Wedding Fever

by Susan Crosby

  “We know each other well,” the judge said, sandwiching Misty’s hand between both of his. “How have you been?”

  She tugged lightly. “Very well, Duncan. And you?”

  “Making do.”

  Maggie watched the tension sparking between them. The judge’s voice was low, soft and relaxed. Yet his eyes held such intensity as he stared into Misty’s, and his thumbs drew circles on her skin. And Misty—well, her face flushed even as she lifted her chin and withdrew her hand.

  “Call me,” she said to Maggie. She opened the front door, then looked back. “Good night, Duncan.”

  “Be well, Misty.”

  He cares about her, Maggie realized finally as she analyzed his expression, one of sadness and longing. “Judge Shaunnessey, thank you again for agreeing to marry us.”

  “It’s my honor and privilege, my dear.” He kissed Maygie’s cheek and exchanged a handshake with Diego. “Thank you for asking me.”

  “He’s in love with Misty,” Maggie said to Diego after the judge left. “Why haven’t I seen that before? I’ve noticed them staring at each other across the dining room.”

  “Let them work it out themselves, Magnolia.”

  “You knew? You really do watch and listen, don’t you?”

  They headed toward the locker rooms to change.

  “From now on, I’d like to pick you up for work and take you home, if you don’t mind.”

  “Nifty change of subject, Diego.” She grinned. “Sure. I think that would be great. Ah. You had expected an argument from me. I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You never disappoint me, Magnolia. Surprise me, yes. But not disappoint. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

  “So, that’s it? You’ve got a pretty short list of guests,” Maggie said, tossing the pad of paper onto the coffee table.

  They sat a couple of feet apart on the sofa. Each held a glass of wine and had been nibbling on sourdough bread and cheddar cheese.

  “You can pick up the balance. I don’t care about an even amount.”

  “I don’t have that many to add myself. My family. A few friends from school.”

  “No old boyfriends to invite?”

  “I told you before that I haven’t had a serious relationship.”

  “Correction. You told me they were duds in the lovemaking department. That’s different.”

  She cocked her head. “So now you want to talk about it? You didn’t last night.”

  “I have thought about it since then. If you need to talk about it, then I’m willing to listen.”

  He didn’t miss the smile she tried to hide behind her wineglass.

  “Forget it.” He set his own glass on the table and picked up the pad of paper. “What is left for us to decide?”

  “The time of day, flowers, um, food, I suppose.”

  He threw down the pad. “What does it mean when you say they were duds? And quit looking so smug, Magnolia. I admit, you piqued my curiosity.”

  “What do you want to know? How many men? How many times? How big were—”

  “Stop right there.”

  “—their hands?”

  “Funny.”

  “Well, Diego, I don’t know what kind of information you’re looking for. According to books I’ve read and conversations I’ve overheard, I should have felt the earth move.”

  “You have never climaxed?”

  If his bluntness startled her, she didn’t show it. “Of course I have.” She swallowed some wine. “Sort of.” She pressed a finger to her lips as she added, “I think.”

  “If you have to think about it, you haven’t.”

  She looked directly at him. “Unless you intend to do something about this conversation, I’d suggest you abandon the topic.”

  He wished he’d never brought up the subject. Did she think he could resist that kind of temptation? To bring her to climax when no other man had? Madre de Dios.

  Desire pulled at him. All she had to do was look at him to discover the truth, just as he could see the truth in the twin points of her nipples beneath her T-shirt. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, that had been evident from the moment she’d taken off her jacket when they arrived at her apartment And he’d watched her breasts sway as she’d moved around her kitchen preparing their snack.

  He acknowledged this moment as his last chance to back out—which would certainly please his boss. Callahan’s shout could have been heard in Washington, D.C., as he’d threatened to pull J.D. off the assignment. But negotiations with Hastings had gone too far and too well to attempt a change now.

  Except that J.D. no longer had only himself to look out for, but Magnolia as well.

  He pushed himself off the couch and crossed the room. Plucking his jacket off the coatrack, he carried it with him when he returned to her.

  “You’re leaving? I thought you wanted to discuss the wedding,” she said.

  Last chance. The words rang in his head again, then faded.

  From inside his coat pocket he pulled out an object and passed it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked, turning it over. “Oh, a pager. Is this yours?”

  “It’s yours. Jasmine and Patrick asked me to get it for you. You’ve been so worried about her not being able to get in touch with you when she goes into labor. She said to tell you just to leave it on all the time, then she’ll only have to dial one number and be able to find you. Make sure you change the battery when it says so across the pager screen. Here are some extras for you.”

  “This is great.” Maggie listened as he gave her instructions on using the pager, then she set it aside. She watched him dig in his coat pocket again but couldn’t see whatever he withdrew, as he closed his fingers around it.

  “I think you should be wearing a ring,” he said, opening his hand. “This was my grandmother’s.”

  A brilliant-cut diamond perched in the center, surrounded by deep blue sapphires shaped like daisy petals. “Oh, Diego.” She looked into his eyes as they darkened to almost black. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

  “It suits you.”

  “But—”

  “Humor me, Magnolia.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I’d be honored.”

  He reached for her left hand, then slid the ring on her finger, finding a perfect fit.

  Maggie held out her hand to admire it. “Why is one sapphire attached to the band instead of the diamond in the middle?”

  “‘He loves me.’”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know. The game people play with flower petals. ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’ There are seven so it will always end up ‘he loves me.’”

  “Oh! That’s sweet. Your grandfather was a romantic.” She laughed self-consciously. “I wish you’d quit giving me such incredible pieces of jewelry when I’m not wearing anything worthy of the moment.”

  “You are a beautiful woman, Magnolia, You don’t need clothes to make you more so.” He smiled. “You know what I mean.”

  He stayed another hour as they discussed other wedding details, and watched her sneak glances at the ring again and again, reinforcing his decision to give it to her.

  He’d had no intention of giving her his grandmother’s ring. In fact, he’d already arranged to rent a rather ordinary one from a local jeweler when his father placed this one in his hands.

  The delicate beauty of it seemed right. He probably should have stayed with his original decision but he was tired of trying to analyze and rationalize everything that had happened in the past few days.

  They were getting married. That was that. The reasons mattered, but they couldn’t be changed.

  This was Magnolia, after all. The one woman he’d been attracted to beyond the physical. In fairness to her, he hadn’t encouraged her, knowing he wasn’t free to pursue any kind of relationship until this job was over, knowing she was a woman who would burrow into his life and stay, if given the opportunity.

  He hadn�
�t let himself think about the future. One of the reasons he’d been assigned this job was his lack of attachments. Now he had an Achilles’ heel.

  And Hastings knew it.

  It was still critical that he believe their marriage. Although J.D. no longer feared Hastings using Magnolia for his own pleasure—and the pleasure of others when he tired of her—J.D. also knew that Hastings could and would still use her against him. She had to be guarded and protected, because if his cover was blown, she’d be the first one that Hastings went after. He couldn’t let that happen.

  When she smothered a yawn, he stood. “Let me help you clean up, then I’ll leave.”

  They carried the remains of their snack into the kitchen. Maggie stopped at the sink and turned on the faucet as she set down the dishes. Diego came up behind her. He reached around her to rinse the glasses.

  Coils of anticipation rooted Maggie into stillness.

  “Tired?” he asked quietly, close to her ear.

  “Um.” Her mind went blank for a few seconds. “Um, yes. But I’m generally up this late. It’s hard to go to sleep right away after work.”

  “What do you do?”

  She drew a shaky breath as he turned off the faucet that she’d left running. Then he leaned a hip against the counter and met her gaze, their bodies almost touching.

  “It depends,” she said. “Sometimes I sew. Sometimes I do homework. Um, sometimes I write. Have I told you about the magazine articles—What are you doing?”

  His gaze had dropped. He was staring at her breasts.

  “You’ve been driving me crazy,” he said.

  She angled toward him, unconsciously pushing her shoulders back, feeling her nipples tighten under his unwavering inspection. “What did I do?”

  “You’re not wearing anything under that shirt. I’ve watched you all night. The soft sway of your breasts. Your nipples growing hard again and again, teasing me. You are more...well, just more than I would have guessed.”

  Maggie touched his cheek. She brushed a thumb across his lips. “Kiss me.”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t you think we need to practice?”

  “Perhaps you do, Magnolia. I, for one, have had plenty of practice.”

  She hated every woman he’d ever touched. Kissed. Pleasured. “I mean together. You and me. When the judge pronounces us husband and wife, we’ll have to kiss. I don’t even know whether you tip your head to the right or the left.”

  “I assure you, novia, we’ll manage just fine.”

  “You are the most strong-willed man I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m just a man. Like any other man.”

  “Show me.”

  The delicate balance between real and pretend exhausted him. What he wanted was a far cry from what he could take.

  “Just touch me for a minute,” she said quietly into his silence. “Somewhere. Anywhere. Just for a minute. Please.”

  She came into his arms as if born to be there. He felt her shudder, heard her moan his name softly. Her arms tightened around him as she burrowed closer.

  “You feel so good,” she whispered. “So right.”

  He slid his hands under her T-shirt and she arched into him. He spread his hands across her back and she drew up on tiptoes. He dragged his thumbs down the sides of her breasts and she hissed.

  Putting a little distance between them, he let the backs of his hands glide under the velvet heat of her breasts, their weight settling like twin comforters.

  He needed to stop this now. Now...

  He ran his fingertips over her nipples, pebbled into hard, tempting knots. This time her moan rang loud and uncontrolled, piercing him, burning him.

  Her fingernails dug into his back. He pressed her against the counter, moved her legs apart with his, then aligned himself intimately with her. She felt too good. Too damn good...

  Stop. Stop. His conscience went unheeded. Need demanded his attention now. Hot, driving need.

  She quivered in his arms. Moaned. Pleaded. Yielded.

  “Kiss me. Oh, please. Kiss me.”

  Her words were like ice water, a chilly reminder of their tenuous balancing act of fantasy and reality. How could he watch over her, keep her safe—and do his own job competently—if he let his emotions lead the way?

  Dios. What was he doing? What had he done?

  He stepped back, closing his eyes, unwilling to face her. His goodbye sounded abrupt, even to himself. He could only imagine how it sounded to her.

  He swept up his jacket and headed for the door.

  “Thank you for the use of your grandmother’s ring,” she called softly. “I’ll be very careful with it.”

  It was the least of his worries.

  Six

  It was raining. J.D. propped a shoulder against the window frame of Misty’s richly appointed library and stared at the yard, wondering if the rain was a sign that the wedding shouldn’t take place. He glanced at his watch.

  “It’s thirty seconds later than the last time you looked,” Judge Shaunnessey said, amusement in his voice. He’d been ordered by Misty, as had J.D., not to sit, so that they wouldn’t wrinkle their garments. Patrick O’Halloran, J.D.’s best man and soon-to-be brother-in-law, was off seating guests in Misty’s solarium, which would have been beautiful if not for the torrential downpour pounding the glass roof and dripping down the glass walls.

  J.D. jammed his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys.

  “I’d hate to see you before your execution.” the judge commented.

  “An execution would be less stressful to anticipate,” J.D. responded. A lot weighed on his mind. Relief that the wait was over. Guilt at the sham he’d been forced to create. Anticipation of the marriage itself, even with the normal marital privileges off-limits. It had been difficult being publicly affectionate when they couldn’t finish what they started each night. More difficult than he’d ever anticipated. Because of it, they’d avoided being alone since that night in her kitchen three weeks ago.

  Tension was their constant companion. She’d even gotten mad at him last night after the rehearsal. Mad. All because he’d given her a pearl necklace to wear for the wedding. He hadn’t expected stony silence to greet his gift, but it was what he’d gotten. She wouldn’t even tell him why.

  That was how they’d left things between them. And now they were to be married in less than fifteen minutes. That is, if she didn’t stand him up.

  Oh, he knew she was somewhere in Misty’s house dressing in her finery, her dream gown, the one she’d imagined since she was a child. Yet another regret of his.

  That didn’t mean she’d go through with the wedding.

  He reminded himself why they were doing this. Hastings had left Magnolia alone only because of the impending marriage, but his relationship with J.D. had undergone a change. Negotiations were tougher and more drawn out. Hastings exerted his power at every opportunity. J.D. would like nothing better than to respond in kind. The ball was not in his court, however. After all the months it had taken to set up the deal, he couldn’t blow it now.

  “She won’t back out,” the judge said, coming up beside J.D.

  “I was not worried.”

  “Every groom worries. There are few moments in a man’s life when he is more vulnerable than this one.”

  J.D. frowned. “Women really do wield the power, don’t they?”

  “It’s a good thing they don’t know how much.”

  “You think they don’t?”

  “Some do. Most don’t.”

  “Does Misty?”

  The judge looked at his own watch. “I think I’ll just check that everything’s on schedule. I’ll be right back.”

  So, it didn’t matter what your age or life experience, J.D. thought, the battle of the sexes continued to be waged, a tug-of-war in which physical strength didn’t count.

  He pushed back his shirt cuff and blew out a long breath. Ten minutes to go.

  Maggie pressed a hand to her stomach. “I
think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Good grief, Maggie. You’d think you were being sentenced to life in prison the way you’ve been acting,” Jasmine said, smoothing the pale blue organdy fabric of her gown over her round belly. “Get a grip.”

  “Thank you so much for the sympathy.”

  “Why do you need sympathy? You’re marrying the man you love, right? You’ve made the wedding dress of your dreams. Misty has created a beautiful setting for you, one you’ll always remember. Stop whining.”

  “How come you’re so testy, Jazz? You’re always the soother.”

  “I’m on edge because you’re on edge. Your mood is transferring to me. It’s not good for me or the baby. So smile. Be happy. Because we want to be, too.” She headed for an open door. “I have to go to the bathroom”

  “Again? But—”

  “When you’re nine months’ pregnant, you’ll understand.”

  The door closed with a thump. Maggie flinched. She knew she was being a royal pain in the rear. Three weeks of ever-increasing tension had melded into a ball of fire in her stomach as day after day she and Diego played their parts and planned their wedding. He hadn’t sat idly back and let her handle the wedding, either. She’d had to discuss everything with him. He’d even told her that he would be choosing her bouquet, which she hadn’t even seen as yet.

  Then last night he’d given her a beautiful pearl necklace as a wedding gift. When she’d asked him why he’d done it, he’d said it was on his list of responsibilities.

  “What list?” she’d asked.

  “The one in the bride magazine,” he’d responded, pulling a folded and tattered piece of paper from his pocket, pointing to the list of groom’s duties printed there. He’d obviously been using it as his bible to the wedding for all these weeks.

  Because of it, he’d gotten her a necklace. Something else to be given back at the end of the charade.

  At least the ring and the necklace could be boxed up and handed over. Did he expect she could do the same with the feelings that had changed and grown as they’d played out their game with the world?

  She wished she could talk to him one more time. She needed his calmness right now, his assurance that they were doing what was necessary and right. She could picture him stretched out on a couch somewhere in the house, cool as a cloudburst, waiting for the ceremony to begin, everything under control.