Then Jake looked over her head at his brother and slid his glasses back up into place. “I’ve got two hours to spare here, Kyle,” he said abruptly, “if I’m going to be able to digitize the photos and integrate wedding guests on the computer. So let’s get the show on the road.”
The muscle in Kyle’s jaw jumped, and Emma looked from one man to the other. Too much conflict there, she thought. She walked over to stand by Kyle and slipped her hand into his. “You can really add in people on the photographs to make it look like we had guests?” she asked Jake.
Jake nodded, his lips quirking. “We could do the whole thing without PJ there, if we put our minds to it.”
Emma glanced up at Kyle. “PJ?”
He grimaced. “Forget it.”
Mrs. Schneider had settled herself and Chandler off to one side under the shade of a lovely old tree. She was already burying her nose in the book she carried even as she slowly moved the carriage she’d produced back and forth. Emma had fed Chandler before dressing in the gown that had miraculously fit perfectly, and she figured he’d be quite content for the next several hours.
“At least Jake doesn’t have to fabricate the wedding cake like he does guests,” she murmured to Kyle. “Talk about attending to detail.” She jiggled their linked hands, leaning toward him so that only he would hear. “Relax, sugar, or instead of looking like the happy bridegroom, you’re going to look like you’ve got a shotgun pointed at your back.”
Jake, apparently finished with setting out his equipment, looked up then. He’d discarded his sunglasses, and his eyes were narrowed in thought as he studied the garden setting. “Emma, love, let’s get a few shots of you by the stone bench there. Do you have a veil?”
She nodded and pulled it out of the carriage where she’d stashed it, then gently shook out the long delicate tulle.
“Just hold it in your hands and look at it,” he said shortly. Emma did what he requested. She tilted her chin when he said and lifted the veil when he suggested she do that so the breeze could drift through the glistening fabric.
She took the bouquet of exotic white orchids and tried to think virginal thoughts even though the sight of Kyle waiting on the sidelines sent her mind along another much more dangerous track.
The only sounds in the garden came from Mrs. Schneider, who was humming a soft lullaby to Chandler, and the whirring noise of Jake’s camera.
After a long while Jake gestured for Kyle to join her. She leaned her head back against Kyle’s hard chest when she was told to do so. She looked up at him when Jake said to. She even propped her satin pump on the stone bench and lifted the long skirt of her gown to reveal the lacy garter belt around her leg just above her knee.
Jake wanted Kyle to kneel at her feet and pull the garter from her knee, but Kyle hesitated, his expression unreadable. Emma put her foot back on the grass. “I need a break,” she announced. She was reluctant about all this, but Kyle seemed even more so.
Kyle nodded, his lips tight. Jake shrugged and wandered over to look down at Chandler in the carriage. Emma dashed a stray curl away from her cheek and tugged Kyle down on the stone bench beside her.
“Your brother seems nice,” she said after a moment.
He gave a disbelieving snort. “He detests me.”
Emma turned toward Kyle, the flowing folds of her gown settling over his gleaming black boots. The man wore a tux straight out of a fashion magazine, but on his feet he wore cowboy boots. Dress boots, but boots nonetheless. “I’m sure he doesn’t,” she countered softly. There was a lot of strain between the two men, but Emma could honestly say she didn’t believe true dislike to be part of it. “But why do you think he does?”
His lips compressed. “Well, honey, it’s not a particularly pretty story. And it goes so far back I’m not sure I can even remember it all, anyway.”
“Talk about a whopper,” Emma murmured. But she smiled gently. “I know all about the good and bad of families. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. Though I don’t see why you never mentioned you had a natural brother.”
Kyle glanced over at Jake. “More than only a brother. I couldn’t keep our family together despite my promise that I would,” he said after a moment. “Jake blames me.”
Emma frowned. “You said you were adopted by Chandler and Lydia when you were just a teenager.”
“Yes.”
“But they didn’t take Jake?”
Kyle shook his head. “We went into the foster-care system when my natural mother died,” he said flatly. “I was twelve, Jake, nine. Trace was only seven and little Annie was five.” He rose, tucked his hand in one pocket. “The state separated us. It took me years to find everyone again.”
Emma stood, also, her heart breaking for a young Kyle who’d tried to keep his family together despite the realities working against him. “That’s hardly your fault, Kyle. You were a child.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s an old unattractive story.” Again he glanced at Jake. “Let’s get this wrapped up.” He raised his voice enough for his brother to hear.
Jake nodded and sauntered back toward them. “If I recall from my misguided past, you ought to have some ceremony shots. Don’t suppose there’s a minister around. It’d save me some time later.”
“No,” Kyle said, “but give me a few minutes, and I’ll take care of it.” He touched Emma’s elbow gently, then strode alone down the winding path toward the hotel.
Emma gathered up her skirts and headed over to Chandler, who wasn’t the least bit impressed with her fancy dress. He far preferred sucking on his fist. Emma started to tuck the veil back in the storage area under the carriage, but Jake stopped her. “You’d be wearing the veil during the ceremony,” he said.
She nodded. He was right. She wandered over to the bedecked table. The wedding cake was three tiers, all in white with elegant curls and ruffles of icing.
Jake came up beside her, stuck his finger into the icing at the base of the rear of the cake.
“You’re plain wicked, aren’t you,” Emma said mildly.
He licked his finger, then wiped it on his worn-white blue jeans. “If Kyle is the virtuous one, then I’m the sinner,” he agreed blandly. “You don’t have a clue what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”
Emma looked up at the man who was so like Kyle, yet so unlike him. “Considering the tension that even an infant could detect between the two of you, I’m quite sure you don’t have a clue what I’ve gotten myself into, either.”
His eyes narrowed. Then a slow smile stretched across his mobile mouth. “Touché.” But his smile died when he turned and looked at the wedding cake. “My wife would’ve liked this cake,” he murmured.
“You’re married?” She was surprised.
He slowly shook his head. “Not anymore.” He abruptly turned to dig in his big battered bag.
Kyle returned with the concierge in tow. He’d even brought a Bible, and Emma swallowed the protest that immediately rose in her throat. She let Mrs. Schneider fit the veil with its minuscule Juliet cap into place on her head. Then Jake gestured them into position, with the concierge acting as the officiant, open Bible in his hands. Emma set aside the bouquet, deliberately breathing past the breathlessness that rose in her when Kyle folded his hands around hers.
“We don’t have rings.” As far as she knew, Kyle hadn’t done anything about that situation since their one conversation about them. Frankly she was grateful. It was one less falsehood she would have to tell on film.
Jake sighed and stepped forward, pulling a long chain out from beneath his loose black jersey. Emma barely saw the glint of diamonds and gold before Kyle lifted his hand, stopping them all. Then Jake’s rings disappeared once more underneath his shirt.
Kyle reached into his pocket and pulled out two bands, one plain gold and the other glittering with a row of diamonds, opening his palm for her to see them. “I didn’t forget,” he said in a low voice. “But I also didn’t forget your reason for not wan
ting to pick them out yourself.”
Emma’s heart pounded in her breast. How could she tell him that she hadn’t been as wary of choosing wedding rings because of Jeremy as she’d been of choosing them with him? She plucked the larger band off his palm, curled it in her damp palm and stuck out her left hand. “Slide that little shackle into place, sugar,” she drawled lightly, and pretended her hand wasn’t really trembling.
Jake’s camera whirred as Kyle slid the ring over her knuckle and into place on her ring finger. The band felt disturbingly comfortable on her finger. And it wasn’t because she’d spent all last summer imagining Jeremy St. James’s wedding band there, either. Then Emma returned the gesture, pushing Kyle’s ring onto his finger.
Finally Jake lowered his camera, and Emma started to breathe easier. But he simply reloaded film and lifted it once again. “Okay, kids,” he muttered. “Pucker up.”
Kyle grimaced. “Dammit, Jake…”
Emma closed her hands on his forearms to keep him from saying something to his brother. “Your enthusiasm is dampening, darlin’.” She smiled, even though she felt a little like kicking Jake herself.
Chandler suddenly sent up a squawk.
It seemed to jolt Kyle into action. He ran his thumb along her jaw, and just that easily, Emma blocked out the sound of Jake’s camera, the way he was constantly moving around them, searching for the perfect angle, the perfect light. She forgot the concierge, who was probably damned for eternity for playing a man of the cloth in this charade.
She forgot everything but the bubble surrounding her and Kyle. Her fingertips flexed against his arms. She swallowed, her eyes falling to his lips, rising to meet his eyes. Then her lids were too heavy, and they fell as his mouth covered hers.
Indescribable pleasure sighed through her. Their lips separated for a moment and Emma heard him inhale sharply. His hands cradled her face. She slowly opened her eyes to find his gaze, hot and searching. “Kyle,” she murmured, lifting her hand to touch the gleaming hair that had tumbled onto his forehead. She slowly combed through the thick strands with her fingers.
She thought she heard him say, “I’m sorry,” in the moment before he lowered his head once again. It was like being consumed by fire. Her head fell back and she felt his hand slide along her spine, pulling her against him.
Just where she wanted to be, she realized dimly. Her lips parted and she tasted him fully. A soft moan rose in her throat and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, wanting to be closer, closer—
“Well. I think that pretty well melted my film,” a voice said from somewhere.
Emma swayed weakly when Kyle lifted his head. He cupped her neck in his warm palm and pressed her head gently against his chest. “Dammit, Jake,” he growled.
Embarrassment came swift and hard.
She pushed out of Kyle’s arms and brushed her palms down the flowing skirt of her wedding gown. Avoiding Jake, who was probably smirking, anyway, she quickly crossed to Chandler and swept him out of the carriage. He wriggled his legs and settled happily in her arms.
Reining in his irritation with his brother, Kyle thanked the concierge for his assistance. He knew the man wouldn’t utter a peep about what he’d seen and done here, not with the exorbitant tip he received.
Jake switched cameras and snapped some random shots before pulling out a heavy silver pocket watch from his jeans pocket. “I’ve got ten minutes to clear outta here, bud,” he said.
Emma must have heard him, because she surrendered the baby to Mrs. Schneider and joined Kyle by the cake. She pulled off her veil and left it sitting on the end of the table out of range of the camera, then picked up one of the crystal flutes. Kyle pulled the bottle from the ice and removed the cap from the sparkling cider.
“Turning teetotaler in your old age?”
Kyle ignored Jake’s mocking question and poured the sparkling golden liquid into their two flutes, then shoved the bottle back into the silver ice bucket. He picked up his flute and gently touched it to hers.
Emma smiled brilliantly, but he could see the confusion in her dark eyes.
He couldn’t blame her. He was feeling a good measure of confusion himself, and he knew the reason for the undercurrents running between him and Jake. He also knew that, right or wrong, he wanted to make love to Emma.
It didn’t bother him to know that Jake knew it, too. But he did feel for Emma, who was clearly unnerved by it all.
They drank the sparkling cider while Jake burned up more film. Then Emma turned to the cake and picked up the beribboned knife. When Kyle closed his hand over hers, he could feel her hand trembling. But her wide vivacious smile didn’t dim a watt, and he found himself mentally applauding her.
They cut a small piece of the very real cake, and when he lifted the morsel to her mouth for her to eat, she hesitated, looking away from him. But not soon enough to hide the telltale glisten. Her throat worked for a moment, then she opened her mouth and delicately took the cake from his fingers. Her lips brushed his fingertips before she took a step back, swallowing.
His fingers tingled from that brief touch of her lips, and he stared at the bits of creamy frosting that clung to his thumb and forefinger. She was near tears and Kyle hated it. He hated having gone so far in his strategy against Cummings that he was hurting a young woman who deserved nothing of the sort.
He hated that, even knowing he was hurting her, he couldn’t stop the forward momentum of the plan he’d set in motion.
She was probably thinking about the wedding she didn’t have with the jerk who’d left her alone and pregnant. Just because Emma responded physically to Kyle didn’t mean that her heart didn’t still belong to that other guy.
He grabbed one of the linen napkins and wiped his fingers clean. If Emma still loved Jeremy-the-jerk, it was no business of his.
“Kyle? Don’t you want your piece?”
He looked up to see Emma holding a small wedge of cake. A piece of your heart. The thought came out of nowhere. Unwanted. Unbidden.
He tossed down the napkin. “I think we’ve got enough photos by now,” he said abruptly.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just stood there, impossibly desirable, her slender fingers holding a morsel of cake. Everything was silent, as if the world was holding his breath.
Kyle realized he actually was. He released it just as a peal of laughter from somewhere else in the gardens drifted toward them on the breeze.
Her long lashes swept down suddenly, and she turned toward the table, accidentally dropping the piece of cake into her champagne flute, in which a couple of inches of sparkling liquid still remained.
Just then, he felt about as appealing as that soggy piece of cake with cider bubbling and biting into it. Emma reached for a napkin, her movements uncharacteristically abrupt.
Dammit. He hadn’t spent as much time feeling like an inept fool since Dennis Reid had opened Emma’s hospital-room door. “Emma…”
She dropped the napkin on the table and walked away, her full skirt rustling. The sound was somehow just as accusing as the straight rigid line of her back. She stopped briefly to sweep Chandler up into her arms, and her actions seemed to scream at him not to follow her as she hurried along the winding path toward the hotel. It would be prudent to let her go, he knew.
Jake was packing up his equipment with his usual rapid thoroughness. Mrs. Schneider was brushing her palms down her clothes. Neither one seemed the least bit concerned that Emma had practically run away from their particular wedge of garden.
Kyle, on the other hand, was all too aware of it.
He yanked at the narrow bow tie strangling him and strode after her.
Chapter Twelve
Emma’s flight through the luxurious lobby was interrupted by the concierge. Perhaps he thought a bride practically running through his lobby while carrying an infant was someone he needed to immediately tend. Perhaps Kyle had greased his palm so thoroughly that any sight of Kyle’s party guaranteed instant personal service.
>
Perhaps, and more likely, she looked just this side of insane as she raced past his desk, and the safest course of action for the concierge was to make sure she made it to the suite without delay.
Whatever the man’s reasons, Emma was grateful that he only handed her a keycard, escorted her to the elevator and punched the floor button for her.
Once she slammed the door of the suite behind her, however, she wished she was anywhere else than this space that she was expected to share with Kyle, no matter how platonically.
She clutched her full skirt in one hand and collapsed on one of the couches.
What a fool she was.
The gardens had been lovely with color. The wedding cake looking like something out of a magazine. And Kyle…
She was such a fool. How could she let herself get so carried away as they toasted each other with the sparkling cider? As they cut the cake?
How could she let the lines of reality and pretense blur so completely that she’d actually been living a moment that hadn’t existed except in her mind?
Chandler fussed. Probably didn’t like being clutched like a lifeline. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and took the baby into the bedroom. Once in the portable crib with his favorite blanket, he snuggled down like an angel and slept.
If only she could press her cheek to a pillow and sleep away all that was wrong. Too agitated to remain in the bedroom with Chandler, she went out into the living area. The piano drew her like a magnet and the gown swished around her feet when she perched sideways on the bench.
Her eyes burned as she stared down at the gown. The style hadn’t been particularly formal, but she’d still let herself feel like Cinderella at the ball.
Except her Prince Charming didn’t come calling with glass slipper in hand and words of love and forever on his lips. He flew a plane and worked too hard and believed that the end justified the means.
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