Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency)

by Samanthe Beck

  “Absolutely not,” she replied. “I was walking in. He was walking in. I didn’t walk fast enough.”

  “She’s lying. She deliberately fiddled with her shoe just to make sure I caught up.”

  “I stepped in a pothole.”

  “On purpose.”

  “I’m three seconds from kneeing you in the balls. On purpose.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too, Ash.”

  Rather than watch his partner take one in the family jewels, Beau opened his door and looked back at Savannah. “They’re harmless. I promise.”

  She laughed and opened her door. “I’m not worried.”

  Hunter rounded the front of the truck and offered her a hand. “Hi, Savannah. Pleasure to officially meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  He gestured to Ashley. “This ball-buster is Ashley… Ow!”

  The brunette lifted the skinny heel of her red leather ankle boot from Hunter’s instep and shook Savannah’s hand. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve worked with these two for a long time, and I have a soft spot for one of them,” Ashley said.

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” Hunter complained.

  “Not you.” She patted Beau on the shoulder. “You. Though I have to admit, he’s given me some moments over the years.”

  Savannah glanced at him. “You don’t say?”

  “I do. The stories I could tell. One of these days we’ll have to grab a drink and I’ll give you the lowdown.”

  Savannah fell into step beside Ashley. “Oh, look. A tavern. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Beau held the door while Savannah and Ashley chatted their way into the bar. “Bet she’s talking about the time you passed out giving twenty-five kindergartners a tour of the station,” Hunter said as he walked in.

  “I’m not going to take that bet. I am going to take a beer, and”—he stepped away for a minute to confer with the ladies—“Savannah wants a white wine, and Ashley wants champagne. You might as well run a tab.”

  “And I’m buying because?”

  “Because I remember who blurted the news about my engagement, thus giving Ashley the opportunity to spend an evening assassinating my character.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. But I’m not a cocktail waitress. Come with me.”

  Somehow he ended up buying the drinks while Hunter played barmaid, and then got cornered by the deputy chief of operations, who wanted to talk shop. Hunter and a couple of intermediates joined in. Beau propped his back against the bar and nursed his beer, keeping one ear in the conversation while he watched Savannah circulate around the room as Ashley introduced her to other members of the team. In a sea of soft lights and indistinct bodies, she glowed, like his personal beacon.

  Safe harbor. The thought sprang out of nowhere, and spiked his pulse because he knew better. Yes, she was beautiful, smart, and funny. On top of all that, she possessed bone-deep compassion and instinctive generosity. If he let himself, he could fall hard for her.

  Don’t let yourself, because you’re not the kind of man who can risk another fall. She’s leaving in a few weeks. Even if she weren’t, there are no safe harbors for you, and forgetting that is the most dangerous thing you can do.

  Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  Converted gas lanterns overhead put a copper halo around her long, loose hair. She smiled, and laughed, and shook a dozen hands, but every so often those smoky eyes found their way back to him, and her polite, social smile turned into something else. Something that said, After this, let’s head back to your place and have a party for two.

  Just like that, the anxiety subsided. This was the safe harbor. Their physical connection he could handle, no matter how urgent or overriding it might feel. He knew exactly how to satisfy those needs. His lips automatically stretched into an answering smile made of Hell, yes.

  The deputy chief congratulated him on his engagement, and he forced his attention back to the men in front of him and said, “Thanks.” Then the older man pinned Hunter with a sharp look and asked when he planned to settle down. Beau patted his partner on the back and excused himself, ignoring Hunter’s silent plea for rescue.

  He figured he’d have to track Savannah down, but when he turned, he nearly stumbled into her.

  Her hands clasped his shoulders for balance, and then lingered, palms sliding down the front of the soft, light gray crew neck he’d worn specifically to entice her touch. Mission accomplished. He drew her in close. “Thanks for doing this. Socializing with my coworkers goes above and beyond the call of duty.”

  She eased back and sent him her lopsided grin. “Are you kidding? Where else would I have learned about the time you neglected to secure the back doors of the ambulance, drove off, and dumped the gurney in the middle of the street?”

  Assholes. “In my defense, I’ll mention the street was actually a driveway, the gurney was empty, and the doors on that rig never latched correctly.”

  “Especially when you don’t shut them properly—so I hear,” she added when he glared at her.

  “You can’t believe everything you hear. Not out of this crew.”

  She bit her lip to keep from smiling, and the small gesture made him want to haul her back to the car, drive home, and spend the next several hours making her bite her lip to keep from screaming things like, “Oh, God. Right there. Yes. Yes. Yes,” at the top of her lungs. Manners probably dictated they hang out another ten minutes—fuck it, five minutes—just to be civilized. “Did you have your check-in with the gallery today?”

  “I did.” Those bright blue eyes dimmed a little.

  “And?”

  “It went well. In fact, the manager told me if I weren’t going to Italy they’d sign me to an extended deal. Not just for the works I’m exhibiting at the showcase, but everything I produced over the next year.”

  If I weren’t going to Italy. He liked the suggestion more than he ought to, especially because her departure represented their ideal exit strategy. “Why can’t you do both?”

  “The fellowship is designed to support and foster undiscovered artists, not those actively promoted by a major gallery. Signing with Mercer to participate in the New Year’s Eve spotlight and exhibit a handful of pieces doesn’t qualify as being ‘actively promoted,’ but if I entered into a commission agreement of the scope Mercer’s proposing, I would meet the definition.”

  “Could you defer the fellowship for a year, and see how things worked out with Mercer?”

  She chewed her lip. “I could request a deferral. The foundation grants them from time to time, but I doubt they’d extend the courtesy on the basis of me wanting to see how my career worked out with a gallery that is, technically, a competitor.”

  “I guess this comes down to one important question. How badly do you want to see Venice?” He meant the question as a joke, but his gut tensed.

  “Ha. I spent a semester abroad during my MFA studying glassmaking techniques in Europe, so I’ve seen Venice. Lovely city, but location isn’t the primary draw. The fellowship offers a sure thing for the next nine months, which means a lot to me after the instability of the last few. It’s also a chance to reboot my career. I give up some autonomy, but the foundation features my work and presents me to a whole new level of collectors and buyers. Not a guarantee, of course, but a chance. ”

  “Too good a chance to pass up?”

  “Probably.” The little crinkle appeared between her brows, and he wanted to kiss it away. “I applied for the fellowship because my career here stalled. Hell, it tanked. But my pride hates to see me abandon Atlanta as a failure, even for something as coveted as the Solomon Foundation. Maybe the Mercer Gallery offer means I should stay the course?”

  “What do you want to do, Savannah?”

  Do you really want to know the answer? So what if she does want to stay? That’s a career decision. It doesn’t mean she intends to waste more time in a dead-end
…whatever…you can’t even call it a relationship, with a man who can’t offer her the kind of future she deserves.

  She stared at him for a long moment, opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head. “What I want for the future is too big a question for me to answer right now.” Her fingers danced over the back of his neck and sank into his hair. “Ask me what I want to do for the rest of the night.”

  The world straightened. The ground under his feet solidified. “You think you’ve got the whole night in you, Smith? Because I guarantee I do.”

  Her lips curved. “I’m counting on it, Montgomery.”

  …

  “Damn, you’re gorgeous. Delicate, but powerful. Graceful, yet undeniably sexy. I can’t wait to get inside you.”

  Savannah stood in her strapless bra and matching thong, and let her hands roam, exploring every line and contour, luxuriating in every breathtaking detail…until a knock on the other side of the door interrupted the seduction. A polite female voice called, “Do you need any assistance?”

  “No, no. I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.” She cast a nervous glance at the door and then turned back to the object of her lust. “Okay, let’s do this. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

  The sleek column of ivory satin seeded with tiny Swarovski crystals seemed to wink at her. She lowered the side zipper and then lifted the dress off the hanger. The $3,000 price tag mandated she be very, very gentle. Frankly, she had no business even trying the thing on. She didn’t need a wedding dress, much less a $3,000 one, but the moms had been so excited about the shopping trip—they’d even dragged poor Sinclair along as the designated driver—and after a few complimentary glasses of champagne at the bridal boutique, she’d gotten kind of swept up in the moment. When the sales associate had smiled and said, “This is a smidge beyond the budget you mentioned, but I think it would be perfect,” Savannah hadn’t had the strength to resist. What harm could come from trying it on?

  Stepping into the cool, silk embrace sent a decadent shiver along her spine. She zipped herself in and turned to look at her reflection in the full-length fitting room mirror. The gown might as well have been made for her. Aside from the length—everything she tried on was miles too long—the dress hugged her body like an opulent second skin, and flared out above her knees in a dramatic sweep of skirt. The strapless sweetheart neckline left her shoulders bare and presented an unapologetically feminine silhouette. She could wear her hair up, and maybe Sinclair could design a necklace to… Holy shit, Savannah, reel it in. You’re not getting married.

  “How’re we doing in there?”

  We’re trying on a dress I’d have to sell a kidney to afford, for a wedding that’s never going to happen. “Good.”

  “Your mother, sister, and future mother-in-law are dying to see the gown on you,” the sales associate prompted. “Should I start the drum roll?”

  “Sure.” She took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and opened the door. The sales associate’s eyes moved over her in quick assessment.

  “Go on out and step up on the riser. I’m going to grab my hem clips. Y’all are going to want to see the way this will actually look on the big day.”

  Guilt stabbed Savannah as she walked to the main room of the boutique where her entourage sat chatting. The salesclerk clearly thought she was going to say yes to the dress. The willowy brunette was probably already mentally spending her commission check…hopefully not on shoes for her five fatherless children.

  Three sets of eyes turned to her, and conversation stopped. After a beat or two of being silently stared at, she started to feel self-conscious. “This one’s pretty, but maybe a little too…too?”

  Mrs. Montgomery let out one warning sniffle, and then dissolved into tears.

  All of a sudden Savannah realized Beau’s mom had been through this ritual before. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. Is this stirring up painful memories?”

  “No,” the older woman assured her between sobs. “Kelli’s dress was completely different, and perfect for her, but this dress…Savannah, this gown is perfect for you.” She offered up a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see Beau’s reaction.”

  Yeah. That will be interesting.

  “You look lovely,” her mom agreed as she took a couple of tissues from the box the sales associate offered, and mopped her damp cheeks. “That is definitely the one.”

  “You guys need to take it easy on the champagne.”

  The saleslady knelt at the base of the riser and began clipping the hem at the front of the dress to the appropriate length. “Don’t think it’s just the champagne talking. The dress really does flatter you. I’ve developed sort of an eye for matching the gown to the girl.”

  Guilt prickled again. Time for some honesty. “You absolutely have.” She ran her hand down the rich fabric and sighed. “I love this dress. It’s straight out of my dreams. And way out of my price range.”

  “I wouldn’t be much good at matching the gown to the girl if I didn’t factor in the budget.” She stood and winked at Savannah. “Your mother and future mother-in-law have a surprise for you.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Cheryl and I are going splitzies on the dress,” her mother announced, beaming.

  Savannah turned to Sinclair and caught her in the act of wiping her brimming eyes.

  “What? It wasn’t my idea.”

  No, she had a pretty good idea the moms came up with the gesture themselves, but her sister was sitting there, enabling all the same. “Stop crying. You haven’t had any champagne.”

  “Can I help if I’m a sucker for a perfect wedding dress?”

  “But you know we shouldn’t rush to a decision,” Savannah insisted and sent her sister the best Help me! stare she could manage.

  Sinclair lifted one slim shoulder and let it drop. “You love the dress. It’s straight out of your dreams. What reason do I have for suggesting we sleep on it?”

  She could think of three thousand reasons, but she couldn’t utter a single one.

  “Please, Savannah, let your mother and me do this. You don’t know what it means to me to see Beau take another chance at love, marriage—sharing his life with someone. What happened with Kelli and Abbey shook his faith in everything, including himself. Trent and I feared he’d never open himself up to love again.”

  Mercy, what could she say? “His ability to love so intensely is part of what makes him so amazing.”

  “He does love intensely. I see the intensity when he’s with you. He reaches for you. He seeks comfort from you. He lets you in. You’re good for him, and he’s needed something good for a long time. We all have.”

  Savannah sank into the empty chair on the other side of her mom. Condolences leaped to her tongue, but she held them back because she noticed Mrs. Montgomery’s voice remained stable and her eyes dry. This woman would burst into tears at the first hint of joyful news, but she’d learned to be strong in the face of adversity. She’d learned to be strong for her son.

  Her heart broke for them all over again. “I can’t imagine how awful it was, for all of you.”

  Cheryl nodded. “I don’t wish the experience on anyone, but I do wish I’d handled it differently.”

  “You were there for him—”

  “No, we were there with him, but not really for him. Trent and I allowed our grief to distract us from a troubling reality. Beau coped with his pain, and his profound sense of helplessness, by emotionally withdrawing from everyone. He took the same detachment he relies on to do his job effectively and applied it to all aspects of his life. Oh, he went through the motions of interacting, and maintaining relationships to a degree—a very superficial degree—but he wasn’t truly connecting anymore. We told ourselves to be patient. He’d let people back into his life when his heart healed. We also made excuses. Trent and I told each other, ‘It’s only been a year. Give him time.’ A year stretched into two, and then three, and we started to fear he’d never take down the wall he’d constructed around himself. And
then suddenly he did, and we have you to thank.”

  No words could express how badly Savannah wished the sentiments were true, but they weren’t. He still had the wall, and all she’d done was help him camouflage the barrier so the people who cared about him wouldn’t detect it. She stared at the floor because she couldn’t look anyone in the eye. “Please, don’t thank me. He loves you.” At least she could say that much honestly. This whole stupid deception arose out of his love for his parents and his desire to ease their concern. “Your patience and love made him realize he couldn’t lock his feelings away. Trust me, what Beau and I have wouldn’t exist if not for you.”

  “You have it, and that’s what’s important,” her mom insisted. “Fate’s full of surprises, and some of them are happy ones. When the happy surprises come along, we grab on to them, and we celebrate.” She turned to the saleswoman and handed over her credit card. “We’ll take the dress.”

  Sinclair gave Savannah a told-you-so look and Savannah recalled her sister’s prediction. You and Beau are going to end up married through the sheer force of Mom’s will.

  Cheryl sniffled. “Beau’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that gown.”

  Savannah and Sinclair responded at the same time.

  “No doubt.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The laughter echoing in the stairwell gave them away. Beau opened his door and stepped into the hall in time to see four tipsy women meander up the stairs, pausing every few steps to talk over one another and then dissolve into fits of giggles. His mom and Laurel had their arms looped around Savannah. Sinclair brought up the rear. Laurel leaned across Savannah and in a loud whisper said to his mom, “Now I just need to find someone for Sinclair, and then I can sit back and wait for grandbabies.”

  Sinclair sighed, gave him a pointed look, and checked her watch.

  Correction. Three tipsy women and one sober one—though he doubted Sinclair would stay that way for long after her designated driver duties ended. She herded everyone to the landing. Savannah looked up at him with wide, owlish eyes and hung back.