by Becky McGraw
Suddenly Brennan appeared in front of her, wearing a fierce and determined scowl. “We need to talk—now,” he grated, grabbing her hand in an iron hold. He pulled her against the flow along the wall, and she had no idea where he was going or had any choice but to follow him.
The long wall finally dipped into a tiny alcove with a door. He put his hip into it, then dragged her outside into a small, dark courtyard with a bench, where he pushed her down to sit.
“Don’t move until I finish what I have to say, Doctor Wentworth,” he growled, and his fists curled at his sides as he glared down at her in the light from the corner of the building.
“Yes, sir,” she replied at his authoritative tone, as she set her briefcase down by her foot, because her trembling fingers could no longer hold it.
When he crouched down in front of her and took her hands in his, Grace’s heart stopped when she saw the look on his face, the same expression he’d worn in his bedroom in Boston when she thought he was going to say something important.
Don’t get your hopes up, Grace—he’ll just let you down. He didn’t say them then, and in all likelihood he won’t now either, so stop dreaming.
“I came to Baltimore because I need to know why you sent me back to Dallas, and why you haven’t been answering my calls,” he said, and her shoulders slumped with disappointment.
“I told you I’ve been busy,” she replied, trying to pull her hands from his, but his grip tightened.
“Why’d you send me back to Dallas, Grace?” he repeated, his voice terser.
“Just stop asking questions and get to your point please, because I’m tired,” she said, with a sigh. Tired of waiting, tired of wishing, tired of being tired of loving you.
“My point is I love you, Gracie,” he said, sending shock waves through her. Maybe her hearing was going too, she thought, not yet believing she heard him right.
“What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips trembling.
His face fell and the passion in his eyes fizzled, but his hands gripped hers tighter. “I said I love you, Grace. It stopped being just about sex with us a long time ago for me—even before I finished school. Seeing you again, being with you, made me realize that.” He let her hands drop to her lap, and stood. “The questions were a lead-in to find out if you might feel the same way, but it appears you don’t. I’m sorry I dumped this on you and made you uncomfortable, but I had to tell you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and sighed. “I wish you and Callie the best in Boston. I’ll give you a ride home now and be out of your hair.”
Grace finally drew a breath and found her voice. “I’ve realized a few things about myself too,” she said softly.
He looked surprised, but wary. “What’s that?” he asked.
“I’ve discovered that I’m a one-man kind of woman—isn’t that weird for someone who wanted only a friends with benefits arrangement back then?” She laughed, but he frowned.
“Oh—I didn’t ask in Vegas—I ah, assumed…” He pulled a hand from his pocket to shove it through his hair. “Fuck, do you have a lover or boyfriend? Am I making a complete ass out of myself here?” he asked, falling back into a mode she better understood.
It was actually a relief, because she didn’t know how to deal with the stiff-upper-lip man who showed up on her doorstep a few hours ago. Evidently the new suit came with that attitude, and she couldn’t say she liked it better than her happy-go-lucky, slightly nearsighted nerd boy in the I Love Pi t-shirt. Hell, even the incompetent Dom, bare-assed in chaps and latex mask who kidnapped her was sexier.
With a growl, he sat down beside her and grabbed her shoulders to turn her toward him. “Answer me, dammit!” he shouted with desperation, and something else in his tone.
“The only lover I’ve ever had in my life is you, Brennan Lowell,” she said clearly, and the relief on his face was a tangible thing.
His body wilted, and he pulled her to him in a tight hug. “And the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted is you, Grace Wentworth. None of the rest could ever compare.”
With a deep sigh, he pushed her away then slid off the bench to kneel before her on the concrete. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit, and Grace tensed when he came back out with a blue velvet box. He flipped open the box and her eyes watered as the light reflected off of the heart-shaped solitaire nestled in the cushion. He pulled it out then took her hand and his trembled as he slid it on her finger then squeezed her hands.
“Grace, I’d like to renegotiate our prior arrangement. Baby, will you be my best friend with many extra benefits for the rest of my life? And could those benefits include being a father to Callie? If so, I’ll be the happiest man on earth,” he said, his eyes glittering in the security light.
“You’ll have to ask Callie on that last point. As for the renegotiation, I have a stipulation since we’ll be living in Boston—oh,” she gasped. She was assuming things now. “We are living in Boston right, because otherwise—”
“We will live anywhere you want, sweetheart. Just not Tajikistan, please, because I’ve heard it’s a pretty rough place near the border.” He laughed and she frowned.
Tajikistan? Brennan was so damned confusing sometimes, but so adorable too.
“My condition is simple,” she said, putting her hand on his jaw, smiling as her diamond sparkled in the light. “I want to marry into the Lowell family, because I love them too, and I want Callie to be part of that family.”
“But you will be part of the family, baby, and Callie will too, because I want to legally adopt her,” he replied looking confused.
“No, I want you to become Brennan Lowell again, Mr. Buchanan.”
EPILOGUE
“Crap, I think I’ll just hang myself with this damned tie and do everyone a favor,” Brennan grumbled as he untied the knot again.
“Oh, you’re not getting off that easily, Poindexter,” Patton said with a laugh, as he batted his hands away to quickly, and expertly, tie his bowtie. “That noose is waiting at the altar.”
“I’ll put that noose around my neck any day. You’re just jealous, asshole,” Brennan said, and Patton, his best man, grunted.
“I have no idea why a woman like that wants to marry a dumbass like you. You should be thankful every day for the rest of your sorry life,” he replied, stepping back to stare at the tie intently.
“Trust me, I know and I will be,” he replied, glancing in the full length mirror.
Where in the hell had his oldest brother learned to tie a bowtie? As far back as he could remember, he’d only ever seen Patton wearing camo BDUs.
He tugged at the tip of his pointed collar. Whoever invented this more sadistic version of the regular ties he had an even harder time tying, should be hanged with one. Maybe he’d buy himself a couple of clip-on versions and really up his nerd street cred.
But he’d mentioned that to Grace one morning when he had to get her to tie his tie, and almost choked when she said, in her mind, clip on ties were comparable to those strap-on dildo harnesses she’d seen during her BDSM research, and she forbid him to ever mention it again.
That revelation came on a Sunday morning when they were getting ready to go to church with his family, no less. Going to church every Sunday and once a week counseling sessions had been a requirement of the priest who agreed to marry them today.
Attending mass on Sunday had been good, it made him feel more human on Monday, but he was sure glad to see the end of those pre-marriage sessions. He had no idea how couples ever made it through that to get to the altar. It was like boot camp for engaged couples.
The things the counselor dredged up, the scenarios he presented and they had to discuss, should scare anyone away. But it didn’t scare him one bit, because he knew without a doubt he was marrying the right woman—the only woman who ever got him.
And now he would have her forever. His heart did a flip, and he sighed. It was about damned time too, since he’d asked her six months ago.
&nbs
p; His name change had taken four months, then they had to wait for Callie to recover from her first surgery. The name he finally settled on wasn’t exactly his birth name, but it was close enough to satisfy her and his parents, and avoid any questions from the people who knew him as Dex Buchanan.
Oh, what a tangled web he’d woven. Never again.
Brennan Sterling Poindexter Buchanan-Lowell was a mouthful, almost as long as a British royal’s coronation name, but it was his now. And the hyphenated last name would soon be Grace’s, and Callie’s too. If he could finish getting dressed, he thought sourly, as he put on his vest and tailed day coat.
The morning after he asked Grace to marry him, he’d asked Callie to become his daughter with a tiny promise ring, but she had conditions too. The first was he had to promise to bring her ice cream after her surgeries, the second that he had to be good to her aunt, and the final stipulation was a promise that his brothers could be her uncles
Grace ugly cried and he came damned close as he agreed to her terms.
“Better get a move on, Superman,” Gray said, leaning into the dressing room door. “They started the music, and the ushers are escorting the mothers inside.”
Brennan felt like his namesake as he double-stepped to the door behind Gray and followed him down the hallway to the altar access door. With a thumbs, he left him there to go wait for his turn to walk Taylor Slade down the aisle.
He grabbed the knob, a burst of excitement and adrenaline shot through him and he swayed on his feet. Waiting for the final note of the first song, his cue to enter, became almost torture, because Brennan knew what waited for him on the other side of that door.
His new life with his beautiful wife and daughter, his second chance to reclaim his life. At the end of that red carpet he would receive more blessings than any man deserved.
The final note played and unbelievable joy filled him. The next song began and his head swam as he twisted the knob, but panic consumed him when it wouldn’t turn. From their rehearsal last night, he knew the bridal attendants were about to start down the aisle. Callie was probably already dropping yellow and red petals on the carpet as she walked toward the altar. Grant and Susan were probably in the doorway.
And he was screwed.
Sweat popped out under his arms, and Brennan fanned himself as he hustled down the hall toward the other side of the building where the altar entrance was located. The music played louder, but not louder than his heartbeat in his ears. God, he absolutely could not miss seeing Grace when she came down the aisle, he thought, increasing his pace to a jog and sending up a Hail Mary for running in church.
He ran past the bathrooms, clipped an alter boy coming out of the doorway and apologized on the fly. He ran faster, his feet aching in his too tight patent leather rental shoes until he finally stopped by the second altar access door out of breath and sweating profusely. He sent up a prayer before he twisted the knob, and finally breathed when it opened the door.
In the alcove, he stopped a minute to catch his breath and saw a purple vestment laid over a chair. He looked around, didn’t see anyone so he grabbed it to mop his face. He reached out to drop it back over the chair, but a door opened and there stood their priest with his eyes on the garment and a disapproving look on his face.
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” he said, his voice barely a squeak. Unable to meet the man’s eyes, Brennan walked to the end of the alcove and slipped through the door to find this door led to an area behind the pulpit.
“Crap,” he growled, shoving a hand through his sweaty hair.
To take his place, he was going to have to walk across that stage to get to ground level. The bridal march started, Brennan hustled up the steps, then all but ran across the altar to take his place on floor level in front of the pulpit.
Patton was already standing there and Susan across the aisle from him. He grinned when Brennan took his place and he knew that grin.
“Looks like you’re more athletic than you thought, huh, Poindexter?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth, his body shaking with suppressed laughter. “Bet your feet hurt from that jog too.” Brennan wiggled his toes and just then realized they were stuffed with tissues. The damned shoes weren’t too tight, Patton just thought he was funny. He locked the access door too.
The finest best man pranks on the planet, Brennan thought, admiring genius when he witnessed it. One day he hoped he could return the favor. “I’m going to kill you at the reception, so say your prayers, butthead” Brennan growled under his breath.
“Wow,” Patton said, with a wisp of a whistle. “You lucky bastard.”
Brennan took a step to the right to look down the aisle and felt like he’d been sucker punched when his eyes met Grace’s in the doorway. She smiled and his knees went weak as he staggered back a step, his heart racing and sweating more, if that was possible.
There was nothing about that satin wedding dress that said virginal, buttoned-up doctor, or nerdette. Grace was femme fatale, runway model gorgeous as the satin glided over her curvy hips and she kicked the mermaid hem with each step. His eyes drifted down to the buffet of cleavage framed by the deep vee neck of her dress and his mouth went dry.
Heat poured from the collar of his shirt burning his neck, as her image blurred then focused sharply at the center of his vision. His heart thumped loudly in his ears, his head felt lighter than his body and his knees buckled. He tried to catch himself, but his vision went dark even though he could clearly hear the crowd’s gasp, and Grace’s whimper.
He also heard Patton as he tapped his face roughly. “It’s a good damned thing you’re marrying a doctor, Poindexter,” he grumbled, and slapped his other cheek.
P
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed SAFE MODE. If you did, and would like to read more in the series, you can find the Deep Six Security series here: http://www.beckymcgraw.com/?page_id=1111
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Becky McGraw writes happily-ever-afters with heat, heart and humor. A Jill of many trades, Becky knows just enough about a variety of subjects to make her contemporary cowboy and romantic suspense novels diverse and entertaining. She resides in Florida with her husband of thirty-plus years, is the mother of three and grandmother of one. Becky is a member of the RWA, Sisters in Crime and Novelists, Inc.
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