The Virgin's Secret Marriage

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Emma harrumphed in a way that had Joe pivoting back to her. She glared at him resentfully. Like this—as well as everything else—was all his fault! “So. Am. I.” She pushed the words between tightly gritted teeth.

  “Yeah, well, I had no idea she was staying here, too.” Not about to take sole blame for anything that had happened between them—not again—Joe jabbed a thumb at his bare chest. “The Donovans told me I would be alone here this evening, when they left for Southern Pines a few hours ago.” So if anyone was at fault here, he figured grimly, it sure as heck wasn’t him!

  Emma huffed at him contemptuously. “You think I knew?” Emma spouted right back incredulously, tightening the belt on her terry-cloth robe.

  Joe shrugged, trying not to notice how quickly—and heatedly—his body was responding to her. “How the heck should I know? It wouldn’t be the first time you accidentally on purpose got me in a heap of…” Trouble, Joe had been about to say.

  Curious, Mac lifted his brow. Looked from one to the other. “Something here I should know?” he queried dryly.

  Joe shook his head no. He didn’t want anyone in his family learning about the mistake that had sent him back to the minor league, seven years ago, just hours after being called up to the NHL for the very first time. They didn’t know it was something he had impulsively done—with Emma, no less—that had nearly derailed his pro career before it ever really got off the ground. Joe had gone on to make up for his mistake, and devoted himself and his energy to his career. The shame he still felt, was his own. As far as he was concerned, no one else ever had to know about the depth of his stupidity and naïveté back then. And the same went for Emma’s machinations.

  “Look, we’re fine, Mac,” Joe assured stiffly. “You can go. Emma and I will sort this out by ourselves.”

  Mac looked at Emma, still weighing his options and what was the wisest thing to do. “You okay with that?” he asked plainly.

  Emma nodded stiffly. “I apologize for dialing 911. Had I known who it was, prowling around downstairs…”

  “You would have told ’em to shoot first and ask questions later?” Joe quipped.

  Emma glared at him and folded her arms in front of her like a shield. “Har-de-har-har, hotshot.” She turned back to Mac. “Suffice it to say, I would not have called you all out here or created such a ruckus.”

  “Have I missed something?” Mac asked sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at them both.

  Only the biggest catastrophe of Joe’s entire life. “Nope,” Joe stated with a glibness he couldn’t begin to really harbor. “So if you’ll excuse us, big brother, Emma and I would like some time alone.”

  EMMA HAD TO HAND IT TO Joe for one thing—he sure knew how to get rid of an audience. Fast. And for that she would be eternally grateful. She folded the lapels of her robe, one over another, covering as much of herself as possible. “If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured, hand pressed against the cloth covering her collarbone, “I’m going to get dressed and get out of here.”

  “Not so fast.” Joe clamped a hand on her shoulder. “I want to know what you’re doing here.” He searched her face. “Was this an elaborate ploy? Was the punishment your father bestowed on me seven years ago not enough? Is he still trying to get even with me for ‘robbing you of your virtue and then dumping you’?”

  Not that any of that had actually happened, but it was what her parents thought had happened that night. She had never bothered to set her folks straight, figuring she wouldn’t be believed, anyway. Joe had actually been trying to do right by her—in his convoluted mind, anyway—by reneging on all his promises to her and bringing her back to college. Joe hadn’t come to her rescue, either. At least until now, anyway. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma said bluntly. “Or why you would ever be invited to be a houseguest here, of all places!”

  Joe folded his arms in front of him and regarded her skeptically. “You’re telling me you honestly don’t know what transpired here tonight.”

  Emma tried to keep her eyes off the sinewy lines of his shoulders and chest, the satin hue of his bronzed skin. She did not need to recall how it felt to be held against the warm, strong body of his. Never mind think about how well, how passionately, he kissed! Doing her best to slow her racing pulse, she shrugged. “Should I?”

  Joe stared at her. Still debating, Emma guessed, if he could trust her.

  He compressed his lips grimly, then stated in a low, matter-of-fact voice, “I signed a contract with your father’s hockey team.”

  It was Emma’s turn to be skeptical, even as she struggled to ignore her reaction to his nearness.

  Seven years might have passed since she had last seen him on anything but a television screen, but he still had the same magnetic effect on her. One glance at his handsome, All-American-guy-next-door face was enough to command her attention. Try as she might, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the crescent-moon scar at the corner of his right eye or the dimple in his chin. She didn’t want to be affected by his sexy smile or penetrating golden-brown eyes. She didn’t want to notice how his six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound frame dwarfed her, or be aware of his powerful athlete’s body that was honed for maximum agility, strength and speed. Nor did she want to be anything but immune to his exceedingly confident presence. Or recall the playfulness that lurked just beneath the surface of his ever-present determination to have everything he wanted, when he wanted it. But he mesmerized her just the same….

  “I thought my dad said you would never play for him again, ever, that night—”

  Joe interrupted. “When he caught me trying to sneak you back into your dorm?”

  They glared at each other, remembering. Finally, Joe scowled at her accusingly. “If you had told me your connection to the NHL team-owning DONOVANS to begin with.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “You would never have gone out with me if you had known I was Saul Donovan’s nineteen-year-old daughter.”

  Joe nodded and affirmed dryly, “No kidding, Sherlock.”

  Stung all over again by his readiness to dump her, Emma lifted her shoulder in a delicate little shrug. “So you proved me right about you, in the end.” That he wasn’t a man to be depended upon. At least not in a romantic sense. “So what?”

  Joe leaned back against the wall, the towel looped around his waist sliding a little lower on his hips. “You’re telling me you don’t know what was in the contract I signed this evening?”

  Emma moved her eyes away from his exposed navel, and the T-shaped line of golden-brown hair on his midriff. “How could I? I didn’t even know you were here this evening.”

  “And I shouldn’t be here now, either,” Joe muttered, shoving away from the opposite wall and beginning to pace.

  “Now what’s the matter?” Emma demanded, wishing he didn’t look so damn sexy in a towel, the hint of an evening beard lining his face.

  Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t suppose there is any way we’re going to be able to keep tonight’s mishap quiet in a community as small and tight-knit as Holly Springs.”

  “Given the fact we were damn near caught en flagrante by the police and the press?” Emma echoed drolly. “I rather doubt it.”

  Joe looked her square in the eye. “We weren’t doing anything!”

  Aware Joe smelled like a mixture of chlorine and the musky masculine scent that was unique to him, Emma released a long, pent-up sigh. “Except wrestling with each other. Not that it matters. We weren’t ‘doing anything’ the night my father caught us returning to my dorm at Brown, either. He simply assumed the worst when he saw me coming back in with a suitcase, crying my eyes out, and heard you telling me it was over, that you were never going to see me again—ever—despite my wishes to the contrary. Because you, big guy, looked guilty as all get out.”

  Joe’s lips curved smugly. “As did you, Miss Emma.”

  “Naturally, he assumed we had done the deed. Just like tonight. I’m sure those deputies took one look at the both of u
s and thought, well, you know…

  “That we were really getting it on?”

  Emma flushed, as she was pretty sure Joe meant her to. “I’m just speaking the truth,” she said stubbornly. “By tomorrow this will be all over town.”

  Joe closed his eyes, then slowly opened them. “Then I am in trouble.”

  Emma waited for the rest.

  “I promised your father I would steer clear of you,” Joe said in a flat, dispassionate voice.

  To her stunned amazement, Emma found his willingness to ditch her now hurt just as much as it had years before. Unable to help herself, she lashed out sarcastically, “Good job.”

  Joe glared at her resentfully. “My standing with the team depends on me not hurting you any more,” he said.

  Emma shook her head disparagingly. “Well, that’s a comfort.”

  Joe gave her a look. “Help me out here, Emma.”

  Emma lifted her chin. “Why should I?” she demanded right back.

  “Because your reputation is at stake, too,” Joe said heavily.

  “I don’t care about that.” Emma cared about her heart. And her heart had been smashed all to pieces by this handsome athlete who lived and breathed only for his time on the ice. She didn’t care what it did to his career—she had no intention of letting him do the same thing to her again! And giving him no chance to say anything further, she turned and exited the hall.

  EMMA CAME BACK DOWNSTAIRS fifteen minutes later. Her dark brown hair was brushed and down, the clothes she had been wearing earlier—a sexy pale pink cocktail dress and heels—were on. Joe was dressed, too, in a navy sport coat, coordinating pale blue shirt and tie and stone-colored dress slacks. He was sitting on the sofa, his duffel bag on the floor to the left of him. If possible, he looked even grimmer than he had when she left. She knew just how he felt. This evening had disaster written all over it, even without anyone else witnessing it, which they surely, and irrevocably, had.

  Joe compressed his lips together dejectedly and tossed a grim look her way before announcing desultorily, “We’re on the eleven o’clock news.”

  Emma blinked. Please, let her have heard wrong. “What?”

  “My brother Cal just called me on my cell,” Joe explained a trifle impatiently. He leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his spread knees. “He was in the doctor’s lounge, over at Holly Springs Regional Medical Center, when he saw a promo about the nighttime antics of Joe Hart and the Storm owner’s daughter, Emma Donovan. The full story should be coming up after this commercial.”

  Her spirits plummeting as swiftly as the strength in her legs, Emma sank down on the arm of the sofa. No sooner had she gotten comfortable than the news program came back on. At the anchor’s urging, Trevor Zwick, the reporter who had been at the house just thirty minutes ago, began a breathless recounting of the situation from a remote location. He was interrupted when the TV station began to roll the tape.

  Emma gasped as her hopes for mercy from the local media faded. Too late, she realized she should have called her mother, the public relations expert, on her cell phone as soon as this happened. And asked Margaret Donovan to intervene. But she hadn’t. And as a result… Emma’s eyes widened as the spotlight came on and the images on screen suddenly became so much bigger and clearer. She clapped a hand over her heart. “Oh, my heavens…”

  Joe said something else, in a much saltier vein. And then they both stared in horrified silence as the Technicolor tape of them first putting their hands above their heads, then scrambling for cover, rolled across the screen.

  “As you can see, it was quickly deemed to have all been a big misunderstanding,” the eager reporter continued. “Although, what free agent Joe Hart was doing at Storm owner’s estate is definitely something we sports fans want to look in to. Does it mean the rumors are true—that Joe Hart is going to sign with the Carolina Storm? Or was his presence there more of a…uh…romantic nature, with local wedding planner extraordinaire, Emma Donovan.”

  Blushing, Emma clapped both her hands over her face. Damn it, she had hoped not to be identified in the frame. Hoped not to have her business hurt by her getting caught, in a state of undress, with a hunky athlete.

  “Well, there you have it,” the anchor concluded. “Exclusive film of the tumultuous goings-on at the Saul Donovan home this evening. Available only on W-MOL. Your local Action News team!”

  “Oh, my lord,” Emma muttered, even more emotionally.

  Joe punched a button on the remote and the TV screen went blank. “My feelings exactly.”

  The only thing she had to be grateful for was the fact that Joe’s tall, muscular body had blocked any view of her body. She hadn’t known it prior to this—since she hadn’t had occasion to see him naked, and she promised herself sternly, never would again—but in addition to his ruggedly handsome face, he had an Adonis-beautiful body, with broad shoulders and a powerfully sculpted chest, amazingly taut buttocks and long, sturdy legs.

  “I suppose it’s too much to hope tonight’s catastrophe will end here with this one showing of the tape,” Emma gulped. She could only imagine what her parents were going to do when they heard about—or worse—saw this tape!

  Joe sat back against the cushions and raked both his hands through the tousled layers of his ash-brown hair. “The only good thing is it’s Friday.”

  Emma bit her lip. “I don’t—”

  Joe sighed. “If it does hit the national news, it will hit it on the weekend news cycles, which not too many people watch.”

  Emma groaned all the louder, as she thought about that tape being picked up and shown on the network and cable shows. “Y-you really don’t think…” she stammered, feeling hideously embarrassed. “I mean. Nothing actually happened here.”

  Joe smirked, shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe her naïveté. Even now. “Face it, Emma,” he warned her tiredly. “The tape’s a hoot, and sordidly appealing. It’s going to be everywhere.” Prediction made, he picked up his bag and headed for the foyer.

  Emma’s lower lip trembled as she stood and followed him, albeit somewhat unsteadily, to the front door. She watched as he opened it, wishing he wouldn’t just take off at the first sign of trouble with her. “So what are we going to do?” she asked plaintively.

  “That,” a stern male voice said from the shadows, as two very familiar figures came rapidly up the sidewalk, “is exactly what we’d like to know.”

  Chapter Three

  Well, this family drama was oddly familiar, Joe thought, as he stared into the grim, set face of Saul Donovan. Beside him, his wife Margaret looked just as distressed.

  “How did you find out?” Emma blurted out, looking—to Joe’s chagrin—every bit as upset and guilty as he felt.

  “The sheriff’s department called us on my cell as soon as the 911 call from the house came in,” Saul said. “Your mother and I turned the car around immediately.”

  “And then, your brother Mac,” Margaret Donovan continued, talking to Joe, “telephoned us to let us know everything was okay. It was all a misunderstanding. Albeit a rather unfortunate one.”

  No kidding, Joe thought.

  “The third call came just a minute ago, from Coach Lantz, telling us the whole sorry incident was on the eleven o’clock news!” Saul fumed.

  Joe was sorry about that, too. Sorrier than he could ever say.

  Saul glared at Joe. “This is what you call staying away from my daughter?”

  Emma looked at her folks, interjecting before Joe could respond. “I didn’t know he was here. I really did think he was a burglar.”

  “And I didn’t know she was here,” Joe added hotly in his own defense. “I thought someone had broken in while I was working out in the pool.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that?” Saul bellowed sarcastically.

  “Yes, Dad!” Emma declared. “You are!”

  Saul turned back to Joe and stuck a lecturing finger beneath Joe’s nose. “Is this why you agreed to be on our te
am? Because of Emma? Because I swear if you think I am going to let you hurt and lead her astray again, you have another think coming. I don’t care how many millions we just agreed to pay you! You’ll be sitting out the games in the locker room! Or sent back to the minor leagues again.”

  Yet another reminder of the balance of power. Joe regarded Saul aloofly. “You don’t have to tell me the many ways you can ruin my life, sir. I’m well acquainted with all of them. Believe me, when I signed with the Storm it was not my intention to ever so much as cross paths with your daughter again. Which is why I never should have stayed here this evening.”

  Saul lifted a thin, disapproving brow and continued regarding Joe over the rim of his bifocals. “No argument there,” he muttered disparagingly.

  Another car pulled into the driveway. It stopped just short of the sidewalk they were all standing on. Storm coach Thaddeus Lantz got out of the SUV and walked over to where they were standing. Joe didn’t even have to ask. He knew Coach Thad Lantz showing up here now was no accident. Coach was here at Saul Donovan’s request. To tell him he was already going to be fired, at worst, or at best, put on waivers for another trade?

  The thirty-six-year-old Thad crossed his hands over his chest and regarded Joe silently. The youngest coach in the NHL was a Tom Selleck look-alike, and the idol of many a swooning female. “Hell of a mess,” Thad stated finally, in the low, patient tone he was known for. “You better figure out how to fix it, kid. Fast.”

  FIX IT? THAT WAS A LAUGH! Joe thought as he drove over to the house of the family member who was likely to be the most help to him.

  “I was wondering if and when you would show up,” Janey Hart Campbell said, ushering him inside. Although it was twelve-thirty at night, the chestnut haired Janey was still wide awake and hard at work as her jeans, T-shirt and white chef’s apron attested. Owner of her own bakery, Delectable Cakes, she also provided wedding, groom and engagement cakes for the Wedding Inn, owned and run by their mother, Helen.