Second Time Around

by Beth Kendrick

  “So the crazed serial killer won’t hear us, obviously.” She turned the corner and pointed out an orange metal door flanked by battered old filing cabinets. “Here we are.”

  Gavin held out his hands, clearly disappointed. “This is it? Here I was expecting a hotbed of sin and hell-raising. But it looks so subdued.”

  “To the untrained eye, perhaps. But you see, it’s the illusion of subduedness that makes it the ideal haven for hell-raising.”

  “True.” He gave her a meaningful look. “That goes for people as well as places.”

  She felt her cheeks flood with heat.

  “I have to admit, there is something about the smell of all these ancient reference volumes.” He took a few steps into the shadowy cul-de-sac between the bookshelves and the wall and ran his hands along a tightly packed row of leather-bound volumes. “It’s musty, but it’s also kind of …”

  “Sensual,” she finished a bit breathlessly.

  “Yeah. Sensual. And it’s so cold down here, the covers are all smooth and cool.”

  She followed him in toward the archivist’s office door. “That rippling noise when you flip through the pages.”

  “Maybe you have to be a book person to get it.”

  “I’m a book person,” she said.

  “So am I.”

  He turned around to face her, their eyes met, and suddenly, they were kissing. Really kissing. Not tentative, first-date bussing, but full-on, openmouthed making out like two freshmen gone wild with their first taste of freedom. His fingers curled into her hair and cradled the back of her neck. She pressed him up against the stacks of books and hooked her ankle around the back of his knee.

  All of her senses went on high alert, along with several nerve endings she’d forgotten existed. She felt overwhelmed by the feel of his tongue and his scent and his skin against hers.

  They broke apart for a moment, both of them panting and dazed, and Cait managed to murmur, “We should probably …”

  Gavin cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, this isn’t really …”

  She attacked him again before he could finish. The intensity of her desire both thrilled and terrified her, but she was in no mood to overanalyze. The girl who’d been too cautious to misbehave in infamous Archivist’s Alley all those years ago was about to make up for lost time. He kissed his way down her neck into the hollow of her throat, and she pulled back a bit to give him better access. Then she was digging her fingers into his back muscles and he was tugging up the hem of her shirt. His hand slid across her bare stomach and her whole body tensed in anticipation.

  A high-pitched ding echoed through the silence, followed by the clanging of a metal cart rolling toward them.

  Cait’s eyes flew open. Gavin froze in mid-grope. As the clanging grew louder, they tried to compose themselves. He tucked in his shirt. She smoothed back her hair. They shared a conspiratorial grin and were just rounding the corner to make their escape when they found themselves face-to-face with a student worker preparing to reshelve a pile of books.

  The student’s gaze darted from the lipstick smear on Gavin’s cheek to the bra strap peeking out from Cait’s neckline. “Hey, Professor Clayburn.”

  “Hi, Jason,” Gavin said. “How are you?”

  Cait readjusted her bra as unobtrusively as possible.

  “Fine.” The student gave up trying to maintain any semblance of a poker face and gazed down at the carpet. “So, uh, see you in class Monday.”

  “See you in class.” Gavin grabbed Cait’s hand and started back through the labyrinth of bookshelves. They boarded the elevator in decorous silence, but burst out laughing as soon as the metal doors slid shut behind them.

  “You’re busted,” Cait said. “Have fun teaching on Monday.”

  “Could be worse.” Gavin shrugged. “I could have a visible hickey.”

  “The night’s not over yet.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He stopped laughing and shot her a look that could only be described as smoldering. “You still up for dinner?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Most of the restaurants here close so early, and all of the bars and pizza joints will be crawling with gossipy undergrads.”

  “We could go back to my place. I’ll make dinner for you.” “That’s a very tempting offer.” Cait couldn’t suppress a grin. “But aren’t you the one who scorched a can of soup? I’ll settle for a cold beer and good company.”

  “Done,” he said. “And I promise I’ll control myself, so long as you don’t start in on the sound of flipping pages. Speaking of great literature, how’s the novel coming along? Any chance you’ll let me read what you’ve written so far?”

  “The most dangerous food is wedding cake.”

  —James Thurber

  The big white wedding isn’t really for me. It’s for my mom.” Sarah Richmond had her mother’s warm smile and forthright attitude. Standing just over five feet tall, the bride-to-be was a petite powerhouse with long dark brown hair, classic features, and an impressive multicarat diamond glittering on her left ring finger. “I’m more comfortable in Target cargo pants than in Vera Wang. If it were up to me, Terry and I would elope to Hawaii or Bermuda. After all, it’s his second marriage.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Jamie hunched lower over her legal pad and pretended to take notes. Sarah had arrived in Thurwell late Friday afternoon and had invited Jamie to President Tait’s home for their first planning summit. The large, stately house was frequently used for entertaining, and the interior décor struck the perfect balance between scholarly and sumptuous. The public areas were done up in rich wood tones, traditional dark Colonial colors, and antique furniture. Jamie and Sarah sat by the living room fireplace in matching slate blue wing chairs. Golden sunlight dappled the woven Persian rug.

  “But Mom’s so excited about planning all the details and inviting all her friends to the social event of the season,” Sarah said. “This is the happiest I’ve seen her since my dad died. So I figure, if it means this much to her and all I have to do is throw on a gown and a veil and walk down an aisle, why not let her do her thing?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Jamie repeated, this time managing to smile and nod. She had been fervently hoping that her client would arrive in full Bridezilla mode, breathing fire and threatening retribution for the slightest infraction.

  Instead, Sarah was proving sweet, funny, and totally down-to-earth despite her privileged upbringing. Under different circumstances, Jamie would have tried to strike up a friendship.

  “I just feel bad that I couldn’t pull off a June wedding for her.” Sarah lifted one eyebrow. “I assume you heard her whole spiel on the depravity of November nuptials?”

  Jamie grinned. “The subject may have come up.”

  “Well, she’ll have to make her peace with it.” Sarah lowered her voice and confided, “Don’t tell her this, but actually, I planned for June when Terry first proposed. But then …” Sarah’s expression darkened. “Let’s just say that didn’t work out.”

  Jamie leaned forward and waited for details, but Sarah took a deep breath and resumed smiling. “So just talk me through whatever you’re thinking for the reception and ceremony, and then we’ll move on to the good stuff: cake tasting.” Sarah rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait.”

  “I called the baker this afternoon to reconfirm and she should be here in about fifteen minutes with the cake samples.”

  “Great. I hope one of them’s chocolate.” “Knowing Anna, more than one will be chocolate.” “It must come in handy to have a built-in cake connection in your line of work. And you guys have known each other for ten years?”

  “Thirteen, actually. We met during our sophomore year in college.”

  “And now you work together on weddings? That is so cool.”

  “Well, actually, this is our first co-effort,” Jamie said. “But I can assure you she’ll do an outstanding job.” “As long as it’s chocolate, I’m a happy girl.” Jamie got to her feet and led the way past the
staircase to the reception parlor at the back of the house. She pointed out the bay window toward the large, flat lawn. “Assuming the weather’s decent, I was thinking we could do the ceremony outdoors. We’ll bring in rows of white chairs and the officiant can stand right over there by the trellis. We can tent the whole thing and rent heat lamps. But if it’s snowing, we should probably move everything inside.” She headed to the front parlor. “We could theoretically fit all the guests in here if we cleared out the furniture. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but it’s doable. You two could say your vows right over there.” She gestured in the direction of the piano without looking directly at the gleaming black Steinway.

  “Forget the lawn; let’s do that!” Sarah exclaimed. “It would be so fitting. That piano played a pivotal role in our romance.”

  Jamie knew without having to ask that Sarah was not referring to a sentimental serenade.

  “All right, then, we’ll do the ceremony here. Then cocktail hour in the dining room while they set up for dinner.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Now. Do you have any thoughts on the bridesmaids’ tea? Themes, food, décor preferences?”

  “Honestly? If it were up to me, we’d do Texas Hold-’em and Teal Squeals,” Sarah said. “But I’m sure whatever you put together will be lovely.”

  “A girls’ poker party can be arranged,” Jamie offered.

  “Are you kidding me? My mom would have a heart attack. No, no, let’s stick to cucumber sandwiches and silver teapots.”

  “It’s your call. But I’ll make sure you get a Teal Squeal in your teacup instead of Darjeeling.”

  Sarah looked surprised. “You’ve heard of a Teal Squeal?”

  “Vodka, Blue Curaçao, pineapple, and ice,” Jamie recited.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Former bartender.”

  “Really?” Sarah’s smile turned mischievous. “So, for example, you could mix up a Lemon Drop right now?”

  “Not just a Lemon Drop. The best damn Lemon Drop you ever had.”

  “Well, we’ve got a wet bar at our disposal right here. Let’s cleanse our cake-tasting palate with a cocktail.” Sarah opened the cabinet above the bar sink and pulled out a bottle of vodka. “I really shouldn’t; I’ve been starving myself for months so I can look fashionably emaciated for the big day, but as long as I’m blowing my diet with the cake samples, I might as well go all out. Hit me.”

  “You’re the bride; your wish is my command.” Jamie put aside her paperwork. “Let me go see if there are any fresh lemons in the kitchen.”

  “This is much more fun than obsessing over calligraphers and champagne flutes with my coordinator in Manhattan. Has anyone ever told you you’re the best wedding planner ever?”

  Jamie laughed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most low-maintenance bride ever?”

  “I tell her that all the time,” said a booming male voice from the doorway.

  Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Oh hi, honey.”

  “My love.” President Terrence Tait strode across the room and kissed Sarah on the forehead. Jamie looked out the window. “How’s the wedding planning going?”

  “You made it just in time for cocktail hour.” Sarah went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Remember I told you my mom finally found a local wedding planner? This is Jamie Burton.”

  Terrence extended his right hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Jamie held off as long as she could, then skimmed her palm against his in the fastest handshake in history.

  “She was a student here, actually,” Sarah continued, oblivious to the thickening tension. “Like ten years ago.”

  Terry hesitated for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. “Can’t place the name, I’m afraid. My apologies, but so many students have passed through over the years.”

  Jamie shot him a murderous glare over Sarah’s head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “The baker will be here in a few minutes with the cake samples, but it turns out that Jamie here used to be a bartender, so of course I’m taking full advantage. Do you happen to have any fresh lemons, honey?”

  “I’ll check on that right now.” Terrence shrugged off his suit jacket as he headed back toward the kitchen. From the back, his frame still looked young, strong, and fit. Jamie made sure to focus on his graying hair rather than his athletic ass.

  Sarah caught Jamie staring and said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “He’s old enough to be my dad, right? But let me tell you, I have dated my way through every loser, user, and emotional abuser in the greater tristate area. Each relationship was worse than the last.”

  “I can relate,” Jamie said.

  “And then one night, fresh off another agonizing breakup, I came up here for a spa weekend to lick my wounds and I met Terry. You just get to a point where you start to appreciate stability, you know? I’d had it with all the drama.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you probably can’t think of him this way, since he’s just a buttoned-up administrator to you, but he’s romantic. He really pursued me.” Sarah glanced down at her engagement ring. “The man was relentless!” She noticed Jamie’s expression and started laughing again. “Okay, I’ll shut up now. Give me a minute to pull myself together in the powder room, and when I get back, we’ll have drinks and cake and I promise to stop gushing like a human Hallmark card.” She hurried off toward the bathroom.

  Jamie closed her eyes and forced herself to think optimistic, life-affirming thoughts. Maybe the Terrence Tait that Sarah knew was nothing like the Terrence Tait that Jamie knew. Over a decade had passed. Maybe people really could change.

  She felt a hand slide along the curve of her hip.

  “What the hell?” Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into the amused eyes of President Tait. “Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me!”

  “Time’s been good to you, Jamie. You’re even more beautiful now than you were at twenty-one.” He gave her a thorough once-over as he deposited a trio of ripe lemons and a paring knife on the wet bar.

  “Save the bullshit flattery for your committee meetings and your fund-raisers.” Jamie ground her molars together. “Oh, and P.S.: The furrowed brow just now was overkill. As was blatantly ignoring me at the trustee reception last week. I know you remember me.”

  “Of course I remember you. How could I forget? Specifically, I remember the time you and I were sitting right there on that piano bench—”

  “Knock it off! This is completely inappropriate.” She snatched up a lemon and the knife and started hacking away with more force than necessary.

  “I agree. That’s why we should make amends and start fresh.”

  “With your hand on my ass?”

  “Don’t be such a Puritan,” he chided. “You’ve been living in Miami and Los Angeles, haven’t you? I’m surprised you’re so uptight.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How do you know where I live?”

  “Alumni contact database.”

  “Stalker much?”

  “Efficient networker,” he corrected. “It’s my job to stay in touch with our graduates and make sure they continue to think back fondly on their Thurwell days.”

  “Just stay away from me.” She dumped some ice into a silver cocktail shaker, then added a splash of vodka. “I don’t find you charming anymore. I find you repulsive. You’re engaged, and if this afternoon is any indication, your fiancée is about a billion times too good for you. Behave yourself.”

  “If memory serves, I’m not the only one prone to bad behavior.”

  Jamie slammed down the cocktail shaker and grabbed his lapel. “You listen to me. What happened with you, me, and Arden? No one is ever going to find out about that. Ever.”

  He stopped trying to banter and got serious. “I heard about Arden. I’m sorry. I know you two were close.”

  “Stop that!” She gave him a little shake, then forced herself to let go before sh
e throttled him. “Stop pretending you’re a human being.”

  “As opposed to what?”

  “As opposed to a sick, twisted, manipulative, two-faced, bottom-feeding incubus.” She seized the lemon halves and squeezed until her hands ached.

  His face settled back into a smirk of detachment. “Go ahead and vilify me if it eases your conscience. But we both know it takes two to tango. Or, in our case, defile a piano bench.”

  She gaped at him. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” he countered. “You’re the one who insinuated herself into the role of planning her lover’s wedding to another woman. Talk about sick.”

  “Lover. Ha.” She tossed her hair. “Let’s get one thing straight: I might have had sex with you, but I never loved you.”

  He braced his hand on the fireplace mantel and said nothing.

  “And, just for the record, I had no idea you were the groom when I agreed to this fiasco. I’m only doing this because I signed a contract and I’m a woman of my word.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Don’t do this to me. Don’t do it to her.” Jamie took a slow breath and softened her tone. “Prove me wrong. Turn yourself into the man she thinks she’s marrying. Fake it till you make it. Whatever.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but she drowned out his voice with the ice-filled martini shaker. She realized she’d been reduced to pleading, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she had any dignity left to salvage.

  She had lied when she said she’d never loved him. Which made her situation, both past and present, even more reprehensible.

  Some people might say that a twenty-one-year-old student in her position was too naïve to understand what she was getting into, but Jamie had known exactly what she was doing. As much as she wanted to blame Terrence for taking advantage of her, she was the one who had initiated the flirtation. She had known it was wrong to dally with a married man. But the truth was, she hadn’t cared about wrong or right. She’d gotten off on the heady sense of power and the aphrodisiac of secrecy. She’d been a headstrong, selfish little bitch.

  And Arden had paid the price in the end.