GOING … GOING … WED!

by Amy J. Fetzer

Madison studied him for a moment, yet when he turned his head and delivered a glacial stare, she arched a brow. "You really should loosen up, Mr. Donahue. You're gonna snap in half someday." She walked briskly away, muttering something about him being tense as a cat on a porch full of rockers.

  Alex rested his head against the cold steel truck and let out a breath. Good grief, he thought, trying to control the humming in his body. He could still feel the heat of her on his thigh, burning through his trousers. Just the thought of feeling her warm center made him harder. He was in big trouble if a brush against her did this, he thought, rolling around and heading into the house. In the kitchen his gaze immediately fell on her tanned legs, the curve of her bottom in worn cutoffs as she bent over the oven, mitts on her hands as she lifted out a baking sheet. Scenting the neat rows of puffed pastries, she smiled as she set it on the stove top.

  "Why are they cooking here?" he asked, and disliked that everyone flinched. Except Madison.

  "They aren't. I am." She removed the oven mitts, and with a spatula, slid the toasted mounds onto a plate, ladled on a white sauce from a pot, spooned on something else from another. She grabbed a bundle of silverware from a stack, laying it and the plate on the work counter. "Everyone," she called. "Take a break." She inclined her head to her crew while pulling a stool to the edge. "Sit," she said to Alex.

  He didn't, folding his arms over his chest and watching as the kitchen emptied and she opened the refrigerator, grabbing a carton of milk. The fridge was stocked, two shelves with trays of hors d'oeuvres, and he felt invaded. Felt as if he was losing control over his house. During past parties, which weren't that often, he'd simply asked a woman friend to take care of it and made himself scarce until the guests arrived. It was always quiet, sparse. But this, he thought, was a circus.

  "Are all these people necessary?"

  "Yes, they are." She poured milk into a glass. "You're the one who wanted to feed fifty, elegantly, in less than five days, Mr. Donahue."

  "You did warn me," he conceded sourly. This was his fault, not hers, and it was clear she was trying her best to get it all done in time. Alex wondered if it was the commotion or the woman who bothered him. And did she have to look so fresh scrubbed and cute in cutoffs and that clinging T-shirt?

  She faced him, placing the glass on the counter, then frowned. "Would you prefer your study? The dining room is being prepared and the—"

  He looked at the plate. "What's this?"

  "Dinner."

  "For me?"

  She peered, concerned. "Aren't you hungry?"

  "Starved," he said with feeling.

  He slid onto the stool and unwrapped the utensils. He dug into the pastry-wrapped sausage and onions, tasting a huge mouthful. He moaned, closing his eyes for second as he chewed.

  "Did you make this?"

  "Sure," she said, smiling.

  He glanced around the cluttered kitchen. "When?" With a dishrag, she wiped the counter in front of him.

  "About a half hour ago. It's rather easy, to be honest. I was afraid they were going to burn."

  That's where she was rushing to, he realized, and set his fork down, meeting her gaze across the counter. "You don't have to do things like this, Miss Holt."

  "I know." She leaned on the counter and grinned devilishly. "It's a perk for hiring a wife." He held back a smile. "We were going to be in here, so you couldn't have made anything for yourself and besides, airplane food stinks and after a six-hour flight…" She shrugged.

  Did none of the women he'd dated do anything for this man? Madison wondered. Was his life that empty except for his company? A rather lonely existence. She knew that every time she griped about her responsibilities, deep down, she thrived on them. What was she going to do with her time, anyway? The age of bar hopping and dating a new guy every week had passed her and even in college, she'd come home twice a month to cook a few meals and see that her dad took care of himself. Daddy needed her more now and helping her younger sister, Claire, with her tuition was a heck of a lot less work than being fifteen with four brothers and sisters and trying to replace their dead mother.

  "Miss Holt?"

  She blinked, straightening, and realized it wasn't the first time he'd called her. "Sorry."

  In that one instant Alex saw her fatigue, a wrenching sadness, and he said, "Perhaps you should call it a day?"

  She looked down at her watch and inhaled. "Dang. I still have the tables to…" She left the kitchen, calling for the helpers. He heard rapid-fire instructions, then a burst of laughter. Alex slipped around the edge of the doorway, moving through the dining room and stopping just out of sight. People, mostly young men with rippling muscles, surrounded her, but she didn't seem to notice. He wasn't listening to the conversation, only watching. Something he did a lot around her lately.

  Madison gave her instructions, then bumped into him when she turned. "Go eat," she said, pointing to the kitchen.

  Alex stared down at her for a second before his lips quirked in a half smile. "Yes, ma'am."

  Alex sat at the counter, ducking trays whisking past him, people lugging boxes in and out of his garage and watching her vanish, then reappear minutes later. He hadn't eaten more than a couple bites when she clapped her hands and called an end to the day. She saw the group to the door and Alex found it more interesting than sitting alone in the empty kitchen.

  * * *

  A few minutes later Madison closed the door and faced him. "See. Peace and quiet, as promised."

  "I didn't mean for you to railroad them out of here."

  "Hey, take it while you can. They'll be back at eight in the morning."

  She crossed the foyer, shooting quickly past him and back into the kitchen. He followed like a hungry animal, sliding into the stool and forking a chunk of sausage. "You're a good cook, Miss Holt." Why did his place feel suddenly smaller with just the two of them there?

  "Thank you." Her back was to him as she loaded the dishwasher, wiped counters and restored his kitchen, which hadn't seen this much activity in a year, before turning to the counter. She busied herself with storing the remaining pastries in a container, covered them with white sauce, then leaving it on the counter with the lid cocked.

  "Let them cool some more, then put the container in the fridge before morning, please."

  Alex muttered something, he didn't know what, because he couldn't keep from watching her – her bare tanned legs, her round behind tucked into frayed jean shorts. And while his mind replayed the accidental collision in the garage, his body gave it clarity, thickening as he recalled the sweet heat of her straddled over his thigh. Good grief, he didn't need this, he thought, shoving a forkful of sausage in his mouth.

  Alex shifted on the stool, swallowing. "Have you eaten?"

  She faced him, her brows drawn. "Yes. We ordered out." She flicked a hand to the stack of pizza cartons in the trash. "Oh, you had some messages." She fished in her back pocket, then laid the stack of paper beside his plate. "Miss Murray called twice, asking if you'd returned. She wants you to call her back immediately."

  He didn't, nor did he glance at the messages. He just ate, thinking that in the middle of juggling all her duties, she managed to make him a really nice dinner, yet she ate takeout pizza with the work crew. A woman like her ought to be doing this for a husband, not him, he thought.

  "Are you married?"

  Her posture stiffened. "I don't see where that's any of your business."

  He set his fork down and wiped his napkin across his lips. "You just answered it." And he didn't care for how pleased that left him. Nor how much it warned him off.

  She folded her arms over her middle and cocked her hip. "Did I?"

  "Women usually let a man know right off."

  "If the man is making a pass, sure."

  "And if they want one thrown."

  Madison didn't like the turn of this conversation. Everything about him felt sharper, blacker, his remote eyes reminding her that she really was a lamb in a wolf's den
. She might still have her virtue, but she was by no means man-stupid. And this man had too many women in his past to be trusted on that level. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Donahue? That I've cooked a couple of meals to entice you from your precious bachelorhood?"

  His features tightened guiltily.

  "Figures." She slid her notebook off the counter, holding it against her chest as she grabbed her purse.

  "Miss Holt. That's not what I meant—"

  She put her hand up to stop him. "I honestly don't care. Wife Incorporated is figurative. We're not out on a manhunt. In fact, most of Katherine's employees are women who are trying to get their lives back together after being abused by a man." She hitched her handbag strap onto her shoulder and in a cool tone said, "I'd be much obliged if you'd make yourself scarce around here until a half hour before the guests are due to arrive. You'll be in the way. Your usual maid will be here at seven-thirty in the morning to clean, the staff and set-up crew arrive at eight, the catering at noon." She turned toward the doorway, then stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. "You know, Mr. Donahue, you might have more money than the governor, but that doesn't mean poe-dunk to most women when it comes to spending the rest of their lives with someone. And you, sir, can rest easy—" her gaze swept him and found him lacking "—you don't have what it takes to be a husband candidate. Not by a long shot."

  She left, and he winced as the door slammed.

  Alex plowed his fingers through his hair, then shoved his plate back, wondering if there was a rock nearby to crawl under. Because he suddenly felt like something slimy.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  «^»

  His mother hadn't raise a cad, and Alex had tried to apologize for his remarks last night by phone. But the number she'd left was a pager. And she wouldn't answer it. The second number was Katherine's, and he didn't feel like explaining himself to her. Kat would call him on the carpet, and he felt bad enough for implying Madison was on a manhunt.

  She wouldn't have given her home number, anyway, he thought, adjusting his jacket sleeves. The noise below had lessened, strands of music filling the house. Alex walked to the windows facing the street and flicked back the curtain. He frowned at the sight of limousines in his drive. Leaving his bedroom, he hurried down the hall, then froze at the railing, staring at the foyer below.

  He'd swear he was in the wrong house.

  The arched window was draped in soft beige fabric. A vase on the table before it overflowed with magnolia blossoms, their thick green leaves dark and shiny, reflecting the multitude of candles surrounding it. He hurried down the stairs, crossing the foyer and freezing in his tracks. She'd rearranged everything. The living room suite was in a tighter circle with café tables. The sliding glass doors were open and were those his drapes? They were streamed with green ribbon and drawn back with magnolia garlands. Dammit, she was supposed to see to the catering, not leave her mark all over his house.

  Scowling, he went to search for her when the doorbell rang. He turned back to answer it just as a young man, one he recognized from the day before, walked toward the door. He waved him off, flinging it open. Elizabeth stood on the threshold.

  He forced his features into a resemblance of a smile and said, "Hello, Liz. You look lovely as usual."

  "So do you." She swept inside and kissed him heavily, and he had no choice but to accept.

  "You didn't call."

  "I was occupied," was all he said.

  She sighed, her smile a little brittle, and over her head he watched the limousines emptying, his guests marching up the sidewalk. Where was Miss Holt? he wondered, shaking hands and ushering his division heads and business associates inside.

  "Oh, Alex, the limousine picking us all up at the hotel was a nice touch," Anna Marsh, a business associate, said and the group around her agreed. "Now we don't have to worry about drinking too much and driving or getting cabs. Thank you, dear, for being so considerate."

  Alex stammered for a moment, then said, "You're welcome. The entire purpose, I imagine."

  "Good evening and welcome to Savannah." Guests turned at the sound of her voice. "I'm Madison Holt, Mr. Donahue's hostess for this event. Do come in."

  Closing the door, Alex turned. His jaw went slack. "We invite you to come and enjoy the patio. David, our bartender, is there and the buffet is ready whenever you'd like. He can prepare anything you desire, but I would suggest 'Southern Pleasures.' It's a wonderful drink made with fresh Georgia peaches," she was saying, elegantly pointing the way and offering individual greetings as people went by. She was performing her role well.

  But it was the woman who had his attention, that and every hormone he possessed.

  Oh, she'd dressed the part all right. Elegant, a vibrant splash against the pale decor. Her hair, piled loosely on her crown and spilling down her back in fat curls, enhanced her delicate features, her slender throat. But nothing took attention from the body in that dress and high-heeled sandals. Royal-blue and off the shoulder, it was entirely of lace and hugged her figure. The plunging neckline showed off the swells of her breasts, and the midthigh length displayed the curves of those magnificent legs like nobody's business. He swallowed and had the strangest urge to throw his jacket over her.

  "Lovely, isn't she?"

  He dragged his gaze from Madison to Elizabeth. "She's the help, Liz."

  "Remember that," she said, moving past him into the living room. Alex scowled at Liz's back and followed.

  His gaze slid over his living room, the profusion of fresh flowers and magnolia blossoms scenting the air and filling the corners. The servants moved around the guests slowly, all dressed in dark-green slacks, beige shirts and dark-green brocade vests to match the decor she'd chosen. The buffet tables were gathered up at the corners with blossoms and garlands, and the café tables each bore a centerpiece of edible, sugared fruit surrounded by waxy magnolia leaves. A candle rested in each center, giving the room a soft glow. Yet, the first thing he noticed was his guests were smiling and talking to each other. A rare occurrence, for these parties had a tendency to be rather stiff and brief.

  Madison approached him with a tray. "A brandy, Mr. Donahue. Or would you prefer something else?" Like a kick in the teeth, she thought. She'd burned half the night over his comments, ignoring his page, then blamed the incident on the man's notorious reputation of avoiding relationships like the plague and wanting to be aware of his territory.

  "Thank you, Miss Holt." That smile didn't reach her eyes, he noticed.

  "Miss Murray?" She offered Elizabeth a flute of champagne, her favorite she'd learned from Katherine. Though she accepted, her smile bordered on grizzly, threatening, and Madison decided now was a good time to escape. She immediately turned away to attend to another guest, then stepped out onto the patio.

  Alex watched her briefly, then spoke to his guests, Liz at his side.

  "Well, I'm impressed, Alex," she admitted after an hour.

  He was, too. The entire house and garden had a Southern verandah feel, and it obviously pleased his guests. His usually bland patio was filled with potted flowers and palms, the bar situated under the grape arbor, lit with tiny white lights. Tall torches illuminated the area, adding to the candle glow from nearly a dozen small tables. There was a cluster of wicker furniture that did not belong to him off to the side, where Anna Marsh and Steven Reynolds, a pair who rarely spoke, chatted amiably. With Madison. Her expression was open and animated as she collected up discarded glasses and introduced one guest to another. Laughter filled the garden. A first in a while, he knew, sipping his drink. He made the rounds, crossing Madison's path often, yet she always moved discreetly away when he approached.

  When Madison had to address him, it was with a blandness that stung as if she'd slapped him. Yet Elizabeth monopolized his time. As he stepped into the dining room, he hoped the meal might get her to at least join the others. With a quick scan, he found Madison off to the side, explaining the delicacies to over a dozen guests as she h
anded them each a plate.

  "There's shrimp – fried, boiled and stuffed with blue crab. She-crab soup, fried okra, Southern corn bread, spiced hush puppies, Low-country boil, stuffed flounder, roasted fresh ham…" As she went on, she told a little tale about the area, flavoring the menu with a bit of history, and his friends, his guests, ate it up as fast as they did the food.

  Excusing himself from Liz's side, he moved to Madison's and leaned to say, "Magnificent job, Miss Holt."

  Madison tipped her head to look up at him. "Thank you. We aim to please. Aren't you glad you trusted me now?"

  "Yes, very much." He turned toward her a fraction, his gaze lingering over her attire. "You look spectacular."

  "Thank you. We manhunters try real hard to lure our prey," she said sweetly, before turning to help serve someone sliced meat.

  Alex sighed, and supposed he deserved that, yet realized she wasn't going to give him the chance to apologize. He grabbed a plate, filled it and went off with Liz to eat. The food was incredibly good, and Alex almost wished it weren't. The party was flawless, and he fielded compliments all evening, solidifying his knowledge that he'd made the right choice. He just wished the woman hadn't gotten under his skin.

  A half hour later the music changed, growing livelier, and he recognized the Drifters, the Spinners and the Beach Boys in the mix. He stepped out onto the patio to see Anna Marsh and several others dancing as Madison had the servants move the tables aside.

  "Does anyone know how to do the shag?" Anna asked.

  Madison opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

  Anna noticed. "Oh, you do, Madison, don't you?"

  She glanced at Alex, silently asking permission. He nodded, sipping his drink and watched as she took Kyle's hand and instructed him. She was good, getting into the music, yet she didn't linger with Kyle, turning to old man Reynolds and teaching him. The perfect hostess. Anna partnered herself with another guest and soon nearly everyone was on the patio. Madison danced, her sweet behind rocking as she took them through the steps.

  The men flirted with her, Kyle asking for a dance over and over, and Alex felt his jaw tighten as she obliged. Liz grabbed his hand to pull him into it, and he hastily set his drink aside and joined. One song rolled after another, and they switched partners. Alex danced with Anna, then found himself in front of Madison.