by Linda Seed
Seated at two o’clock was Drew’s aunt, who had heard part of his conversation with Isabelle and was leaning in to add something. “It must be so nice not to have financial worries,” she said. “Joe thinks he’s going to lose his job after this quarter’s reports come out. If we had just a little cushion to help us … but the twins’ private school tuition is through the roof, so our savings is next to nothing.” She made a tsk sound and shook her head mournfully.
Drew guessed he was supposed to volunteer to provide the cushion now that he literally had more money than he knew what to do with. It wasn’t the first overture his Aunt Marcy had made to that effect. The interesting thing was that before he’d come into his inheritance, Marcy and Joe had liked to brag to him about how well they were doing.
“The twins could always go to public school,” Matt offered.
“And take them away from their friends and the environment they know?” Marcy shuddered. “If only there were a way …”
“Speaking of gold-diggers,” Matt said to Drew under his breath, leaning across Isabelle, “have you heard from your ex lately?”
Thinking about his ex-wife made him think about how different she was from Megan. When he looked down the table toward where Megan sat, he caught her eye, just for a moment. He couldn’t say how he knew it, but he knew that his relationship with her would be different than what he’d had with Tessa. It wouldn’t be a battle, and it wouldn’t end badly.
It wouldn’t end at all.
He realized Matt was still talking, and he tried to focus.
Megan didn't choose the dress to distract Drew. That would have been shallow, ill-advised, and insensitive toward Liam.
She chose the dress because it was one of the few she owned, and it fit. Of course, now that she was here in the same room with Drew, the fact that the dress did seem to be distracting him felt like a nice bonus.
It felt good that he was watching her. But the fact that it felt good made her feel bad. Basically, all of her emotions were confusing the crap out of her.
She chatted with the people on either side of her—Breanna on one side, Orin on the other—and tried not to look at Drew. But his presence was impossible to ignore, like a light in a darkened room, or a flash of lightning on the horizon. She tried to make convincing conversation over dinner about the wedding, or her latest veterinary patients, or the excellent Neptune food, and she thought she was succeeding admirably. Until Breanna leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Why don’t you just go over there and sit in his lap,” she hissed. “It’d be less obvious.”
“What are you talking about?” Megan said.
“Oh, come on,” Breanna shot back at her. “You two can’t stop making moony eyes at each other. “Either stop it or get a room.”
Megan looked down at her plate dejectedly. “I’m being stupid,” she said.
“I won’t argue with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
If Drew had been asked to predict when the whole house of cards would come down in a scattered mess of queens and jokers, he’d have said it would be at the reception the following day. Surely with the drinking, the dancing, and the emotion of people declaring their eternal love for each other, something was bound to happen.
And something did happen. Just not the thing that Drew expected.
The vows had been said at the chapel, which was aglow with candlelight and fragrant with the smell of roses. Women had cried delicately into white tissues, and Liam, freshly home from the hospital, had sat in his place near the altar, a pair of crutches nearby.
Megan had looked almost impossibly lovely in her blush pink bridesmaid dress, a crown of white flowers woven into her hair.
And Drew had behaved himself—mostly. He couldn’t control the longing he felt like a dull ache in his chest, but he did control his own conduct, greeting Megan with the same reserved courtesy he showed everyone else.
Afterward, they’d all gone to a resort in Paso Robles, where Isabelle had booked a ballroom and where many of the out-of-town guests would be staying the night so they could get drunk off their asses without worrying about transportation.
The ballroom, with generous windows and French doors that opened onto a vineyard, was done up with white table linens, arrangements of roses in the same color as Megan’s pale pink dress, flickering candles, sparkling crystal, and gold flatware. A five-tiered wedding cake towered over a table at one side of the room, and a five-piece band played classic love songs as people filtered in and gathered around the open bar.
Julia and Colin hadn’t arrived in the ballroom yet because they were tied up out in the vineyard with the photographer, who wanted to take advantage of the dusky light.
Megan had already gotten a glass of champagne from the bar and was standing apart from the crowd when Drew walked in, and although he knew he shouldn’t do it—knew he should stay as far away from her as possible—he couldn’t help himself. He came up silently behind her and spoke so close to her ear that she let out a tiny, intimate gasp of surprise.
“You look incredible,” he whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She didn’t turn to look at him, but her eyes slipped closed at the sound of his voice.
“This is torture,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Seeing you looking like this, but not being able to touch you …”
She downed the champagne in her glass, ditched the glass on the nearest table, and headed for the door. She shot him a look over her shoulder, and the message was clear: Follow me.
He left a decent interval for the sake of subterfuge, and went after her.
She went out of the ballroom, down a hallway, through the lobby, and through a door near the reception desk. He followed her through the door and found himself inside a gray concrete stairwell that looked like it existed mainly as a fire exit.
“Where are we going?” he asked her.
“I don’t know, but … there’s gotta be …”
She hurried up a flight of stairs and through another door. Then she looked around and bolted for a door marked hotel personnel only.
He followed her inside a large closet filled with linens, coffee pods, and tiny bottles of toiletries. She closed the door behind them—and then she turned to him and threw herself at him.
In an instant, nothing else existed but her. The towels, the cleaning supplies, the reception below them—all of it vanished into a puff of distant memory as he took her into his arms and devoured her mouth with his.
He maneuvered her around, and her back thumped against the closed door as he pressed up against her, his hands on her body, his tongue exploring the welcoming warmth of her lips, her mouth.
If he’d been thinking clearly, he’d have considered the fact that someone from housekeeping might come in and discover them at any time. But he wasn’t thinking clearly—in fact, he wasn’t thinking at all.
He slid his hands under her dress, up her thighs, and over the delectable curves of her ass. She was wearing some kind of tiny lacy underwear, and this discovery caused him to grow even more painfully hard than he already was.
He pushed the lacy panties down and slid his hand between her legs.
She was warm and wet and ready for him, and he slipped a finger inside her.
Megan gasped and threw her head back, her lips parted in pleasure. He nipped her throat lightly with his teeth as he explored the hot depths of her with his hand.
“Oh … God.” Her words came out breathy and urgent. She clung to his shoulders with her hands.
There was no time for subtlety or nuance—no time, only a desperate need—and so he shoved her panties down the rest of the way, unfastened his tuxedo pants, lifted her up, and thrust into her with her legs wrapped around him and her back pressed against the door.
“Oh! Oh!”
Her cries of pleasure, her closed eyes, the expression of bliss on her face as he took her drove his arousal higher and higher. He had one arm wrapped around her
to hold her in place, and with his free hand he pulled the strap of her dress down to expose one of her delicious white breasts. He fastened his mouth over the pink peak, teasing the sensitive nub with his teeth.
They both were getting louder as their passion rose toward its crest, and so, knowing no other way to silence them both, he kissed her hard and kept his mouth on hers as she rose, rose, and then gasped and shuddered with release.
Moments after her, he clutched her to him, pushing her into the door as his own pleasure crashed and exploded like a bomb blast in his brain, blocking out everything but waves and waves of pure bliss.
They stayed that way for a long time, unwilling to move, as their breathing slowly began to calm, their pulses gradually returning to normal. Then he let her go, and she lowered her feet to the floor. They both sank down to the linoleum, sitting with their backs against the wall, stacks of clean white towels surrounding them.
He held her in his arms.
“I didn’t … That wasn’t …” She seemed to have lost the power of coherent speech.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
It wasn’t long before their senses returned to them, and they realized they were both partially naked in a hotel utility closet.
Since that didn’t seem like an ideal arrangement, they got up and reassembled their clothes. Drew ran a hand through his hair to neaten it, and Megan, figuring her hair was a lost cause, settled for making sure that her panties were on and all of the necessary fasteners on her dress were closed.
He gave her one last kiss, and grasped the doorknob.
Which didn’t turn.
“It’s locked,” Drew said, trying to keep any hint of panic out of his voice. Panic wasn’t manly, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself.
“It can’t be locked,” Megan said.
“But it is.” He tried the knob again, but it wouldn’t budge.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Megan said. “It was unlocked when we came in. And … and why would anybody put a doorknob on a utility closet that can’t be opened from the inside?” Her voice was beginning to rise in a way that was sexy as hell when they were in the throes of passion, but was somewhat alarming now.
“I don’t actually think it’s locked,” Drew said. “I think it’s stuck.” He tried to wiggle the knob some more, but it wouldn’t wiggle. Even a locked doorknob had some give, but this one didn’t. He pushed on the door, hoping that maybe the latch mechanism wasn’t fully in place, but the door was sealed.
“Oh, God,” Megan moaned. Again, that particular phrase had sounded much better earlier.
“Okay,” Drew said, as though he had a solution in mind. “Okay.”
“I don’t have my cell phone,” she said. “Because I have no pockets! Why don’t women’s clothes have pockets!?”
They could have gotten into the whys and the social implications of Megan’s lack of pockets, but instead, Drew reached into his own pocket and was relieved to find that he did have his phone.
Now the question was who to call.
If he called the hotel, they could send somebody up to unjam the door and let them out, but then they’d have to explain what they were doing in the closet in the first place.
If he called someone at the reception, then he wouldn’t have to explain what they were doing in the closet—because they’d already know. Then they’d probably still have to get someone from the hotel to open the door.
The hotel it was, then.
Drew brought up the smartphone’s browser, Googled the hotel, and dialed the front desk.
“A friend and I are stuck in a closet on the second floor,” he told the guy who answered the phone, trying to keep his voice dignified and neutral. “I’d appreciate it if you could send somebody up.”
It took longer than one might expect for the hotel maintenance guy to get to them. For one thing, they only had one guy on duty at the moment, and there’d been a problem finding him because he’d slipped out for a cigarette and had left his phone in the building.
And second, there were several utility closets on the second floor, and the guy had to go to all of them before hitting the right one.
By the time he got there, Drew had fielded a call from his mother inquiring about where he was. He’d made up a lame excuse about needing to go to a nearby drugstore for some Tylenol to treat a headache. The funny thing was, he really was starting to get a headache now.
“You in there?” the maintenance guy called through the door.
“We’re here,” Drew said.
He heard the guy trying the doorknob. “It’s jammed,” the guy told Drew. “We been having trouble with it for a couple weeks now. Keep meaning to replace it. Guess I put it off too long.”
“I guess you did,” Drew agreed.
There was the sound of tools and a jiggling of the knob, and in a few minutes, part of the knob came off and fell onto the floor inside the closet. Drew could see the maintenance guy’s pants through the hole where the knob had been.
The door opened, and the guy—a middle-aged, balding man in coveralls—smirked at them.
“We were … looking for some extra shampoo,” Megan said, grasping a bottle and holding it up triumphantly.
“Uh huh,” the guy said, still with the smirk on his face.
“Listen,” Drew said, starting to sweat. “I know this is … weird. But if you could … you know … not say anything …”
“Heh. You think you two are the first wedding guests to get it on in a closet? Please.”
“So you’ll keep quiet?” Megan asked hopefully.
“About twenty bucks ought to do it.” The maintenance guy held out his beefy hand.
Chapter Twenty-Six
They had enough sense to go downstairs separately. Drew went first, strolling into the reception just as the bride and groom were having their first dance. Megan came a little bit later, having made a stop in the ladies’ room to rearrange her hair and wipe off her smudged lipstick.
The first thing Megan did when she came into the room was check to see where Liam was. She found him sitting at a table with Orin, deep in conversation. His leg, encased in a brace, was stretched out in front of him, his crutches propped up against the table. When she walked into the room, he glanced at her, then looked away.
Breanna, trailed by her two boys, came up to Megan, looking exasperated. “Where were you? You missed the dinner entirely.” She turned to her boys. “Why don’t you guys go chat with Bailey and Marshal?” She pointed across the room to a couple of kids about her sons’ age.
“We want cake,” Lucas said, a hint of a whine in his voice.
“They’re going to cut the cake later.”
“But—”
“Michael, take your brother and go play with Bailey and Marshal.”
“But I want—”
“It wasn’t a request.” Breanna fixed her oldest son with her stern mother look, and the boy slumped away, followed by his brother. Breanna rolled her eyes extravagantly as they went.
“Now, as I was saying …”
“I … was off checking to see if they have a room. For me. In case I drink too much, and … I want to be a safe driver, you know.” Megan could feel herself blushing and willed it to stop.
“Really?” Breanna smirked. “I’m assuming they had one, because Drew went with you, and you were gone a long time.”
“Oh, my God. Does anyone else know? Did you say anything? Because—”
“No, you jerk, of course I didn’t say anything. Who would I tell? And anyway, the last thing we need is Liam bludgeoning Drew to death with a crutch.”
Megan accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and she downed half of it in one gulp.
“So, you did get a room, then?” Breanna prodded her.
“No.”
“Then what …”
“A closet,” Megan whispered, feeling simultaneously exhilarated and humiliated.
Breanna blinked a few times.
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“A storage closet,” Megan hissed, sotto voce. “We got stuck. A maintenance guy had to get us out. God, I am so embarrassed.”
A slow grin spread across Breanna’s face. “Don’t be. I think I have a new role model.”
When Drew came in, he faced a similar confrontation—this one with his sister.
“Are you crazy?” Julia said, after she finished her dance with Colin and had made her way to Drew through the crowd. “Did you have to sneak off with her during my reception? You couldn't wait until afterward?”
“Now, wait. I didn’t—”
“Oh, save it,” said Julia, looking like a vision of beauty in acres of ivory tulle. “And try to keep your pants on for the rest of the evening. If you can.”
It seemed impossible that Liam didn’t know what was going on, since everyone else seemed to. But if he did know, he didn’t say anything about it to either of them. Maybe his senses were dulled by the pain medication he was on, and it was making him a little slower on the uptake than he should have been. Or maybe he was intentionally ignoring things he would have preferred not to know about.
Either way, they all made it through the rest of the evening without incident. Couples danced, cake was cut and eaten, photographs were taken, the bouquet was thrown. And Drew and Megan stayed a discreet distance apart from one another, as though that ship hadn’t already sailed.
When it was over, Drew, who was sober, volunteered to drive a few of the heavier drinkers back to Cambria. Two of them were Isabelle and Matt, who’d both hit the bar pretty hard and seemed to be feeling the effects of it. The other was Mike, Julia’s Man of Honor.
Isabelle was riding shotgun in Drew’s rental car, with the men in back. To Drew’s relief, Isabelle was still buying the headache story.
“Does your head feel better, honey?” she asked as they headed back toward Cambria on Route 46.