The dress she finally chose was a deceptively simple design with elegant lines. The wide white belt contained a rose pin. By the time she made her decision, Joy had given up caring. The sales clerk told her it was lovely. Joy was convinced the sales clerk was prompted by the thought of a big sale.
The hairdresser styled her short hair in bouncy curls that made her look like the comicstrip character Betty Boop. Joy washed it out when she got home.
Sloan was nowhere in sight, and Joy stayed in her room, preferring not to interfere with everything that was going on around the house.
The knock on her bedroom door surprised her. She stood, running a light hand over her black dress before answering.
Sloan, dressed in a dark suit and tie, stood supported by his walker outside her door. The sight of this virile, handsome man was enough to steal her breath. His smile was devilishly enticing and slashed deep grooves around his mouth. His dancing dark eyes were directed at her and slowly took in every inch of her appearance. Apparently, what he saw pleased him, as an immense look of satisfaction showed in his eyes.
“Will I do?” The words stuck in her throat and sounded almost scratchy.
His answering nod was absent. “I see you every day. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen you all dressed up.”
“I feel like a fish out of water.”
“And you look like a princess. My Joy, you are a beautiful woman.” He said it as if it surprised him.
She felt the color seep up her neck. “And you, Sloan Whittaker, bear a striking resemblance to Prince Charming.”
“So it’s been said,” he teased. “Shall we?” He proffered his elbow. Joy rested her hand lightly against the crook of his arm and inhaled a deep breath, readying herself for the ordeal.
“I’ll be the envy of every man here,” he whispered reassuringly, and paused in the hallway just out of view from the living room. “Relax. You’re as stiff as starched underwear.”
Under any other circumstances Joy would have laughed, but she felt like a coiled spring, her nerves in chaos.
“Joy.” Her name was issued on a soft, reassuring note. The gentle brush of his lips on her cheek sent a warm glow over her. “Now smile.”
She painted one on her lips and prayed it would effectively disguise her nervousness.
People had already begun to arrive. Joy didn’t know a soul, not even the help, who sauntered in and around the guests with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
Just before they entered the room, Sloan paused and inhaled a deep, calming breath. Filled with her own misgivings over this evening, Joy had forgotten what an ordeal this must be for Sloan. She glanced at him, a protective spark burning in her eyes.
Sloan’s mother was at their side the minute they entered the room. Dressed in a lovely silver creation, she looked years younger. Diamonds graced her neck and hung from her ears. The scent of gardenias followed her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Margaret Whittaker announced solemnly, “the guest of honor, my son, Sloan.”
Sloan tossed his mother a look of severe displeasure, but graciously smiled at the small audience.
A flurry of introductions followed, for Joy’s benefit. After five minutes she gave up trying to remember names and faces.
A path was cleared for Sloan as he purposefully made his way into the room. He chose a far corner chair and set his walker aside.
“Joy,” he whispered tightly. “Get me something to drink. I’m going to need it.”
Joy felt exactly the opposite. More than at any time she could remember, she needed her wits about her. But getting something nonalcoholic in this crowd might be impossible.
A waiter was readily available. Joy lifted a long-stemmed wineglass from the silver tray. “Would it be possible to have a Coke or something?”
“Right away, Madame.”
Joy relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as she’d assumed. Sloan took the wineglass out of her hand and placed an arm around her waist.
“Sit here.” He indicated the padded arm of the chair. When she did as he requested, Sloan kept his hand where it was. Joy knew she should object. The reason for this gathering was to bring Sloan back into contact with his friends—and that included women.
Joy spotted Chantelle a few minutes later. Blond. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything Joy would never be. Chantelle laid a thin cobwebbed lace shawl over Clara’s arm and smiled beguilingly into a tall man’s eyes. Obviously her date. Joy relaxed.
“What was that for?” Sloan asked, his hand tightening possessively around her.
“What?”
“That sigh,” he returned.
“Chantelle’s here.”
“Joy, whatever you do, don’t leave me.”
“Sloan?” She couldn’t understand him.
“Don’t ‘Sloan’ me. I want you here as protection.”
“I’m your physical therapist, not your armed guard,” she whispered back. Silently, she gritted her teeth.
“Joy,” he said again entreatingly. “If someone makes one condescending remark or patronizes me, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I need you as a buffer.”
“A pillow would have done as well. Why drag me into this? Haven’t you any consideration for someone other than yourself?”
“Hello, Sloan.” It was the man who had come in with Chantelle. He stood directly in front of them.
“Dale.” The greeting was sadly lacking in warmth. “Forgive me for not standing up,” Sloan mocked.
“That I can overlook. It’s the constant brush-off you’ve been giving me these past months I’m having a hard time forgiving.”
“I’d think after the first few times you would have gotten the message.”
Dale directed his attention to Joy. “Since Sloan is delinquent in introducing us, I’ll do it myself. I’m Dale Jewett, Sloan’s friend, although that, at the moment, is questionable.”
“How do you do,” Joy responded primly. So this was the man Sloan had repeatedly sent away.
“I think there’s something you should understand right now.” Sloan’s voice was coated in ice. “My tennis days are over, skiing no longer appeals to me, and my golf game is shot.”
Dale laughed and loudly slapped his knee. “You mean that’s what’s been bugging you all these months? Do you think I care if you can do any of that?”
Joy slid off the seat. Sloan had released his hold and didn’t seem to notice that she’d moved. “If you’ll excuse me a minute.”
Sloan didn’t answer. Joy stepped aside and watched as Dale pulled up the ottoman and sat down. Within seconds the two men were engrossed in conversation.
The waiter delivered her Coke, and Joy stood in the background. Someone she vaguely remembered being introduced to engaged her in a conversation, but Joy was only half listening, making monosyllabic responses when required. Apparently, the woman was a distant cousin of the Whittakers’ and had heard all kinds of good things about Joy from another cousin.
Dale was joined by Chantelle, who proudly held out her left hand. A solitaire diamond sparkled from her ring finger. Joy felt like jumping up and down and applauding. She watched as the two men enthusiastically shook hands.
Sloan turned and started to say something, unaware she had left. His eyes briefly scanned the crowd until they found her. They narrowed slightly, indicating he wanted her.
“Excuse me, please,” Joy told the friendly cousin. The Coke glass in her hand, she sauntered back to Sloan’s side.
“You rang, Master?” she teased.
His arm came around her waist. “The funny girl is Joy.”
“We’ve met,” both Chantelle and Dale said at the same time and laughed. The two were so obviously in love that Joy instantly shared in their happiness.
“From what I understand, you’re the one responsible for this minor miracle.”
“No, the credit goes to Sloan. The only praise I can accept is for being tenacious enough to stick it out with him.”
; “This little lady pinched, poked, prodded, and punished me.”
“All in the line of duty,” Joy joked.
“Sometimes above-and-beyond duties call,” Sloan inserted dramatically.
Another couple joined them. Again, Joy was introduced, his hand at her waist keeping her possessively at his side. When he handed her his empty glass, Joy stood to go refill it for him.
Dale had broken through the brick wall that Sloan had erected, and now the sounds of his laughter could be heard above the rest. The crowd around him had grown so large that Joy didn’t bother to push her way through.
“Didn’t I tell you what a good idea this party was?” Margaret Whittaker brushed past, cheerful and happy, “Myron and I couldn’t be more pleased with everything you’ve done.”
She held the fragile stem of Sloan’s drink with both hands. “Thank you,” she murmured humbly.
“We’d like to give you a generous bonus.” Her husband had mentioned the same thing once before. Joy didn’t want or need a bonus. It was enough that she had accomplished what she’d set out to do.
“Really, Mrs. Whittaker, that won’t be necessary.”
“Of course it’s necessary. Now, don’t argue.”
Joy was quickly learning that the Whittakers were accustomed to having things their own way. It wouldn’t do her any good to argue.
Myron joined his wife, his hand cupping her shoulder. “Good evening, Miss Nielsen.”
“Hello,” she returned. “It’s a lovely party.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Very much.” The lie was only a white one.
“Juliette’s here.” The words were directed to his wife.
Margaret was instantly alert. “Do you think inviting her was wise?” A curious note of concern entered her voice. “Juliette and Sloan were quite serious before the accident,” the older woman explained.
“Oh.” Joy struggled to sound as natural as possible.
“I’m so hoping they get back together again.”
Joy tensed.
“They were perfect for each other.”
“What happened?” Joy wanted a reason to hate the mysterious Juliette. Had the woman walked out on him after the accident?
“All Sloan’s doing, I fear. He didn’t want anyone around. I’m afraid he hurt her terribly.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” Myron Whittaker commented. “I’m sure now that Sloan’s walking they’ll patch things up.”
“What has been your experience in cases like this?” Margaret asked. Both parents looked to Joy.
She forced a reassuring smile. “I really couldn’t say.”
A middle-aged woman came up and whispered something in Myron’s ear. He nodded.
“Miss Nielsen, would you mind checking with Clara in the kitchen? It seems we’ve run out of hors d’oeuvres.”
“Of course not.”
Her nerves felt raw as she sauntered into the kitchen. Clara was busy working with the caterers, placing large shrimp onto a silver platter.
“How’s it going?” Joy asked.
Clara looked up, startled. “My goodness, what are you doing in here?”
“Mr. Whittaker sent me to see how the goodies are holding out.”
“What he really wants to know is if the little pink fellows have made their debut yet.” She held up a shrimp.
“I guess you could say that.” She smiled.
“Tell him to hold his horses, for heaven’s sake. There’s only so much we can do all at one time.”
“All right, I’ll tell him. But if you don’t mind, I’ll use more delicate terms.”
Clara’s look was perplexed, her brow knit in deep creases. “Now scat before something spills on that pretty dress.”
Sloan’s wineglass was still in her hand when she returned to the party. The Whittakers were out of sight, and Joy suspected Myron had purposely sent her away in order to bring Juliette to Sloan’s attention. It was probably best. Joy didn’t want to meet someone who was perfect for him.
“There you are.” Chantelle stepped to her side. “Sloan sent me to find you.”
Joy took in a breath to make her voice sound calm. “I imagine he’s ready for his drink. I got waylaid.”
“His drink?” Chantelle returned hesitantly. “No, Dale got him a refill earlier. Sloan wants you.”
What lovely words, Joy mused, as she followed the blonde through the crowd.
Several people were standing in front of Sloan, some leaning against the furniture, drinks in hand, a friendly crowd that responded with laughing eagerness to his witticisms. The attention didn’t bother him, but it unnerved her.
Their eyes met, and Joy stopped midstep. She didn’t want to be thrust into the middle of this, and silently she relayed as much. Her hands balled into fists as she stood outside the circle of friends. She didn’t belong here, and he knew it.
Someone whispered Juliette’s name, and Joy’s attention was diverted to another blonde who moved gracefully across the room toward Sloan.
A hush fell over the crowd.
“Hello, Sloan,” the other woman’s musical voice greeted him.
Joy couldn’t listen, couldn’t watch. Abruptly, she turned away, and for a timeless second was frozen into immobility as the sound of Sloan’s warm welcome reached her.
Somehow she made it back to her room, which felt stifling and hot. The sliding glass door made a grating noise as she opened it and stepped onto the veranda. Arms hugging her waist, Joy raised her face to the heavens. From the moment she arrived, Joy had known this would happen. There was no one to blame but herself. She was the foolish one to have given her heart to Sloan Whittaker.
Tonight had magnified their differences. From the instant she’d stepped into the party it’d been apparent she didn’t belong. Sloan’s world was light-years away from anything she’d ever known. He was accustomed to wealth, influential people, and a certain amount of power.
Her job was almost complete, and she couldn’t be anything but happy with how things had worked out. Her heart, however, was weeping for the man who had cried out for her in his sleep.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Sloan spoke from behind.
“You should be with your guests,” she mumbled, not turning.
“Why didn’t you come back?”
She could almost hear the sound of his walker as he moved closer to her side.
Tension crackled in the space separating them.
“I couldn’t.” Her weak voice was barely audible.
“That’s not an answer.”
“All right, I don’t belong in there. Is that what you want me to say? Because it’s true.” Her lower lip quivered slightly.
“Don’t give me that garbage.” His words exploded into the still night. A hand on her shoulder turned her around.
Joy hung her head. “How’s Juliette?”
“Fine. We didn’t talk long. I was too eager to find you.” A hand stroked the curve of her neck and down her shoulder. The other found its way to the back of her neck. A fiery warmth rushed down her spine. “How long is it going to take you to learn that the two of us belong together? We’re a team.”
The pressure of his hands brought her up onto her tiptoes.
“Don’t,” she pleaded, and her voice trembled. “Sloan, I can’t bear it. Please don’t.”
His hand closed more firmly around her neck, bringing her against the solid wall of his chest. “Don’t you know yet how much I love you?” His voice was incredibly gentle, caressing her upturned face.
Agony was tearing at her heart. “You can’t love me.”
“But I do.” His mouth moved against her hair in a rough action. The heat of his body burned through the flimsy material of her dress. His heartbeat hammered erratically against her palm.
For a moment she managed to elude his searching kiss, but when his mouth found hers, all protest died. She wound her arms around his neck and gave herself completely to his probing kiss. Everything
went spinning, a magical merry-go-round that ascended to dizzying heights. Feeling boneless, she molded her body to his. Sloan had once said that they fit perfectly together. For the first time, she was able to test how accurate his statement was.
“Come on, my Joy,” he whispered against her nape. “As much as I want to stay here and hold you the rest of our lives, we have to go back.” He chuckled softly. “At this point, it would be best to avoid Mother’s wrath.”
Chapter Nine
Joy sat on a burned-out log along the beach. Her flute lay across her lap, and L.J. hobbled about her feet. The early-morning air contained a crisp chill, but Joy was only vaguely aware of her surroundings.
“I should be the happiest woman in the world,” she told the attentive seagull. “Sloan said he loved me last night.” She raised the flute to her lips and played a few mournful notes. “Talk to me, L.J. Tell me why I feel so miserable.”
The bird looked back at her blankly.
“Come on,” Joy moaned regretfully. “This isn’t doing any good. Let’s go back.”
She stood and continued to play as she walked along the sand-covered shore, L.J. trailing behind. Once she glanced back, and a smile lit up her face. She felt like a pied piper.
When the house came into view, she noted that Sloan was standing on the veranda, looking out. She paused and waved. He returned the gesture, but even from this distance she could see that something was bothering him.
He was still outside when she put L.J. back into the fenced yard and returned to her room. She carelessly laid the flute across the mattress and joined Sloan on the deck.
“What’s wrong?”
He glared at her for a moment, his look thoughtful. “I didn’t know you still had the bird.”
“He’s just like a pet now.”
“The two of you made quite a pair walking on the beach like that.” Somehow he didn’t sound like it was a pleasant sight.
“Something’s troubling you. What is it, Sloan?” She placed her hand on his forearm, and he covered it with his own.
“You say the bird is tame. For everyone?”
Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) Page 12
