Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series)

by Patricia McLinn

  * * * *

  “This was a definite tactical error, letting the three of them go to the bathroom together.”

  Despite himself, Michael grinned at Paul’s grousing. Since the ladies’ cloakroom was inside the ladies’ lounge, they’d agreed to meet the three women at the base of the broad marble stairs that led from the entry level to the expansive ballroom. He, Paul and Grady had quickly shed their coats and now stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

  “Now, this is my idea of a ball.”

  Michael turned from where he’d found an open spot by the turn-of-the-century-styled light post that flanked the bottom step, and followed Grady’s gaze, surveying the scene lit by chandeliers and the sparkling of silver and crystal. Tuxedoed men and expensively gowned women circled the packed dance floor, while more of the same watched from the gallery that hugged the sides of the room.

  Paul’s waiting was less than patient. Michael thought he understood. He’d known that Paul and Bette had something special since the first time he’d seen them together. But now, when he saw them looking at each other, he saw something deeper. Something that spoke of a marriage that would last, and a commitment strong enough to rejoice at bringing a new life into the world. If Tris were carrying his child . . .

  The image hit a velvet, heated blow to his heart. God, to have Tris carrying his child. He’d never let her out of his sight.

  “Here they come.”

  He heard the undercurrent of unreasoning relief in Paul’s voice, and felt a small echo of it in his own heart.

  Turning back, he saw Tris immediately. She and Leslie flanked Bette with a faint air of protectiveness. He recognized that, along with the incredible picture the three women made, especially Tris, tall and straight and blond. But those impressions were pinpricks compared to the burst of awareness in his chest. A kaleidoscope of images overlapped, blurring time and geography as he saw Tris, long-haired and coltish, red-cheeked and irate, laughing and innocent, sleepy-eyed and wise. All Tris. All the woman he loved. All the woman who loved him.

  He watched her gaze slide past Paul and Grady with a faint smile on her lips. And he watched her continue her search for something—or someone—else. Another image came into his mind, a double image of Tris coming down a church aisle toward him. Of the way she’d smiled from man to man at the altar until her eyes had met his, and how the impact of that look had rocked him. And how he’d forced his eyes away from her so she couldn’t see too deeply into him.

  Not this time.

  This time he had to risk it, had to risk seeing what was really there, had to risk letting himself believe in her love.

  He made a slight movement toward her, and saw her find him. And he saw.

  She lit up from within with the love.

  It washed over him, cleansing long-ago scars, healing his wary heart with a belief strong enough to base a life on. He felt his heart expand within his tightening chest as she came into his arms unquestioningly.

  He hugged her hard, trying to remember not to crush her. He’d tell her, he’d make her see what he had finally seen. Somehow. And he’d do it tonight, but not now. Not with a couple thousand celebration-minded revelers around them. For now, he’d just indulge in an hour or two of the kind of pleasurable pain known only to a man in love.

  He nuzzled the intricate curves of the delicate ear exposed by the curve of her hair, and felt her answering shiver like a tingle of electricity in his nervous system.

  “Let’s dance,” he breathed into her ear. “All the slow dances. Real slow.”

  * * * *

  “Michael. How nice to see you this evening.”

  He stifled a small groan as he loosened his arms from around Tris. Never in his life had he been less thrilled to hear Joan Bradon’s voice. He had no idea of how many dances they’d danced, but he knew it had grown harder with each one to remember they were in a public place, especially since Tris had shown no inclination to object when he’d found this secluded corner devoid of chandeliers.

  Grown harder . His mouth twisted at his mental choice of words. He slipped his arm around Tris’s waist, halfheartedly hoping her skirt would help mask his condition. Ah, well, Joan Bradon was the mother of three and grandmother of one, so she wouldn’t be particularly shocked. Besides, he had the feeling she’d sought him out in this secluded corner, and probably had a good idea of what she’d find.

  “Joan. Nice to see you, too. I’d like you to meet Tris Donlin. Tris, this is Senator Joan Bradon.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Senator Bradon.” Tris extended her hand and Joan met it immediately, then held on to it.

  “Tris Donlin,” Joan repeated. As if she hadn’t already known who Tris was before she approached them, Michael thought with wry knowledge of his boss. “I’ve seen your proposal. Very impressive. I’ll call your office tomorrow to set up an appointment to talk further about it.”

  “Thank you.” To a stranger she’d seem totally composed, but Michael could see Tris was stunned, and he felt the worried glance she threw at him.

  “I understand you and Michael went to college together.” Now it was Michael’s turn to be surprised. Joan must have made it her business to find that out in the past few hours. “You strike me as a very perceptive woman. Michael’s not an easy man to know, is he? But he’s worth the effort. It’s good to meet you, Tris. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other—over the proposal and—” she gave the two of them a significant look “—in more social circumstances.”

  Well past surprise, Michael knew the meaning of fatalism when Joan turned her bright eyes back on him. She wasn’t done.

  “Don’t bother to come in until after lunch tomorrow, Michael. I have a feeling the entire Hill is going to spend the morning recovering. And remember, Michael, enjoy the cheese.”

  She strode away, a little ripple of head-turning following her purposeful passage.

  “Michael, I was going to tell you about sending her the proposal. I had this contact, and he said—”

  “It’s all right, Tris.”

  “I just thought that with things, so . . . unsettled between us that it would be better . . .”

  “I know. I understand.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you before it had a chance to get to Senator Bradon’s desk. And to find out like this . . .”

  “I already knew. Joan showed it to me this morning.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. I recommended she throw her support behind it.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. It had nothing to do with you, Tris.” He tried to be stem, but looking into her blue eyes, he couldn’t maintain it. “I admit I was ticked at first that you’d bypassed me, but I do understand, Tris. When I read the proposal, I realized what you’ve probably known all along—that I’d been treating you like you were still seventeen. You were right to give it to someone who judged it on its merits. When I did that this afternoon, I knew it deserved all the support we could give it. You did a great job. The proposal sells itself.”

  Her smile was wide enough to encompass a love even as large as his. “I did, didn’t I? Do a great job, I mean.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said with mock gruffness. “Now let’s get back to dancing. We’re missing a slow one.”

  She went into his arms willingly, but he could tell her mind wasn’t totally with him.

  “The proposal really sells itself.”

  “Yes, it really does.” He whispered the words against her temple where his tongue made a small circle.

  Another moment of quiet passed as he felt their movements meshing.

  “Michael?”

  “Mmm?”

  “That was an odd comment she made about cheese.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “What do you think it meant?”

  Who could think? “Maybe she’s confused, thinks Wisconsin elected her instead of Illinois.”

  Tris chuckled a little. Then he felt first her lips, then her t
eeth, soft but sharp, on the turn of his jaw. A definite admonition. “Will you tell me someday?”

  “Yes, someday, I promise. Just not right now. Right now, I want to dance with you.”

  He shifted their bodies closer and heard her sigh of content coursing all the way through his reheating bloodstream.

  * * * *

  Tris unlocked the door and the others trooped in behind her, stamping their feet clear of slush and cold.

  “What does everybody want? Coffee? Brandy? Milk for the mother-to-be?”

  Bette smiled at the last offer, but Paul seemed to consider it seriously as he took off his wife’s coat and laid it with his on the back of the couch, then guided her to a seat away from the door’s draft.

  “I don’t think you should have stood outside watching the fireworks like that. You might have gotten chilled.”

  Bette smiled at him and answered patiently. “I was fine, Paul. I had my wrap and your coat on, I could have withstood a blizzard.”

  “Thanks, but nothing for us, Tris,” said Grady. “I’ve talked Leslie into going to a jazz club over in Georgetown.”

  “Okay, see you guys later.” Tris met Leslie’s eyes for a moment, trying to convey both encouragement and caution. She wanted Leslie to have a wonderful time; she didn’t want her to get hooked on Grady Roberts. She knew from Leslie’s arched-brow smile that the message was received and understood.

  Good-nights were cheerfully exchanged with Grady and Leslie, but when she turned to hang her coat in the closet, she found Michael not a foot away, watching her face intently.

  Lord, he was at it again—worrying that she’d be hurt by Grady’s “defection.” Her surge of disappointment was a physical pain.

  For all her lectures to herself about being patient and reasonable, she’d let herself imagine that everything was all right. It had been very easy to pretend Michael already believed in her love. Especially after the way he’d held her tonight when they danced, after the way he’d stolen a brief, heated kiss in the temporary dark between fireworks, the way he’d held her hand during the taxi ride home.

  When she’d seen that look on his face when she came down the ballroom stairs to meet him, she’d thought . . . she’d hoped. Now, having the hope not fulfilled hurt.

  She’d be patient, she’d endure, she’d show him her love was lasting. But that didn’t mean the waiting didn’t hurt.

  “What?” she demanded of him, pain edging her voice.

  “Just wondering if you—”

  “Michael, please don’t start.”

  “I just—”

  She growled a little at him, trying to ease her frustration. “You are so stubborn.”

  “I was just going to ask what you wanted to drink, but if it comes to being stubborn, how do you think I stayed in love with you all these years?” he muttered.

  Her anger melted, and that left room for her renewed resolve to be patient and understanding. To be realistic about the adjustments in their relationships. To love him the way he deserved to be loved.

  “Michael, I do love you,” she said softly.

  He met her eyes directly, just a hint of a smile in his. “I know you do.”

  She felt as if one of the fireworks they’d watched earlier had just gone off inside her, complete with pinwheels and sparklers.

  “You do? You do! You . . . know . . . You really believe it.”

  Instead of answering her, he swung away and grabbed Bette’s and Paul’s coats from the back of the couch, strode across the room and shoved them into Paul’s unresisting arms. Then he dug in his pocket and pressed his key ring into Paul’s hands, while Bette and Tris gaped at him.

  “Paul, here are the keys to my car and my apartment. Use anything you want, eat all my food, use my phone to call New Zealand, use my credit card for a TV shopping spree, but please, please get the hell out of here. Now.”

  Bette recovered first, and was tugging on her husband’s arm at the same time she started pulling on her coat. “C’mon, Paul, I can tell when we’re not wanted,” she said with a splutter of warm laughter.

  “But . . . But what’s going on?” Paul protested. “What are you going to do?”

  “It’s none of our business,” his wife informed him as she gave Tris a warm hug.

  “Tris and I have some things to prove to each other, Monroe. Okay? You’ve been saying it for months and now we’re agreeing, so get the hell out of here, will you?”

  “Oh.” Paul pulled on his coat along with a self-satisfied grin. “Oh! All right. All right. We’re outta here.” He shepherded his wife out the door, but paused just before closing it behind him. “ ’Bout damn time, you two.”

  Tris turned to face Michael. His hands cupped her face, his fingers tunneled into her hair as he looked down at her.

  “Are you—”

  She didn’t have to finish the question because she saw his certainty in his eyes. Still, he gave her the answer in words, too.

  “I’m sure. Very, very sure.”

  He kissed her, just his lips touching hers, and she tasted the answer there, too.

  Backing away only enough to look into her eyes, he smiled. “Do you know how long I’ve loved you?”

  “Do you know how long I’m going to love you?” she countered. “It’s the same answer to both questions.”

  She saw puzzlement in his eyes, then it disappeared and, with it, her own last tiny bit of worry.

  “Forever?”

  “Forever.”

  He looked at her a long, lingering moment, as she discovered both the warm light of her friend and the bright, hot light of her lover firing his eyes. Then he touched his mouth to hers, softly, hungrily, demandingly, strongly. All the emotions in each of a dozen kisses that explored and declared until kisses, even these kisses, were not enough.

  She wound her fingers into his thick hair and pressed herself against him, loving the feel of his hardness.

  Climbing the stairs was slow and distracted, with stops to touch and kiss and unclothe. At the top landing, his fingers fumbled to find the secret to her dress, and she couldn’t still a throaty chuckle.

  “Damn dress . . . Where do you . . .?”

  “Here.” She guided his fingers.

  “Promise me something, Tris.”

  “Anything.”

  “No more dresses that take an engineer to figure out. I don’t have the patience. From now on, only easy dresses to get you out of.”

  “Ah, Michael, you don’t know yourself. You’re a very patient man. And very stubborn. I don’t believe there’s a dress in the world that could defeat you.”

  He growled something as he slid the dress away from her, and found her skin.

  “But I promise,” she said on a soft gasp, with her lips touching the top of his head as he bent to take her into his mouth. “Only easy dresses.”

  * * * *

  She awoke to the feel of his body next to hers, as she had before. Several times. And each time was an awakening of passion for both of them. Only this time, it was broad daylight and Michael was propped on one elbow, staring down at her intently, the lines at the corners of his eyes etched in solemnity. With no preliminaries, he asked.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you love me forever?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even when I’m stupid and stubborn?”

  “As long as you’re not stupid about worrying that I don’t love you, and as long as you’re stubborn about staying in love with me.”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  He dropped a kiss on her chin as he stroked down her body with a possessive hand. She found she enjoyed his possessiveness, his wordless declaration that he knew she was his.

  At the sound of the phone, their eyes met in an exchange of good-humored grimaces.

  “I wonder who that could be?” said Michael with absolutely no wondering in his voice.

  She grinned, and rolled on her side to reach the phone.


  “Hello. Oh, good morning, Paul.”

  Tris listened for a minute, then turned to Michael with eyes bright with laughter and love. “Paul says he’s checked with Grady and Leslie, and June would be a great time for all of them.”

  “Great time for what?”

  “Great time for another reunion—at our wedding.” Michael leaned across her body to take the receiver out of Tris's hand and spoke very firmly into it. “We’ll let you know what we decide, Monroe. And no matter when it is, you’ll all be there—come hell or high water. Now goodbye.”

  He hung up, but he stayed where he was, the length of his body blanketing hers. She felt the heat between them building. Not flaring like something short and intense, but steadily welling to an enduring flame. “And what are we going to decide, Michael Dickinson?”

  “We’re going to decide which day in June,” he said, shifting against her to find his place in her. “And then we’re going to decide if we can stand to wait until then.”

  Grady’s Wedding

  Patricia McLinn

  Prologue

  I now pronounce you husband and wife . . .

  Grady Roberts felt as if he’d been hearing that phrase more often lately than “Have a nice day.”

  It still echoed in his head as the reception shifted from the dinner phase to the dancing phase.

  He smiled reflexively at the knockout redhead who’d ignored her date to make eyes at him as he’d sat with the others at the head table. She was truly a knockout. He was stupid to let it bother him that she looked at him like a succulent chocolate dessert she wanted to devour.

  Then the bride and groom moved into the open expanse of polished wood floor to begin the dancing, and his smile softened.

  God, Michael and Tris looked good together. Rightness glowed from them. A rightness that had spurred them to move up the date of their wedding three times, until the caterers, dressmakers and gift givers could only sprint like mad to keep up with the bride and groom’s eagerness. A rightness that left a hole deep inside him. Or maybe the hole had been there a long time, and the fact of his best friends getting married one after the other had simply brought it out of hiding.