Martin beamed. “Only a few more days until Belle will be Mrs. Martin Castleberry.”
Annabelle felt sick to her stomach, but managed a watery smile. “Mom, did you tell Martin the caterer is going to charge double for a rush job?”
He frowned slightly. “Double? That hardly seems fair.”
“I know,” Belle murmured, “but there was no way around it. And besides, think of all the money we saved on invitations.”
Annabelle cleared her throat delicately. “You could postpone the ceremony by a mere two weeks—think of the money you’ll save on the food.”
Her mother gave her a sharp glance. “Two weeks?”
“Which would give you a few more days to iron out the prenuptial agreement,” Clay added.
Belle shook her head. “But everyone is coming Saturday. Annabelle, your aunt Macey and cousin Lorie will be here. Not to mention Lucille and Hollis, Maris and Lawrence, Jennifer, Emily, Porter—”
“I know, Mom. Every living relative we have is converging on Atlanta.” With great restraint, she kept from rolling her eyes. Her cousins just wanted to meet a movie star. And eat lobster bisque that would be twice as expensive as it should be. And harass Annabelle because she was still single.
Martin laughed. “My two sisters are going to love you, Belle. And of course they’re always delighted for an excuse to see Clay again—they keep hoping to make the trip from Massachusetts someday for his wedding.”
Annabelle shifted her gaze to Clay. His frown was quick and deep, indicating his doting aunts were destined for disappointment.
“About that prenuptial agreement,” Clay said, looking at his father. “I spoke to your attorney today and he said he could meet with you tomorrow morning.”
His father’s brow darkened. “Belle and I don’t want a prenuptial agreement.”
“I agree with you,” Annabelle said to Clay. “In fact, I’d be glad to meet with your attorney to discuss Mother’s interests.”
“I’ll just bet you would,” Clay muttered.
Annabelle frowned. “Do you want a prenup or not?”
“Of course I do. But there’s no need for you to become involved. Dad’s lawyer has drawn up these agreements before.”
“I’m sure your father alone keeps him busy,” she said through gritted teeth.
Martin stood and extended his hand to Belle. “Since the two of them are in the mood to argue, why don’t you and I dance?”
“Gladly,” Belle said, shooting Annabelle an annoyed look as she took Martin’s hand.
Annabelle sipped her champagne as she watched the couple glide across the small dance floor performing complicated moves her own generation would never master. Her father had preferred the radio to the television, and when a favorite old tune would come over the old receiver that sat on top of the refrigerator, he would tug her aproned mother to the center of the kitchen floor and spin her around. They would look at each other as if nothing in the world mattered except their love. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she bit her tongue hard to rein in her memories. How could her mother forget so easily?
“Is something wrong?” Clay asked.
Annabelle blinked and her laugh came out dry. “Only everything.”
“Oh? Things not working out as you’d planned?”
She bristled at his mocking expression. “No, not exactly. How about for you?”
He sipped from his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. For a split second, she thought she saw desire flash in their depths. Heat crept up her cheeks.
“No,” he said finally. “Not exactly.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s voice sounded. “If I could have your attention for just a moment.”
Annabelle turned to see the pianist encompassing the seated diners with a broad smile. On the dance floor, Martin and Belle slowed their steps.
“We are honored this evening to have as our guest the legendary actor, Mr. Martin Castleberry, and to help him celebrate his recent engagement.”
Under the spotlight, Belle and Martin beamed at the applause. Annabelle joined in half-heartedly, marveling at her mother’s ease, while Clay sat stonily silent.
“Won’t you join the happy couple in a celebratory dance?” the man invited the crowd.
The pianist struck up a slow, jazzy version of ‘You Made Me Love You,’ and sang in nostalgic tones, “I didn’t wanna do it....”
Several couples left their tables to join Martin and Belle on the floor. She made eye contact with her mother, who waved for her and Clay to join them, prompting Martin to do the same to Clay. Annabelle felt tingly and uncomfortable, her body straining oddly toward the man who triggered a baffling response in her.
Clay seemed as exasperated as she when he stood and extended his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”
She wanted to turn him down, she really did. To watch the imposed-upon expression fall from his face. But heaven help her, the thought of moving around the dance floor in his arms wasn’t entirely repugnant. In fact, her pulse jumped rather dramatically at the sight of his big body towering over her. He looked positively splendid in his immaculate suit and open-collared dress shirt.
“Yes, let’s,” she agreed with equal irritation, and rose to walk with him to the edge of the dance floor.
A dozen couples shared the small area, but Annabelle felt oddly singled out and conspicuous as Clay swept her into a slow waltz. His warm hands curved around her waist and clasped her hand in the air above her shoulder. The scent of his musky aftershave brought back the memory of his rough kiss the day he’d shown up at her mother’s prepared for a showdown. Had it been only two days ago? For some strange reason, she felt more entwined with this man than their hours together might indicate.
The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and he was easily twice her breadth. Not a small woman, Annabelle felt dwarfed by Clay’s size. The sensations of feeling overwhelmed versus safe warred within her. Inches separated their bodies as they moved in a neat circle under his guidance. Since her father’s passing, her dance steps had become rusty; Clay on the other hand, moved effortlessly. She concentrated fiercely to keep from stepping on his expensive shoes.
“Relax,” he murmured, giving her the slightest of smiles.
“I’m out of practice,” she said, hating how he could read her body language.
“Doesn’t your boyfriend ever take you dancing?”
She missed a step and came down on his toes, not entirely by accident.
He recovered instantly, but his smile turned wry. “I guess not.”
Annabelle pressed her lips together to suppress her own smile, then relaxed a fraction of an inch. Clay had no idea he was beginning to affect her—indeed, he thought she was engaged. She was completely safe.
Then she swallowed hard. So why was he stroking her back?
Squashing the desire stirring in her stomach, she told herself he was simply keeping time to the music as he swept her around. Nonetheless, his touch wasn’t wholly objectionable.
“You made me love you,” the singer crooned. “I didn’t wanna do it….”
Clay was outrageously handsome, she acknowledged. His face was a collection of superb, masculine lines that would undoubtedly incite legions of female fans. And certainly the Castleberry name would have opened a few doors in Hollywood. “You were never interested in an acting career?”
His scoff was quick and hearty. “Never.”
Although she suspected she was treading on dangerous territory, she asked, “Why not?”
He took his time answering, which gave her a legitimate reason to look into those bottomless blue eyes. A mistake, because it made her curious as to what was lingering behind them. Did the man still see her as a problem to be eliminated? Or had he graduated to plain indifference?
“Let’s just say I saw what it did to my father’s personal life, and I wanted no part of it.”
Did Clay have a personal life, she wondered? A lover waiting for him in Paris? “So yo
u can understand why I don’t want my mother dragged into the spotlight.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, then he turned to watch their parents. “They seem rather determined, don’t they?”
A few feet away, the couple exchanged adoring looks as they moved together effortlessly.
Annabelle sighed. “Yes, they do. Maybe we should just give our blessing and get back to our own lives.”
His fingers stroking her back stilled. “Why the sudden change of heart?” His voice sounded odd—almost suspicious.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m thinking who am I to tell my mother she shouldn’t marry.”
“Especially since you’re about to take the plunge yourself?” he asked lightly.
She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but the interest in his expression frightened her. Why make herself more vulnerable to his charisma by telling the man that not only was she not engaged, she hadn’t been on a bona fide date in eight months, three weeks, and four days.
She, Annabelle Garnet Coakley, was ripe for the picking.
“Well,” she managed to say, “my situation is a bit different than my mother’s.”
“Oh? Your fiancé isn’t a rich, older man?”
She averted her eyes. “No.”
“Someone you work with?”
Annabelle missed another step. She’d told her share of little white lies for the greater good, but something about this man made her feel as if she were turned inside out for him to analyze. “I’d rather not discuss my personal life.”
He arched one black eyebrow. “Careful—someone might think you’re hiding something.”
The man had radar like a bat. Swallowing hard, she said, “You seem determined to think the worst of me.”
Seconds ticked by while he stared down at her with that unreadable half-smile. “On the contrary,” he said finally. “Those freckles of yours are wreaking havoc with my better judgment.”
Struck speechless, Annabelle missed another step. Suddenly, he spun them around in a move that forced their bodies together. She sucked in a sharp breath, dismayed at the thrill that pulsed through her as her breasts pressed into his chest. His arm bridled her waist, holding her against him, their legs moving intimately, like the blades of scissors.
She closed her eyes against the sensation of her body moving against his. Some small part of her said she should resist, should break free of his embrace, but his arms simply felt too good wrapped around her. And his words reverberated in her head. The fact that he found her attractive shocked her, but the fact that he would admit it flat out astonished her.
Annabelle had no time to consider the matter further because the singer wrapped up the song with a flourish. Near them, Martin lowered Belle into a dramatic dip, to enthusiastic applause. For their own end, Clay released her slowly. Annabelle didn’t trust herself to make eye contact. She was afraid she might see an invitation lingering there, an invitation that would compromise her vow to avoid messy entanglements of dating, affairs or—horror of horrors—a relationship.
Not that someone like Clay Castleberry would ever embark on a relationship. At least not with her.
Alarmed at the shift in her awareness of the man next to her, she kept her eyes riveted on their parents, and noticed her mother was limping. Great—Martin wanted to show off his fancy schmancy moves and had managed to sprain her ankle, or throw out her back, or break her hip.
She rushed forward, ready to sweep her mother out of harm’s way. “Mom, are you hurt?”
“Thank goodness, no,” Belle said. “The heel to my sandal broke off.” She held up the 3-inch wedge, laughing.
Relieved, Annabelle nonetheless shot Martin a reproachful look. “I’ll take you home, Mother.”
“Nonsense, Annabelle,” Martin boomed. “I’ll take your mother home to fetch another pair of shoes. You and Clay stay and enjoy yourselves—we’ll be back before you know it.”
Clay fished the valet ticket from his pocket, his movements hesitant.
Panic blipped in her chest at the thought of spending time alone with Clay and her gaze flew to his. Her reaction must have shown on her face because her mother whispered, “Remember your manners, dear.”
Martin helped Belle to the table where she retrieved her purse and smiled graciously at onlookers before moving toward the exit. Annabelle stopped next to the table, feeling as if the situation was slipping out of her grasp.
With a start, she realized Clay had pulled out her chair and was patiently waiting for her to claim it. When she glanced up, a tight smile played on his handsome face.
“I suppose we have no choice but to endure each other’s company for a while,” she offered nervously, taking the seat.
He bent over, scooting her and her chair closer to the table, then whispered near her ear, “This could be interesting.”
Chapter Ten
DINING ALONE WITH CLAY Castleberry, interesting? Nerve-wracking, disquieting, and downright uncomfortable, perhaps, but not interesting. Annabelle sipped her champagne and studied the man sitting next to her as he asked their waiter to bring appetizers and delay the entrees until their parents returned. Admittedly, he was an intriguing man. If they had met under different circumstances, would they have—
“Well?” he asked.
Annabelle jerked—darn it, caught daydreaming again. “Well, what?”
“Well, what now? I can see the wheels turning in your head. I assume you have a plan.”
A guilty flush descended. How long would he gloat if he knew that her confusing attraction to him was distracting her from her main goal to…to…oh, yes—to stop the wedding.
She cleared her throat. “Short of kidnapping, I’m not certain what to do with my mother.”
“We’re running out of time,” he said, his words measured.
Did she imagine it, or did his gaze flit to her ring finger? “Yes, we are. The more plans they make, the less chance we have of changing their minds.”
Clay shook his head. “Women always manage to turn a simple ceremony into an overblown event.”
Annabelle blinked. “May I point out that getting married isn’t as old hat for my mother as it is for your father. Surely you can’t begrudge her a few indulgences.”
Clay rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’re neck-deep into planning your own production.”
Annabelle frowned, determined not to be distracted. “Don’t you think a couple should be surrounded by their family and friends when they take their vows?”
“Since no marriage is likely to last, why inconvenience everyone else?”
She was torn—half in agreement, yet faintly dismayed that neither of them carried within them the belief they could find one person to love for all time. His cynicism was jarring, but hadn’t she mouthed similar sentiments to everyone within earshot?
“Well, even if Mother goes ahead with this wedding,” she murmured, “I’m glad she at least wanted me to be here and take part in the ceremony.”
*****
Clay gripped his glass as the unwitting barb hit home. Conversely, his father had gone out of his way to prevent him from finding out about the ceremony. He preferred to think his father was trying to get away with something rather than excluding his son from an important day in his life. He tossed back the last of his champagne. Surely their relationship had not deteriorated that badly.
He probed his cheek with his tongue, irritated to realize that he’d rather be exploring fantasies with the lovely engaged Annabelle than discussing the shortcomings of the Castleberry men. Still, things were what they were—she was off-limits, and their parents were off their rockers.
“It won’t bother you,” he asked, “being witness to a union you know is destined to fail?”
“Yes,” she said, sliding her tongue over those wonderful lips. “But no matter what happens, I can’t turn my back on my mother.”
She looked earnest enough. But was it simply an act, to pretend she was being worn down when she was
really fostering the marriage behind the scenes? The phone inside his jacket pocket vibrated. He pulled it out, half-hoping the call was from Paris and dire enough for him to return immediately.
Instead, it was his father reporting they’d driven Belle’s car home and arrived safely, but now the car wouldn’t start. They had opted to order in Chinese food and watch a video at Martin’s, but why didn’t Clay and Annabelle stay and have a nice dinner? They’d all catch up later, when Clay brought Annabelle home. Clay opened his mouth to say no, that they’d be right home, but stopped when he glanced across at Annabelle, her lips slightly parted, her eyebrows raised in question. Unbidden lust rolled through his body.
On the other hand, when might he have another chance to spend time with her one-on-one and discover something unpleasant to counteract the powerful attraction he felt when she cast those golden eyes in his direction?
“Sure thing, Dad. We’ll see you soon.”
He hung up slowly, scrutinizing his accidental companion for the evening. Had she felt the same stirring as he when he’d pulled her close on the dance floor? No, he decided. If the flash of interest he’d seen in her eyes was longing, she was thinking either about her fiancé, or about getting her graceful little hands on his father’s estate.
Clay broke the news to her, keen for her reaction. She appeared to be at loss for a reason to decline, and her silent acquiescence coincided with the waiter delivering skewers of proscuitto and cantaloupe. With an apology, he canceled Martin and Belle’s orders, then ordered another bottle of champagne, both to pacify the waiter, and to—hopefully—loosen her tongue.
She ate delicately, helping herself to a small portion of the appetizer. He was absurdly pleased when she smiled and nodded in approval at his choice. “Delicious,” she said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”
Taken off guard, he said, “It helps to have a good partner.” Then he straightened. “Er, dance partner, that is.”
Stop the Wedding! Page 10
