He stopped immediately. Someone was knocking on the door.
The next minute, they heard Nick’s voice. “Dev? Amy? Are you guys up? I need to talk to you.”
Devlin looked at Amy and he could see she was thinking the same thing as he was. That they were going to have to invite the groom in, and if he saw the blanket and pillow on the floor, they were going to have to tell him about the divorce.
There was no way he was going to rain on his best friend’s big day. Making a dash toward the door, Devlin flipped the lock open, kicked the blanket under the bed and grabbed his pillow. He dove under the covers, joining Amy, who had quickly slid into bed as soon as she’d heard Nick’s voice.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to Devlin. He was crowding her and she was forced to move to one side or wind up with his completely naked body all but pressed against her.
“Saving Nick’s illusion of the institution of marriage,” Devlin whispered back. And then he raised his voice and called out, “C’mon in, Nick. The door’s open.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth before his best friend walked in, closing the door behind him like a fugitive afraid someone was right behind him in hot pursuit.
He was at their bed in two strides. “I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this, guys, but I really need your help.”
“This couldn’t have waited until breakfast?” Amy asked. Her voice rose slightly on the last word as she felt Devlin snake his hand along her thigh beneath the covers. She did her best to subtly push it away, never taking her eyes off Nick’s face. She wasn’t very successful.
“By breakfast it might be too late,” Nick said honestly. He looked from Amy to his best friend, silently imploring both for help as well as understanding. “Cara just might walk out on me.”
Amy and Devlin exchanged looks. Devlin was the first to ask, “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Nick cried with all the righteousness of an innocent man. “It’s her father.”
“What about him?” Amy asked. And why would anything having to do with Cara’s father necessitate Nick bursting into their room so early?
“He’s coming to the wedding. Cara’s been up half the night, totally beside herself,” Nick told them.
So far, this didn’t have the earmarks of a crisis. Amy looked at him, trying to read between the lines. “Wasn’t he supposed to come?”
The look on Nick’s face didn’t bode well, Devlin thought. “Yes, but it seems the old man just got married again and he’s going to be bringing his new wife with him.”
Devlin was already shaking his head. Cara’s father had a reputation for trading in his wives for newer, younger models every so often. “How old is this one?”
The look on his friend’s face gave him his answer before Nick said a word. “They’ll probably check her I.D. before giving her a drink.”
Devlin sighed. “Oh, God.”
Nick nodded, looking relieved that Devlin and Amy understood the problem. “I need you to keep those two away from Cara until she’s actually walking down the aisle—better yet, wait until the minister’s giving her the ‘repeat after me’ portion of the ceremony.”
Devlin stared patiently at his best friend. “And just how do you propose we do that? Throw a bag over their heads, drag them into some alley and keep them there until tomorrow afternoon?”
Instead of saying he knew how absurd that sounded, Nick looked at him hopefully. “Could you?”
“You know you don’t mean that, Nick,” Amy said gently.
He had the look of a desperate man about him. “Try me,” he dared. “You know how sensitive Cara is about marriages and the odds against them succeeding. It took me a year and a half to convince her to marry me. She was afraid that the second she said, ‘I do,’ everything would start to fall apart for us. We’ve made it this far, and I can’t let a confrontation with her dad—or his new wife—ruin everything.”
Amy could see why Cara might be a little leery. “You have been married before,” she pointed out gently.
He and Megan had been too hasty, Amy thought, marrying on impulse when Megan got pregnant. They didn’t really know what they were getting into, didn’t know each other well enough to see the problems and complications that might arise.
It turned out they were two very different people than they thought they were. But this time, with Cara, it was different.
“Yes, but Cara’s my soul mate,” Nick insisted. “I can feel it in my gut.”
“So what do you and your gut really want us to do?” Devlin asked.
“Mainly I want you to show her how happy you two are,” Nick said. “That all marriages aren’t destined to end in divorce, like her parents’ did. That some marriages actually do work and get better with time—like yours,” he added with feeling. “I just want you two to be yourselves and be around us as much as possible.” It was obvious that his mind was jumping around, because the next thing Nick said was, “Maybe I can bribe the cabana boy to ‘accidentally’ lock Daddy Dearest and his child bride in their rooms for the next thirty hours or so.”
Nick rose from the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair, looking somewhat calmer than when he’d come bursting in five minutes ago.
“I’m sorry for laying all this on your shoulders so suddenly, but you’re honestly the happiest couple I know and I just want Cara to have that right in front of her—so she’s less focused on her father and his new wife when they get here.”
Guilt had been eating away at Amy from the moment Nick walked into the room, and it had grown exponentially with each second that ticked by. She had to tell him, had to let him know, he’d made the wrong assumption.
“Nick, there’s something we have to tell you,” she began slowly.
She was going to tell Nick, Devlin suddenly realized. She was going to cut right through the last tether just when his best friend was hanging by a thread.
Nick looked at his best friend’s wife. “What?”
“I have to tell you that—”
“—we’d be more than happy to do whatever it takes to ensure that your wedding goes off right on schedule and without a hitch,” Devlin said, talking fast and not leaving an iota of space for Amy to get a word in edgewise. “Now, if you could just leave so that we can get ready. We’ll have your back all day and at the rehearsal dinner tonight—Scout’s honor,” Devlin promised.
Nodding, Nick started to leave, then stopped in his tracks and turned around to face Devlin. “Wait, you were never a Scout, were you?”
“Just speaking symbolically,” Devlin answered glibly.
The smile was back on Nick’s lips, filled out with gratitude. “Thanks, you two. I owe you big,” Nick said just before he closed the door behind him.
“What the hell are you thinking, lying to Nick like that?” Amy demanded the second he was gone.
Did he really have to explain himself? “You want to know what I was thinking?”
Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. “I just asked, didn’t I?”
Before she knew what was happening or could stop him, Devlin had curled his body around hers—just the way he used to. Parts of her body she’d forgotten she had were madly telegraphing Mayday!
“I was just thinking that I miss lying in bed like this with you,” he told her, slipping his arm around her waist.
All the feelings she’d been trying so hard to block and ignore came bursting out, wearing party favors. Taking no prisoners.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“YOU’RE BREAKING THE rules,” she told him, her teeth clenched.
“We didn’t set any rules,” he pointed out. To that end, they’d hardly talked at all before she’d gone and served him with divorce papers.
“Not in so many words—” she allowed.
But he was m
ore specific than that because it worked in his favor. “Not in any words.”
“They were implied,” she told him indignantly.
“Well, like you always said,” he reminded her, “I can’t seem to read your mind.”
He wasn’t exactly holding her down, but the weight of his arm across her waist was pinning her in place. Perhaps too easily, she conceded, but right now, she wasn’t up to physically pushing him away with enough force to get free. Besides, he was supposed to let her go of his own accord—if there was a shred of decency left inside him.
“What do you want me to say?” she demanded heatedly. “That I’m still attracted to you? Fine, I’m still physically attracted to you.” She glared at him. His face was barely inches away. “That doesn’t change anything when we’re out of bed.”
“All right,” he said amicably, “then we’ll just stay in bed.”
“What, for the rest of our lives?” she demanded. Was he crazy?
He didn’t say yes; he didn’t say no. He gave her an answer that worked for him under these conditions. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”
He sounded as if he had every intention of staying in bed all day today. That was unacceptable. “We just promised Nick to run interference for him, remember?”
Devlin inclined his head, indicating that he forgot nothing. “If we invite him and Cara to our cabana and no one tells her when the father and the child bride arrive, that might solve all the problems.”
“Right, and start a whole bunch of others,” Amy bit off. They couldn’t stay in bed all day. What was he thinking?
The corners of his mouth curved in a vague hint of a smile. “I don’t see it that way.”
She’d had enough. “I’m going to get up, shower and get dressed. You―” she waved at him dismissively “―do what you want.”
The next moment, instead of planting her feet on the floor, Amy found herself being pulled back onto the bed. And then there he was, bringing his mouth down on hers. Kissing her.
Initially, she struggled. Or at least told herself that she struggled—and then, suddenly, for the space of a few stretched-out seconds, Amy completely forgot why she was struggling.
Instead, she was melting, melting just the way she always did. Melting into Devlin’s kiss, into him.
And just when she was on the brink of losing herself in pleasure, Devlin surprised her by drawing back, away from her.
It took Amy a second to catch her breath, another second before she could form words coherently.
“Why did you just do that?” she asked in a raspy whisper. Was it just to feed his ego? To prove to himself that he could still turn her inside out whenever he wanted? That despite everything, she still wasn’t immune to him?
There was a wicked look in his eyes as he answered her question. “You said I should do what I want, and that’s what I wanted to do.”
Pulling away from him, Amy got out of bed in a huff and marched toward the bathroom. “I don’t know why I even bother to try.”
“Yes, you do,” he called after her.
Amy slammed the door and turned the water on high so that he wouldn’t be able to hear her cry.
* * *
WHEN SHE FINALLY got out of the shower and stood, wrapped in a towel, drying her hair, she saw the bathroom door opening.
He still wasn’t wearing anything.
Amy quickly averted her eyes, staring up at the light fixture that ran along the upper edge of the rectangular mirror. “Will you please put something on?” she demanded.
“Okay,” Devlin agreed amicably, “but that’s going to make taking a shower pretty useless, not to mention messy. I only came in because we’re running out of time,” he pointed out. “And Nick did want us to be his wingmen. The sooner we get there, the better.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll dry my hair in the other room,” she told Devlin, gathering the hair dryer, the hairbrush, the hairspray and her makeup bag as best she could. Her arms were filled to overflowing.
“I can help,” Devlin volunteered, reaching for the large container that was about to slip from her grasp.
Amy turned her body to the side, out of his immediate reach. “You can help by taking your shower.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded dutifully, saluting her. He was in the shower before she vacated the room.
* * *
AMY HAD BARELY finished dressing before Devlin came out of the bathroom, a towel for once modestly wrapped around his waist.
“That was fast, even for you,” she commented. He really was serious about hurrying, she thought.
“There’s a reason for that,” he admitted. “I was afraid you’d leave without me and I don’t know if you can be trusted.”
Amy spun away from the mirror, her hairbrush raised in her hand. It looked dangerously like a weapon, the way she grasped it.
“Me?” she demanded, more stunned than angry—for the moment. What was he talking about? He was the one who couldn’t be trusted, not her.
“Not trusted to keep from making a ‘confession’ to Nick and really undermine his shaky confidence,” Devlin elaborated. “He’s counting on us to help him get Cara to the altar without any incident. If you tell him that we’re contemplating a divorce—”
“Getting a divorce,” she corrected.
“Contemplating a divorce,” he repeated as if she hadn’t said anything, “that’ll make him feel as if he’s on shaky ground, and it certainly won’t make Cara feel any better about what she’s about to do—especially since both her parents and her groom have at least one, if not several, broken unions in their past. Seeing her father with his new wife just might be the legendary straw that broke the camel’s back. Knowing our marriage is on the rocks will only make things worse. Promise me you won’t say anything,” Devlin said seriously. “Those two really belong together.”
His words brought echoes from the past back to her. “Funny, that was what someone once said about us,” she said ironically.
He came up behind her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. His breath was warm on the back of her neck as he told her, “Maybe they were right.”
She could almost swear that his words were caressing her, but she knew it was just a figment of her imagination. She was determined not to succumb.
Shrugging him off, Amy stepped out of reach. “And maybe you should get dressed so we can go and brainwash Cara.”
“You still do have a way with words,” he said, shaking his head. “Give me seven minutes.”
“Seven minutes,” she repeated incredulously. Her tone mocked him as she said, “Not five, not ten, but seven.”
“Six now,” he said glibly. “You can time me if you like,” he told her. There was what seemed like a wicked grin on his lips.
“No, thanks, I’ll just check my makeup,” she said, turning away. She didn’t want to be in the same room with him when the towel hit the floor.
“No need to check it,” he called after her. “You look perfect.”
Turning, she said, “Flattery isn’t going to get you any—oh, damn,” she cried abruptly. His towel was on the floor, and for some annoying reason, her libido was in full flower this morning.
She really needed to get her hormones reined in, Amy thought in mounting desperation.
She heard Devlin laugh as she slammed the bathroom door for the second time that morning. Amy only wished that she could close the door on her reactions and her emotions as easily.
It had to be this wedding, she decided. Seeing all those couples coming together to celebrate the union of two more people. Two more happy people. It made her feel not just lonely, but alone. Astronaut-stranded-in-outer-space-with-a-broken-tether alone.
Amy knew that this, too, was a result of her hormones running amok, thanks to the tiny h
itchhiker she was carrying around with her, but knowing that didn’t help at all, didn’t negate the terrible feeling that was gnawing away at her.
“You about finished trying to improve on perfection?” Devlin’s voice was coming through the door. “Because there’s no telling when Cara’s father is going to show up and we really need to be there. I was thinking that the four of us should spend the day together until it’s time for the rehearsal. That way, we can keep Cara distracted—away from the hotel and from seeing her father, the cradle robber.”
Finished, Amy threw open the door and came out. “Do you have to keep coming up with all those cute little nicknames to call her father?”
Now she was defending some octogenarian womanizer? “Why? What would you call him?” he wanted to know.
That was easy enough. “A terrible father.”
Picking up her purse, Amy remembered that she hadn’t emptied it out last night. Trying to look nonchalant, she took it over to the trash, upturned the clutch and emptied the contents—dried-out baked ham—into the trash. She held her breath, afraid that the smell might send her rushing back to the bathroom for another brief communion with the porcelain bowl.
“Maybe he’s not a terrible father, maybe he’s just a rotten husband,” Devlin suggested, watching her dump out her bag.
She snapped the purse closed, avoiding looking in Devlin’s direction. “Well, we’re agreed on that much,” Amy said.
“See, it’s a start,” he told her cheerfully, opening the door and holding it for her.
“It’s a statement, not a start,” she corrected, walking past him.
“We’ll see,” he said under his breath.
But it was loud enough for her to hear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLAPPING HIS HANDS together in a gesture that rang of nothing if not enthusiasm, Devlin raised his voice and began talking to Nick and Cara before he ever reached them in the hotel lobby.
“So, where do you two want to spend your last full day as singles?” he asked, looking first at Nick, then at Cara. His intent was to make Cara feel as if the final decision for the day’s activities was ultimately in her hands—even if it wasn’t.
Island Promises: Hawaiian HolidayHawaiian ReunionHawaiian Retreat Page 12
