Once Upon a Honeymoon (Harlequin American Romance)

by Julie Kistler

  “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

  There was a sharp, biting edge to his voice when he asked, “Do you really think I can do anything else?”

  She flinched. “You’re the one who said the worst was over. You’re the one who said we’d be okay as long as I didn’t have anything to drink.”

  “Well, that was before your damn fiancé showed up, shoving my nose in the fact that I’ve ruined your life.”

  “You haven’t—”

  “Save it, okay?”

  Sleeping with her was apparently such a hideous proposition that he wouldn’t even risk taking the other side of a king-size bed. Or maybe after last night’s unpleasant lesson, he was afraid she would get a bit too friendly if they shared a mattress, and then they would both have to answer to her irate fiancé and father.

  But Bridget knew better. She wasn’t going anywhere near him. She’d learned her lesson. There was no way she was going to try anything with Tripp when her plans for the future were hanging by a thread.

  “You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” she said angrily, skirting a wide path around him as she headed for the far side of the bed. “Don’t worry—I won’t touch you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You think I’m worried about you?”

  Bridget faced him down defiantly. “Well? What else? All the junk about us being okay if I wasn’t drunk. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assume that means you, oh Man of Steel, are not interested. So nothing’s going to happen if I stay away from you. So I will. So end of problem. So sleep in the damn bed!”

  “Sometimes, Bridget,” he said between gritted teeth, “you are such a dope.”

  “A dope? I think I’ve got it exactly right. I know I’ve got it exactly right.”

  “Damn it, Bridget,” he growled. Swiftly he advanced on her, stalking around the bed, trapping her. She backed up as fast as she could, but it was too late. She hit the wall.

  And then Tripp grabbed her and held her fast, up against the hard, unrelenting wall. No harder than Tripp, though. Splaying her hands on either side of her face, he stared down at her, his blue eyes blazing.

  She swallowed.

  His feet were shoved around hers, his hips pressed into her. God, he felt good.

  Abruptly, he said, “Still think you’re right?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Damn you,” he said again. And then he bent down just far enough to sizzle her with his kiss, fastening his lips to hers, delving inside, fast, furious, cruel.

  Instantly, she was aroused, on fire. And he knew it.

  “That’s how it is between us,” he said. “It has been for days. I’m trying to stay away from you, for the sake of your precious fiancé. I know you want your fancy life, saving whales, passing bills, married to that Boy Scout. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed again, searching his face. He was right. It was what she had always wanted. Her dreams were so much a part of her... How could she deny it? “Yes,” she said finally. “Yes. I want to marry Jay. I want to be as good and committed and responsible as he is.”

  “None of those things are going to happen if you sleep with me.”

  “But—”

  “He might be willing to forgive this little marital adventure, all for a good cause, as long as no one ever finds out.” Tripp’s face was so bleak, so harsh, Bridget wanted to reach out and smooth away the pain. But how could she? It was all her fault. “But a full-fledged affair? I don’t think so. He would look down at his pretty little senator’s wife and wonder who she was thinking of every time he made love to her. He would never forget, and never forgive. I wouldn’t.”

  “You and Jay are very different people,” she tried. “Besides, nothing has to happen. We already agreed that nothing—”

  Tripp dropped her suddenly, wheeling and turning away. “I know better.”

  “Know better than what?” she demanded, rubbing her wrists. “Do you think you’re so hot I can’t share a bed with you and not fall all over you? Think again, Mr. Stud.”

  “It’s not you,” he said savagely, and she could tell he’d reached the end of his rope. “It’s me, all right? Have you got that? I can’t share a bed with you and not want you. I am barely controlling myself as it is. I feel like a damn animal, a damn tomcat on the prowl. And if I have to sleep next to you all night, smelling your hair, feeling you every time you turn, hearing the sounds you make when you dream—” He broke off, cursing under his breath. “I can’t do it. I can’t.”

  Bridget was stunned.

  He switched off the lights, and she could hear the sound of his shoes, his pants, his shirt hitting the floor. Still, she was stunned. He rustled with his pillow and his quilt down there on the floor, and still, she didn’t move.

  Slowly, quietly, she found her pajamas, she dressed in the bathroom, and she crept back into bed. I can’t share a bed with you and not want you.

  This coming from Tripp? How could she believe this?

  Hadn’t they shared the same couch, all night long, at his college house? They’d fallen asleep studying for finals, and spent the whole night tumbled together on one narrow, uncomfortable couch, and nothing had happened. He never touched her. He was never even tempted to touch her, as far as she knew.

  Hadn’t they spent a whole night huddled together in the back of a van, sharing the same blanket, while one of Tripp’s friends drove them to a concert?

  Hadn’t they shared a room on that blasted ski trip—two single beds, two single college kids—and nothing had happened?

  Nothing ever happened. Not until the past few weeks, when she had suddenly found herself jumping on him at every turn. Sure, she could tell he was turned on. With men, it wasn’t hard to tell.

  But she thought that was just an uncontrollable physical reaction to the proximity of a woman, any women. She didn’t think it had anything to do with her.

  After all, he was the one who kept stopping things, not her. She’d thought he was being kind, turning her away, saving them both a whole lot of embarrassment. But now he said it was because he did want her, not because he didn’t want her.

  Men were very strange animals sometimes.

  Bridget was still trying to take this in, to make some sense of it. Could it be possible?

  Tripp, wanting her.

  She could hear him down there, tossing and turning. Tripp, wanting her.

  She had lusted after him from afar for the better part of sixteen years, and yet she had never acted upon it, because she didn’t think it was right. Bridget Emerick was a woman who believed in love, not lust.

  She sighed, trying to settle in. She loved Jay, right? She was going to marry Jay, right?

  So why did she find herself wanting Tripp enough to throw away the rest?

  * * *

  “WHERE IS EVERYONE?” she whispered.

  Tripp was extremely grouchy this morning, not surprising after another night on the floor. He’d spent the past few hours chopping wood or some other manly task, guaranteed to expend lots of hostility through sweat and exertion.

  “I don’t know,” he returned shortly. He grabbed a towel and took off for the hot tub, muttering something about soaking his sore muscles.

  “You haven’t seen any of them?” Bridget called after him. “That’s odd.”

  It had only been two days, but Bridget had gotten used to the fact that she would be spending her honeymoon—her pretend honeymoon—with a lot of chaperons. Yesterday, they’d been like the Brady Bunch, taking a picnic up the mountain a little ways, enjoying the clear, cold air and the fabulous scenery.

  With everyone laughing and carrying on, it was very hard to remember how many lies they were keeping afloat, or to dwell on the fact that Kitty Belle might not be with them much longer.

  The funny thing was she seemed very chipper, very happy, very, well, healthy. “This mountain air is doing me good,” Kitty Belle proclaimed. She and Bridget’s dad took a side hike of their own, looking
for some species of fern or other. And although Bridget warned her father to be very careful, and to bring Kitty Belle back immediately at the first sign of any strain, everything went beautifully.

  As a matter of fact, Kitty Belle seemed very taken with Frank Emerick. If Bridget didn’t know better, she’d think the two were carrying on a flirtation. They always seemed to have their heads together, giggling about some private joke.

  Today, they had disappeared completely. Which left the unhappy little threesome of Bridget, Tripp and Jay back at the cabin.

  Bridget knew she was going to have to talk to Jay, to sort this out and create some peace. He had developed a major attitude problem—it was really weird, because she had never seen Jay behave like this, even though, of course, the situation was beyond bizarre, so who could blame him?—but every time he and Tripp were in the same room, they were practically baring their fangs at each other.

  Perfect Jay was showing signs of imperfection. In a way, it was a relief.

  But she knew she was going to have to talk to him alone soon, to take her medicine and make whatever major concessions he required to smooth things over. Because when her little idyll as a runaway bride was over, it would be time to go home and pick up the pieces, to turn back into the reliable, serious-minded Bridget Emerick the rest of the world recognized. Too bad she was really dreading it.

  Taking a deep breath, Bridget went to find him. He was in the living room, his hands in his pockets, moodily gazing out the window at the trees.

  She took another heady gulp of air and prepared to do her duty. Better do it now, while Tripp was neck-deep in water, and unlikely to come running in and crossing swords with anybody.

  But Jay jumped the gun. He turned, saw her and said, “Bridget, I really need to speak with you.”

  “Well, I need to speak to you, too, Jay.” Bridget counted to three, looked him right in the eye, and started, “I don’t know how to say this, Jay. You’ve been more than patient with me, and I really don’t have any excuse, and I don’t know how to ask you to forgive me...”

  “Bridget, you know I will always forgive you, no matter what you do.” He sighed. “Although this debacle has been more than I planned for, I’ll admit that.”

  He was being noble and wonderful again, and she was miserable. “I’m so sorry, Jay.”

  He squeezed her hand kindly. “I know you are.”

  So he did forgive her. But she’d known he could. Didn’t Jay always forgive everything? “I thought I could help Tripp and you would never need to know,” she explained. “I know you must be very hurt. I didn’t want you ever to find out.”

  He just shook his head sadly. “The truth would’ve come out sooner or later.”

  “I guess I know that now. I really made a hash of things, and I’m so sorry. But the last thing I wanted to do was let this affect your campaign. Whatever we have to do to make it go away, we will.”

  “I think...” He broke off. “I think you did what you had to do. I’m just sorry that this was what you had to do.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do.” He smiled fondly at her. “Deep down, you understand perfectly. You tell yourself you’ve gone along with all this craziness as a favor to Tripp and his mother, but that’s just a lie.”

  “It is?”

  “Of course it is.” Jay took her shoulders in his arms and gave her his most sincere, most concerned face. “Being here, watching you with him... Bridget, there’s only one explanation for your actions.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. Was it because she was crazy? Unworthy? Just plain stupid?

  “It’s because you’re in love with him,” Jay said softly.

  “In love with Tripp?” she scoffed. “But that’s not true! I admit, I’ve always, well, been attracted to Tripp, like a physical thing. I met him at a very impressionable age and he just got under my skin. But that’s all it was, a physical thing. Tripp was never my type and I was never his.”

  “Maybe never before. But now...” Jay paused. “I’d say you two are definitely each other’s types.”

  “No, Jay—”

  “It’s not me you need to convince,” he said sternly. “It’s yourself.”

  She was stunned. It wasn’t true. Not even a little. “But why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I’m all packed and ready to go.”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “Well, that’s good. I mean, I do think it’s better for you to go home, get moving on the campaign. As soon as I get back—”

  “Bridget, have you heard a word I’m saying?”

  “You’re leaving. I’ll be coming later.”

  He just shook his head.

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to come back?” she asked. “I would understand that, Jay. I mean, what I’ve done here certainly does change things, and if you want to end the engagement, of course I understand. Is that what you want, Jay?”

  “No, actually, it isn’t. If you were to decide tomorrow that you were unhappy here with him, I’d be happy to continue as we were before.”

  “You would?” But of course he would. Jay was too perfect not to be able to forgive completely, not to be able to see the future as more important than the present.

  “But I don’t think you would,” he added.

  “Listen, Jay, just because I’ve done a few irresponsible things doesn’t mean that deep down—”

  “Oh, yes, it does.” Jay smiled, his six o’clock news smile. “Give yourself a break, will you? I know you want to be what you think other people expect. I know you think that duty and good taste require that you stay with me. But for goodness’ sake, Bridget, think about what you want, will you? Look in your heart, and stop causing so much trouble fighting yourself.”

  “Fighting myself?”

  But Jay picked up his bag, and then he was gone.

  All his words were still swimming in her head, and she still hadn’t made heads or tails of them.

  But then another thought pierced her consciousness. Jay had left. And five on a honeymoon had just been reduced to four.

  * * *

  “TRIPP? ARE YOU AWAKE?”

  “Bridget, why do you ask if I’m awake? You know damn well I’m awake.”

  “That’s the whole point. I can hear you thrashing around down there, and I know you can’t sleep. And I just think you ought to come up into the bed with me.”

  “We’ve been through this. No.”

  “Please? You’re crankier and meaner every day. And we both know why. Because you don’t sleep. You lie on the hard old floor, and you’re miserable.”

  A long pause hung in the still night air.

  “Please? I’ll stay way over on my side. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Silence.

  “I promise,” she said softly.

  He muttered a very nasty epithet under his breath, he slammed his pillow down on the floor and then he strode over and jammed his long, lean body into the bed.

  She knew he was turned away from her. She knew he was as cold and immovable as a block of granite over there.

  “Tripp, I’ve been thinking, about Jay...”

  “I am not going to discuss him while I am lying in bed with you. I know he trusts you, and I know you’re trying hard to live up to his trust. I’m trying, too.”

  “But that’s not—”

  “Good night, Bridget,” he growled.

  It was so hard to picture a life without her dreams, with the sense of duty and obligation that had always hung around her shoulders. What would she do if she didn’t have that golden future to look forward to?

  What would she do if she gave it all up, like Jay suggested, if she tapped Tripp on the shoulder and told him, flat out, that she wanted nothing more from her life than to live in the suburbs with him?

  And what if he told her she was crazy?

  She gazed over at where his hard body formed a wall on the other side of the bed. I love you. I think in
my heart I have always loved you. But what do you feel for me?

  Could she make that move, could she tell him how she felt, without knowing? She had always been so secure in where her future lie. She was a careful, methodical person. Could she throw it away without being equally secure about the substitute?

  Life had gotten entirely too complicated ever since she married Tripp Ashby.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her hair was tickling his nose. Tripp brushed it away.

  There it was again. He opened one eye, just an inch. Bridgie. Both eyes flashed open, wide.

  Bridgie’s body was curled up next to his, her head on his shoulder, her nightgown riding up far enough that her enticing little bottom was grazing his thigh. She slept there, within the circle of his arm, as sweetly, as trustingly, as if she did it every night.

  Tripp brushed a thumb down the curve of her cheek, enjoying the rarity of an unguarded moment.

  “Bridgie,” he murmured, and she lifted her head sleepily.

  Her drowsy smile lit up the room. She propped her chin on his chest. And then she snuggled back into him, and went back to sleep.

  “Bridgie...” This was becoming a bit uncomfortable.

  “Mmmm.” Her leg tangled around his. “Be quiet, Tripp. I’m tired. There was this person tossing and turning and heaving big sighs on my floor most of the night, and I didn’t get any sleep.”

  He smiled. “Oh, I see.”

  “Well,” she said softly, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

  He laid an arm around her, very carefully, unwilling to make a false move and scare her away.

  She was his wife, for God’s sake. Nobody would say a word if he dipped his head down, if he covered her mouth with his own, if he made love to her in his own bed in his own cabin, again and again, until they both fell apart at the seams. Until she knew, for once and for all, that she belonged to him.

  Nobody would say a word. Except maybe Bridgie.

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured. He needed to hold her very badly. He needed to touch her and kiss her, and let her know how he felt. Because very soon she would leave him, and he would never know the joy of making love with his wife. “Bridgie?”