Third Time's the Bride!

by Merline Lovelace

  Dawn’s heart emitted the craziest little ping. Was he going to ask her to stay? Suggest some sort of loose arrangement that would keep him and Tommy in her life and vice versa? His next comments put those thoughts on instant ice.

  “Since I suspected that would be Lottie’s decision, I had my assistant compile a list of prospective replacements. She’s contacted the top five on the list and I’m flying them in for interviews, starting Monday.”

  “Oh. Good.” She grabbed the dessert bowls and jammed them into the top rack. “I’ve had a great time with Tommy...and with you,” she added belatedly. “But you’re right. I need to get back to my real life.”

  The one filled with twelve-and fourteen-hour days at the office. Late nights hunched over her laptop. Casual dates with men whose names she couldn’t remember.

  “I also need to catch up on some work,” she said briskly. “Tell Tommy good-night for me. We haven’t planned any outings for the weekend, by the way, since I assumed you’d want to spend time with him before his big day Monday.”

  “Good assumption. And about Monday...”

  She paused, one brow lifting.

  “I’ll take him to school that morning. They want parents to sign kids in the first day.”

  “Makes sense,” she said with a shrug that disguised her disappointment.

  “The school also needs to verify alternate emergency contacts,” Brian continued. “Since both sets of grandparents live out of state, I’ll designate them as secondary alternates and you as primary.”

  “That’ll work.”

  For now. Until he hired a permanent replacement.

  Just as well he intended to start those interviews next week, Dawn decided grimly. She needed to cut loose from Tommy the Terrible—and his dad—before the ties went deeper or wrapped tighter around her heart.

  The wineglasses were the last to hit the dishwasher. They were tall-stemmed, paper thin and probably expensive. With ruthless determination, she plunked them in the top rack beside Tommy’s milk glass and skimmed a quick glance around the kitchen.

  “Looks like we’re done here,” she said flatly. “See you in the morning. Or whenever.”

  She made it to the kitchen door. The lighted walkway to the gatehouse beyond offered a welcome escape.

  “Dawn, wait!”

  His face was set and his lips tight when she turned to face him.

  “These past four days. I’ve enjoyed... I’ve been...”

  “You’ve been what?” she taunted with a mocking smile. “Staring at me when I’m not looking? Wishing you’d leaned in a little closer that first night? Wondering why I changed my shampoo?”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before she realized she’d baited a caged tiger. The skin stretched taut over his cheeks, and a sudden heat flamed in his blue eyes. Muttering a curse, he strode over to where she stood.

  “Yes, yes and yes. I’m also wondering why the hell I waited so long to do this.”

  She wanted to pretend she was shocked when he slid a palm around her nape and tipped her face to his. She had that instant, that breath-stealing second to protest or jerk away. When she didn’t do either, his mouth came down on hers.

  The truth was she’d been imagining the taste of him, the feel of him, since their first meeting in Venice. As his lips moved over hers, reality far exceeded her expectations.

  The man could kiss!

  Dawn had compiled a fairly decent sample size over the years and would rank Brian Ellis’s technique in the top tenth percentile. Okay, maybe the top percentile. He didn’t go all Neanderthal and bend her back over his arm. Didn’t pooch his lips or get wet and sloppy. He just sort of...overwhelmed her. His broad shoulders, his hard muscles, the hand on her nape. Riding a wave of sensual delight, she locked her arms around his neck.

  With a low growl, he widened his stance. His other hand cupped her bottom and drew her into him. She could feel him harden, feel the answering desire curl hot and sweet in her belly. She pressed closer, eager for the contact, but he jerked his head up.

  His breathing harsh, he stared down at her for long seconds before grinding out an apology. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t, but his next words pushed her close.

  “Wonderful example that would have set for Tommy if he’d walked in.”

  “Hey, your kid just proposed we scrub each other’s back. I doubt a little lip-lock would’ve traumatized him for life.”

  “No, but it...”

  “Never mind. I get it. We don’t want to confuse the poor kid or let him think that what just happened sprang from anything but good, old-fashioned lust.”

  When he didn’t disagree, she tipped him another, even more mocking smile.

  “’Night, stud. See you around.”

  Chapter Four

  Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, a direct contrast to Brian’s mood. The kiss he’d laid on Dawn the previous evening had made for a restless night.

  Restless, hell! It had left him hard and hurting. Good thing she’d breezed out of the kitchen when she had or he might have compounded his stupidity by suggesting they share a brandy after Tommy trotted off to bed. Brandy being code for getting down on the sofa. Or the floor. Or a king-size bed with soft sheets and her luscious body stretched out in naked abandon.

  Dammit! He threw back the comforter and stalked to the bathroom, determined to erase the mental image of shimmering auburn hair splayed across his pillow and those lush, full breasts bared to his touch.

  The image wouldn’t erase. It followed him into the shower, then stared back at him from the steam-clouded mirror over the sink. Laughing, sensual, inviting, she teased and taunted him. She knew he wanted her. The feeling was mutual. That message had come through with the astounding clarity of a radio signal transmitted via a 200 gigahertz, ultrahigh frequency satellite band.

  The same band, he remembered abruptly, that EAS had been lobbying for access to for months. Which in turn reminded him of his scheduled meeting with the FCC on Monday. Between that potentially contentious meeting, getting Tommy settled in school and interviewing prospective nannies, it looked to be a busy start to his week.

  Yanking off the towel he’d wrapped around his waist, Brian tossed it at the laundry basket before pulling on a pair of jeans and his favorite Washington Nationals sweatshirt. He threaded the laces through the eyeholes of his running shoes, thinking of all he should do today. Like go into the office for a few hours to prep for the FCC meeting. And, while he was there, give Travis Westbrook a personal tour of EAS headquarters. EAS’s new VP of Test Operations and Evaluation had landed in DC late last night and confirmed his arrival by email.

  Brian paused, the laces snaked around his fingers. Somehow he suspected Travis wouldn’t mind delaying the EAS tour for a day. The pilot was still making up for lost time with his wife. He and Kate had looked so happy when they’d renewed their wedding vows at the impromptu ceremony beside the Trevi Fountain. So secure in the love that had been tested for long, agonizing months but refused to keel over and die. The kind of love that lasted a lifetime.

  The kind Brian and Caroline had thought they’d have.

  Slewing around, he studied the framed photo on his nightstand. It was a casual, unposed shot of his wife with Tommy in her arms, taken mere weeks before they’d discovered that her sudden imbalance and dizzy spells were caused by a fast-growing tumor that had wrapped itself around her brain stem.

  Over the next agonizing months the tumor relentlessly strangled the nerves that controlled every basic bodily function. Her breathing. Her heart rate. Blood flow. Eye movement. Hearing. Sensory perception. After chemo and radiation failed to halt the tumor’s pernicious growth, she opted for a last, desperate attempt to have it cut out.

  She and Brian both knew the o
dds were she wouldn’t survive the surgery. They’d said their goodbyes in the purple twilight punctuated with beeping monitors, then spent the night spooned against each other in her hospital bed. Both sets of parents had arrived early the next morning, bringing Tommy with them. The hours that followed were lost in a misty haze. Brian couldn’t remember the expression on the surgeon’s face when she broke the grim news. He retained only a vague memory of his father-in-law’s shattered sobs and his quietly efficient mother helping him through the business of death.

  With a knot in his throat, he realized that he could barely recall the sound of his wife’s laughter or the title of the tune she used to hum all the time. Another woman’s laugh now echoed through their house. Another woman’s voice was in his head. A vivacious, seductive woman who hadn’t tried to disguise her response to his kiss. Or her mocking smile when he’d damned near tripped over his own feet backing away.

  Calling himself ten kinds of an idiot, Brian went downstairs and found the coffee already made. The note propped against the pot informed him Dawn had come over early to borrow some artificial sweetener. It also announced that she had a ton of work to catch up on, so she’d hang at the gatehouse while he and Tommy enjoyed a day doing man things. She’d see them this evening. Brian could buzz when he and Tommy were ready to head to the Westbrooks’ for dinner.

  He crumpled the note with a combination of relief and irrational pique at the casual way she’d cut him and Tommy out of her day. Gathering the makings for French toast, he cracked eggs into a mixing bowl with something less than his usual dexterity. He added milk and a dash of cinnamon, then set the bowl aside.

  Topping off his coffee, he booted up his iPad to skim the financial news until muted thumps and a quick flush signaled his son’s return to the land of the living. He was arranging bread slices in a heavy iron skillet when Tommy rushed into the kitchen. He was still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in spikes and sleep crusting the corners of his eyes.

  “Back upstairs,” Brian directed. “Wash your face, brush your teeth, get dressed.”

  Ignoring the order, Tommy swept the kitchen with an eager glance. “Where’s Dawn?”

  “She’s working.”

  “I gotta tell her something.”

  “Not now, Tommy.”

  “It’s okay,” his son countered, darting for the door. “I’ll be quick.”

  “Not now.”

  “I just wanna...”

  “Thomas...”

  The warning growl stopped the boy in his tracks, but Brian didn’t kid himself. Long experience had taught him there would be more to come.

  Predictably, his son’s chin jutted and he threw his father a defiant look. “Dawn said I could come over anytime.”

  “And I’m saying she’s busy. Haul your behind upstairs, then we’ll have breakfast and decide what to do today.”

  “But...”

  “Now!”

  He stopped short of a roar but got his point across. Still mulish but wary, Tommy retreated.

  Brian had to battle the urge to call him back and smooth things over with a hug. Instead, he concentrated on whipping the eggs and milk into a froth. Pouring the mixture over the bread slices, he left them to soak and returned to his iPad to check the football schedule.

  He had the bacon sizzling and the French toast browning when Tommy reappeared. The earlier power struggle forgotten, he hopped up on a counter stool and wanted to know what they were going to do today.

  “How about we take in the Redskins’ home game?”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  EAS maintained a box at the stadium. When not used for entertaining clients, employees could vie for the seats via an in-house lottery system. All but one ticket was taken for today’s game, but Brian could pay an exorbitant premium to squeeze in an additional guest.

  “What about Dawn?” Tommy wanted to know. “Is she coming, too?”

  “She said she’d see us this evening when we go to dinner with Major and Mrs. Westbrook. It’s just us guys today. Kickoff’s at 10:00 a.m.,” he informed his excited son. “So eat fast, and we’ll hit the road.”

  * * *

  Dawn replied to Brian’s text advising that he and Tommy were going to the game with a smiley face and a cheerful “Have fun!” A short time later, she caught the rumble of the garage door going up, the SUV gunning to life and the door rolling down again.

  Then quiet. The empty kind of quiet that comes with the absence of other human activity. Despite the music sent via Bluetooth from Dawn’s iPhone to the gatehouse’s wireless speaker system, a sense of solitude seemed to wrap around her.

  Antsy, she keyed up the volume. Her work playlist contained an eclectic mix of genres, everything from classical to country to easy listening to movie and Broadway soundtracks. The words and music usually blended into the background when her creative muse took over. Unfortunately, Madam Muse appeared to have gone AWOL this morning, and the ballad now coming through the speakers scraped at her nerves.

  Killing the music, she leaned back in her chair and stretched both arms over her head. She’d been wrestling with concepts for an ad campaign that targeted millennials, many of whom considered themselves civic-minded and environmentally responsible consumers. A recent survey indicated consumers in the eighteen to thirty-four age bracket were more likely than their older, baby boomer counterparts to respond to cause-related campaigns. Additional surveys confirmed they were also more likely to try unique and exotic products.

  As a result, Dawn’s company was preparing to market a new line of all-natural vegetable chips. And for every giant bag of the veggie chips purchased by consumers, her company would contribute small, individual-size bags to schools for lunches and snacks to help combat childhood obesity. Personally, she didn’t care for the Jalapeño Kale Bites, but she could devour both the Zucchini Carrot Crunchies and the Sweet Potato Stix by the bowlful!

  The proposed packaging helped, she thought as she eyed her computer screen. Although the bags were made from recycled paper, the company’s packaging engineers had managed to make them look glossy and slick. Now all Dawn and her team had to do was come up with distinctive logos for each chip that would appeal to schoolkids, health-conscious adults and—hopefully!—the halftime, snacks-and-beer-guzzling crowd.

  Speaking of which...

  She didn’t miss Tommy and Brian. She really didn’t. Still, it would’ve been nice if they’d invited her to the game. She would’ve declined, of course. She would’ve had to after pleading work as an excuse to avoid breakfast and any potential postmortems of that torrid kitchen kiss.

  Damn the man, anyway! Where did he get off making her feel like a world-class troll when he’d stomped across the kitchen? He’d wrapped his palm around her nape? And he’d tugged her into that intimate, totally erotic embrace?

  Okay, so maybe she should’ve backed away. Or at least issued a proceed-at-your-own-peril warning. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so annoyed with herself for hiding out in the gatehouse while Tommy and his dad were out in the crisp fall air, enjoying the noise and controlled mayhem of professional football.

  Giving up all attempts to concentrate on Sweet Potato Stix, Dawn put her laptop to sleep and marched into the living room. Moments later she had her feet up and the TV tuned to the raucous pregame activities.

  * * *

  The fresh air and excitement did a number on Tommy. He fell asleep on the drive home and woke up cranky when they reached the house. So cranky, Brian called the high schooler who occasionally babysat when Mrs. Wells required a much-needed break. Luckily Addy’s own plans for the evening had fallen through and he was available for pizza and videos with Tommy.

  As instructed, Brian buzzed Dawn when he was ready to leave for the Westbrooks’. She came in through the kitchen and damned near gave him a stroke
. It was the first time he’d seen her all glammed up since the ceremony in Rome, when Kate and Travis had renewed their vows. She’d pretty much stuck to jeans and scoop neck tops this past week and had worn her hair either clipped up or caught back in a loose twist.

  She’d pulled out all the stops tonight, though, or so it seemed to a stunned Brian. Slinky black slacks. A black sweater that emphasized her lush curves. A chunky gold necklace interwoven with iridescent emerald beads the exact color of her eyes. Her hair fell in loose, coppery curls to her shoulders and looked so soft and shiny that Brian had to physically restrain himself from moving in for a sniff. He was still battling the urge when she gave the half-empty pizza carton on the counter a surprised glance.

  “The game and fresh air wore Tommy out,” Brian explained, doing his damnedest to keep the reply casual. “I called the Westbrooks to let them know he won’t be coming. He’s going to hang with Addy tonight.”

  “His friend Cindy’s big brother?”

  “Right. They’re in the den. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Brian wasn’t surprised when Dawn’s initial glimpse of the lanky teen produced a quick blink. The kid’s baggy jeans rode so low on his hips they defied the laws of gravity. And what looked like a recent and particularly virulent acne eruption no doubt explained his availability on a Saturday night. In the case of Addison Caruthers the Third, however, appearances were most definitely deceiving.

  “Addy’s a Nobel Prize winner in the making,” Brian couldn’t resist bragging. “He came in second in the International Science and Engineering Fair last year.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy chimed in from the floor, pizza slice in hand. “He built a transmitter that warns blind people ’bout stuff in their way. It sends beeps through their earbuds right into their brains.”

  Downplaying his accomplishment with an embarrassed shrug, the teen clambered to his size thirteen feet. “Nice to meet you, Ms. McGill. Tommy’s been telling me about you. He, uh, said you guys really had fun in Italy.”