He got up and began walking around the room, scratching his head. He turned and said, “Pretend you’re practicing your guitar chords.” Taking a seat next to her, he said, “Don’t go into a hissy fit, but I heard you play. Listened to it, in fact, sometimes for hours.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have stopped.”
“Precisely why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to stop. You’re really good, and I found it relaxing, as well.” He pushed her back against the bedcovers and lay beside her. “Loosen up. Pretend you’re strumming the guitar.”
Marley closed her eyes, but she couldn’t concentrate on her guitar. Not with Brant so close. “When did you hear me?”
“The first time I was on my balcony, resting on the lounge. You came out on your balcony and began playing. I figured if I said anything or made any sound, you’d take off. So...” Brant reached over and pushed a section of loose hair from her forehead. “I started these fantasies in my mind. You and me playing our guitars together.”
“You play?” she said, opening her eyes.
When his lips were a breath away from hers, he said, “I thought it was something we could share—a mutual interest in music.” His lips brushed hers. “I know all the songs you were playing. Wouldn’t it be fun?”
Every part of her soared, and she didn’t want it to end. When Brant finally pulled away, she asked, “Did they teach you how to kiss like that in acting school?”
“Marley! What is it with you?” Brant fell back on the bed, his eyes scrunched into painful slits as he pulled at his hair. “Is your goal emasculation? Because I really can’t take any more of your insults.”
She sat up and looked down at him. “It’s just I—I’ve never been kissed like that.” He didn’t move, so she continued. “I like it.”
He opened one eye.
“I’m merely saying you’re a good kisser,” she continued. “I wondered if it came naturally or you had to learn it.”
Brant sat up and stared at her. Slowly he got off the bed and walked over to the door. Turning around, he began to chuckle. “If I didn’t know that hair color was real, I’d swear there’s a ditzy blonde under that red mop.”
When she didn’t reply, he came back over to the bed. “What? No retaliation? No defense for all the blondes in your family?”
“I’m clinging with all my might to my warm and fuzzy side. Don’t push it.”
Brant pulled her to her feet. When she was in his arms, he said, “I don’t know if it’s learned or natural. But I’m ready and willing to teach you everything I know. You game?”
Marley placed her hands around his neck. Without saying a word, she showed him she was definitely ready to learn.
A while later, Brant said, “We better stop.” He pushed her away and directed her to the chair. “It’s getting harder and harder for me to remember we’re only pretending to be engaged.”
“Right.” Marley caught a glance of herself in the mirror. She was smiling, a very happy and contented smile.
Brant stretched out on one of the beds, pulled the pillow over and whacked it a few times before putting it under his head. “What is it about music you find relaxing?”
Marley concentrated on a water spot in the ceiling. “I don’t really know. It’s something that makes me all—” she motioned around her body before tossing her hand in the air “—cozy inside.”
“Just guitar music?”
“No. Not at all.” She looked back at him. “I love jazz. Not the improvisational kind so much because I appreciate a melody I can follow—probably my math background where I’m into order.”
“And...”
“Concerts. I go whenever I can. I’ve met many of the music teachers at the Maricopa Community College where I teach at night, and they have wonderful presentations by the students. One young fellow I’ve been jamming with at the condo has been doing very well in the guitar program.”
Marley could barely control her enthusiasm, and since Brant didn’t interrupt, she continued. “I like rock and folk and I especially love the words in songs that describe feelings. You can pretty much figure out a singer’s entire life from the songs he writes.”
“Only male singers?”
Marley shrugged. “Women may write beautiful songs, too, but the real turn-on for me is to hear a man singing to me alone. I feel good when I listen to the lyrics.”
“You like any other instruments besides the guitar?”
“Yes. The saxophone and of course drums, all kinds of percussions...and violins. Especially in Irish music.” She paused. “What about you? Any particular music you enjoy?”
“I love listening to you play, and I’ve collected a few different string instruments. One day I’d like to learn how to play them.”
“Isn’t that the most fun, learning something new?”
Brant nodded. “Anything you don’t like?”
Marley became thoughtful. “Nothing I can think of. Music is my passion.”
“You’ve mentioned nearly everything but the piano.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to leave that out. I often play my guitar while listening to piano music. It’s one of my biggest pleasures.” Her expression turned dreamy. “One of these days I’m going to learn to play the piano.”
“Me, too.”
She looked at him. “You, too, what? Music affects you the same way or you always wanted to learn how to play the piano.”
“Both.” Brant sat up, reached over and grasped her hand. “I feel the same way you do about music, an enjoyment I think of as an afterglow. But the only time I prefer a song written by a man is when I can sing it to a woman.” That smile again. Does he ever turn it off?
Marley looked away. And then she had a thought. What about all those women she’d seen with him? Did he delight them in the same way, touch them so that their lips longed for more?
She shook her head. “So, were you engaged before?”
Brant got off the bed and sat on the desk, his legs dangling. He held on to the edge with both hands. “Yes,” he said in a flat voice. “We never married.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but maybe you can give me some hints. What am I doing wrong?”
“It’s body language, mostly, but you’ve improved. No more flinching when I touch you.” His eyes beamed down on her, and she felt a flutter in her midsection.
After an uncomfortable pause, Marley asked, “Was it your grandfather’s neighbor?”
Brant nodded and cleared his throat. “We were supposed to marry when I graduated. She died from leukemia, a debilitating cancer, in my sophomore year.” He looked down at the rug and kicked his feet a few times before glancing back at her. “It taught me one thing. Don’t waste time waiting.” He sighed.
“What about you? Why didn’t you marry the jock?” When she appeared confused, he added, “You know, the roommate back in college.”
“Oh, Phil.” She smiled. “He was one of many. Several of us rented a large apartment, and we had our own bedrooms. I was in the wedding party when he married our other roommate.”
“Which just goes to show how little I know about you. I need more info. We’re supposed to be intimate. You have any scars, birthmarks or tattoos I should know about?”
“No. What about you? Anything more than that tiny pinprick below your waist?”
He looked wounded by her remark. “I’ll have you know that was a near-death experience. My appendix ruptured while I was riding and—”
“Riding what?”
“A horse, of course. I was riding at my parents’ place when it happened. A total disaster and—”
“Oh, I should know about your parents.”
“You’re not interested in how I had to be rushed to the hospital?” He glanced at the ceiling. “Another time
. Okay, let’s see. My parents recently celebrated their forty-seventh anniversary. My oldest sister, Elaina, is forty-five, Jacqueline is forty-three, Roberta is thirty-nine and I’m thirty-seven. My parents gave up having children once they had me. Finally had their boy.” He leaned toward her, still holding on to the edge of the desk. “You realize I’ll be giving a test later to see how much of this you absorbed.”
“I might remember the numbers, but I’ve already forgotten the names. Any of your sisters married?”
“All of them, but we don’t go for the traditional wedding your sister is having. Every one of my sisters, including my parents, took a trip to Las Vegas. That’s our tradition. As my fiancée, I’d expect the same.”
Thank goodness their engagement wouldn’t go that far. “You’re full of it. Vegas? Really? My mother would have a heart attack.”
“So, how old are you?”
“Thirty-four. I was twelve when Lindy, the last sister, was born. My father divorced my mother right after that. Not exactly a happy time in our lives. Certainly nothing that would endear me to my father.” Marley focused on the crumpled bedspread for a moment before continuing. “I’m the oldest then comes Chloe, who’s five years younger, then Jen, Franny, Morgan and of course, Lindy. You’ll get to know everyone tonight at the dinner party. They’re all married and there are six grandchildren. Including Michelle, who considers me her favorite aunt.”
“Will the kids be there, too?”
Marley nodded. “What else should we know?” She got up and walked past him. “We need to stick as close as possible to the truth. And...” She came back to stand in front of Brant, her hand over her mouth. “I’ve lied. I never expected to see you here so I created this person I thought my family would like.”
“They wouldn’t like the real me?” He hesitated. “Or you don’t like the real me?”
“What is the real you? I have no idea. But all my sisters married very nice guys, and I’m the last to go. I wanted to impress them, and, frankly from what I’d seen of your wardrobe, I needed to get creative.
“I’m the only one in my family who ever finished college, so Yale’s good.” She began pacing in front of him, ticking off the different points on her fingers. “My grandfather thinks you’re doing well, owning a horse farm.”
“Ranch.”
“Everyone thinks you’re rich, especially after seeing this gorgeous ring.” She flashed it at him, and he took her hand. “My sisters like the idea of a cowboy, and you fit that bill. Their husbands, on the other hand, like sports.”
“I’ve been to a few Cardinal games.”
“That would do.”
“So I shouldn’t tell them I keep in shape by dancing?”
“No way.” She considered a moment, then asked, “You dance? You’re not into Pilates?”
He shook his head, got off the desk and did several spins across the room, reminding her of moves in her early ballet class. “Don’t you dare! I don’t want them turning redneck on you. And no reference to any kind of acting. I want them to be impressed.”
“How about I mention a scholarship to Oxford?”
“No. Don’t go making up more things, Brant. We need to keep the story simple and truthful.”
He stared at her but didn’t comment. She placed fingers on her temples, trying to think of what else they needed to know about each other. “Hobbies. Do you have hobbies? Hunting, fishing?” She plopped down on the bed.
He shook his head. “What about you? You go around shooting Bambi with your redneck relatives?”
“Not me,” she said, shuddering involuntarily, “but the men in my family like to hunt. They might try to offer you some venison. You can tell them you’re a vegetarian if you don’t want to eat it.”
Brant came over and sat next to her. “I thought we were sticking to the truth. Just because I don’t care to kill it, I’ll still eat it. The cattle we raise go to a butcher in town, and I’m very fond of red meat. What about you?”
“I like steak.”
“I mean, what are your hobbies besides playing the guitar?”
“When I’m not involved in music, I take classes in things to better myself.”
“Like what?”
“Math.” She glanced at him. “I know it makes me a number one geek, but when I moved to Phoenix, I taught math in high school. Then got my master’s so I could teach it at a college level.”
“But you’re an accountant, right?”
“Yes. Teaching didn’t pay well, so I had to find something else. I took courses in bookkeeping and accounting, along with Spanish, so I could be bilingual. Very handy when you live in Phoenix.”
“Definitely. Spanish is the main language at the ranch. You need a hobby, something more physical like horseback riding. I know this great place where—”
“Brant? You in there?”
Marley and Brant looked at each other and mouthed, “Richard?” As Brant got up to answer the door, he buttoned his shirt. Marley was right behind him when he opened the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RICHARD SWUNG THE GARMENTS he’d been carrying off his shoulder. “You were supposed to get fitted before one this afternoon. When you didn’t show, I took these. Let’s hope you’re the same size as the original best man.” He tossed the black tux and white shirt into Brant’s arms. Richard looked in Marley’s direction and gave a curt nod of recognition.
“Rehearsal is at six in the church. The bride’s dinner is at seven at the same restaurant as last night’s fiasco. The maître d’ has agreed to let you come, providing you don’t drink. I’m making it a point to break both your arms if you so much as look at the bar.” When Brant didn’t supply any rebuttal, Richard added, “And if you don’t think that’s possible, every one of the groomsmen has volunteered to hold you down while I do it.”
“Thanks for bringing them over,” Brant said, adjusting the assortment.
Richard glanced at Marley, his expression softening. “I’ll see you later.”
Before she could say anything to Richard, Brant closed the door and blocked the exit with the tux, shifting back and forth every time she made a movement to pass him. Marley clamped her jaw and fumed. By the time Brant let her get around him, Richard had already left.
“That went well,” Brant said and headed to the bathroom with the garments. “I’ll see if these fit.”
Marley followed him. What had gotten into him that he was acting this way?
He hung the garments on the shower curtain rod and began popping his shirt open again. “My, my,” he said, gazing at her. “You want to watch me dress?”
Marley turned on her heel and shut the door to the bathroom. “Oooh, that man infuriates me.” She grabbed her purse and went out of the motel, giving the door a violent slam.
* * *
WHAT DID HE DO? Brant leaned on the bathroom sink and stared in the mirror at the idiot staring back at him. He had finally made headway with Marley, and he’d blown it. What was it with him, anyway? The girl of his dreams...
He backed away. Not just his dreams. This was the woman, the one person with whom he wanted to share his life. They had so much in common. A love of music, dancing— He could imagine her dancing like an angel in his arms. He’d love to spend the next fifty years dancing with her, or playing their guitars together. And she wanted to learn how to play the piano. He’d teach her that, and she could help him become more proficient with the guitar. Perfect. He wanted this engagement for real.
Not that he had a chance. He’d acted like some immature juvenile blowhard in high school. He couldn’t help himself. The moment Richard had shown his face, Brant had wanted to destroy it. Instead he’d probably thrown Marley into his waiting arms.
Disgusted with himself, Brant decided to try on the penguin suit. He slipped into the s
hirt and jacket. Fit okay. Not as good as the tux he had hanging in his closet in Phoenix, but it would do. He tried on the pants and burst out laughing. How tall was Dennis’s friend? Four feet? The pants ended mid-calf. No way would they work.
And Richard was responsible. Brant could understand the hostility. He certainly shared it. But why ruin his brother’s wedding? Brant rehung the pants and decided to discuss the matter with Dennis when he saw him at the rehearsal.
That is, if he ever made it there. He expected Marley to pick him up, but quite possibly she wouldn’t after his earlier behavior. He decided to shower and get ready anyway. He still had the pertinent wedding information on his tablet. If she didn’t show, he’d call a taxi. He wasn’t about to give up on Marley, not now that he knew she was the one he wanted as his wife.
* * *
LINDY GUESSED THERE were problems the moment Marley walked into the house. She grasped her hand and drew her through the throngs of relatives in the living room right up the stairs into the menagerie of stuffed animals. “We can talk here,” Lindy said, grabbing a chair and dumping a group of teddy bears onto the floor. “Being engaged is sometimes the pits. Take it from someone who knows.”
Marley sat in the offered chair and tried to filter through fact and fiction. What could she say about Brant and her engagement without spilling the truth? “Men can be absolute animals,” Lindy continued. “Has Brant hurt you, physically, emotionally? You let me know, and I’ll have Denny bop him one. He has no right to hurt my best friend and sister.” She gave Marley a hug before taking a seat on the bed. Whatever problems she’d had the night before were gone.
“He’s not trying to get out of the wedding, is he? Because that could create trouble. We don’t want one of the bridesmaids without an escort.”
“No, it’s not that. Richard brought the tux over and—”
Lindy’s blue eyes popped, and she put her hand over her mouth. Her squeaky scream sent shivers down Marley’s spine. Lindy jumped off the bed and started a crazy dance in front of her, stomping her feet and waving her arms. Buster, who had followed them up to the room, began to howl. “He’s jealous. I knew it. Rick came onto you, and Brant’s jealous. How romantic!”
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