A Day Late and a Bride Short

by Jacobs, Holly

  “Now that you mention it, there is.” His voice had a new quality to it, softer and richer.

  Sarah felt a little unnerved. “What? Just pull out that trusty legal pad you’ve been scribbling notes on and write it down. What is it you want out of all this, Donovan?”

  “I’m getting a partnership,” he said.

  There was more. She wasn’t sure what it was, but he was trying to hide it. “That’s old. That’s already part of the deal. What else?”

  “This.” He stepped forward, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

  Sarah wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe something along the lines of a demand. Something like she had to wash his car once a week, or she had to do the laundry. Yeah, washing clothes was definitely more in line with what she was thinking.

  Instead, his lips drew closer, as if in slow motion, as if he knew just what he wanted.

  She could pull away. She knew he’d let her. But instead, she moved forward and her lips met his.

  Nothing else touched except their lips, leaving Sarah an open window of escape if she chose it. But she didn’t.

  She welcomed this kiss. It was a soft introduction...hardly more than a peck.

  Donovan pulled back, breaking away and stood there looking at her as if she had suddenly grown a second nose.

  Sarah ran a finger lightly over her lips just to make sure they were unchanged. “What do you call that?”

  “A kiss?” he said, a questioning tone still in his voice.

  “No,” she argued. She focused on Donovan’s lips. They were perfectly ordinary lips. A tannish pink. Not too full or too thin. They were nice enough, she guessed. But that didn’t explain the earthshaking feeling she’d had when they’d touched hers. But she wasn’t going to call it a kiss. A kiss implied...well, more than she was willing to infer from the contact “Your lips barely touched mine. It was just a light graze. Why, if it hadn’t been our lips, but our elbows—”

  “Elbows?” he asked.

  Elbows.

  She forced her gaze from Donovan’s lips to his elbows. They were nice, but didn’t make her knees shake like his lips did.

  “Yes,” she said. “If our elbows had touched that briefly, that softly, why we’d never have noticed it.”

  “I’d have noticed,” he assured her.

  “No you wouldn’t. You’d have simply kept walking right by me, if our elbows had accidentally grazed.”

  “But it wasn’t our elbows, it was our lips, and it wasn’t an accident.”

  “It wasn’t?” she asked, though she knew it wasn’t. She’d seen his intent and welcomed it.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked. In all the reasons he’d given her for a marriage, kissing was never one of them.

  “Why what?” he asked.

  “Why would you...”

  “Kiss you?” he filled in helpfully.

  “No. Graze. Why would your lips graze mine on purpose? This is a farce and we’re simply business partners.” She looked at him and didn’t feel very partnerish at all. “Do your lips frequently graze your law-practice partner’s on purpose?” she asked.

  “Ah, but I’m not a partner yet, just an associate,” he pointed out.

  Was he joking again? Sarah decided then and there she didn’t like a joking Donovan any more than she liked a grazing one. “But when you’re a partner, and not just an associate, will you be planning on more grazing then?”

  “You make us sound like a herd of cows,” he said.

  “You’re avoiding my question,” she said.

  “What was your question?” he asked with a definite teasing lilt to his voice.

  “Why did you...” She didn’t want to say graze again. He was right, it did sound as if she was talking about cows, so she settled for, “Why did you peck me on the lips on purpose.”

  “Ah, pecking. So we’re not cows, but chickens?” he asked.

  “We’re no farmyard animals. And we’re not doing that again.”

  “You didn’t like it?” he asked.

  “No.” Okay, that was a lie, but Sarah wasn’t about to admonish herself for it. She wasn’t going to take it back either. Better he think she didn’t enjoy what they’d just done.

  “Well, why didn’t you like it?” he asked, sounding put out.

  “I don’t want your lips touching mine on purpose again.” She took a full step backward.

  There. She’d put enough space between them. He couldn’t reach her to kiss her on purpose again. She’d just have to be sure to maintain a nonpecking distance from him in the future.

  “How about if my lips touch yours by accident?”

  Just to be safe, she took another step backward so his lips couldn’t touch hers accidentally either. “No. You keep your lips off this partner, unless you’re going to go around kissing your other partners, too.”

  “Associates. We’re just associates for now.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “Just no more.”

  “Why are you so upset?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  “Because I am.” She eyed the space separating them and decided she needed more than space, she needed a door. She hurried toward her room. “Listen, I’m going to bed now.”

  “Do you need a bedtime story?” he called. The proximity of his voice suggested he hadn’t stayed put.

  She turned and saw he was a couple steps behind her. “No.”

  “Then I don’t suppose you want to be tucked in either, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Because if I tucked you in, I’d have to kiss you goodnight,” he pointed out.

  “Good night.” she cried, because she wasn’t sure what else to say. The image of Donovan leaning over and kissing her goodnight was too intense for any more logical arguments to get around.

  She stepped into her room and called, “Good night,” again.

  “Sweet dreams,” he whispered. He’d followed her and was close enough to whisper, his voice all husky and inviting. The kind of voice she’d love to hear reading her a bedtime story...one that involved lips.

  Sarah sighed as she shut her bedroom door, leaving him on the other side of it in the hall. She knew the truth of things. There would be no sweet dreams tonight or any night in her near future. Not as long as she was living in this comedy of errors.

  ~~~

  Why on earth had he kissed Sarah and then picked on her like that?

  Okay, that was a two-part question, Donovan told himself as he stood on the deck watching the lights bob across the bay.

  Part one—why did he kiss her?

  Because he’d been dying to for such a long time. Since that day he’d stumbled into her shop, if he was honest with himself. At that very moment, looking at her surprised face, he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

  And that was before he’d known her. She’d been just a face. A lovely face, but just a shell.

  Now he knew that what was inside was more beautiful than what was outside, and that made her even more tempting. More kissable.

  Now he’d done it.

  He hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t set out to let it happen. And he wasn’t going to reflect on whether or not that one kiss was enough. No, he was going to ignore the fact that he wasn’t satisfied and could easily go wake her up and kiss her again.

  Part two—why had he behaved so poorly? He could have simply apologized. Blame the kiss on too much wine or the excitement of planning a wedding.

  Instead he’d hounded her, picked on her like some second grader tying a girl’s pigtails together.

  That was definitely not a characteristic he generally employed. But then again, a marriage-of-convenience with a woman he was sexually attracted to wasn’t how he normally operated either.

  Nothing had been normal since Sarah had come into his life.

  All he was left with was a question... was he better off now or before?
<
br />   Donovan thought he knew the answer and wasn’t sure he liked it.

  Chapter Eight

  “MRS. LEWIS, HOW are you today?” Donovan asked the gray-haired lady who bustled into his office without knocking. She carried a brown grocery bag in one hand, a cane in the other.

  He knew from experience that she wouldn’t ask how he was, which was good because he wouldn’t have known how to answer. Three weeks had passed since he’d kissed Sarah, and though he could think of little else, they hadn’t repeated it.

  “How am I? How am I, he asks,” Mrs. Lewis said. “Not good. Not good at all, Donovan.”

  Donovan wasn’t sure who she was talking to when she started since they were the only two people in the office, but since she answered herself, he pretty much figured it was a rhetorical question.

  The more-than-middle-aged woman—she’d have sued Donovan in a heartbeat if he even thought the word old—opened the bag and started pulling out bowls and plates.

  “Problems?” he asked.

  “I’ve decided not to cut Stuart out of the will. You were right He’s an idiot, but he’s not mean-spirited. And since being an idiot was pretty much a given considering who his parents were, I can’t hold that against him.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear you think so.”

  Mrs. Lewis had built a healthy little nest egg and visited every Wednesday at lunch to discuss changing her will. She never did. Donovan thought of their Wednesday lunches as Mrs. Lewis’s therapy sessions. She vented, he listened and ate. And when she was in a particularly good mood, he sometimes conned her out of recipes.

  She was a wonderful cook.

  “But I’m thinking my niece Sally is out.”

  Donovan reached over and scribbled Sally on a legal pad. He was willing to let Mrs. Lewis distract him from his own problems. “Okay, Sally’s out of the will. May I ask why?”

  Mrs. Lewis handed him a plate as she started. “Well, rumor has it she thinks I’m controlling. Me? Controlling? I can’t imagine where she got that idea. Why just last week...”

  Donovan listened, nodding at the appropriate times, as he took his first bite of the crab salad Mrs. Lewis had handed him.

  “Ma’am, I’m not belittling or ignoring your complaints about Sally, but I have to interrupt you to say that this is the best crab salad I have ever tasted.”

  She stopped and beamed. “Oh, I just knew you’d like it. I had to dig the recipe out. I haven’t made it since Herbert’s last birthday. It was always his favorite. You want to know the secret?”

  Secret.

  Donovan wished he knew the secret of what was going on between him and Sarah. If he didn’t know better, he’d think—

  “Donovan, are you listening, boy? I asked if you wanted to know the secret recipe?”

  “Sorry. I drifted a minute. And you know I want any recipe I can get you to share,” he said.

  “Dill. Just a tiny bit of dill in the dressing really brings all the flavors together.”

  “Do I get the whole thing?” he asked with just the proper amount of pleading in his voice.

  Mrs. Lewis beamed. “It just so happens that I wrote it down for you. I never met a man who liked to cook as much as you do. You’ll make some woman a handy wife someday.” She chortled at her own joke.

  “It just so happens, I’ve already got the woman lined up.”

  Now why on earth had he said that? Other than the office, he hadn’t told anyone about his wedding. Which reminded him, he’d have to call his parents. Invitations were going out this week.

  Damn. He didn’t want to go into this with them.

  How could he explain his marriage to Sarah to his parents when he didn’t understand it himself?

  He should be thrilled. After all, he was getting the marriage he needed with no expectations on her part. He was marrying a woman he couldn’t hurt, because you couldn’t hurt someone who didn’t love you.

  Rather than relief at the thought, Donovan felt more restless, almost annoyed, though he didn’t know why.

  “Why, you sly dog,” Mrs. Lewis exclaimed. “You let me come in here every week and all this time you’ve got news like that? Who is she?”

  “You know the new shop on the square, By Design? The owner. Sarah Madison. Soon to be Sarah Madison-Donovan. ’’

  Saying the new configuration of her name made him wonder if she’d use Donovan at all. She’d probably keep using Madison. After all, it made sense. That way she wouldn’t have to change everything back when the marriage ended.

  The thought left him feeling even more out-of-sorts.

  He forced himself not to worry about last names and continued what he’d started. “We’re going to be married in just a few weeks. Small, and informal, but I was hoping you’d come.”

  “Are you inviting me in hopes of making it into my will?’’ Mrs. Lewis asked, laughing.

  He tried to give her the stern look he knew she expected, but couldn’t help but smile. “That would be unethical, and I think you know better. Besides, if I was in it, we both know I’d be out of it before you ever got a signature on it.’’

  At that Mrs. Lewis clapped her hands. “Oh, you think you know me so well.’’

  “I think perhaps I do.’’ Despite her money, Mrs. Lewis was a lonely lady.

  “So sure of yourself,” she said.

  “No, so sure of you.”

  “So what do you think you know?” she asked, leaning closer to the desk.

  “That despite the way you talk about your family, you love them all desperately.”

  “So why do I come in here every week to change my will if I love them all so much?”

  “Because it just so happens you like me, too.” He grinned and folded his arms across his chest at the proclamation.

  Theirs was an odd friendship, but he’d learned a lot from Mrs. Lewis.

  “Does this fiancée know she’s getting a man with a swelled head and there’s a risk he won’t be able to fit through the chapel doors?”

  “Maybe that’s why she’s planned an outdoor wedding,” he countered.

  “Now, that’s something I have to see. So where’s my invitation?” she demanded.

  “In the mail, or it will be soon.”

  “Humph. It better be. Because when I was looking for this crab salad recipe, I happened to come across a cake...chocolate and strawberries, and this cream filling that’s to die for. Just the thing to woo a new wife. I think I’ll just hold that recipe hostage until my invitation comes.”

  “You’re a sly woman, Mrs. Lewis. I’ll have to hurry and address one and get it out right away.”

  “See that you do,” she said with a humph that was completely all show.

  “About cutting Sally out of the will?” he asked.

  “You just draw up the papers and I’ll see how I feel next week when I come in.” She started clearing the lunch things. “And I’d better have my invitation by then as well.”

  “I’ll see to it that you do.”

  The old woman did something totally uncharacteristic...she walked around the desk and kissed Donovan on the cheek. “You be happy, boy. As happy as Mr. Lewis and I were. Remember, if you love someone you can work through any of the tough times. You can do anything...if you love each other.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Lewis.”

  Donovan watched her go.

  If you loved someone.

  The sentence rattled around in his head.

  But love wasn’t a factor in his relationship with Sarah. Granted, the last three weeks had been some of the best he could remember.

  They’d established a routine. He still cooked, but she was his self-appointed assistant. They came home, poured a couple glasses of wine and made dinner together. It was a small thing. Nothing big. They prepared dinner and talked of their days.

  He listened to her talk with enthusiasm about her new projects. She listened to him talk about his cases. They continued talking as they ate, and then cleaned up.

/>   Then they sat in the living room and did work, or watched a television show.

  Small things.

  And every night he walked down the hall with her. They both said a chaste goodnight outside their doors and went to their own respective bedrooms.

  The walls weren’t thick enough to keep Donovan from hearing her getting ready for bed. They weren’t thick enough to keep him from being aware of her presence.

  Brick wouldn’t have been thick enough for that.

  And every night he went to bed and dreamed...of Sarah. Of the little things. In his dreams there was no worry about the temporary nature of their wedding, no worry about careers. There was just him and Sarah.

  Love.

  With love you could make it through anything, Mrs. Lewis had said. He had everything he could ever want in a woman with Sarah, except that. Except love.

  And that thought didn’t sit well.

  ~~~

  Sarah was crawling along the floor taking measurements in the reception area of Wagner, McDuffy and Chambers. She’d sketched out her plans for the room and received Leland’s approval. She was itching to start putting it all together.

  The putting it together was her favorite part. Looking at a room, planning a new style and seeing it come to fruition...it was the wonder of her job.

  She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up. She watched as an old woman came down the staircase with a brown grocery bag.

  “Who’s that?” she asked Amelia after the woman had left.

  “Oh, that’s Mrs. Lewis. She’s why you’re lunching with me today. She comes in to see Donovan every Wednesday at lunch about changing her will.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about that. Attorney-client privilege and all that.” Maybe Mrs. Lewis is why he canceled that Wednesday lunch with her. He’d never really explained, and she’d never asked.

  “Oh, there’s no privilege. She’ll tell anyone who will listen. And that’s just what Donovan does... listens. She cuts people out, adds people back, and Donovan just listens. I don’t think they ever really alter the thing, she just talks about it. She says we’re her weekly therapy.”