Her mouth went dry as she met his glittering gaze. “Um, what time is it?” The question wasn’t the one she wanted to give voice to, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask how long he’d been watching her sleep.
She was tempted to pull the blanket over her head as the humiliation of another question she shouldn’t have asked throbbed in the stillness of the night. She might as well have begged him to kiss her, and that was after he’d already turned her down once!
“Late...or early, depending on how you look at it.”
“I should go.” Sliding out of the bed, she placed the stuffed animal under Hannah’s arm and smoothed out the blankets, wishing she could smooth her rattled nerves as easily.
Focused on getting Hannah ready for bed, Rory had pushed the final minutes of their conversation out of her mind. But now the words pinballed through her skull, pained embarrassment flashing all around. She’d thought the way Jamison had kissed her, the way they’d opened up to each other, sharing hurts and fears from their pasts, had meant something.
But she’d been wrong before.
Ducking out of the bedroom, Rory hurried down the shadowed hallway as fast as her boots could carry her. She’d keep her attention where it should have been all along, on Ryder and Lindsay’s wedding, on getting through the next week, and then she could forget all about Jamison, all about Hannah, all about how her heart was breaking inside her chest...
She’d barely made it to the living room when Jamison caught her by the shoulders, stopping her short and drawing her back against him. His warm breath stirred her hair and sent shivers running down her spine as he murmured in her ear. “If you leave now, I won’t miss you any less.”
For a split second, she allowed herself lean into the warmth and strength of his body before growing a backbone and pulling away. He let her go, and Rory spun to face him, ready to remind him he didn’t want this, didn’t want her, but the sheer longing in his expression sucked the words right from her chest.
“Jamison—” The whispered sound of his name hovered in the charged air between them. A connection drawing them closer as he reached up to cup her face in his hands.
His thumbs caressed her cheeks, her lips, charting a sensual path that held her captivated. Her heart pounded, running a hundred beats a minute, but she couldn’t even move. “Jamison—”
Light as a feather, his lips moved against hers as he spoke. Her stunned senses barely recognized the words. “So why not kiss me?”
Rory didn’t know what it was about this man that was magic, but one kiss and she’d swear she could fly. She fisted her hands in the crisp cotton of the Rockin’ R T-shirt as if he might somehow keep her grounded, but how could he when it was his touch, his kiss that had her body, her heart, her soul soaring? And then her feet really did leave the earth as she sank onto the couch cushions, Jamison following her down, his body strong, warm, perfect above hers.
He deepened the kiss as her mouth opened to his—touching, tasting, teasing. His hand found the narrow gap between the bandanna-print shirt tied at her waist and the top of her skirt. Her skin sizzled at the contact, and it was all she could do not to arch her body into his, wanting, demanding, needing more—
But she could feel him holding back. Like a kite with a string still tethered to the ground, Rory could feel the tug of resistance, the slow, unrelenting pull reeling them back to earth as he broke the kiss.
This time she didn’t let old insecurities get in the way, didn’t doubt his desire for her. “Jamison,” she whispered softly once she’d found the breath and ability to speak.
He dropped his forehead against her shoulder, his body rock hard as he fought for control. “We can’t,” he started as he lifted his head.
“I know,” she smiled, his willingness to put his daughter first one of the reasons why she loved hm.
Loved him?
No! She couldn’t—she didn’t—she—
Loved him.
Rory slammed her eyes shut, too afraid of the emotions Jamison might see. “I should go.”
The cushions shifted beneath her as he pushed into a sitting position and lifted her up beside him. She felt as well as heard the words he spoke against her ear. “Rory... I wish—I want—”
“I know.” Her heart was suddenly filled with wishes and wants, but closing her eyes wasn’t going to be enough to make them come true. Lifting her lashes, she repeated, “I should go.”
“As long as you know how much I want you to stay. You were right before. I want us to spend the time we have left together.”
Rory didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. She’d convinced Jamison—straitlaced, logical Jamison—to take a leap, and now she was the one who wanted to play things safe. To protect her heart, to take a step back from the edge rather than risk a nasty fall.
“Tell me you still want that, too, Rory,” he urged, his hands bracketing her shoulders. “I’m here now, and I don’t want to start missing you until I have to.”
If you leave tomorrow...this won’t hurt any less.
“I want that, too,” she promised.
“Good.” Pulling her back into his arms, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Good.”
Rory wasn’t sure how long she stayed in his arms, her head resting on his chest as she counted out the beats of his heart. If only it didn’t seem like the steady rhythm was going backward, counting down the time they had left...
It was still dark and Jamison was still sleeping when Rory eased out of his embrace and slipped out the door. The old-fashioned hallway sconces had been dimmed for the night, casting a soft golden glow on the familiar dark walnut wainscot and richly patterned carpet.
So overwhelmed by the emotions still careening through her, Rory barely noticed the two women she passed in the hallway until their sharp laughter stabbed her in the back.
“Guess those stories Trisha heard were right. She really can’t keep her hands off the merchandise.”
Chapter Eleven
Jamison jerked awake, startled by the unfamiliar ring of a telephone. Pain shot down his spine as he lifted his head, blinked a few times and realized he’d fallen asleep on the couch.
Rubbing the kink at the back of his neck, he pushed into a sitting position on the too-soft blue floral cushions. He hadn’t planned to spend the night on the couch, but then again, much of what happened last night had been completely unexpected...
He took a quick look around to confirm what he already knew. Rory was gone. He didn’t blame her for leaving. The last thing she would want was for someone to see her slipping out of a guest’s room in the middle of the night.
That didn’t mean he didn’t wish she’d stayed. Call him selfish, but he’d had the pleasure of falling asleep with her in his arms. He wanted to know what it was like to wake up the same way.
Still, maybe she was calling to check on Hannah and see if she felt up to another batch of smiley-face oatmeal. Anticipation wiped away the last traces of sleep as grabbed the hotel phone off the end table.
“Jamison, my boy! How are you doing up there in Smallville?”
He cringed at the sound of his former father-in-law’s voice. Gregory Stilton was as big and imposing in person as his booming voice was over the phone. When Jamison first met Monica’s father, he couldn’t help being impressed by the businessman’s wealth, status and importance. At the time, those things had still mattered to Jamison. Having just passed the bar and eager to make his mark, Jamison had seen Gregory Stilton as having it all.
“It’s Clearville, Greg,” he told the older man, “and everything’s fine.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear it. And how’s our granddaughter?”
His hand tightened around the phone. “She’s doing fine.”
His gaze locked on a piece of paper on the coffee table, a project Hannah had worked on the day before. It took some
imagination, but even he recognized the lime-green grass, turquoise sky and silver gazebo. Three stick figures held hands in front of the structure. He might have wondered at his daughter’s Picasso-like image of him if not for the big red smile filling up half his face.
“Better than fine,” he added, hearing the pride in his voice. “She’s doing great. She’s looking forward to her role as a flower girl in Ryder’s wedding.”
“Well, that’s great.”
Over the years, Jamison had learned to distrust Greg’s over-the-top friendliness. More often than not, he was hiding his own agenda behind his smile. He’d come to appreciate Louisa’s open disdain. At least with his mother-in-law, he never had to guess where things stood.
Proving his suspicions correct, Greg casually commented, “Of course, this vacation of yours couldn’t come at a worse time—what with the junior partnership up for grabs.”
“How do you know about the partnership?”
Gregory’s laughter ratcheted up Jamison’s suspicion even more. “You’re nearing the big time now, Jamison. The law firm of Spears, Moreland and Howe taking on a new partner is news. People have been taking about it at the club.”
The firm’s partners ran in a tight-knit circle of powerful men and women in San Francisco. It was possible Greg had heard the rumors. But it was also possible that, as a powerful man himself, Gregory Stilton would use his considerable influence to weigh in on which direction he wanted the firm to go.
“Greg...”
If the older man heard the warning in Jamison’s tone, he ignored it. “You know if you get the promotion, you’ll be spending even more time at the office—long hours, weekends. Have you thought about what you’ll do with Hannah?”
“We’ve talked about this. She’ll be starting preschool once I get back.”
“Half days in the mornings,” Greg pointed out dismissively. “And that’s if you can get her to stay. You know how leery she is around strangers.”
“Hannah’s getting better about that.”
Silence filled the other end of the line, and Jamison realized what he should have known all along when his mother-in-law’s voice came across the speaker. “Getting better? What strangers have you been leaving her with up there?”
“Not strangers. What I meant is she’s getting better about meeting new people.” Knowing his in-laws would dig the information out of Hannah given the chance, he added, “Rory McClaren is the hotel’s wedding coordinator, and Hannah’s taken a shine to her. She’s made the whole idea of being a flower girl fun for Hannah. That’s a good thing, Louisa.”
“Is it? I thought this trip was about you spending time with your daughter, not about finding someone else to watch her while you go off and—do whatever.”
“I’m the best man. The only whatever I’ve been doing is lending a hand with the wedding, and I wasn’t always able to do that without someone to help with Hannah.”
Jamison heard Louisa mutter the words party planner and responsible sitter under her breath before Greg came back on the line. “We’re glad our little girl’s looking forward to the wedding. How about you put her on so we can both say hello?”
A loud yawn sounded from the bedroom doorway as Hannah shuffled out, rubbing one eye before she pushed some serious bed-head curls out of her face. “She’s right here, but don’t expect too much. She just woke up and might be a little cranky.”
He held the phone away from his ear rather than listening to what Louisa thought of him letting his daughter sleep in late and past her scheduled breakfast time. “Hey, Hannah Banana, want to talk to Nana and Papa?”
Giving a sleepy nod, Hannah took the phone and scrambled onto the couch next to him. Some of the tension caused by speaking with his in-laws faded as she snuggled by his side. “Hi, Nana. Hi, Papa.”
Jamison might have questioned if he’d done the right thing in bringing Rory up in a conversation with his in-laws, but his daughter proved he’d little choice as she launched into a recitation of everything she’d done over the past few days—with almost every sentence filled with “Rory this” or “Rory that.”
And after his daughter capped off her story with a detailed account of throwing up the brightly colored cotton candy, Jamison figured Louisa was about ready to faint.
“I didn’t feel good, so I wanted Miss Rory to spend the night. Daddy, where is Miss Rory?” Hannah frowned before thrusting the phone back at him. “Nana wants to talk to you.”
I bet she does, Jamison thought grimly.
“What kind of example are you setting, having some strange woman spend the night—”
“She didn’t spend the night, Louisa. She stayed until Hannah fell asleep.”
No need for the woman to know what happened after Hannah fell asleep. Covering the mouthpiece, he told Hannah, “Rory had to go back to her house, but we’ll see her in a little bit if you’re feeling okay.”
“I feel good, Daddy. But I don’t think I should have cotton candy for breakfast.”
“Wise decision, kiddo.”
He’d barely paid attention to the final minutes of Louisa’s tirade. He was sure he’d heard the lecture about strict schedules and maintaining routines a dozen times before. “It was one night of too much sugar and too much excitement,” he finally interrupted. “She’s fine now, Louisa. In fact, I’d say Hannah’s happier than she’s been in a long time.”
I’m happier. And he refused to feel guilty about that even as a cold silence filled the other end of the line.
“And I suppose you think this Rory person has something to do with that.”
“It’s not about what I think, and if you were listening to anything your granddaughter had to say, you’d know that.”
“My granddaughter is four, a child who can be easily manipulated and fooled. As her father, it’s up to you to know better.”
Jamison rolled his eyes. “No one’s manipulating or fooling anyone.”
“I guess we’ll see about that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I hope you know what you’re doing,” she told him before ending the call, the warning in her voice making it clear she didn’t think he had a clue.
* * *
Jamison hopped down from the stepladder after putting the final touches of paint on the trim along the gazebo’s roof and tossed the paintbrush into an empty bucket. “What do you think?”
“It’s be-yoo-tiful, Daddy!”
Rory couldn’t agree more. The gazebo gleamed against the bright blue midday sky as it never had before, shining like new and yet still maintaining all the old-world charm and romance that made it a perfect part of Hillcrest. She loved the elegant scrollwork along the eaves, a more delicate pattern than what had been there before. Jamison had found matching spindles to replace the loose railing, making the stairs as good as new.
But it was the special touch he’d added, one no one else could see, that meant the most. Beneath the top step, on the underside of the tread, Jamison had carved all their initials.
He hadn’t inscribed them within a heart, but he didn’t need to. He and Hannah had already etched a permanent spot within her own.
He smiled when he got a good look at his daughter’s face. “Hannah Banana, I think you have more paint on you than on the gazebo.”
Their roles as helpers had involved touch-up work, painting over screw and nail heads with Hannah doing her best and Rory following behind to fix any missed areas and clean up any drips.
“Uh-uh!” the little girl argued before wrinkling her paint-splattered nose and turning to Rory. “Do I, Miss Rory?”
“Well, maybe not that much.” Dipping the tip of her finger in an open paint can, Rory said, “But you do have some here...and here...and here.”
Hannah giggled as Rory tapped her nose, cheeks and chin. “Now look, Daddy!”
Sha
king his head with the slightest bit of exasperation, Jamison said, “Nice polka dots, kiddo.”
“I like poky dots.”
“Well, you can’t have poky dots if we’re going to go into town for something to eat, so we better get cleaned up.”
“Yeah, pizza!”
“With lots of anchovies, right?” Rory teased as she grabbed a semiclean cloth and a bottle of water off the top of a cooler.
The little girl made a face. “Anchovies, yuck!”
“Hannah, you don’t even know what anchovies are,” Jamison pointed out.
“Are they good?” his daughter demanded, her doubt obvious.
“Well, no,” he admitted, clearly failing to prove his point.
Hannah turned back to Rory in triumph. “No anchovies!”
“All right. How about—” Rory paused for a moment to think “—pepperoni?”
“Okay!” With the promise of pizza in the air, Hannah bounced on her toes, making Rory’s efforts to clean off her face like a new version of pin the tail on the donkey. “No anchovies, just pepperoni.”
Once Rory had Hannah’s face as clean as she could get it without a tub full of bubbles, she cupped her cute cheeks in her hands. “There you go. All clean.”
Hannah responded with a definitive nod. “Daddy’s turn.”
Jamison had dropped down to sit on one of the stepladder’s lower rungs, and when he brushed a hand across his damp forehead, he left behind a streak of white.
“Hannah is right.” Lips quirked in a smile, she told him, “You’re wearing almost as much paint as she was.”
He took in his white-flecked shirt with a careless shrug as he cracked open the water bottle she handed him. “What can I say? Construction work is an ugly process.”
Ugly was not the word that came to Rory’s mind as she grabbed the damp towel and walked to his side. “Come here.”
He leaned forward, and she lifted a hand to brush his dark hair back from his forehead. His gaze caught hers, and she paused, almost forgetting why she’d embarked on this task.
She dabbed at the paint just as she had with Hannah. The actions might have been the same, but Rory’s response was completely different. Her hand trembled as she traced a path across Jamison’s forehead, his temple and along one cheekbone. She lowered the towel but didn’t back away, staying whisper close, as his gaze searched hers.
The Best Man Takes a Bride Page 13
