On the back Justin had glued an invitation. As she read, her eyes grew large.
“The White House?” she asked. It was too incredible to believe.
Justin nodded. “Every year they hold a reception for the new staff members at EEOB.”
“You are cordially invited,” she read, “to attend a reception for the Presidential Staff at the White House.” It went on to give the date and time.
“Will you go with me?”
“Yes,” she said, elongating the word.
“It means you’ll be investigated by the FBI.”
She smiled slyly. “Are they going to find out you’ve spent several nights in my apartment? And I’ve spent countless nights at your house?”
He nodded. “And more.”
“I’m fine with that. I have nothing to hide.”
“That’s not exactly true. There are some parts of you I wouldn’t like them to see.”
Looking at the invitation again, she asked, “May I keep this?”
“Sure, it’s yours.”
“I want to show it to my grandchildren some day.”
“Grandchildren? For that you have to be married, don’t you?”
She suddenly realized what she’d said. While being married wasn’t a prerequisite for having children, it was the line along which she’d been thinking.
“Any idea who you plan for the groom?”
“I’m open to suggestions,” she teased. “I’ll be accepting applications next week. Are you applying for the position?”
“Yes.”
Chapter 11
Sweat poured off Samara. She was on her third trip jogging around the mall. The Washington Monument pointed its needle toward the sky. The White House loomed in the background. Her clothes were soaked, her heart pounded, but its rhythm spoke with Justin’s voice.
She’d been kidding, playing with the words the way she normally did when things got serious. But Justin’s reply hadn’t reflected the tone of the question. He was serious.
Samara’s legs burned with the exertion. She was used to jogging. She did it every morning before going to work and on weekends. She used this track sometimes, just to vary her routine. She didn’t often do more than a couple of times and today the heat index was extremely high. Stopping, she bent over, hands on her knees as she breathed in.
“Don’t stop now. You need to slow your heart down.”
Samara looked up. Her brother-in-law, MacKenzie Grier, stood next to her. He took her arm and they began to walk.
“Mac, what are you doing here?”
“I usually jog here during the week. Cinnamon is coming in later today. We’re going to an embassy party tonight. So I came here today and found you running in this heat as if the horrors of hell were at your heels.”
Had she been running that hard? She was trying to get away from Justin’s answer. But no amount of running could do that.
“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” she said, taking a breath in between each word. “I usually jog in Meridian Hill Park. I don’t even remember getting here.”
“You ran all the way here from your apartment? And then around the mall several times?”
She nodded, too embarrassed to speak.
“So this is about Justin Beckett.”
Samara stopped. “How did you know?”
“Samara, I’m a reporter. I know everything. And Justin called me a couple of days ago.” Mac took her arm and started her walking again.
“And he told you about us?”
“He told me about a painting that you’re restoring for him. Said you believed it was one of those stolen during World War II. He asked me if there was anyone on the staff who could track down the original owner. I put him in touch with an art investigator I know.”
“He did? You did?” Samara stopped again, this time with a big smile on her face.
Mac folded his arms over his chest and stood in front of her. “Now, why should that put such a huge smile on your face?”
“He was so adamant that his family owned the painting legitimately. Now he’s researching its true origins.”
“And that makes him an honorable man?”
She stared at her brother-in-law skeptically. “What are you saying?”
“Justin’s one of the good guys. He is honorable and trustworthy and he’ll always choose to do the right thing, even if the outcome isn’t what he wants.”
“I know,” Samara said, quietly.
Justin woke but didn’t open his eyes. His arms reached for Samara, but closed on empty air. His eyes flew open and he realized he’d been dreaming. She wasn’t there. He was alone.
Turning over, he let out a frustrated noise. He wanted her. And she wasn’t there. From his response to her joke last night, he might have scared her away for good.
He’d thought of taking her advice and giving up. Maybe that was possible a few weeks ago, but he was fully committed now. He was in love with her. Seeing her in his grandmother’s wedding gown had assured him of something he’d known for weeks. The joking comment asked for a truth he couldn’t deny.
Today was Saturday. She was probably working on his painting. He imagined her, dressed in jeans and a shirt covered by a smock to keep her clean while she bent over, brushing and cleaning one small area at a time.
Pushing his feet to the floor, Justin got out of bed. It had been years since he’d been able to sleep in because he wanted to and not because he was too exhausted to get up. Reaching for the phone, he quickly dialed Samara’s cell-phone number.
It rang three times. After the fourth ring her voice-mail message would play and Justin would hang up without leaving one.
But she answered.
“Good morning.” He smiled, excitement going through him at the sound of her voice.
“What are you doing now that you don’t have to work?” she asked.
He heard traffic in the background. And a man’s voice. He frowned.
“Where are you? I hear traffic.”
“I’m on the mall. With Mac.”
“Is something happening down there?”
“He’s not tracking down a story. We met jogging. There’s no emergency.”
Justin realized that he may have left OEO, but his head was still there.
“I thought you’d be up in Maryland, working on the painting,” Justin said.
“There’s only a little left to do and Harry needed to do something else first. We’re going to work on it this afternoon. It’ll probably be done today or Monday night at the latest.”
“I wasn’t worried about that.” He paused, knowing this was the lead-in to his real reason for calling. “I want to talk to you.”
“That sounds serious.”
Justin had to play this right. He didn’t want to belittle the situation with a joke or to scare her away with a heavy explanation.
“How about we go to lunch somewhere?” He avoided the question altogether.
“I’m all sweaty and I don’t have my car. Mac is going to drive me home and then I have to meet Harry. I’ll call you when we’re done. We’ll probably be able to bring the painting back then.”
He wasn’t sure if she was buying time, but he accepted her terms.
“Give my best to Mac.”
He replaced the receiver. What was he going to do now? The day stretched before him like a long, unrolled rug. And he wasn’t used to having so much time on his hands.
Suddenly he had an idea. Something he hoped Samara would like.
She called Justin at four to let him know they were coming with the painting. It looked better than she had hoped. Harry was a wizard at what he did and she was so glad he’d taught her what he knew. She still wouldn’t tackle a restoration or even a cleaning alone, but at least she knew the steps necessary to avoid further damage.
Unsure of what Justin wanted to talk about, she wondered if the art investigator had found something. Or if he wanted to discuss last night.
In her heart she kn
ew it was about last night. She had essentially green-lighted a serious relationship. As Harry sped through the streets leading into the District, she didn’t know how they would approach the subject or what she would say. Before she knew it, Harry had stopped the truck in front of Justin’s house.
“We made good time getting here,” she commented, trying to cover her lack of conversation during the drive. Fortunately, Harry was a quiet man and she knew he wouldn’t add any weight to her lack of conversation.
Samara rang the doorbell and went back to the truck to help Harry with the new frame. Justin opened the door and quickly came out and relieved her of the burden. The painting had protective casing around the edges and they’d covered the entire package with brown paper.
They set it down on the floor of his great room and Harry pulled the strings on the paper, removing it so Justin could see the finished painting. Even though Samara had seen it many times, this unveiling was like seeing it for the first time. It was more beautiful with multiple viewings.
Justin and Harry discussed the cleaning process, what he and Samara had done. Harry got a little technical and Justin asked questions as if he were considering a new career.
“When you transport it again,” Harry instructed, “be sure to keep these protective casings on. Samara tells me it’s a gift for your parents.” Both men glanced at her then back at the painting. “Even if you gift wrap it, you’ll still need them.”
Justin agreed and Harry said goodbye to Samara. The two men headed for the door. Samara was left nervously alone. Justin’s answer to her question kept coming back to her. Did he really want to marry her? Was his comment really a joke?
She paced the room like a caged lion. Then she sniffed. Something smelled good. It couldn’t be coming from Justin’s kitchen. He rarely ate here, he’d told her.
“This is how I imagined you,” Justin said from the doorway. “Wearing jeans and a T-shirt.”
She spread her arms and turned completely around, modeling the clothes for him.
“Are you cooking something?” she asked.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am.”
“I was counting on that. Let’s eat.”
He reached for her hand. She placed hers in his and he led her to the kitchen. The breakfast table was empty, but several pots graced the stove. The dining-room table was set for two. Curtains had been drawn to give the room the appearance of darkness.
“I suppose you weren’t planning to invite Harry for the meal.”
He bent down and kissed her quickly on the mouth. “He didn’t even cross my mind.”
Pulling a chair out, Samara sat in it. Justin lit the candles.
“This is the first time I’ve had a candlelight dinner in the middle of the afternoon.”
“Magic,” he responded.
He left her and went to the kitchen. Coming back, he set a salad in front of her and poured her a glass of wine.
“You should have told me. I would have dressed for the occasion.”
“You look beautiful as you are.”
Samara dropped her head to cover the blush she was sure was on her face. Justin took a seat. He raised his wineglass and toasted her. She did the same.
“To the completion of The Wedding,” he toasted.
“Completion,” she said, and drank.
Justin dug into his salad. Samara watched him for a moment. He looked at her. “What is it you want to talk about?”
Samara had been nervous about the conversation all day, but she wasn’t putting it off any longer.
“Last night,” he said casually, as if the conversation had been about socks or something equally trivial.
“Go on.”
“You asked me a question.”
“I was joking.”
“I know. I’d like to revoke my answer.”
She blinked. “What?” It was the last thing Samara expected him to say.
“I know your feelings on marriage. I shouldn’t have challenged them.”
“Why did you say it then?” Samara was angry. Why should he not want to marry her? Why should he revoke his answer? Her thinking was illogical, but she didn’t stop to weigh that now.
“I don’t know,” Justin was saying. “I saw you in that gown in our attic, and I guess I got lost in the moment.”
She refused to tell him that she wasn’t wearing the dress when the question came up. She had felt different in that gown, too.
“I understand. The comment about grandchildren just seemed to come out. It didn’t mean anything.” She was lying. It did mean something. She was confused, unsure of what was going on in her own mind.
“You should be careful not to wear another wedding gown.”
Samara lifted her wineglass and drank. “I have to wear another wedding gown, at least one more time.”
His eyebrows went up.
“My friend’s bridal show,” Samara stated.
He nodded. She’d mentioned it before.
“I was only going to wear the bridesmaid dresses, but I’ve committed to a gown now. Your sister called and said your parents wouldn’t mind me borrowing your grandmother’s dress.”
Justin was quiet for a moment. “Next time I suppose I’ll be prepared for it.”
In the past, he’d come upon her by surprise when she was wearing the gowns.
Justin removed the salad plates and took them to the kitchen. He returned with two dinner plates. On each was a steak, baked potato and green beans.
“I didn’t know you could cook.” She looked up at him.
“You’re looking at the extent of my culinary ability. Beyond this, I can hardly boil water.”
She smiled. It seemed his trip to the kitchen closed the door on the subject of the joke and the wedding dress. For the first time since entering the house, she felt comfortable. Her shoulders dropped and she took a long breath. The rest of the meal was amiable. Samara felt as if they were getting back to where they were before yesterday.
“Would you like dessert?” Justin asked when they’d finished the meal.
“You baked, too?”
He laughed. “I told you the extent of my cooking abilities was the meal. Dessert is strictly from the German bakery down the street.”
Samara put her hands on her stomach. “I don’t think I have any more room.”
“It’s coconut custard. We can have it later.”
He got up and held her chair as she stood. They went into the great room. It was still daylight outside, but the sun was setting and the room was dim. Justin went toward the light switch.
“Don’t,” Samara said.
He turned back and looked at her. For a long, charged moment they each appeared frozen where they stood.
“I thought,” he began, “after last night, that things would be different. That you would refuse to see me again. Aren’t we at the stage in relationship development where you back away?”
She hesitated. There were many ways she could have answered. Justin was easy to talk to and she’d been honest with him. “We passed that point a while ago,” she said, speaking with the same volume she would if she’d been in a library.
He left his place near the light switch and came to her. Samara didn’t move. She watched his easy steps until he stopped in front of her. Her eyes traveled up to his.
“Was it the point of no return?”
Samara dropped her eyes. She didn’t want Justin to see anything there. Even though the light was low, she was unsure of what he might find in them. Was it the point of no return? She wasn’t sure. Each time he called, her heart pounded and she couldn’t wait to see him. When he didn’t call, she felt depressed and longed to be with him. Her waking thoughts were of him and he occupied her dreams, too.
“Are you going to answer me?” he asked.
Still Samara said nothing. Justin put his finger under her chin and raised it until her eyes reached his.
“Can’t decide?” he asked. Taking a step closer to he
r, he said, “Let me help you.”
Justin pulled her into his arms. She came without resistance. He slipped his arms around her waist. His mouth settled on hers, hard, hungry, insistent. He wanted to devour her. He was devouring her. He wrapped himself around her, drawing her to him, pulling her inward as if he needed her to be part of his makeup, part of him, inside the same skin, sharing the same heartbeat.
They mounted the stairs in each other’s arms, dancing around like miniature dolls. Higher and higher they went. Fire burned around them, singeing the air, licking at their clothes. Their mouths melded and their arms linked.
He loved the feel of her skin, the warmth and smoothness of it. His hands ran over her, tracing the contours of her shoulders, the curve of her spine, the roundness of her bottom.
Lifting his mouth, he stared into her eyes. Desire, hot and aching gazed out at him. Love was there, too. He could see it. Yes, they had passed the point of no return.
“Each time I look at you, I get lost,” he said. He kissed her eyes, then her cheeks. “I love touching you, holding you.” His hands caressed her back, slowly drawing circles, descending with deliberate slowness to her hips. He could feel his erection grow against her. Excitement pooled between his legs.
Her mouth opened under his. He felt the familiar warmth pour through him, a nectar so sweet it outranked any dessert. Finding the hem of her shirt, his hands went under it. His palms touched her skin. He wanted her closer to him. He wanted the hot feel of her touch against his own naked skin.
He needed her now, wanted her in his bed. The bedroom was half a floor away, almost at the other end of the house. He didn’t know if he could make it, didn’t know if what pulled them together and kept them in individual bodies would allow him to get that far. Finding the hem of her shirt, he lifted it over her head. Her bra gleamed white against her skin. Unsnapping her jeans, he grabbed the zipper and slowly pulled it down. Opening it was like peeling back the door to a furnace. Heat radiated from her skin. Inch by inch as he separated the teeth, he could feel the steam of her desire being released. He touched the opening space. She was hot. His body grew harder. He didn’t think it could do that. Samara melted in his arms.
The Right Wedding Gown Page 13
