With a sigh, Charles dropped his chin, then nodded. “It’s all right, baby.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Do what you have to do.”
“Thank you,” she whispered through the lump in her throat, then handed the bouquet to her father and hugged him. “Tell Mom I love her.”
She heard the murmur from the pews behind her as she turned and walked briskly toward Jacob. Lifting her chin, she met his dark gaze with her own.
“Mr. Carver,” she said politely. “May I trouble you for a ride?”
Two
While the sun rode low on a silver-streaked horizon, they drove in silence. Past sprawling, two-story colonial estates. Past a thoroughbred farm with long, white fences and sleek, shiny horses grazing in thick, green grass. Past a restored antebellum mansion that was now a hotel and spa.
Clair stared straight ahead, back perfectly straight, her long, elegant neck held high. She clasped her slender hands tightly together in her lap. Between her billowing skirts and the fountain of sheer white netting that covered her head, she literally filled the front seat of his car. The sweet, delicate scent of roses still clung to her gown.
Jacob checked his rear view mirror for the tenth time, was relieved to see that no one had followed them. Pushing her skirt out of his way, he shifted gears and pulled down a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood of old, but elegant brick homes, then parked his car under the shade of a spreading magnolia. He shut off the engine, rolled down his window, then reached across Clair and rolled hers down, as well. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
On the same side of the street, a white-haired gentleman strolled toward them with a Pekinese on the end of a leash. Both man and dog glanced over as they approached, and the old guy’s eyes went soft with admiration as he stared at the vintage car. When he caught sight of Clair, the man lifted a curious brow and then shrugged and moved on.
Clair didn’t even notice.
“Clair.”
He said her name gently, shifted his body in his seat and looked at her. She sat stiff as a preacher’s collar, unblinking, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Clair.”
His gaze dropped to her chest to see if she was breathing. Based on the shallow rise and fall of her breasts, he determined she was. And because he was only human, he took a moment to appreciate the view before he said her name more sharply.
“Clair.”
She blinked. Her blue eyes wide, she slowly turned to look at him.
“You want to tell me what happened back there?” he asked.
“I—” She stopped, swallowed, then glanced away. “I just ran out on my fiancé, my parents and two hundred guests.”
He’d pretty much figured that part out. Now to ask the next, most logical question. “Why?”
“I didn’t love him.” Her voice quivered. She turned back and leveled her gaze with his. “I…didn’t love him.”
The second time she said it, her voice was stronger and didn’t waver. Jacob leaned back against his car door and studied her, decided that maybe his first assessment of her had been right, after all. Maybe there was something different about Clair.
“And you just realized that now?”
She stared at the sparkling diamond on her hand. “I’ve known Oliver most of my life. Our families spent holidays together, celebrated birthdays and anniversaries. It made my parents so happy when he proposed. It never occurred to me to turn him down.”
“Until today.”
“My entire life has been a lie.” She slipped the ring off her finger and laid it in the palm of her hand. “My parents lied to me. I lied to myself and to Oliver. All because we were afraid to tell the truth, afraid of the consequences. When I walked out and looked at all those people sitting in the church, then saw you, I knew it was now or never.”
Her fingers closed around the ring. “They’ll never forgive me.”
He’d liked to tell her that she’d made the right decision, that her fiancé had been doing the mattress mambo with one of her so-called friends. But he could see the cold fear in her eyes, the heavy guilt. He sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to add to the woman’s grief.
And besides, Clair Beauchamp’s love life wasn’t his problem. He’d been hired to find her, not rescue her.
“My parents confirmed everything you said about my birth family.” From a pocket at her hip, she pulled out a white silk handkerchief, folded the ring inside, then tucked it back into the dress. “Except they told me that my brothers were dead, that they died in the accident along with my parents. My father saw the death certificates for Rand and Seth.”
“The death certificates were phonies,” Jacob said. “And so was yours.”
She swiveled a look at him, blinked. “Mine?”
Jacob nodded.
“I see.” Frowning, she touched a shaking hand to her temple and shook her head. “No, actually, I don’t see at all. How could this be possible? How could a family be separated like we were and adopted out, legal or illegal? Why didn’t anyone know?”
“The lawyer in Wolf River will explain everything.” Jacob pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. “You can talk to your brothers and—”
“No.”
He stopped dialing and looked up at her. “No?”
“No. Not on the phone.”
“All right.” Jacob set the phone down. “I’ll drive you to your house, you can pack a few things, then I’ll put you on a plane to Dallas. Wolf River is about three hours from the airport and someone will—”
“Mr. Carver, the last place I’d go right now is home. And I have no intention of getting on a plane.”
Clair wasn’t certain when she’d actually made that decision. Maybe two seconds ago, or maybe the moment she’d seen Jacob in the church. Either way, it didn’t matter.
She was not going home.
“First of all,” he said on an exhale, “why don’t you just call me Jacob?”
Clair felt her breath catch when his gaze slid slowly over her. Something in those dark eyes of his sent a strange shiver up her spine.
Good Lord, it was hot in his car.
“Second…” His gaze came back up to meet hers. “Just in just you forgot, you’re still in your wedding dress.”
“I assure you, Jacob, no one could possibly be more aware of what I’m wearing than me.” The dress had been made to fit like a glove and it was squeezing the breath out of her. It was squeezing the life out of her. “But I’m not going home.”
“Oookaay.” He draped an arm over his steering wheel. “And your plan is?”
“Quite simple, really.” It had taken her mother fifteen minutes to get her veil anchored to her head in the church dressing room. It took Clair two seconds to rip it out. “You’ll drive me to Wolf River.”
He stared at her for a full five seconds. “Excuse me?”
“I said—” she did her best to ignore the horrific itch between her tightly bound breasts “—I’d like you to drive me to Wolf River.”
“Not possible.” He shook his head. “I was hired to find you and make contact. I’m sorry, but my job is finished now.”
“Then I’m rehiring you.” She rolled her shoulders back, but it did nothing to relieve the unbearable itch. “What’s your fee?”
“You’re actually serious?” His laugh was short and dry. “It doesn’t matter what my fee is. I’ll take you to the airport and get you on a plane, but that’s all I can do.”
“I’ll double it.”
She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the slight lift of one eyebrow, but then he shook his head again.
“Look,” he said slowly, “I can appreciate you’re a little upset at the moment and you’re not thinking clearly, but—”
“Stop.” She leaned in closer to him and narrowed her eyes. “Just stop right there. You show up three days ago and tell me my entire life has been a lie. I just walked out on the only family I’ve ever known, not to mention my fiancé and two hu
ndred wedding guests. Do not tell me you can appreciate what I’m feeling or thinking at this moment. You can’t possibly have a clue what’s going on inside me right now.”
Clair pressed a hand to her stomach, stunned that she’d actually raised her voice. Stunned to realize that it felt good to raise her voice. Still, a lifetime of strict manners and proper behavior had her quickly backtracking.
“I apologize.” She straightened her shoulders and did her best to ignore the increasing itch across her chest. “That was rude of me. I’m sure we can discuss this in a calm manner.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
When his gaze dropped to her breasts and lingered there, Clair felt a thrill lurch in her stomach. Good heavens, but the man was brazen! Even Oliver would never have stared so blatantly at her. She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands. And scratch.
When his gaze did not lift, the thrill Clair had felt faded and turned to indignation. “Mr. Carver,” she said, forcing a cool tone to her voice, “if you stopped staring at my chest, perhaps you could at least hear me out.”
“Sorry. But that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.”
“What wasn’t where?”
“That.”
Clair glanced down and gasped. On her chest, spreading upward from her décolletage, was a trail of dime-size bright red splotches. Damn this miserable dress!
“That’s gotta itch,” he said.
“It’s nothing,” she lied. Her cheeks were as hot as her chest when she grabbed her veil and covered herself. She wouldn’t scratch. “Mr. Car—Jacob—I need to go to Wolf River, but I also need a few days to absorb everything that’s happened. I may not have any money on me at this moment, but I assure you, I have access to personal funds. Name your price.”
Damn, but Clair Louise Beauchamp–Elizabeth-Marie Blackhawk was a haughty priss, Jacob thought. He couldn’t decide if he was amused or annoyed. Maybe a little of both. But one thing was certain, she was one gorgeous haughty priss.
When she’d tugged her veil away from the sophisticated knot on top of her head, several strands of shiny dark hair had escaped and tumbled down her long, slender neck. Tear-shaped pearls dripped from her earlobes and a matching necklace hugged the base of her throat. She had eyes that flashed blue fire one minute and cold ice the next, and a mouth that could tempt a saint.
He was no saint.
“Look, Clair,” he said impatiently. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do need some time to think all this over. I could check you into a quiet resort somewhere, incognito. In a few days—”
“I have no desire or intention to hide away in a resort.” She lifted her chin. “I know what I want. Maybe for the first time in my life. I’ll triple your fee.”
“I—” He stumbled mentally as her offer sank in. “Triple?”
“Please.” She leaned across the seat, laid her fingers on his arm. “Jacob, please.”
Her hand on his bare skin was as smooth and warm as her plea. He told himself the sudden drought in his throat was caused by the late-afternoon heat building inside his car. He watched her lips part softly as she stared imploringly at him and felt a jolt of desire slam into his gut.
Pressing his lips tightly together, he pulled away and shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to—”
When Clair started to ring, Jacob realized his cell phone was somewhere underneath the thick cloud of her gown. She gasped when he burrowed his way through the yards of stiff tulle, then pulled his phone out from under her bottom. “Carver here.”
“Jacob Carver, you son of a bitch!” a man said at the other end of the line. “I demand you return my fiancée to the church immediately!”
Jacob raised a brow and casually asked, “To whom am I speaking?”
“You know damn well who you’re speaking to,” Oliver Hollingsworth yelled. “Get back here now!”
“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Jacob drawled. “How ’bout I get back to you?”
Oliver’s response had Jacob raising both brows. Clair chewed nervously on her lip.
“I won’t be humiliated like this,” Oliver screamed into the phone. “You’ll return Clair this minute or I’ll have your license revoked. I’ll sue you for every penny you have. I’ll have you arrested and thrown in—”
“I’ve got your number.” Jacob cut him off. “Room 16 at the Wanderlust Motel. Nice little place, though the walls are a little thin, don’t you think?”
There was a long, tight silence at the other end of the line, then Oliver said quietly, “Look, Carver, I’ll make it worth your while to keep that little bit of information between us. Say twenty-five thousand? Return Clair to the church immediately and there’ll be another twenty thousand on top of that. After the ceremony, you and I can talk man-to-man and—”
Jacob hung up on him, then shut his phone off.
I’ll make it worth your while. The bastard hadn’t even asked about Clair, Jacob thought irritably. Hadn’t asked if she was all right, or even to speak to her. Hollingsworth just wanted her back at the church so he wouldn’t be humiliated.
“Who was that?” Clair asked anxiously.
“No one you know,” Jacob said almost truthfully and watched her relax.
“Jacob, if you would just please reconsider my offer and—”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” he said tightly. “But we’ll do this my way, you got that?”
“Of course.”
She smiled at him so sweetly, with such innocence, he felt another slam of desire in his gut.
Dammit.
“We’ll stop when I say, where I say,” he added. “And I don’t want a lot of chitchat.”
Pressing her lips firmly together, she nodded.
“Buckle up.”
She snapped her seat belt on—not an easy task, considering that dress of hers—then leaned back in the seat and stared straight ahead.
He looked at her—her perfect profile, her serene smile, her stunningly beautiful face—and thought he was looking at an angel.
Clenching his jaw, Jacob started the car and headed back toward the highway. If he was going to keep his hands off Clair—and he would, dammit—he needed to get to Wolf River as fast—and with as few stops—as possible.
For the next forty-five minutes, Clair did her best not to think about what she’d left behind. Though she had no regrets she hadn’t married Oliver, she felt terribly, horribly guilty for leaving like she had. Even if he had never been especially romantic or passionate with her in the two years they’d formally dated, he still hadn’t deserved to be abandoned at the altar.
She had no idea if he or Victoria would ever forgive her, or even speak to her again. Strange, but she was most upset at the thought of Victoria never speaking to her again than she was Oliver.
Clair knew her parents would weather the scandal, though certainly those seas would be rough for a while. Knowing she had her father’s approval gave her comfort, but there was still her mother to contend with, to appease. The thought made the incessant itch on Clair’s chest intensify. She squeezed her fingers into fists, did her best to concentrate on the passing greenery of the countryside and the wail of Aretha Franklin blasting from Jacob’s car stereo.
She’d managed not to speak since Jacob had turned onto the highway, hadn’t even asked him where they were going. He’d made no effort to speak at all, either. She’d tried counting red cars, then blue cars, then cars with four-doors versus two-doors, but she simply couldn’t distract herself from what was currently, and most immediately, on her mind—
The overwhelming, overpowering, all-consuming need to scratch.
Damn, this miserable rash! She knew it was only nerves, but that certainly didn’t ease her misery. She’d felt it spreading to her back, and with the way her dress seemed to be shrinking, her entire torso would be covered before long.
She wouldn’t scratch…she wouldn’t scratch…she wouldn’t scratch…
“Stop the car!”
Jacob snapped his head around. “What?”
“Stop the car,” she hissed through her teeth. “Now.”
Frowning, he pulled off the highway and parked behind a stand of cypress trees. “Sweetheart, if you’ve changed your mind, then you’re on your—”
She unbuckled her seat belt and turned her back to him, pressed a hand to her chest and felt the burning heat there. “Unbutton me.”
“What?”
“Hurry!”
Under a more “normal” situation, a woman asking him to unbutton her dress and be quick about it would have been a compliment and a pleasure to Jacob. With Clair, however, the situation was anything but normal.
“Jacob, please!”
“All right, all right.” Jacob stared at the back of Clair’s dress. There were five tiny pearl buttons to release before the zipper could be pulled down. She wiggled under him while he struggled to unbutton her, and when he pulled the zipper down and the garment loosened around her, she let her head fall back and expelled a soft groan of delight.
“Now the corset.”
His heart slammed against his ribs. Oh, no…bad, bad idea… “I don’t really think I should be—”
“I can’t do it myself.” She squirmed, making the dress gape wider. “I swear I’ll scream if I don’t get out of this contraption immediately!”
Terrific. The last thing he needed was to be parked off the highway with a half-naked screaming woman. He reached for the top hook, then loosened each one until the stiff lace underwear fell away.
“Bless you,” she sighed breathlessly, then sagged sideways against the seat.
Jacob winced at the sight of the red marks on her bare lower back. Her skin was blotchy, like her chest had been, and there were deep impressions from the too-tight corset. Without thinking, he reached out and laid his hand on her back. She jerked upright at the contact and stiffened.
“Relax,” he said, lightly rubbing his palm over her hot skin. “I think I can manage to control myself, Clair. Just tell me where it itches.”
That Blackhawk Bride Page 3
