“From a distance, sure, you look alike, and certainly to those who don’t know you well.”
“Then what’s different?”
“Your eyes most of all. Dal has crinkles around his from smiling so much. He’s been in the sun more and it shows. I try to get him to wear sunscreen, but he forgets.”
“He doesn’t like the smell.”
“Who does? Now you, you’ve got a tiny little frown line between your eyebrows.”
He rubbed at it before he could stop himself.
“Also, now that I’ve seen you, I have to say that all the salty party snacks and the irregular eating and sleeping schedule are beginning to catch up with Dal.”
She was talking about his twin. He shouldn’t feel so smug.
“Anyway.” Cara crossed her arms and stared at her shoes. “I’m completely mortified by what happened. I know that someday Dal and I will laugh about it.”
“But not yet.”
“No.”
He liked that she assumed he knew when to be discreet without begging him not to tell Dallas. “How about us? Are we ever going to laugh about it?”
She looked up at him. “We are never going to talk about it again.”
“No.” But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to think about the way she’d felt in his arms and the fact that she’d kissed him back. She’d kissed him back. And at that point, she must have known she wasn’t kissing Dallas.
She’d kissed him back.
“We will act as though it never happened.”
She’d kissed him back. “If you wish.”
“I wish.”
He tapped the ticket envelope against his palm. “In that case, see you around, Cara.”
SHE’D KISSED HIM. She’d known it was Austin and not Dallas as soon as their lips touched, but she’d kissed him anyway. It was time to acknowledge it.
For weeks, Cara had convinced herself that, because it was so uncharacteristic of Austin to take advantage, she’d been surprised into immobility.
Immobile if she didn’t count her lips. They sure hadn’t been immobile.
As long as she put the incident out of her mind and didn’t think about it, she might not remember her tongue finding its way into his mouth. And…there might have been the tiniest little moan on her part, but the thought was too horrible to contemplate.
Cara propped her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her palms. All around her were the sounds of happy brides choosing their wedding gowns, plastic bags dragging across the carpet and, from the fitting room on the other side, a couple of bridesmaids whining about their dresses.
Here in the dressing room at the end, Cara had found an oasis of calm. She could just sit and breathe, at least until the bride whose dressing room this was returned.
Unfortunately, along with the sitting and breathing came the thinking. And what she was thinking about was this: if she truly loved Dallas, how could she so enjoy kissing Austin?
She thought she loved Dallas; she wouldn’t have agreed to marry him otherwise. She loved being with him. She loved the way he made her feel in and out of bed. She missed him when he wasn’t with her. Life was brighter and better with him.
But.
Did she make his life brighter and better? What did she bring to the table? Why had Dallas proposed to her, Cara?
Why didn’t she know?
Anytime she protested that they never spent much time alone, they usually ended up in bed. Afterward, when they lay cocooned in each other’s arms, Cara could hear a faint sound that she knew was his cell phone vibrating against whatever counter he’d left it on as messages, e-mails and texts streamed in.
He could tune it out, but she couldn’t, and the buzz always triggered a low-level anxiety that she didn’t understand. It was his job. He was busy. She put out her fair share of fires from suppliers, contractors and clients at all hours, too.
The longer their engagement, the more Cara felt as though she was fighting for any little piece of Dallas she could get.
She’d tell him how she felt, she decided. And she’d make him discuss it with her and not cajole her into thinking she was being clingy and insecure.
Ugh. She sat up. She was being clingy and insecure. She hated clingy women. Lately, all she ever did was complain and criticize him or bring up wedding details. Maybe if she weren’t such a Debbie Downer, he’d stick around longer. And if she were more fun to be around, he’d seek her out for a change.
The revelation was so simple, it was embarrassing. This was boy-girl 101.
Someone came into the men’s fitting room. She heard rustling and then the sound of a zipper being zipped or unzipped.
“Hey, Dal?” she heard. “Where are you? The guy out there wants to know what color of white shirt we’re supposed to wear. Oh, hey.” The voice had arrived at the door of the dressing room. “Do you know what color shirt we’re supposed to wear?”
“White?” Dal answered.
“Man, they got five different colors of white. There’s diamond white and eggshell and candle something and a couple more.”
“I have no idea,” Dal said.
Not surprising since Cara hadn’t even known about the white choices.
“Just get measured and we’ll ask Cara later.”
“Gotcha.” She heard whoever it was slap the side of the door and leave.
Listening a few moments more, she decided that Dal was alone.
She leaned against the wall. “Hey, sailor. Lookin’ for a good time?”
“Cara?”
“If that’s what you want to call me,” she answered suggestively.
“What are you doing?” There was uncertain laughter in his voice.
Good. She wanted to keep him surprised. “I got me an itch and I’m lookin’ to get it scratched.” It was a miracle she didn’t crack up.
“I’ve heard they have creams for that.”
Cara pressed her lips together until she could control her voice. “Oooh, creams. I love creams. They’re so…creamy.” She made a face in the mirror. Come on. She could do better than that. “I love spreading them all over my skin. And I do mean all over. They leave everything nice and slick.”
“I thought creams just softened.”
Cara rolled her eyes. Get with the program, already!
“For slick, nothing beats oil,” he said.
“Really?” she prompted. “Tell me why.” And if he answered “higher viscosity,” she was going to give up.
“You can get much longer strokes.”
That might be sexy. Unless he was discussing car pistons or something. He needed to work the voice a little more, though. Maybe he was worried about his buddies hearing him. “Oooooh,” she said, mostly to fill the silence. “Would you like to stroke me?” Honestly, she sounded like a bad Marilyn Monroe impersonator.
“Yes.”
Ah. His voice had warmed up. “Tell me all about it.”
She heard him move and guessed he’d sat down.
“You’re lying naked on the bed.”
“Well, of course.”
“On your stomach. I pour oil on my palms and rub them together to warm it.”
Cara leaned her head back, imagining Dal doing the same on his side. “What does it smell like?”
“Oil.”
She smiled, waiting.
“Scented with…musk. But not the cheap hippie musk. The good stuff.”
Cara rolled her eyes. Dal obviously did better in front of an audience where he could gauge their reaction. An interesting insight. “The stuff that smells like sex,” she said because she just thought of it.
“Oh, yeah. That would be the stuff.”
“So your hands are all slick and slippery. What are you going to do with them?”
As she spoke, Cara noticed that several veils were clipped to hangers on one of the hooks above her. Surely the other bride wouldn’t mind if she just took a look at them.
She reached for one when Dal began to speak.
>
“I’m going to start at the small of your back and move my thumbs over the base of your spine right on the spot that gets tight when you sit for too long.”
Cara blinked. That was pretty specific. He must be getting into this. She started to reply, but he continued without prompting.
“I’m going to rub harder and faster so the warmth will melt all the knots. When, and only when I hear you purr, I’ll pour a tiny pool of oil into the hollow of your back.”
Purr? Cara didn’t remember ever purring. Dal had never given her a massage like that, though.
“Then I’ll smear the oil around at your waist and stroke all the way up to your shoulders.”
“A very long stroke.” Cara saw a chapel-length veil that was only a single layer of tulle and completely unadorned. Her dress was so heavily beaded that an elaborate veil would fight with it. Maybe that was what the problem had been.
She unclipped it from the hanger.
“Many long strokes. As your muscles relax and warm, I’ll press deeper and slower. I’ll enjoy the feel of your warm, slick skin beneath my fingers. You’ll stretch and sigh. I’ll pour oil on your shoulders and work out the kinks and knots.”
“That feels wonderful.” Cara realized she’d been staring at the veil without really seeing it. She could deal with veils later. “Don’t stop.”
“I’m just getting started. Now I pour a different oil into my palm. This one warms and sensitizes. It might tingle. Are there places you want to tingle?”
“Oooh.” Marilyn again. “Some places are already tingling.” And it wasn’t a lie.
“What places?”
“Neglected places.”
“Tell me.”
He’d lobbed back to her. All right then. “Here’s poor little me, lying on the bed all naked and you’ve completely ignored my rump. So I arch my back and give a little wiggle to attract your attention.”
“And it works. I look down your back and see two globes just begging for me to touch them.”
Globes? He said globes?
“And I do, spreading my fingers and the oil all over. All. Over. But this is the oil that heats and you aren’t expecting that. You gasp and raise yourself to look over your shoulder at me. You’re so beautiful. Your back glistens. Your hair falls over one shoulder and you’re unaware that you’ve revealed the side of your breast.”
Her eyes widened as he painted the image in her mind.
“You see my hands on your bottom, kneading and heating. The tingling begins and you stare into my eyes. You know what you want and I know it, too.”
Cara dropped the veil.
It broke the trance Dal’s words had put her in, which was a good thing. Once he’d caught on, he’d caught on. Her heart was going like gangbusters and she’d been taking quick, shallow breaths.
“But you can’t have what you want until you ask for it,” he continued, his voice rough. “And you want it. You’re desperate for it.”
“Yes!”
“Ask me, Cara. Ask me for what you want.”
“I want to know why you love me.” She hadn’t been going to say that at all. But it was what she truly wanted. “Tell me. Please.”
There was silence. Yeah, she was changing gears from fantasy to reality, but maybe they’d created a mood that would make it easier for Dal to tap into his deeper emotions.
Cara held her breath. She was asking for more than his usual “I love you, babe.” Or “You know I’m crazy about you.” Or even, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Why? Why was she the best thing that had ever happened to him? Specifics, she wanted specifics.
And then he spoke. “You complete me.”
Cara nearly screamed. She’d wanted deep emotion and he’d given her a movie cliché? “That’s been said. A lot.”
“But it’s true.”
Cara wanted to cry. Actually, she wanted not to cry, but figured it was inevitable. “I—I was hoping for more.”
And then the words poured out of him. “You not only make me want to be a better man, you make me understand why I need to be a better man. I want to be worthy of you, of being your life partner. I want to be your strength when you need it and your support when you don’t. I want to hold you when you need holding and I want to be held when I feel weak. And I want to know that I can depend on you to get my back and be there even if I fail. I want to know that no matter how bad the day was, you’ll be there when I come home at night. And I want to do the same for you. And to do that, I have to be the best man I can be. Cara, meeting you expanded my world. I see life not just through my eyes, but yours, too. I think more. I think differently. I feel more. I am more.”
Now the tears were okay. This was the connection she’d been missing. The lack had been the source of her unease. She simply needed to bond on a deeper level than Dallas did. Like most men, he’d assumed she knew how he felt. He didn’t have to talk it to death. He probably hadn’t analyzed it until now. He just knew the feelings were there and that was enough. For pity’s sake, he was marrying her. What more proof did she need?
Cara smiled through her tears as she imagined him thinking exactly that to himself. “Thank you for telling me. I needed to hear that.”
His voice was so quiet she almost missed his next words. “I needed to say it. I love you, Cara. I always will.”
“Hello?” Someone knocked on the door before opening it. “Is anyone…Oh, good. You’re still here.” Lia, the assistant manager, stood in the doorway. “They had a question about the shirts next door. It’ll just take a second.”
Cara quickly dabbed at her eyes.
“Having a meltdown?” Lia smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry. Sooner or later every bride has one. It only means you need a break. Come with me.”
Rather than explain, Cara followed her.
“We’ve got peach iced tea brewed today. I’m going to get you a glass. You can relax in a comfy chair and if you’re up to it, pick which shade of white you want the groomsmen to wear. If you’re not up to it, I can pick.”
“I can’t believe it matters that much,” Cara said. Not compared to having just heard her fiancé’s deepest feelings.
It had been the most emotionally moving moment of her life. Who cared about shades of white?
“It’s mostly for the photos.” Lia chattered away. “We find that when a bride wears an off-white dress, or has a lot of embellishment that makes it appear off-white from a distance, white shirts will make the dress look dirty. They also seem to skew the rest of the colors.”
“Oh.”
“It’s an easy fix.” They emerged into the main salon. “And this very helpful gentleman brought all five shirts over so you can hold them up to your dress and pick the one you like.”
“Hey, babe,” said a grinning Dallas.
3
DALLAS FANNED OUT the five packaged shirts like a hand of cards and offered them to Cara. “Pick one.”
No. Nonononono. “I—You do it,” she said to Lia. “I trust your judgment.”
Because she no longer trusted her own.
As Lia took the shirts from Dallas, and, yes, there was no doubt that it was Dallas who stood before her, Cara tried to calculate how he could have uttered those beautiful words, grabbed five shirt samples and run from the fitting room next door in time to be standing in the salon here when Cara walked out of the dressing room. And not be breathing hard.
It must be possible because…because otherwise, she’d just been talking smutty with Austin.
Which was not something her mind was going to accept.
“Dal?”
He held up a finger as he read a text message, then snapped the phone closed and smiled. “What’s up?”
“Do I complete you?”
“What?” He laughed. “Did you see Jerry Maguire on cable last night or something?”
“Do I complete you?”
Dal took a step backward. “Do you think I need completing?”
<
br /> “Don’t you?”
He shook his head. “See, I don’t think a guy should look for someone else to provide what’s missing in his life. He should already be a whole person.”
Good point. Excellent point. Perfectly acceptable point. “So you don’t need me.”
He took her hand and brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “Not need, want.”
“Why?”
Irritation flashed across his face. “Babe, do we have to discuss this now?” He lowered his voice. “We could go somewhere private, maybe get a hotel room. Yeah. Let’s do that.” He smiled his most winsome smile. “Instead of telling you how much I want you, I’ll show you.”
As usual. “You just want to use sex to distract me.”
He looked up at her from beneath raised eyebrows. His signature look. “Is it working?”
“Not this time.”
His expression abruptly changing from coaxing to frustration, Dallas dropped her hand. “I don’t know what you want from me, Cara!”
You can’t have what you want until you ask for it. “I want to know why you love me.”
“Not this again,” she heard him mutter under his breath. “Look, you’re great for me. Right from the very beginning—and I’m talking back in school—you saw me. Like in The Wizard of Oz when they see behind the curtain. When everybody else is looking at the smoke and mirrors, you see me behind the curtain.” He quirked a smile at her. “And you love me anyway.”
“I do.” Cara felt a rush of affection for him. She’d just have to accept that talking about deep emotions wasn’t his style. “You want to go to lunch with the guys, don’t you?”
“Yeah, we thought we’d check out the microbrewery where they get the beer next door.” He tilted his head. “Are we okay?”
“We will be.”
However, his twin might not be.
After Dallas left, Cara went back to the dressing room, fully expecting to find it occupied. Surprised that it wasn’t on such a busy day, she entered and knocked once on the wall. “You still there, sailor?”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
She’d aye-aye him. So he’d waited at the scene of the crime. “You know, I was thinking…we hardly spend any time alone.” Wasn’t that the truth. “Let’s stay in Rocky Falls tonight. I have to meet with the florist at one o’clock, and the photographer wants us to check out the park. Why don’t you book the room and I’ll get us a romantic picnic supper.”
Undressed Page 13
