“I have to warn you,” Emma interjected gently. “You’ll have to pay for a new shipment.” The shipper was not going to be held responsible for this since Michelle had accepted delivery before the theft.
“That’s fine!” Gigi said.
Michelle turned on her mother, all the more upset. “I can’t ask Benjamin to do that!” she wailed, fresh tears falling. “He hit the ceiling the first time, over what we—he—was going to have to pay for those flowers! To ask him to do it again…” Michelle gulped, clearly not willing.
“This is his fault,” Gigi Snow lectured her daughter stonily. “I expect him to take care of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fitting of my own.” Gigi looked at Emma. “I presume you will handle reordering the flowers?” Emma nodded her assent. Gigi departed in a waft of perfume.
As soon as her mother was gone, Michelle began to sob in earnest. Emma slipped across the hall to get two bottles of chilled spring water. She came back and sat down beside Michelle, waiting for the storm to pass.
“I wish I had never agreed to this big wedding,” Michelle said. “Everything is so out of control!”
“Maybe you should tell your mother and father how you feel,” Emma suggested, holding out the wastebasket.
Michelle tossed her damp tissues into the can with a vengeance. “Mother will never listen to me, and Father is too disinterested. All he cares about is his business. He doesn’t want to hear anything about the wedding! He never has! He just thinks the same as Benjamin, that the whole thing is costing way too much! And I know we can’t afford it, either. I heard Daddy tell Mother that if she didn’t start putting the brakes on her spending, he didn’t know what they were going to do! That’s why Mother is pushing so hard for Benjamin to pay for half of it. She says she doesn’t care what she has to do—I’m going to get the wedding of my dreams. Only it isn’t my dream. It’s hers! And it always has been. Because if you want to know the truth, I think the whole thing is costing way too much, too.”
Emma concurred. A quarter of a million dollars on a single weekend’s social event was way too much. Even if the memories did last a lifetime.
Michelle sipped the water Emma had brought her. “And you know what the worst of it is?” she asked Emma wearily. Without waiting for a response, Michelle continued, “I can feel Benjamin’s doubts and regrets every time we’re together. I mean, I know he loves me. But does he love me enough to endure all the grief he is getting from my family and will no doubt continue to get in the future?”
Joe hadn’t when the two of them were initially together, Emma thought. The moment Emma told Joe she wanted to keep their marriage secret, and why, the moment he had found out who her father really was, and calculated just how much trouble that would likely bring him professionally, he had dumped her so fast he’d made her head spin.
Now, of course, events had conspired to force him to take another tack to save both their reputations and careers. As long as their plan worked, well, of course he would stay with it. But if it didn’t…if this somehow backfired on them in the end, as Emma secretly feared, then what? Would Joe be able or even willing to endure the grim pressure coming from her father indefinitely, or would Joe once again be looking for a way out?
“HEY, EMMA!” HANNAH REID breezed into the Inn shortly after seven-thirty that evening. The owner and chief mechanic of Classic Car Auto Repair, Hannah appeared as if she were fresh from work. She had a smudge of grease on one cheek and was still clad in the jeans and T-shirt she typically wore beneath her grimy coveralls, emblazoned with the name of her business.
“Joe sent me over to pick you up. He said I didn’t have to bring the limo or wear a uniform, though.” Hannah paused, taking in the stunned look Emma knew was on her face. “That okay with you?”
“Sure, but I thought Joe was picking me up from work,” Emma told Hannah, as the two of them headed out the door to the red Aston Martin convertible Hannah had idling at the curb.
Hannah hopped in behind the wheel. “He said you’d say that. But I was to bring you over to the practice arena, anyway.”
Emma frowned as she settled into the passenger seat and fastened her safety harness around her. “I don’t want to go to the arena. I want to go home.”
“He said you’d say that, too.” Hannah started the car and took off down the long, tree-lined driveway, her wavy auburn hair blowing in the wind. “And I should ignore you.”
Typical, Emma thought. It never seemed to occur to Joe that there was any way to do things but his. “What if I refuse?” she asked dryly as the breeze ruffled her hair, too.
Hannah shrugged, looking unperturbed as always as she slanted Emma a teasing glance. “Then I’ll catch heck from Joe and he’ll come looking for you, and probably cart you off to the rink, anyway.”
Emma thought about what that might be like. Only one word aptly described it. Exciting. “What’s going on over there, anyway?” she asked as she struggled to keep her pulse from racing ahead with her unexpectedly amorous thoughts.
“Beats me.” Hannah adjusted her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose as the hot, summery air wafted over them. “Joe just said he had somethin’ a little special planned for his new bride, and he’d appreciate it if I’d help him out.”
They arrived at the arena where the Storm players held practices and worked out. Hannah let her off beside the door. Aware there were no other cars in the lot except Joe’s, Emma walked inside. Able to see they were dark and unoccupied, she bypassed the weight and locker rooms, and the gymnasium where the fitness equipment was kept. The bright overhead lights in the windowless arena had been turned off. The rink was lit by the wall torches along the perimeter in the soft, semiromantic way that reminded Emma of the skating rinks she had patronized as a kid.
Joe was already on the ice. He was clad in a pair of form-fitting jeans and a sweatshirt. Trying not to notice how gracefully and easily he moved across the ice, even when just messing around, Emma shivered in her summer-weight suit from the frigid air around the rink. She made her way carefully down the cement steps through the half-dozen rows of spectator bleachers to his side. Doing her best to keep her defenses up—under the circumstances she could feel them fading fast—she folded her arms in at her waist. “What’s going on?” she asked in the most casual tone she could manage.
Joe gave her a look of choirboy innocence as he worked his way lazily over to where she was standing. His skates made a whooshing sound as he turned his blades sideways and skidded expertly to a halt. As they came face-to-face, he waggled his eyebrows at her. “Figured you might want to take a few turns around the ice with me tonight, for fun.”
Emma studied him. As enticing as his offer was, Joe never did anything without a reason. “And your ulterior motive is…?”
His amber eyes twinkled mischievously. “Do I need one?”
The sizzle she felt whenever she was close to him both irritated and disturbed her. Pretending she wasn’t oh-so-aware of every masculine inch of him, she shrugged. “I’ve never known you not to have a game plan of some sort. So why here, Joe?” she persisted softly. “Why tonight?”
For a moment, Emma thought he wasn’t going to answer. At least not candidly. Finally, he rubbed his beard-stubbled jaw and confessed in amused chagrin, “Oh, I expect it might have something to do with the fact that if I got you home any earlier tonight than I’m planning to get you home that you’ll have me unpacking those boxes.”
“Which means what?” Emma guessed dryly, her pulse picking up yet another notch. “You didn’t make any progress on them?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Joe rocked back on his heels. “Exactly.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Anyway…” Joe skated close enough she could smell the sandalwood-and-leather cologne he favored. And maybe a little of her peppermint mouthwash, too. “I thought it would be nice to just skate around for a while, and then have a little supper.” He inclined his head to the left.
For the first t
ime, Emma noted the portable stereo, picnic basket and folded gingham tablecloth several bleacher sections down.
“We’ve got the whole place to ourselves tonight,” Joe continued, looking as happy and relaxed as she wished she could feel. “All the workouts are finished. The custodial crew has already been here and left.”
Emma had had such a stressful day. She could use the exercise. And truth was, she didn’t want to go home to the moving-in mess they had left that morning any more than he apparently did. There was only one problem with his plan. “I don’t have any skates,” she lamented.
Joe grinned, confident as always. He skated a short distance away, then came back with a small duffel bag and handed it to her. “I’m way ahead of you. I even brought you some clothes from your closet, so you’re all set.”
Emma unzipped the bag and saw a brand new pair of lace-up skates, thick wool socks, as well as her favorite pair of old jeans and a red turtleneck sweater made of soft, warm polar fleece. “How did you know what size skates to get?” she asked curiously.
Easy, his look said. “I just took the shoes you had on yesterday over to the skate shop, and had them sell me a pair in a similar size. I’ll help you lace them up if you want.”
“I think I can manage,” Emma said.
Joe pointed. “There’s a ladies’ room through that door. I’ll be waiting for you on the ice.”
When Emma emerged from the dressing room, Joe had turned the portable stereo on and was skating around in lazy circles, frontward, backward, left to right. He smiled when he saw her and came right over to her.
One hand on the half wall that circled the ice, she bent and snapped off the thick rubber strips that protected the blades on her skates. She set them aside, then stepped out onto the ice. To Emma’s chagrin, her ankles felt a lot more wobbly than she’d anticipated.
Noticing, Joe laced a steadying arm around her waist and adjusted his strides to hers. “Been a while, huh?” he asked as they skated slowly but surely around the perimeter of the rink.
For so many things, Emma thought. Trying hard not to notice how good it felt to be ensconced against him this way, or the fact that the songs that were playing were upbeat, lively Kenny Chesney tunes perfect for working out, Emma shrugged her shoulders and tossed him a nonchalant smile. “I haven’t been on the ice since the year we dated.”
Joe’s eyes darkened. His lip took on a troubled curl. “How come?”
Because it reminded me of you and I was trying so hard to forget. “I don’t know,” she fibbed. “I guess I’ve been busy.”
“You used to skate competitively as a kid, didn’t you?” Joe recited a fact he apparently recalled from their dating days.
Emma nodded. She tripped slightly going around the curve, and Joe kept her from falling. “Yes, but I quit when I was twelve.”
“Why?” Joe asked, the look he gave her reminding her that she had never really filled him in on that portion of her life. She’d been too focused on the then and there, and the completely overwhelming physical passion she felt for him.
“Because one, it wasn’t my dream—it was my mother’s,” Emma said, her legs wobbling slightly.
Noticing, Joe positioned her even more securely against him.
“And two, there was way too much pressure on me to win,” Emma continued, a little more breathlessly than was warranted as she leaned into his steadying grip and tried not to think about how good it might feel to kiss him again. “It took all the joy out of it.”
Joe frowned as he struggled to understand. “Pressure from whom?”
As she began to get her on-ice balance back, Emma relaxed. “The coach and the choreographer and the professional seamstress my parents hired. They all wanted to make it to the big time. It didn’t behoove them to be associated with a skater who kept losing.”
“Oh.” Joe skated on ahead of her, and without letting go of her hand, turned, so he was skating backward while she skated toward him.
Emma took his other hand, too, as they began to jitter-bug a little. “You’re not really familiar with that, are you?” she said, studying his face.
Joe appeared perplexed as they glided over the ice as smoothly and sexily as if they had spent years ice dancing. “What?”
“Having a parent trying to force you to be something or someone you’re not,” Emma said as Joe caught her against him, slow-dance close. Whereas Emma’s whole life had been like that.
“Maybe not now.” Joe slowed their pace accordingly as the music took on a slow, sultry beat. Emma rested her face against the solidness of his shoulder for a moment, loving his warmth and his strength.
“But there was a time when I fought tooth and nail with my mother over becoming a pro hockey player.”
Emma drew back, amazed. “Get out of here! She’s crazy about the way you play! Always bragging about you.” To the point it had started to drive Emma a little crazy, even before Joe had burst back into her life.
“Now she does,” Joe said emotionally. “But back when I was fourteen and flunking all my classes ’cause I spent all my spare time skating, rustling up games and working out, she was not happy with me at all. It took every ounce of persuasiveness I possess to get her to let me go up to Canada, live with a host family and play junior hockey up there as soon as I turned sixteen.”
“I never knew that.”
Joe shrugged in a way that let her know it wasn’t something he usually talked about.
Pleased he had confided in her, Emma asked, “Why didn’t you tell me this back when we first got involved?”
“A couple of reasons.” He paused and tried to make her understand. “One, I was embarrassed that my mother cared more about the possibility of me getting hurt than realizing my dreams. And two, her lack of faith—that I really could make it to the pros—hurt. It’s enough to deal with the doubts of the coaches and scouts and other players, without feeling it from your own kin, too. Especially when a lot of the other hopefuls had huge family cheering sections behind them.”
“And that wasn’t the case with you,” Emma realized sadly.
“Nope. Not then, anyway.” Annoyance rang in his voice. “Once I made it to the NHL that all began to change. But before then, all my mother could think was that she had let me shortchange my education for something that might not ever pan out, and could end up scarring my psyche and body forever.”
Emma took a deep breath. “Yikes.”
“Yeah.”
Joe let her move away from him again and they skated in silence. Having found her “skating legs” again, Emma swirled around, behind, and in front of him, from side to side, until he finally grabbed hold of her again. And grasping both his hands, she skated backward in a lazy serpentine pattern. “I’m glad you made it to the pros,” Emma said finally.
“Me, too.”
They looked at each other and smiled. “I just wish you had told me some of this stuff when we were dating,” Emma said finally. She might have understood him better. And she wanted to understand him, she was beginning to realize. So much.
Joe wasn’t about to apologize. “I was still in the AHL then. I hadn’t yet made it to the big time.” He shook his head, recollecting in all seriousness, “Putting voice to the doubts others had about me might have messed up my chances.”
“You hockey players are a superstitious bunch.”
Joe grinned and didn’t pretend otherwise.
Emma smiled back and dug in the toe of her skate, so she came to an abrupt standstill. “And speaking of superstitions, what is it with not shaving, Joseph Hart?” She reached up to touch his face, rubbing the flat of her palm across the light brown stubble that got a little softer and longer every day. He was incredibly handsome and masculine to begin with. No doubt. But the beard lining his face gave him a faintly dangerous, very sexy look. Emma—who’d never liked facial hair on men, period—was beginning to like it. Maybe too much.
Her use of his given name brought a sexy shimmer to his eyes. “What do you
mean?”
If she moved a little closer, she could kiss him. “You haven’t used a razor since we literally ran into each other at my parent’s estate.” And though he looked ruggedly handsome as all get out, she was curious about the reasons behind his actions.
His mouth was so close to her head, she could feel the heat of his breath on her forehead. “It’s only been a couple of days.”
“Five and a half,” Emma corrected him, tingling all over. And already her life had been turned upside down. Changed irrevocably.
“Why?” Joe wrapped both his arms around her middle. “Do my whiskers bother you?” he asked in a low, sensual voice.
Unbidden, the image of kissing him again, here and now, flashed in Emma’s mind. In an effort to distract herself, she ran her hands playfully over the bristles. “I just want to make sure it’s not a ‘play-off beard’ type of thing,” she teased. “You know, the kind of beard you start as soon as the play-offs begin and keep growing until you either win or are eliminated.”
Joe chuckled, the sound of his husky male laughter warming her heart. “You’re right,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb across her lower lip, tracing its shape. “Because if it were that type of beard, and it were related to our marriage, I could be growing this beard for a very long time, couldn’t I?”
A few more slides of his skates and hers, and suddenly her back was to the boards around the side of the rink.
“Joe,” Emma breathed as she settled against the half wall that separated the rink from the spectators’ bleachers.
Joe tunneled his hands through her hair. Lifted her face to his. “Just one kiss, Emma. That’s all I’m asking.”
When he looked at her like that, Emma couldn’t deny him the request, and the truth was she didn’t want to deny him anything. Unable to help herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest. Time ground to a halt, and nothing mattered but Joe, and this moment between them. He used the gentle pressure of his lips to coax her mouth open. Taking his time about it, he kissed her slowly and deeply, then hotly and passionately, until heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and her knees grew weak. Suddenly she was kissing him back, with all the wonder and affection in her heart.
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