Not Another Wedding

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  She let the cool water soak into her feet, hoping it would cool the rest of her as well. He studied her, but didn’t move.

  “When your family is around we can kiss.” Her heart thumped when his lips curved into a smile. He liked that. She liked it, too. She must remember it was all for show. “But we don’t need to pretend when we’re alone.”

  His hot stare made her forget the icy waves washing over her. His eyes gleamed. A man on the hunt. She sensed she might be the prey.

  “Beck.” She held up a hand to stop him, but she might as well have sent him an invitation. Although preferably not one with sparkly hearts falling out of it. “Beck, what are you doing?”

  It was like talking to a wall. He didn’t answer, just kicked off his shoes and reached down to pull off his socks, his eyes never leaving hers. He was coming after her. A thrill zinged through her. It shouldn’t have. She was an adult and she’d been around enough men to know many of them enjoyed the chase more than the catch.

  There was no doubt he would catch her. She knew it and he knew it. He would reach out and wrap her in his arms and she would have that delicious body pressed against hers and her hormones would take over and she’d probably end up making out with him right here in the great outdoors where anybody could stumble upon them and she wouldn’t even care until it was too late.

  Another thrill washed over her.

  “We should go back to the house,” she said.

  Beck tossed his socks aside and moved closer. Poppy took another step back. The ground beneath the water was rocky, full of pointy, sharp edges that threatened to break the skin.

  He reached the border of the lake and held a hand out to her. “Come back to me, Poppy.”

  “No.” She took a quick, jolting step and landed right on one of those bladelike rocks. It hurt. A lot. She winced—she thought she might have drawn blood—and tried to rebalance, but he’d already moved forward. Like a jungle cat, stealthy and certain, he was almost on her before she realized what was happening.

  “Beck, don’t.” She reared back, trying to evade his reach. She didn’t know if he was reaching to grab her or save her, but it didn’t matter. She overcorrected and instead of getting her feet solidly underneath her, she slipped. She flung her arms out to regain her equilibrium, but it was too late and Beck was just far enough away that he couldn’t help her.

  She was going down into the chilly water with nothing to save her. Not even her dignity.

  The last thing she saw before she hit the water was his shocked face splitting into a grin. She was not amused.

  She came up spluttering and shaking. This was all his fault. And she told him so when he hauled her out, shivering, and no doubt looking like a drowned rat. “You just had to prove your manhood and push me in the water.”

  “I didn’t push you,” Beck said. His pants were soaked up to the knee where he’d waded in to help her. “I didn’t even touch you.”

  “Well, you were going to.” She shivered again. The air was warmer than the lake, but hardly what she’d call comfortable.

  “You’re cold.”

  She might have thought he was being considerate until she noticed his gaze on her hardened nipples. She wasn’t even wearing her faux-boob bra. She covered them with her arms and shot him a dirty look. But as she did, a flood of heat rushed through her. Stupid sexual attraction. “I need to go,” she said.

  Any further attempt to commune with Jamie would have to be put on hold. She was not having a serious conversation in soaked clothing. She’d probably catch pneumonia. Not to mention she wasn’t about to stand around and participate in a wet T-shirt contest for Beck’s amusement.

  “I’ll take you inside.” His hand still gripped hers. He used the leverage to pull her into him. She would have complained, would have shoved him away, but he was warm, so warm, and her skin was already covered in goose bumps.

  “I need to go home,” she told him. “I need a hot shower and dry clothes.” And to figure out how to avoid her mother who would want to know why she was soaked. “Could you lend me a towel so I don’t ruin the car seat?”

  “You can take a shower here,” Beck said and curled his body so he surrounded as much of hers as possible, and began heading back up the path.

  “No.” Sheer desperation had her trying to tear herself away from his delicious heat. “Your family can’t see me like this.” What would they think of her? They’d want to know what happened and Beck would tell them. That they’d been kissing like teenagers. Her stomach flipped.

  He didn’t answer, just kept walking down the curved pathway. But instead of heading up the rise to the backyard and the pool, he turned to the left, down another path she hadn’t seen earlier.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her teeth chattered. She was going to crack a molar. Her dentist would not be pleased.

  “My place,” he said as they started down another pathway, much shorter than the one to the lake. Poppy glimpsed the main house through the trees as they walked by, but saw no sign of anyone. Probably inside, all toasty and comfortable, drinking another cup of coffee. She shivered again. She would love a cup of coffee.

  But she would not love to get naked around Beck. “It’s a short drive to my parents’ house.” And a necessary trip since she wasn’t certain the lake bath had doused her hormones. Probably best not to be clothes free in his vicinity.

  Beck didn’t slow his pace, tucking her back into the crook of his arm so every inch of their bodies that could touch without causing them to trip was pressed together. A very perilous position.

  “Beck,” she tried again.

  “No one will see you,” he explained.

  The main house was no longer in view, not even if she stretched her neck and squinted. So there was little chance of Beck’s family discovering her in a less than flattering situation. Small mercies.

  “You can take a shower here. I’ll give you some clothes and then, if you still want to go home, I’ll drive you.”

  She sensed him studying her, and wished she had a witty or even reasonable comeback, but his idea was sound, and forcing him to take her home when they were both drenched was petty. She’d be in and out of the shower so fast it would be almost as if she was never there.

  “Fine,” she conceded as the path opened up to a two-story house. It was a miniature of the larger main house, miniature being a relative term, since it looked as big as the house she’d grown up in. “This is the guesthouse?” she asked as they dripped up the steps to the porch and through a cheerful blue door.

  “Yes.” Beck, seemingly unaware or unmindful of the mess they made on the glossy pine floors, led her up the stairs and down a short hall. The inside looked like the main house, too. “When I was a teenager I told my mother I needed my own space.”

  “And she had this built for you?” Poppy was shocked. She’d known Beck’s family was well off, but this seemed a little excessive in answer to a teenager’s demands.

  Beck snorted. “No. She built it for all the friends and family who were going to visit when she and my dad summered up here, but then their marriage fell apart. My dad finished it anyway.”

  He tried to cover the thread of pain in his voice with a factual tone, but Poppy heard it anyway. She wanted to ask why his parents reuniting bothered him so much, but held back. She and Beck weren’t entering into a real relationship but a fake one, and then only in front of his family.

  They reached the door at the end of the hallway. He opened it to reveal a large bedroom, obviously the master suite, and the one Beck used for himself. The king-size bed was made but disheveled as though he’d tossed the covers over the tumbled sheets without bothering to straighten them first. A buff-colored club chair sat in the corner of the room with one of Beck’s shirts draped across it. But other than that, the room was spotless.

  Until
they left their wet and slightly dirty footprints behind.

  “In here.” Beck opened the door that led to the en suite, another large room that was nicer than Poppy’s bathroom in the city. The walls, floor and counter were all covered in the same nutty-colored limestone and created a clean, masculine appearance. Glass accessories—jars filled with cotton balls, the soap dispenser and toothbrush holder—were offset by white towels and a bath mat. But mostly, Poppy was interested in the shower. A large walk-in that looked as if it could house six comfortably, and had eight—she counted twice—showerheads.

  “I’ll leave you some clothing in the bedroom,” Beck said, and headed out leaving her in privacy.

  Poppy only gave a brief thought to the idea that she might be disappointed he hadn’t tried to talk his way into the shower with her before stripping off her dress and tossing it, along with her sodden undergarments, into the sink so they wouldn’t leave a puddle on the pretty floor.

  It took almost no time for the room to fill with clouds of billowy steam. Poppy stepped under the water flow. She enjoyed being sprayed from multiple angles, letting the showerheads do their thing until she felt warm and tingly all over.

  She sighed as the water ran over her head and down her body.

  A trio of clear plastic bottles sat on the wide shower shelf: shampoo, conditioner and body wash. She dumped a liberal quantity of shampoo in her hand and began to wash the smell of murky lake water out of her hair. Or at least cover it up with the scent of coconut.

  She did the same with the conditioner, and then lathered the body wash all over until she felt pink from the heat of the water and was satisfied she no longer smelled like a creature from the black lagoon.

  When she stepped out of the shower, her clothing in the sink was gone. She hadn’t heard Beck come in, but then she hadn’t been listening either. Her skin, already pink from the shower, blushed a little hotter. She told herself the steam would have blocked his view anyway and hoped he’d liked her froggy rendition of Madonna’s greatest hits.

  He’d left a pile of clothes on the bed for her. A pair of faded jeans and a soft, white T-shirt. She didn’t have anything to put on under the clothes, but she didn’t have a choice. She could go commando or go naked. She chose the former.

  The jeans were huge, but she finally made them stay up by rolling the waistband until it caught on her hips. She rolled the legs up, too. The shirt smelled like Beck, but she only permitted herself one quick sniff before slipping the soft cotton over her head. She had to tie a knot in the back to make it fit.

  She eyed herself in the mirror, unwinding the towel from her hair and tossing it over the glass shower door. There was a hair dryer under the sink and Poppy finger combed her hair in an attempt to have it hold some sort of style.

  When she finished, though she wished desperately she hadn’t left her purse with its emergency compact and lip gloss at the main house, she traipsed out of the room and down the stairs in search of Beck. She saw he’d wiped up their footprints and collected her shoes, which now sat by the front door, looking none the worse for wear since they’d managed to avoid the dunking.

  She found him sitting in the kitchen, hunting and pecking away on his laptop. He glanced up and smiled when she came in. He’d changed into dry clothes, too. Another pair of jeans and a white shirt that matched the one she wore. It looked as though he’d taken a quick shower as well.

  “Hey.” He glanced up with a smile. “You want some coffee?”

  Poppy normally would have said yes, but suddenly her stomach was all jittery. She placed a hand over it as though that would help. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this smiling, considerate Beck. Didn’t he know his role was to be overbearing, overpowering and just a little sexy? She could fend off that kind of man.

  But this man? The one who pulled her out of the water, promised to help her with Jamie and made her coffee? This man was dangerous.

  “No.” She pressed her stomach in a silent command for it to calm itself. “I should probably head back.” She needed some space before she did something stupid like decide to forgive him. She knew all too well where that might lead.

  “You sure? I just made a pot.”

  And they’d sit down together, probably have some laughs and slowly but surely he’d wiggle his way back into her good graces. She pressed harder and managed a smile. “No, I really need to get back.”

  If she was lucky, Cami and her family would be gone, her mother would be out back tending to her flowers and her dad would be watching golf and no one would spot her sneaking in wearing clothes completely different from those she’d left in.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  POPPY WASN’T THAT LUCKY.

  Cami’s car still sat in the driveway, which meant everyone was there. And while it was likely her dad and Hank were in the family room caught up in whichever golf tournament was on TV this weekend, her mother and Cami would definitely be hovering nearby. Even if they were in the backyard, Poppy knew they’d hear Beck’s car pull up and would already be making their way inside to ask how things had gone.

  And she had no way to explain it.

  She glanced down at the jeans and T-shirt, which was quite the stylish combo with her nude heels and glitzy clutch. Beck had retrieved her purse from the main house during her shower. She didn’t ask how, afraid he would tell her he’d explained to everyone she was back at his place, naked and wet. She wouldn’t put it past him.

  Not that it mattered what his family thought of her. After this week, they’d probably never see each other again. But Poppy had liked them, his mother in particular, and she wanted Victoria to like her back.

  But she had bigger things to worry about right now. Holding her breath, though it was probably a lost cause, Poppy carefully opened the front door, making sure to push slowly and only far enough to sidle inside. At the three-quarters mark the door had a tendency to let out a loud squeal announcing an arrival.

  The door stayed silent and no one stood in the entryway to greet her. Poppy exhaled a little. Still plenty of bated breath in her lungs, but at least the welcome committee wasn’t pulling out the brass-band stops. She heard the television coming from the back room, a low murmur of voices and the sounds of muted clapping. So Hank and her dad would be no problem.

  She shut the door behind her and risked a glance into the kitchen. It was sparkling clean and empty. No one stood between her and the foot of the stairs only a few feet away. She slipped off her heels and padded forward, letting the rest of the air escape as she did.

  “Auntie Pop-pop!” Holly’s toddler voice had a massive boom for one so small. “You’re home.” She hurled her tiny body at Poppy’s leg and hung on tight.

  “Hi, Holly Hobbie,” Poppy whispered, hoping maybe, just maybe, the entire house hadn’t heard Holly’s greeting. “I need to go upstairs. Do you want to come?”

  She figured she could keep her niece busy in her bedroom with some of her shoes and purses while she hunted for something else to wear. Changing from her brunch outfit into something more casual for around the house wouldn’t even merit a question, let alone require an explanation.

  “No, come outside.” Holly giggled and reached up to tug on Poppy’s hand. “I want to play. Win.”

  “In a minute,” Poppy said, prying the sticky little fingers from her hand and leg. “I have to change and then I’ll come and play.” And would let the little munchkin win because the joy in Holly’s face totally made it worth being schooled by a two-year-old.

  “No.” Holly frowned and her rosebud lips wobbled. “Want to play now. I win.”

  “You go get things set up. I’ll be right there.” The stairs, only steps away, had never seemed so far.

  “No, you come now.” The lips wobbled again.

  Poppy debated her options. Snatch up Holly and haul butt up the stairs before the to
ddler realized what was happening, then distract her with something shiny while she changed. Or disentangle herself from Holly’s grasp and run up the stairs before someone heard them talking and came out to investigate or...

  Stand there like an idiot debating her options until her mother and sister hunted her down, gave her the once-over, took note of her new outfit and turned their curious gazes on her full force.

  “You weren’t wearing that when you left,” her mother said. “What happened?”

  “Oh, I think it’s obvious what happened.” Cami stroked Holly’s hair when she ran over to explain she and Auntie Pop-pop were going to play. “She was corrupting my daughter.”

  “I wasn’t corrupting,” Poppy said. “I slipped and fell in the lake.” She held up the plastic bag Beck had given her to put her wet clothes in.

  “Who fell in the lake?”

  Poppy raised her eyes to find one more person joining the party, but this time she grinned. “Wynn.” Her best friend and business partner had never looked so good or been so welcome. Wynn knew her family well and was a master at distraction techniques. “I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.” She hugged him, laughing when her wet bag swung around to slap him in the back and cause him to dart away.

  “Please, Poppy. This is designer.” He gestured at his suit, which appeared custom-made and expensive. His short strawberry-blond hair was perfectly coiffed and his pale green eyes were bright and searching. He didn’t look like someone who’d spent the morning traveling.

  “When did you get in?” she asked.

  “Unimportant.” He eyed her borrowed outfit. “What are you wearing?”

  She glanced down at herself, embarrassed to admit she enjoyed wearing Beck’s clothes. Pathetic but true.

  “I fell in the lake,” she repeated. “Beck gave me this to wear.”

  “Beck?” All three of them leaped on her comment in a flash.