Runaway Groom

by Fiona Lowe

  Her expression flickered with guilt and determination. “Don’t mention the wedding gown.”

  He grimaced. “I’m hardly likely to do that.”

  She rose up on her toes and kissed him briefly, a combination of thanks and quiet desperation.

  He played with her hair at the back of her neck, hating himself for what he was about to ask but needing to anyway. “So this Jonathon, the guy who never made you orgasm?”

  She dropped her gaze, moved out of his arms and returned her attention to the salad.

  A slither of unease ran through him. He seriously hated lies and she’d told him she didn’t have very much experience. Would she make up a man to appease her family too? “Amy, was this guy real?”

  The knife split open a cabbage. “Oh yes, he was real.”

  “But your parents never met him?”

  “No.”

  He knew she was hiding something from him. “And?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  She narrowed her now-flinty-gray eyes at him and her penetrating gaze sliced through him as surely as if it was the knife in her hand. “Do you want to tell me all about Lexie?”

  Hell, no.

  She slid the cabbage into a bowl with the same brisk actions she always used when she was fighting for control. “Didn’t think so. Can you go check the barbecue has propane so you can cook the steaks?”

  “I can do that.” He left her dicing and chopping with ferocious intensity and headed toward the deck. The idea of sitting down to dinner with the three Sagars and all that associated tension was right up there with an hour in the dentist’s chair. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

  * * *

  Ella was working in her kitchen putting the finishing touches on the gum paste calla lilies she’d been working on all afternoon. They were part of a cascade of flowers that would wind its way around Janey Holzworth’s five-tiered, butter cream wedding cake and Ella was pleased with how they’d turned out.

  “Ellie,” Al’s voice called, as the screen door to her kitchen squeaked open. “You need oil on this.”

  She bristled. Just lately, every time Al came over he commented on something that needed fixing. “It’s on my list.”

  “I could do it for you now, eh?”

  “Thanks, Al, but as Ron never oiled a hinge in this house, I’ve been taking care of the screen door for a lot of years. I don’t see any reason to stop now.”

  A flicker of something close to hurt crossed his face and she regretted her tone. Al was a good man and a dear friend, but she didn’t want him getting any ideas into his head about needing to take care of her. She didn’t need taking care of and she didn’t want him thinking she might want to take care of him. She’d spent a lot of years caring for Ron and although she missed him, she didn’t miss the lifestyle of a wife to a sick and dying man.

  “So anyway,” Al continued, “I just got a call from Ben inviting us over to the house for supper. He says he’s cooking steaks.”

  She glanced around at the sugary mess that was her kitchen and thought about the piece of salmon she had in her fridge ready to cook for her supper. “It’s short notice.”

  “He said it’s impromptu because Amy’s parents just arrived, but it’s real casual.” Al pulled at his beard. “It sounds crazy but he sounded kinda like he needed us to come.”

  She laughed. “Poor boy. He probably doesn’t want the third degree from Lisa and Todd. They were always very protective of Amy. She doesn’t have the same easygoing nature as her sisters.”

  “So you’ll take off that apron and come, eh?”

  “Sure, why not. It keeps me young to do spontaneous things.”

  Al grinned. “Good to hear. Talking spontaneous, I’m taking you out there on my chopper.”

  Had the man lost his mind? “I’m a grandmother, Al Swenson, and there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m getting on that noisy and dangerous machine with you.”

  He sighed. “Have I ever had a motorcycle accident, Ella?”

  She cast back her mind. “Well, not that I recall, but it’s the other drivers I worry about.”

  “It’s a weeknight in October in Whitetail. There is no traffic.” His pale eyes suddenly twinkled in a tempting and coaxing way. “Come on, Ellie, live a little.”

  Live a little. Isn’t that what she’d craved during the last year of Ron’s life? She’d loved him dearly but his illness had tied her to him. For a tiny moment she actually contemplated what it would be like to ride on that powerful machine and then her common sense thankfully asserted itself. “I feel like I just got my life back, Al. I’m not going to risk losing it by riding with you on that damn bike.”

  An intransigent look crossed his face. “Suit yourself. I’ll meet you out there.”

  His reply startled her. “Aren’t you going to drive me in the truck?”

  “Nope. I’m taking the chopper.” He strode out of her kitchen and the squeaky screen door slammed shut loudly behind him.

  She stared at it. She’d fully expected Al to concede on the bike and now he seemed to have taken offense at her refusal to ride with him. Why was he so touchy about it? In her memory, she never recalled Alice getting on the bike so why would he expect her to?

  Men. Fine, she’d drive herself. It was no big deal. She drove herself most everywhere anyway. She was fine doing things on her own. Hanging the apron behind the door, she stomped toward the bathroom, annoyed with Al for being so ungentlemanly and annoyed with herself for letting it bother her.

  * * *

  “So, Mom, are you and Daddy going to take up Al’s offer to use his boat for a day on the lake?” Amy asked hopefully as she glanced outside at glorious fall sunshine.

  “We thought we might,” her mother said, “for the morning at least. I was hoping if we left you to work alone this morning, then you could spend time with us this afternoon.”

  She thought about the amount of work she had to do on Janey’s gown but if she said no to her mother’s request, it risked too many questions. “That sounds like fun.”

  Her mother looked at her peculiarly. “I thought we could go clothes shopping.”

  Amy glanced down at her faded jeans and a baggy Whitetail polo shirt she’d found in the woods on a jog with Ben. She’d brought it home, shaken out the dirt and laundered it. She’d deliberately worn this combination today so as not to draw attention to herself, because apart from her white blouse and black business suit, it was as close to normal as her wardrobe got.

  Shopping was currently out of the question due to the rent on her apartment in Chicago and because of the distinct silence from the two employment agencies she’d contacted after all her own leads had frozen. “I’d rather hike up to the bluff. The view’s amazing.”

  Her mother laughed. “Honey, do you remember the time we wanted you to hike up the bluff with us and you said no because you were reading Gone with the Wind?”

  “I was fifteen, Mom.”

  “I know, but you’ve never been one to hike. Even last year on Mackinac Island, you read while the rest of us hiked to Fort Holmes.”

  “I was on vacation,” she said irritably, wondering when her mother had gotten so observant.

  Lisa fiddled with a place mat. “Ben seems very athletic.”

  “He is and he’s a bit OCD about healthy food.”

  “Amy,” her mother said softly, “any relationship is doomed if you try to be someone you’re not.”

  The words whipped up every insecurity she’d ever known to be true about herself and men. “What is that supposed to mean? That you don’t want me to be healthier and drop some weight? Or that no handsome guy could possibly find me attractive?”

  Her mother looked askance. “That’s not what I mea
nt at all and you know it. It’s just you’ve always been so serious and focused, striving for what you want.” She leaned forward. “Daddy tells me that Ben is on an extended trip from Australia with no real plans. He just doesn’t sound like your sort of guy.”

  “Oh and with my vast experience with men, I have a particular type of guy?” She used sarcasm, trying to cover the fact that her mother’s words reflected her own beliefs but for very different reasons. “Can’t I just have a fling?”

  Her mother shuddered. “You never have before and I don’t think you’re wired that way. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yes! Why do you keep asking me that?”

  Her mother’s lips firmed into a thin line. “Because right now you sound just like your sisters did when they were seventeen.”

  “When I was seventeen don’t you mean?”

  Lisa shook her head. “No. You never sounded like that. You never rebelled or caused us a moment’s grief. You worked hard at school, you got good grades and we were so proud of you the day you called us up with your bar exams results. Do you remember what you said?”

  So very clearly. “I’m the first lawyer in the history of the Sagar family.”

  “And now you’re on track to being a department head. Daddy’s not above bragging about you at the plant, you know,” she said, smiling widely. “You’ve done what he and I only ever dreamed about.”

  The words turned like a knife in her chest. Her parents had never had a college education—they’d been too busy working hard and putting food on the table for their young family and pouring their hopes and dreams into their daughters. And I just lost it all with one stupid mistake.

  “Talking about work, I need to start so we can take that hike this afternoon. Have a fun time on the lake.” She kissed her mom and left the room.

  * * *

  Melissa cringed as she hit yet another wrong note on the simple tune that Scott had given her. Stupid piano.

  It was their second lesson and this time Scott had come over to her house because Melissa felt far too intimidated playing the grand in the rehearsal room. For some reason, Scott hadn’t offered his place even though she knew he taught kids there. She readjusted her hands and started over but came undone again in the seventh bar just as she always did. Frustrated, she glanced up and met his steady gaze. “Before you say anything at all, yes, damn it, I did practice.”

  “I know you did,” he said quietly, his hazel eyes free of judgment.

  Surprise rocked her. She wasn’t expecting him to have believed her given the mess she was making with “Greensleeves.” “How do you know I practiced?”

  “Because you’re trying too hard.”

  “Too hard? How can I be trying too hard? I thought that was the point!” She banged her hands against the keys in frustration, the music lessons of the past resurfacing to haunt her.

  He passed her a glass of water that he’d asked for earlier but hadn’t drunk. “Take a sip and then some deep breaths.”

  “I don’t need a drink.”

  “Yeah, you do.” The glass hovered between them, his long fingers wrapped around it.

  With a sigh, she accepted the drink and took a few sips.

  “Now the breathing.”

  “I am breathing,” she said tartly. “If I wasn’t I’d be dead.”

  He laughed and the sound washed over her, calling her to join him but she fought it. “I’m glad I’m entertaining you.”

  “Always, but that’s immaterial. Why do you want to learn the piano, Melissa?”

  Because you teach it.

  That is so not the reason.

  Come on, it’s one reason. “Why does anyone want to?”

  “For as many people who learn an instrument, you’ll find as many different reasons.”

  “That’s very Zen.”

  He gave a wistful smile. “Oh yeah, that’s me, totally Zen. But we’re back to you. You said you wanted piano lessons, so why do you want them?”

  She chewed her lip.

  “There’s no right or wrong answer, Melissa.”

  Yet even in her head it sounded cliché but she sensed he wasn’t going to give up so she told him. “I want to be able to play Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D.’”

  “Great,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “You’ve got a goal and we’ll work toward you learning a simplified version sooner rather than a more complicated one later.”

  She thought about her requests to piano teachers of her childhood, which had always fallen on deaf ears. “You’ll really do that?”

  He looked taken aback. “Melissa, the teacher-student relationship is a team.”

  This time she laughed. “Since when? All I remember is subservience and dominance.”

  His eyes darkened for a moment and she suddenly felt very hot and very aware of him sitting so close to her. The brush of his jeans felt like the lick of flames.

  “Some piano teachers have a lot to answer for,” he said, clearing his throat, “which is why you’re tense, forgetting to breathe and letting your head get in the way of your hands. Can I put my hands on your shoulders to demonstrate something?”

  “Um, okay.”

  He stood up and then she felt his palms come to rest passively on her shoulders, his heat easily passing through the silk of her shell. Instinctively, her shoulders rose up to meet them. Not a good idea. But it had been too long since a man had touched her and it appeared her body was seizing control.

  “Now take in a deep breath and then blow it all the way out.”

  She did as she was instructed and as her breath rolled out of her, her shoulders drooped and the pressure of his hands lessened.

  No. Her body did a pouty sob.

  “That’s the way.” His finger and thumbs started moving in a circular motion across her shoulders—digging and rolling into muscle and easing tendon over bone.

  “Oh,” she breathed out, her head automatically tilting back, “that feels absolutely amazing.” Suddenly she was looking straight up into his face.

  A current arced between them, lighting up his eyes and stripping her body of its strength in the most delicious way possible. Slowly, his head lowered, dropping down toward her and closing the gap in what seemed like a time-delay sequence.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Oh, yes, please. She didn’t care that he wasn’t list material. She just wanted the touch of a man. Once. To slake a craving that had surfaced after months of no sex.

  He quickly pulled back and then his hands dropped away.

  “Now try playing,” he said huskily.

  Good grief. Her body was panting for his and she couldn’t even see straight let alone read music, and he wanted her to play?

  This time as she laid her fingers on the cool keys, she automatically blew out a breath. The metronome clicked out the rhythm and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound take hold of her. She started to play. Her right hand established the simple tune, her fingers dancing on the keys as her left hand entered, building the melody. The music swelled as her hands worked as a team, answering each other in musical conversation. Before she knew it, she’d read the final bar and come to the end of the piece.

  She turned to Scott, stunned. “I can’t believe it. I got past bar seven. I’ve never got past bar seven.”

  He grinned at her, delight and pleasure on his face. “Good for you.”

  “Good? It’s a freakin’ miracle.” Joy bounced through her and she leaned her shoulder against his, giving him a gentle bump. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He bumped her back and then she was staring into his eyes, which burned for her behind his glasses.

  She leaned forward, wanting him to kiss her just like he’d been about to do five minu
tes earlier before he’d pulled back. Teacher ethics? The look in his eyes had definitely been one of need. Well, she’d never been slow in asking for what she wanted. “I think I want to kiss you.”

  “Go right ahead, as long as you’re not going to regret it later and give up lessons.”

  “I have a funny feeling it’s going to improve my piano.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Who am I to stand in the way of that?”

  Her hands pulled his head down and she kissed him. He was warm and solid under her palms and the stubble on his top lip prickled against her mouth. He tasted like Christmas candy—fresh and sweet but with a musky undertone that was all male.

  Oh, how she’d missed this.

  She sighed as his hands tightened around her waist and he returned the kiss, exploring her mouth exactly how she liked it with a balance of delicacy and control. With each flick of his tongue, her body craved him just that little bit more until she was a heaving mess of need.

  Who would have thought a bespectacled and serious musician could kiss like this? But, oh, could he kiss, which led directly to the supposition of if he could kiss like this, he was probably amazing in bed.

  He pulled back and she had to swallow a moan. She opened her eyes to see his serious gaze fixed firmly on her.

  “Where are we going with this, Melissa? Are we stopping at kissing?”

  Please, no. “What’s your stance on casual sex?”

  He pulled her to her feet, his fingers playing with the hem of her silk shell. “Define casual.”

  Her fingers started undoing his belt. “Consenting sex between two adults when they both want it.”

  “No dating, no expectations.” He lifted her shell over her head and undid her bra.

  “Definitely no relationship. Just sex.” She freed him from his jeans, loving the sound of his groan as her hand closed around him. Oh how she’d missed this.

  “Piano lessons and sex,” he said, reaching for her nipples and tweaking them with just the right about of pressure.

  Spots danced in front of her eyes as she went wet with need. “Sex and piano lessons.”