He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she looked different somehow. Her blond hair was slightly longer, brushing the top of her shoulders in a curly way that caught the rays of the early evening sun. But that wasn’t it. Then it dawned on him. It was the dress. Well, not the dress, exactly, but the fact that she was wearing it. In muted pink with shiny flowery things stamped on the fabric, it was exactly the type of thing Mel wouldn’t have been caught dead in before. He appreciated the sway of her bottom, thinking he’d have been okay with her wearing feminine attire if she’d asked him. But she hadn’t. In fact, aside from the brief meeting when they’d first been assigned to work together, he’d never seen her in a dress. And then she’d been wearing a knee-length black skirt. This thing…this thing barely brushed the middle of her thighs.
Then there were those heels.
Growing more than a little hot and bothered, Marc tugged at the neck of his T-shirt. The shoes added a good three inches to her five feet seven inches. That would bring the top of her head to his nose rather than his chin when they came face-to-face.
Mrs. Weber turned her head in his direction. Marc slumped in his seat, jamming his knees against the dashboard in the process. He cursed. But the words barely exited his mouth when Mel nearly toppled right off those high, sexy heels. He grinned, forgetting the pain shooting up his knees for a second. Now that was more like the Mel he knew and—
He bit back the word, an audible gulp filling the interior of the Jeep. What did he know about love? Hadn’t Mel told him during their first and only argument that he didn’t know diddly about love?
No, he didn’t, couldn’t love her. He just liked Mel’s sexy backside enough to think it worth protecting from the guy who’d already shot her once.
“Oh, yeah? Then tell me something, McCoy. Why is that damn engagement ring you’ve been carrying around for three months burning a hole in your pocket?”
ADVENTURE, FREEDOM and hot sex are overrated. Melanie squeezed her eyes shut and repeated the sentence slowly.
“Melanie, dear, there are guests present.”
She cracked her eyelids open to take in a generous view of Wilhemenia, who sat across from her in the dining area of the Bedford Inn. She wasn’t sure why, but lately everything her mother said, no matter how innocuous, got under her skin. She offered a patient smile. “Of course there are guests present. It’s my rehearsal dinner. I invited them, remember?”
She took in the gilded antique chairs, the crisp white damask tablecloths and the pretty flowered wallpaper, wondering exactly why the traditional event was called a rehearsal. It wasn’t as though she or Craig needed pointers on how to walk down the aisle. That was a no-brainer. She smiled at Craig’s father, who sat adjacent to her, and suppressed the urge to fidget, sure the unladylike move would elicit another public reprimand from her mother. Then realization settled in. The rehearsal part of it didn’t have so much to do with her and Craig. Rather it was a preview of what holidays would look like from here on out.
The tickle of panic that had been with her all day grew to a pang.
Melanie tried to shake the images that crowded her mind. But like an unwelcome visit from the ghost of Christmas future, she envisioned her mother perched on the edge of a couch making comments that always somehow seemed like criticisms about the Christmas tree and covertly trying to get at the nonexistent dust bunnies under the coffee table with her ever-present embroidered handkerchief.
And Craig’s parents? Melanie watched them as she chewed a bite of cold roast beef. Okay, so his father was a bit…overbearing. Suspicious almost. Which was only fair given the suddenness of the upcoming nuptials. Melanie’s cheeks heated. Craig’s mother, on the other hand, was almost effusively nice. Likely a result of spending the past forty years trying to compensate for her husband’s bad manners. And her desire for grandchildren from her only child. The roast beef stuck in Melanie’s throat. Doris was going to get one of those sooner than she expected.
Guilt ballooned to challenge the panic.
Craig’s mother smiled at her brightly. Melanie smiled back, the tongs of her fork screeching against china.
She purposely avoided looking at Wilhemenia.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at Craig, who sat next to her.
He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice so only she could hear. “The thought of these guys being in the same room for more than five minutes at a stretch.” He cleared his throat. “Just getting my own parents to spend that much time together is asking for trouble.”
His familiar grin eased her discomfort as he unwittingly fit his own welcome image in with the others stamped in her mind. It didn’t surprise her that he’d been thinking the same thing she had. Throughout their nearly lifelong friendship, Craig and she had always understood each other.
She watched as the grin vanished from his face. He tugged at his tie. She thought he must be feeling as awkward as she was. He leaned in her direction again. “When this infernal thing is over, we need to talk.”
“Sure, we can do that.” Melanie was almost relieved to focus on someone else. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she hadn’t considered that Craig might be as nervous about all this as she was. But the fact that his request was so very serious scared her. Was he having second thoughts?
She glanced up to find the table had gone suspiciously silent. “How about this heat wave?” she said, not comfortable with the way her mother was watching her.
Doris made some comparison between the heat and a tin roof that Melanie missed, but Craig’s burst of laughter made her sigh.
Why can’t you be more like Marc?
She jerked involuntarily at the unwelcome thought, sending her fork sailing through the air. She watched in horror as it spiraled above the table, prongs over stem, prongs over stem…. Finally it landed neatly in the middle of her mother’s plate, spearing her roasted potatoes.
“Melanie!”
Her cheeks felt on fire. Of all the places for the sucker to land. She tightly clasped her hands in her lap where they were unlikely to do more damage.
“Pardon me.”
“Are you all right?” Craig asked.
Melanie made a show of watching her mother pluck the foreign piece of silver from her food.
Look at him, she ordered herself. She did.
It wasn’t that Craig Gaffney wasn’t attractive. He was appealing in an all-American way that included surfer good looks, wide grin and a sharp mind for drugs. Pharmaceuticals, she amended. She thanked the waiter when he brought her another set of linen-wrapped silverware. Her mother cleared her throat. Melanie carefully freed the silver from the white linen and picked up the clean fork, though she didn’t think she could swallow another bite of food.
Craig had a great sense of humor. Did it really matter that he sometimes didn’t grasp a punch line? Or that his capacity for humor had somewhat dwindled since they announced their engagement?
She picked up her wineglass and took a hefty sip only to realize she shouldn’t be drinking. She forced herself to swallow, then coughed. Craig’s father narrowed his eyes, watching her far too closely.
“Wrong pipe,” she said quietly.
Her fiancé was also very comfortable to be around, she continued, reviewing her Pro-Marriage to Craig column. A quality that had instantly cemented their friendship nearly twenty-five years ago when they were in kindergarten. He didn’t judge her the way most people did then…and now. She glanced in her mother’s direction. Wilhemenia was frowning…again. No, Craig had always accepted her for who she was. Which made accepting his proposal all too easy when she’d spilled her troubles to him.
Craig leaned toward her, giving her a hefty whiff of his cologne. I can change that. He lowered his voice. “You don’t feel like you, well, you know, have to—”
“Throw up?” she said a little too loudly.
He didn’t laugh. Instantly, she realized why. No one else at the table knew she
was pregnant.
She searched for a way to cover her mistake. “I think I’m suffering from a case of pre-wedding nerves. Otherwise, I’m fine. Really.” Which was true enough. She hadn’t suffered through a moment of morning sickness, and she was two weeks into her second trimester.
Pregnancy. Baby. Marriage.
Suddenly, Melanie did feel sick.
Sick with fear.
What did she know about being a mother?
“I never thought Melanie would be the first of my girls to marry,” Wilhemenia was saying to Doris. The comment caused Craig’s father’s gaze to sharpen. “Joanie was always the better bet.”
More wife material, Melanie silently added, wondering exactly where her sister was and why she wasn’t here defending her. And why was her mother discussing her as though she weren’t even at the table?
Craig’s mother tittered. “But you have to agree, she’ll make a handsome bride.”
Archie drained half his glass of beer. “Tell me again why you two are in such a rapid-fire hurry to have Pastor Pitts marry you?”
Melanie started. Craig squeezed her hand and said, “I think a twenty-five-year courtship is long enough, don’t you, Pumpkin?”
Pumpkin? Okay, so soon she’d look as though she’d swallowed a pumpkin, but still… “You did ask me to marry you on the playground, didn’t you, Pookems?”
He blinked at her.
Melanie was aghast at her behavior. She resisted propping her elbows on the table and covering her face as she considered exactly what was going to hit her and Craig once everyone found out she was pregnant. And learned just how far along she was. It wouldn’t take a Ph.D. to figure out the math. Craig had been not only out of town at the time of conception—he’d been out of the country. In New Guinea. Doing whatever pharmacists did in third-world countries. That wasn’t fair, because she knew exactly what he had been doing. While she…
Melanie finally gave in and rested her forehead against her hand, ignoring her mother’s stare.
God, she was going to be sick.
She pushed away from the table. Everyone grabbed their glasses and silverware to keep them from becoming deadly projectiles. Tears burned her eyes. Could she possibly make this dinner any worse?
“Excuse me. I’m going to…” What? Lock myself in a bathroom stall until the world makes sense? “Powder my nose.”
Her mother neatly placed her napkin next to her plate. “I’ll come with you.”
“No!”
The occupants of the head table stared at her in stunned silence, as did the half of the population of Bedford that had been invited to the dinner. Melanie tried to control her voice. “I mean, thank you, Mother, but I can see to this myself.” Her mother appeared ready to argue. “I’m fine. Really.”
Melanie shakily stood her ground. Surprisingly, it worked. Her mother sat down. “Very well, dear.”
Melanie looked for the tiny bag she’d brought with her, then saw it lying on the floor. She stopped herself from crawling under the table for it, smiled at everyone, then stepped as casually as she could toward the hallway.
She felt awful. Her stomach was upset, she felt bloated and her swollen feet ached. But it was more than that. She felt out of her element. Usually in command of every situation, she now felt inexplicably vulnerable. As soon as she was in the hall, she collapsed against the wall, blinking back hot tears. What was the matter with her? Hormones? Or did some part of her realize she was making the biggest mistake of her life?
Out of eyeshot of everyone in the dining room, she slowly slid her hands down her stomach, resting them over the exact spot where even now her child was growing within her.
Marc’s child.
She briefly closed her eyes, wondering again if not telling Marc about her condition was such a good idea.
She wiped the dampness from her cheeks. Too late now, wasn’t it?
Besides, Marc had made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything permanent. She reached down and slid her aching feet from the torturous contraptions Joanie called shoes and tried to work the heel off one. She couldn’t very well wear them if they were broken, could she? It wouldn’t budge. She started in the direction of the rest rooms before someone caught her trying to snap the heel off from the other one.
Inside the pink-and-gold rest room, she locked herself into a stall and sank down on the seat. She needed a few moments to herself. Bolstering minutes to take a deep breath and pull herself together. She had to. Not for her sake. For her baby’s. And, a guilty part reminded her, for Craig. He deserved better than a cranky bride who abandoned him to his mother-in-law.
Melanie swallowed hard, appreciating if not particularly overjoyed with the humor of the situation. After using up the better part of her life trying not to upset the delicate balance of her relationship with her mother, she’d spent the past eight years going through an odd, ambitious sort of rebellion. Not a planned one, by any means. But during her first year at college, all the emotion—all the hunger for adventure she had secretly craved—had just kind of gushed out, overwhelming her with its intensity. She’d been as unable to deny the change in herself as she would have been able to keep the sun from warming her skin.
Then, three months ago, she had paid for that “coming out” of sorts. But tucking away the thrill-seeking Melanie Weber was not an easy task.
The outer door opened. “Yoo-hoo.”
Melanie closed her eyes and clutched her shoes, half wishing she could climb on top of the toilet so her mother couldn’t see her stocking feet from under the door. Not that it mattered. She peeked through her eyelids to find her mother angling her head to peer through the thin crack between the hinges.
“I’m in here, Mother.”
“Oh!”
She had to give her mother credit. At least she attempted to act as though she hadn’t just been gaping into a closed stall.
She heard the door next to hers close. There was no rustling of clothes, meaning her mother wasn’t doing anything in her stall, either.
“Mother?”
“Yes, Melanie?”
“Why are you so afraid I won’t go through with…well, you know, with marrying Craig?”
There was silence, then the distinct sound of the toilet paper roll going around in circles. Melanie gave in to a sudden smile. At least her mother was attempting to make the situation look somehow normal.
“Well…I have to admit, I am a little concerned about your unusual behavior these past couple days.” Wilhemenia paused. “I don’t know, your behavior reminds me so much of that time you came home from university for the summer and neglected to tell me you’d changed your major from business to pre-law.” She made a quiet sound. “I won’t say a word about how your choice of careers after graduation disappointed me.”
You don’t have to say anything because you already have. Every time you want me to do something I’m against.
Melanie propped her shoes on a metal shelf then toyed with her own toilet paper. “And do you really think hovering over me like a—” jailer? “—like a mother hen is going to prevent that from happening?”
Another brief silence. “It’s not like that at all. I…I just want to be here if you need anyone to talk to.”
Melanie caught herself ripping the paper to shreds, the pieces floating to land around her feet.
“Melanie?”
God, she was crying again. If she kept up the waterworks, she’d end up floating down the aisle on a wave of her own tears.
Her mother spoke again. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
Melanie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She swiped at her damp cheeks.
Her mother cleared her throat. “If this is about that Marc character, you should just put him out of your mind right now.”
Melanie released a long, silent sigh, the words a vivid reminder of exactly why she couldn’t talk to her mother.
“He’s not the marrying kind, you know. More little boy than man. You’
d only be miserable.”
Melanie nodded, hating her mother’s words but agreeing with them nonetheless. She was beginning to suspect that the only thing worse than being without Marc McCoy was being with him.
“Mom?” The shortening of the word mother should have sounded foreign, but oddly enough it didn’t. “Did you love Dad?”
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she had asked that. Her father had died when she was three, right after Joanie was born. What did ancient history—especially her mother’s ancient history—have to do with what was happening now?
“Never mind. Forget I just asked that question.” Melanie got up and collected her shoes.
“Melanie?”
She stopped midway toward the door. “Yes?”
“I…” Wilhemenia’s voice trailed off. “I just wanted to tell you that all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”
Some of Melanie’s tension melted away. “Marrying Craig will make me happy, Mom. Thanks.” She gestured vaguely, though her mother couldn’t see her. “Thanks for putting everything back into perspective.”
Clutching her shoes in one hand, she opened the outer door. She skidded to a dead stop, finding herself nose-to-chin with a whole different barrier.
Marc McCoy.
Melanie’s breath gusted from her.
That can’t be right. This was her rehearsal dinner. Marc shouldn’t be anywhere near the inn or the rest rooms, much less her, right now. Yet there he was, big as life and twice as tantalizing. She stumbled backward.
“Wrong way. You want to come out.” Marc folded his fingers around her wrist and tugged her the rest of the way into the hall. Melanie’s knees felt about as substantial as baby food. She had no choice but to lean into him, causing a wave of longing to flow through her body. Suddenly, three months seemed like a very short period of time, indeed.
“What’s going—”
“Shh.” Marc laid a finger against her mouth. The simple action was maddeningly sensual. Her gaze was glued to his lips. But rather than kissing her, he set her purposefully away from him, confounding her even more. She moved her hand to the side of her throat, feeling her pulse thrumming wildly, her skin searingly hot.
License to Thrill Page 2