his warm breath on her skin as his fingers slid around her ankle to unbuckle one shoe, then the other. As it was, she had to sink her nails more deeply into his uniformed shoulders just to remain upright.
"Hold on, one more buckle. Got it." He stood carefully, apparently oblivious to the near orgasm he'd just given her.
She really did need to get to bed. Alone, she quickly amended as she stepped gingerly and oh-so-very thankfully out of the instruments of death.
She'd never been so glad to feel the ground so firm and cold beneath her toes. "Okay, here's the plan," she said, trying hard to focus on just getting out of the shri
nk-wrap with as little touching on his part as possible. "I'm going to put the robe on and pull the shoulder straps off and roll the dress down to my waist. Then I'll push and you pull and the whole thing should drop off, right?"
He looked dubious.
"It's that or cut the damn thing off. I'd rather not do that to Viv's dress. Who knows, maybe she can get a refund or … or something. Let's just try, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Great. And stop ma'aming me. Makes me feel like an old granny or something."
He grinned then, just before dropping the robe over her head. "Trust me," he said, his voice muffled by the voluminous folds of white cotton. "You're nothing like any grandmother I've ever seen. It's just habit. Military."
She wisely said nothing as she squirmed out of the dress straps, keeping her arms inside the robe. She'd shrugged out of her tank top straps when she'd put this monstrosity on, and tucked them inside the dress. But she couldn't untuck them now.
Why should that surprise her? She tried to tug the top part down, but while the front part was willing—her boobs were thrilled to finally be free—the sides and back were all hung up with the cotton of her undershirt.
"Should I tug now?"
"Just a minute." She tugged a scrap of tank top from the front and held on tight to it. "Close your eyes."
She felt his fingertips brush her thighs again. "Eyes closed," he said.
She realized hers were, too. "On three. One, two—now!"
She gripped, he yanked … and the dress gave way and fell to the floor. Right along with her panties.
"Just, uh, just turn around, okay? I can take it from here."
She opened her eyes as he stood, gulping a little when he seemed suddenly so much taller than before. The heels, she realized. She was not a small woman and it was odd to feel so … petite. Well, not that she'd ever be described as petite, but maybe it was all relative.
"You okay? You look a little flushed."
"Oxygen deprivation," she quipped, not bothering to tell him that he, and not the dress, was more to blame for that little problem. She shifted and stood over the pool of sequins … and her panties. "I … um…" Damn, but his eyes were piercing. "Could you … turn around?"
He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
She made a face at his back. It was that or smile. And was that uniform padded, or were his shoulders really that broad? They filled her entire line of vision. But she'd had her hands on those shoulders. They were all his.
She hastily pulled on her panties and scooped up the pile of sequins and silk, along with the strappy heels. Clutching the billowy robe against her, she said, "I'm ready." He turned to face her and all she could think was, Boy, am I ever. Sleep. She desperately needed sleep.
He held out an arm, all spit and polish and blazing baby blues. "I had someone bring my car around back. It's right outside the door here. I'll take you directly home."
She wasn't sure she should touch any part of him. She wanted to, though. So much so that she gestured in front of them instead. "Lead on."
He moved to open her door, but she scooted in front of him, climbed in and all but lunged for the seat belt. "I got it." She reached for the door handle and yanked the door shut in his face. She didn't even care if it seemed rude. Lord knows he deserved worse, she told herself, no matter how charming and polite he was being now. But no way was he going to touch her again. Sleep. That was what she was going to focus on.
She let her head drop on the back of the seat and closed her eyes, pretending she didn't know he'd climbed in beside her, all big and warm, with those long fingers wrapped around that steering wheel.
"Listen, I really do want to apologize."
"Just get me in bed and all is forgiven." As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how they sounded. Her eyes popped open and she sat up straight. "I mean—"
He glanced at her and smiled. "I know what you meant."
She opened her mouth, realized saying anything right now would just make it worse, and let her head drop back again.
He remained mercifully silent on the short ride back to Vivian's. She was drifting off to sleep when he pulled into the driveway.
"Christy?"
She stifled a yawn and blinked her eyes open. "Here already?" She was so tired she wasn't sure she'd make it to the bed. Of course, no way was she letting him know that.
"You did want to come back here, right?"
She nodded. "I'm having the floors redone at my place and they didn't get the sanding done on time, so they were still staining and sealing them when I got home … whatever day it was. I've lost track. Vivian let me bunk here."
"You're obviously beat and it's my fault. I've kept you from catching up on your sleep. I am sincerely sorry."
She smiled to herself. She was daydreaming about him carrying her off in his arms … and he was telling her she looked about as delectable as day-old bread. Ah, reality. "I know Kate can make even the sanest person go a little nuts when she gets a plan in her head. She should be the one apologizing. To all of us."
"Let me help you inside."
"No!" At his surprised look, she calmed down and smiled. "I can take it from here." She put her hand on the door. "Just how did you get in anyway? Or is that just part of military training?"
"Back door was unlocked. You'd better tell your friend Viv to be more careful about that."
"She wasn't exactly thinking clearly when she cut out of here." She sighed then. "I hope she's okay."
"Can't you call her and tell her the coast is clear?"
"She's up at her parent's lake house. She's planning on staying the weekend and it's probably just as well. If Eric flew in for the reception then he's likely staying through tomorrow anyway."
Just then there was a light tap on a horn and they both turned in time to see a car pull into the drive behind them.
"Oh, great. And here I thought the day couldn't possibly get any worse."
"Who is that?"
A tall, blond man climbed out from the car. Dressed in an impeccably cut suit, his hair just as impeccably trimmed. He went directly toward the house, a sense of purpose clear on his handsome face.
Trevor was already opening his door. Christy swore and leaped out of the car first. "Eric, wait."
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Eric spun around. "Christy. Don't try and stop me. I have to talk to Vivian."
Christy almost tripped over her robe as she scooted between Eric and— She realized she still had no idea what her abductor's name was. She looked at him. "What is your name anyway?"
He came to a halt. "What?"
"Where's Vivian?" Eric demanded. "And why are you dressed like that?"
She looked back to Eric. "It's a long story. But I don't—"
"I never told you my—?" Trevor broke off with a smile and shake of his head, then grinned and saluted her. "Former Lieutenant Commander Trevor McQuillen, at your service."
"I don't care who the hell you are," Eric interjected.
"Well, perhaps you should care," Trevor said, pushing past Christy, who grabbed hold of his arm at the last second.
"Wait a minute!" she shouted, her head pounding in earnest now. "Just stop, both of you."
She turned to Trevor. "Thank you for bringing me home. You should probably get to the reception. They'll be wondering." She swung back to Eric, well aware that Trevor hadn't so much as budged. "Vivian isn't here."
"I was at the church when the wedding party came out," he said. "She wasn't there. I thought I asked you to help me out, make sure she didn't run."
"No, you told me what I was supposed to do. Just like you told Vivian she was supposed to leave her friends and family, sell the house you'd just bought, give up her job and move halfway around the world because you thought you had an exciting job offer. No promise of stability, no thought of what she wanted or what was important to her. Oh nooo, you were Mr. Breadwinner. She trusted you to treat her as an equal, E
ric, to love her and respect her as much as she did you. And you blew it. So you think you'd have learned by now that the world doesn't revolve around what Eric wants."
Eric swore, then raked a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."
"I don't think it's fair to put Christy in the middle of this," Trevor offered, then rolled his eyes and backed off when they both glared at him. "Fine, fine. Just trying to help."
"Yeah, and we all know how successful you are at helping," Christy said.
Trevor smiled. "Okay, I deserved that. But believe it or not, I've actually run many successful operations in my career."
"This isn't a military operation, it's a wedding."
"Yes, and I'm learning that some of our military leaders might learn a thing or two about battle strategy from America's brides."
"Very funny."
"I wasn't kidding."
Christy tried not to smile, really she did. But when he wasn't dragging unsuspecting women from their beds, he could actually be somewhat charming.
And still dangerous. Because the instant she let her guard down, he was moving closer. And she was having a hard time remembering why that wasn't a good thing. Charmed and dangerous, that was Trevor McQuillen.
He stood right in front of her, blocking her vision of everything but him. "I am sorry about this, Christy."
"You said that already."
"Maybe I can make it up to you. Somehow."
Her heart sped up. "I—you'll be leaving soon."
He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Says who?"
She all but shuddered in pleasure as his fingertips grazed her cheek. "Your uniform. Your rental car."
"I—"
"Listen, I just want to know where my wife is," Eric said, stepping between them.
"Ex-wife," Christy snapped at him, then stepped back herself. Her emotions were all in a whirl. She was too tired to deal with all this.
Trevor turned and subtly maneuvered Eric several steps away as he spoke. "Why don't you follow me over to the reception? This is Kate's and Mike's day. I'm sure you can come to some solution with Vivian after this is over."
CARRIED AWAY Page 3
