SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

by Donna Sterling

  Olive's spunk revived. "Tom Langley don't own that car, his rich wife does. And she'd rather have me driving it than him carting you pretty nurses all over town."

  The nurse blushed redder than her hair and didn't utter another word as she and Sunny helped Olive up from the settee.

  On her way past Ryan, Olive halted and laid her weathered palm against his cheek. "It's your last chance to keep her, boy," she warned quietly. "Better not blow it this time."

  Then Sunny and the nurse led her out.

  "A pity," murmured Lavinia to Ryan, "when they get to that stage. Poor dear's obviously confused."

  Ryan didn't think Olive had ever been confused in her life. Outspoken and ornery, yes. But whatever came out of her mouth was usually the untarnished truth.

  So why did she think he had done Sunny wrong? And what had she meant about his heart being torn out of him before Sunny had come into his life?

  With worry in her eyes, Lavinia took hold of Ryan's arm and confided, "I know that you and Sunny are married. But the media will have a field day with Olive's outburst. This is the kind of publicity we don't want connected to our family resort inns. Our image must remain spotless. Mom and pop…"

  "And apple pie," Ryan finished dryly.

  "Precisely. But don't worry," Lavinia assured him as they made their way toward the front of the house. "I'll put an end to whatever tawdry scandal the media might be brewing, right here and now. If I can't turn a potential disaster into a social triumph, my name's not Lavinia Alcott Mayhew Tanner."

  Ryan followed her to the front porch, curious about what she had planned. The crowd milling around on the front lawn had somehow doubled in size. Although the television news crew had gone, the ponytailed cameraman remained with his video camera, and the paparazzo from the tabloid still lurked in the shrubbery.

  "Good news," Lavinia announced regally from the front porch, which could have been a stage. "Since Sunny's grandmother missed the wedding ceremony … due to health reasons, you understand—" she paused to let her explanation sink in "—they have decided to renew their vows. We'll hold the ceremony right here, Saturday morning, in the rose gardens of Windsong Place

  ."

  Ryan turned to Lavinia with a disbelieving stare.

  Sunny froze in the driveway after waving goodbye to her grandmother's departing car.

  Oblivious to the couple's less-than-enthusiastic response, Lavinia continued with a gracious smile, "The guests of Windsong Place

  are invited to share in the celebration, of course, as well as members of the media who are present here today."

  Cameras clicked. The crowd cheered. Ryan silently vowed to strangle Olive the next time he saw her.

  Directly after her announcement, Lavinia enlisted Sunny's help in planning Saturday morning's ceremony. They'd need flowers to decorate the gazebo, a wedding cake, champagne, punch and hors d'oeuvres—only the best, of course. The list seemed endless, and impossible to achieve in only six days.

  But Lavinia insisted the ceremony be performed as promised. "The public loves weddings. Especially society weddings. We'll tell reporters that you married suddenly in a brief civil ceremony, without your families in attendance because you were too much in love to wait. But now, you're holding the ceremony to please your dear old grandmother. It's perfect. I love it."

  Sunny did not love it. This ceremony would be the crowning mockery of their true relationship. But their true relationship didn't enter into it. Only appearances mattered. From the few words they'd managed to share, she knew Ryan felt it would cause less of a stir to go along with the plans than to disrupt them. It couldn't hurt anything, he'd muttered. The ceremony would involve no legalities. Nothing binding in the eyes of the law. Just words and gestures performed for an audience. Just an extension of the performance they'd been giving for the last few days.

  "Would you like to write your own vows?" suggested Lavinia, her eyes sparkling at the idea.

  "No," snapped Sunny and Ryan in resounding unison.

  "The traditional ceremony will be fine," added Sunny. The less they had to say, the better.

  Ryan and Wilbur spent the rest of the day contending with the unexpected crowd that had converged on Windsong Place

  . From the size of it, Sunny judged the entire population of Heaven's Hollow had come to investigate the happening in their tiny community, along with a group of ambitious paparazzi intent on building the events of the day into a sensational scoop.

  When most of the curiosity-seekers had left, both Ryan and Sunny fielded a flurry of phone calls from friends and acquaintances who had seen the broadcast and couldn't believe they had married. By mutual agreement, they both lied through their teeth. Their marriage, they told every caller, had been a sudden one. Yes, they'd be renewing their vows on Saturday.

  It wasn't until evening that Sunny escaped to the privacy of the bedroom. Ryan made his way upstairs shortly after.

  He bolted the door, then drew the vertical blinds over the French doors and windows, just in case ambitious paparazzi resorted to climbing trees.

  Unaware of his arrival, Sunny stepped out of the steamy bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel. For an awkward moment, they found themselves facing each other. Alone. In the bedroom where they had made love.

  His gaze left hers and flickered downward—in a brief glance that seemed to take in all of her, from her wet, glistening shoulders, to the damp, tightly wrapped towel, to her long, bare legs. Her pulse quickened, and the towel seemed to grow smaller with each second that ticked by.

  "I didn't know you were here." She tucked the corner of the towel between her breasts to secure it. Determined to hide her tension, she resolved to go about her business as usual. She strolled to the closet with deliberate nonchalance.

  Through the vanity mirror, she saw him brace his hand against the doorframe of the dressing room. His silver-gray gaze followed her. Or rather, followed the sway of her hips.

  Reaction spiraled through her. Warm, unwanted reaction to his palpable, virile power. She didn't want to be alone with him right now. Her feelings were too raw and jumbled, and dangerously close to the surface. She needed a little quiet time alone to hammer her defenses solidly back into place.

  I don't want to go through this again with you, Sunny, he had said. Forcing her teeth to unclench, she busied herself by riffling through the closet for her nightshirt. A particularly unromantic nightshirt, with cartoon characters on it.

  "You realize we've been presented to the entire nation as husband and wife," he said.

  "Just another act among many, right? But of course, the national publicity will certainly cramp your style." She shook her head in mock sympathy, which sent a fine spray flying from her wet ringlets. "I can almost hear the hearts breaking in yacht clubs all across America."

  After a surprised moment, he answered with an edge in his voice, "You're the one hunting for a husband. An announcement of marriage might complicate your campaign, wouldn't you say?"

  "I am not hunting for a husband."

  "Oh, yeah," he mocked softly. "That's next on your agenda."

  She pressed her lips together and continued searching through the closet. For what, she couldn't remember. She wished she hadn't confided her hope of marrying some day. He made it sound so childish, so gauche.

  "That's not what I want to talk to you about, anyway," he muttered, sounding disgusted with himself. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and stared at her with the surliness of a mountain bear.

  "I'm not really in the mood to talk."

  She saw a shimmer of humor—and something much more provocative—momentarily warm his eyes. "I could think of things I'd rather do right now, too." The sensuality of his drawl sent a warm shiver through her. "But there's something I need to know. Why does Olive think I broke your heart?"

  Sunny gave up groping through the closet and slammed the door shut. Of all the things he could have brought up, this was possibly the worst. He
had broken her heart-shattered it into a million pieces. Because he hadn't wanted her love, and he never would.

  She knew where this discussion would lead. He would talk about the feelings he had read in her eyes today. He was going to "let her down gently," so to speak, to spare her further heartbreak. She didn't think her pride could stand it.

  She turned to face him, her defenses strong. "Let me set your mind at ease. First of all, when it comes to my heart, Olive doesn't have a clue. And secondly, just because I went to bed with you last night, don't think I'm head over heels in love with you."

  Ryan flushed and stiffened.

  Sunny continued in a quiet but passionate tone, "For the past ten years, I have done what I want, when I want, and with whom I want—" she tapped her bare, water-beaded chest above the towel with her index finger as she advanced, insinuating far more action than she had actually seen "—sexually speaking, that is. And love has never entered into it."

  Tonelessly, he replied, "I understand that."

  "So don't go getting a big head just because I engaged in a little casual sex with you."

  "A little casual sex?"

  "Yes, casual. I thought we were mature enough to be honest about the physical attraction between us." Even as she said it, her words mocked her. How could she call herself honest?

  "I should've known better than to touch you," he said explosively. "Sex with you always leads to some kind of complication."

  Sunny flinched. "Not this time. You can bet on that."

  "It already has."

  Never had she been quite as confused, because it was true. Stopping within inches of him, she whispered as much to herself as to him, "I'm not in love with you, Ryan Brynfield Alexander." The declaration reverberated in the air, hung there like a threatening storm cloud.

  "I never said anything about love," he stated flatly.

  Which, of course, was also true. And that was the problem, Sunny realized with painful clarity. They stared at each other in tense silence.

  The scent of lilies drifted to Ryan from her wet, dark gold hair. Her smooth lips glistened invitingly. Her eyes, fringed with spiky wet lashes, dazzled him with emerald beauty. Yet those same eyes and lips were staunchly denying any feeling for him whatsoever.

  He turned away from her, so filled with anger he was nearly choking on it. She had allowed him a taste of her warmth, just enough to get him obsessing about her again, and now she was shutting him out in the cold. Just as she had ten years ago.

  So, then, why did he still want her? As furious as he was, he had to physically restrain himself from tugging that towel off of her and doing his damnedest to revive the warmth her words and eyes denied him.

  "Put something on," he ordered.

  "Do you want me to leave?" she asked between stiff lips, following him out of the dressing area and into the bedroom.

  "Don't put words into my mouth." Ryan realized then with a shock how much he wanted her to stay. "The purchase agreement hasn't been finalized. Do you want to manage the inn, or not?"

  "I do."

  Relief coursed through him, angering him further with its intensity. "Then you will stay. And we will go through with the ceremony Lavinia promised the media. I'm not going to let Windsong Place

  slip away from me now."

  Sunny shrugged—a deliberately nonchalant agreement to cooperate. She still wore only the towel. Damn her.

  Ryan gritted his teeth and fought to regain self-control. He wouldn't touch her again, he swore it. Too much was at stake to have his mind clouded by irrational anger. And explosive desire. Too many serious issues had to be settled.

  Which reminded him of an extremely serious issue that had been riding heavily on his mind.

  Expelling a long breath, Ryan pulled back one side of the window blind, peered out into darkness and rubbed the back of his neck. "Speaking of complications, there's another subject we need to discuss." He cleared his throat, feeling awkward, which was a totally unfamiliar sensation for him. "Last night. The condom. For some reason, it … didn't work."

  "What do you mean didn't work?"

  "It broke. I don't know what I did, but—" He turned and met her gaze.

  A vivid blush stained her cheeks and concern shone in her incredibly green eyes. "The condom might have been old," she whispered.

  "Were you … otherwise protected? Against pregnancy, I mean?"

  "Yes, yes, of course."

  He frowned in surprise. Not at her answer, but at his gut reaction to it. He should have been relieved, but for the briefest moment, he had been disappointed.

  He turned from the window and stared at the roses in the wallpaper, the gleaming brass base of the lamp, the wide, marbled hearth. "Sunny, I swear nothing like this has ever happened before. Since you left me, I haven't been involved with anyone without protection. Secure protection. Against everything." He forced his gaze to hers, but she refused to meet it. "You know how important that is, don't you?"

  "Of course."

  He crossed his arms and pressed the knuckles of one fist against his chin in silent contemplation. "So how about you? Has this ever happened to you before?"

  "No, never," she replied quickly.

  His eyes narrowed. "There's something you're not telling me. You're hiding behind some technicality." Slowly he moved toward her. "Do you swear that all those men you've slept with in the past ten years wore condoms?"

  Her lips parted; her cheeks blazed. She stammered, "Th-that's none of your business."

  "It damn well is." He stopped beside her. "There's a big old wicked world out there, Sunny, and I want to know how much of it I have to worry about."

  "You don't have to worry about any of it."

  He tipped her chin up with insistent fingers and studied her eyes. "You have used protection every time, haven't you?"

  Feeling trapped, and terribly vulnerable, she searched for an answer. He was too good at reading her. What could she say that wouldn't be an outright lie? Because she couldn't tell him the truth. She'd die before she'd do that. There had been many men in her life, and a few that she had slept with. But none had used protection. Because other than kisses, cuddling and a few stimulating preliminaries, she hadn't made love to any of them.

  "Sunny!" Gripping her bare upper arms, Ryan shook her once, twice, his tone growing urgent. "Damn it all to hell, this is serious."

  Because she couldn't stand the thought of Ryan fearing to make love to her, she closed her eyes. And died.

  "I haven't … made love … to anyone else."

  The answering silence roared in her ears. Although his hands remained wrapped around her arms, she would have otherwise sworn he had disappeared. Vanished.

  "Open your eyes," he breathed.

  She didn't. She didn't think she could bear it. If she detected even a trace of mockery or amusement, or worse yet, macho chest-beating, she knew she'd shatter into little pieces.

  "Open them, I said."

  Slowly, fearfully, she obeyed.

  She saw flat disbelief in his eyes, but as she held his gaze, the staunch disbelief mellowed into doubt. And slowly, into pure astonishment.

  "Don't make anything out of it," Sunny warned, thoroughly mortified. "I've had plenty of dates. Plenty. Two or three a week, sometimes. And they're nice men, all of them. I lead a very full and satisfying social life, really…"

  Ryan gently shook her out of her embarrassed rambling. He looked positively shell-shocked. "Why, Sunny? Why?"

  She knew what he was asking her. And she answered with the simple truth. "I didn't want any of them."

  Slowly, he drew in a breath; his nostrils flaring. His voice, when he finally spoke, was softer than a whisper, thick with awe. "But you came to me."

  His gaze touched her hair, her mouth, her eyes. "Tell me why."

  She swallowed against a sudden dryness in her throat. "Because," she replied in somewhat of a panic, "like you said, sex leads to complications. I wasn't ready to commit myself," she improvised, "and I
didn't think it would be fair to … lead anyone on." Satisfied with her explanation thus far, she added the final coup de grace. "But with you, I knew there was no danger of either of us getting too serious."

  He continued to stare at her.

  Desperately she tried to divine his reaction. Had he bought her explanation? Or did he realize that the memory of him had come between her and every other man she'd ever kissed?

  His unreadable gaze held her transfixed. "In that case," he said softly, "there's no reason we can't carry on with our … casual affair, is there?"

  He had called her bluff, and she couldn't back down now. Her blood rushed in her ears, and her every heartbeat hammered a warning. She couldn't have replied if her life depended on it.

  "Kiss me, Sunny," he whispered, drawing her to him. Tugging at the towel. "As casual as you want to."

  The telephone rang, jarring them both from sleep. Sunny was closest to the phone so she extended an arm from their lover's cocoon of warm, satiny flesh and tangled sheets. The Tuesday morning sun filtered through the lace draperies, dappling the suite with flowerlike patterns of light.

  "Yes?" she said into the phone, her voice morning-soft and sleepy. "'Morning, Lavinia."

  She lay back against the pillows, smothering a yawn as she listened. "That would be fine," she mumbled from time to time. Movement beneath the covers distracted her. A strong, warm hand glided in a sensuous path around the curve of her hip, across her stomach, up to her breasts. Smiling, she closed her eyes and savored the pleasure coursing through her at his touch. She breathed shakily into the receiver, "Yes, yes, fine."

  Teasing caresses across her nipples nearly forced a gasp. Her eyes flew open, and she reached out to capture Ryan's hand, but instead he caught hers and firmly imprisoned it. Covering the mouthpiece, Sunny scolded him in a whisper, "Wait!"

  But he didn't. He feathered kisses down the length of her body.

  "Whatever you think would work best, Lavinia," Sunny said, forcing herself to remain coherent. As the voice on the phone droned on, she felt the silkiness of Ryan's hair brushing against her leg, then he lightly bit the inside of her thigh. The delicious shock forced the breath from her in an audible rush. Her hand tightened around the receiver. "Lavinia, I'll t-talk to you later," she managed to say before dropping the receiver onto its cradle.