Moon Over Montego Bay

by Jane Graves

  Brandy turned to Sarah. "You're nice. So I don't know why you're friends with her."

  "I'm not her friend," Kelsey said. "I'm her bodyguard. I'm supposed to keep people away from her that she shouldn't be talking to."

  "If you're her bodyguard, why don't you have a gun?"

  "Because she can kill people with her bare hands," Liz said.

  "Yeah, well, I took karate once. I had a Groupon. I was the best in my class." She stood up. "So don't think you're the only one around here whose hands are lethal weapons."

  As Brandy flounced off, Kelsey turned to Sarah. "Want me to kill her for you? I might even pay for the privilege."

  "No," she said with a sigh. "You probably wouldn't make bail in time for the wedding."

  After an hour of aloe and cucumbers, Sarah's face still looked like a three-alarm fire. She tried to make herself believe that by the time she walked down the aisle it would fade to a rosy glow, but it was a tough sell. If she said, "I do," and became Mrs. Randall Baxter without her whole life imploding, it was going to be a miracle.

  She and her bridesmaids grabbed a late lunch, and then she returned to her suite. A few minutes later, she heard a knock at her door.

  She went to the peephole. Randall?

  The moment she opened the door, his brows instantly drew together. "Oh, my God," he said, eying her face. "My mother was right."

  Sarah walked away from the door. "I don't want to hear it."

  Randall came into her suite and shut the door. "Why didn't you wear sunscreen? Our wedding photos are going to be a mess!"

  "I'll wear makeup."

  "There's not enough makeup on earth to cover that up!"

  Sarah spun around. "Will you stop?"

  "My mother also told me you went parasailing. Don't you know how dangerous that is?"

  "I survived."

  "Why didn't you wait for me?"

  "You were clearly going to be a while. I got tired of waiting."

  "My mother also said you went with Nick."

  "I went parasailing with my bridesmaids. Nick just came along."

  “Do you have any idea how that looks?” Randall said. “We’re getting married, and you’re doing that with him?”

  She wanted to say, I went parasailing with him! I didn’t sleep with him! only to remember that actually, she had.

  “We were just having fun. What’s wrong with that?”

  “I know my brother. He’ll move in on any woman. Doesn’t matter if she’s spoken for or not. Trust me on that."

  “I can take care of myself.”

  "I'm having a word with Nick. No, scratch that. I'm personally throwing him off this island."

  "Because we went parasailing together? Why does he threaten you so much?"

  "You don't know him like I do! He's a conniving, backstabbing—"

  "Will you keep your voice down? I'd rather the whole world not hear us arguing!"

  "We’re not arguing!"

  "I have news for you, Randall. This is an argument!"

  Randall's mouth drooped in a worried frown. He stared at her a long time, and Sarah got the distinct feeling he knew he'd gone too far. Finally he let out a long sigh.

  "Forget everyone else," he said.

  "What?"

  "Nick, my mother, everybody. Dinner tonight is going to be just you and me."

  "But your family is here now. What about them? Your mother will expect—"

  "I'll square things with my mother."

  "But my parents are coming to dinner, too. What about them?"

  "They'll be fine. It'll give them a chance to get to know the rest of my family."

  "What about the rest of my family? They may come, too. Your mother will have heart failure if they do."

  "She'll just have to deal with it."

  "No. I can't leave all of them alone with—" She started to say, Your mother, but thought better of it. "—without me."

  Randall frowned. "I don't get it. The other night you were mad because we weren't having dinner by ourselves, and now that I want it to be just us, you don't want it to be. Why not?"

  "No. I do want that. It's just that my family—"

  "They're adults. They can join my family for dinner. The question is, do you want to join me for dinner?"

  "Yes, of course I do."

  "Good. I'll have the staff set up a table on the beach. Wine. Candlelight. Steak and lobster. How does that sound?"

  It should have sounded wonderful. So why did she feel as if Randall was just placating her so she wouldn't be angry?

  No, it did sound wonderful. He was just trying to make her happy. What could possibly be wrong with that?

  "It sounds perfect," she said. "I can't wait."

  Randall gave her a kiss and told her he was going to the concierge to make reservations for dinner on the beach. After he left, Sarah called her parents to tell them she and Randall would be having dinner by themselves. Her mother assured her they'd all be fine alone with the Baxters, but still Sarah felt as if she was sending a couple of lambs into a lion's den. It was just the opposite with the rest of her family. The Baxters wouldn't know what hit them.

  She told herself to stop worrying and went in to take a shower. Afterward she she applied a little moisturizer and a lot of cosmetics to her face, but there was no way to completely hide the burn.

  Nick was right. There was always Photoshop. Photographers worked wonders with that these days, didn't they?

  As Sarah walked with Randall across the sand to their surfside table, bathed in the orange glow of sunset, she had to admit the truth.

  It was wonderful.

  The ocean wind from the afternoon had faded into only a light whisper of breeze. White foam gathered on the beach as the waves came in, then vanished as they receded again. Randall pulled out her chair, and after they sat, the waiter poured each of them a glass of wine. They sipped. Chatted about nothing in particular. And pretty soon Sarah felt relaxed, able to focus only on the food and the atmosphere and the man she was going to marry. Afterward, as they were having dessert, she started to get a little of that wedding excitement back again. Randall had been right. This was what they'd needed. Time alone, just the two of them.

  When dinner was over, Randall walked her back to her suite. "Thank you," she said. "It was such a nice dinner."

  "The evening's not over yet. Why don't I come in?"

  She blinked. "Really?"

  He smiled. "Really."

  She unlocked the door, and Randall followed her inside. She didn't miss the fact that he looked over his shoulder left and right before he slipped through the door, as if he was checking for witnesses, but she chose to ignore it. After all, he'd finally stood up to his mother so they could be alone, hadn't he?

  She heard a soft, whirring sound coming from the bathroom. Glancing inside, she couldn't believe what she saw. A sprinkling of rose petals on the floor led to the edge of the double Jacuzzi tub, which was full and churning softly. On the ledge beside the tub sat a bottle of white wine inside an ice bucket with two glasses beside it. Candles burned next to them, and soft music played on the sound system.

  "You talked to the concierge," Sarah said.

  "Of course." He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "Anything for you."

  Randall dropped his lips to her neck in a warm, gentle kiss. Ahhh…this was it. Exactly what she'd wanted since they'd first talked about a wedding in paradise. Just the two of them together like this.

  He reached for the sash around the waist of her dress and pulled it loose, slowly, sensually. He dropped it on the floor, then took hold of the zipper at her neckline, pulling it down, down, down…

  Suddenly she heard a knock at the door. "Wonder who that is?"

  "Room service," Randall said. "I hope you like strawberries and chocolate."

  Sarah smiled. This night just got better and better.

  She followed Randall out of the bathroom, watching as he fished his wallet out of his pocket as he wal
ked so he could leave a tip. He swung the door open. It wasn't room service.

  It was Mona.

  Randall froze. "Mom?"

  "Randall?"

  Sarah fumbled for her half-open zipper and yanked it back up again, but not before Mona got an eyeful. And there it was, just like always. One of those ridiculous, totally uncalled-for looks of disapproval she handed out like pieces of poisoned candy. And from the look on Randall's face, he was swallowing every bit of it.

  "I saw you'd finished dinner and were no longer on the beach, so I dropped by to see how Sarah's sunburn treatment is coming along."

  "It's much better," Sarah said, walking to the door. "The spa worked wonders."

  Mona's brows drew together. "Hmm. I'm not so sure. Perhaps you should go for another treatment in the morning.”

  "That might help. I'll consider it."

  "I think it would be wise." Then Mona turned and gave Randall a sweet smile. "It was so nice of you to escort Sarah back to her suite after dinner."

  "Yes, wasn't it?" Sarah said. "He's such a gentleman."

  Randall shot her a knock off the sarcasm look, but she just didn't care.

  "It's getting late, dear," Mona said to Randall. "I wonder if you would mind walking me back to my suite? A single woman can't be too careful, you know."

  Oh, please! Did she not remember her own words? This is a five star resort. When was the last time somebody got mugged?

  But this had nothing to do with safety, and everyone present knew it. That was why Randall needed to say no. He needed to say, No, Mom. Sorry. You'll have to find your way back to your room by yourself. See, Sarah and I were about to have wild, crazy sex. We're going to do it once. Then we're going to do it again. And then we're going to stand in the central atrium of this resort and tell EVERYONE we did it whether you like it or not!

  "Sure," Randall said. "I'd be happy to take you back to your room."

  Sarah sighed with frustration. Okay, so all that had been a little too much to hope for. She would have settled for a simple no.

  "We'll see you tomorrow," Mona said, as Randall escorted her out the door. "Rehearsal at eleven, lunch at twelve."

  "Yes," she said. "I'll see you then."

  "And then Saturday is the big day."

  "I can't wait."

  As he walked away, Randall looked back over his shoulder and mouthed Sorry! which irritated Sarah even more. The worst part was that Mona showing up had scared him so much that he wouldn’t even think of doubling back and picking up where they left off.

  She went to the bathroom, sat down on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub and turned off the jets. Then she looked at the wine bottle and imagined smashing it into a million pieces.

  No—wait. Dumb move. That would waste the only thing she was likely to have a close, personal relationship with that night.

  She blew out the candles and yanked the bottle out of the ice bucket. She slopped a generous amount into a glass and drained it. It felt so good that she did it again. Soon she'd started in on glass number three, sipping this time because wine usually didn't go to her head like this. Then again, she usually didn't down two glasses in the span of five minutes.

  Then she heard a knock. She came to attention, filled with hope. Randall? Had he come back?

  She grabbed the wine bottle and left the bathroom, swaying ever so slightly. Then she heard another knock, and she realized it wasn't coming from the front door after all.

  It was coming from the balcony.

  12

  Nick watched Sarah yank the sheer curtains open, a look of consternation on her face. She took a long swallow from the wineglass she held. Then she set it down on the nearby dresser, unlocked the door, and swept it open.

  "Nick," she said wearily. "You have to stop this."

  "Stop what?"

  "You know what."

  "Stop thinking about you?" He came inside. "Or stop making you think about me?"

  "If I can't stop thinking about you, it's because you won't go away!"

  He glanced into the bathroom, where an ice bucket sat on the edge of the tub and rose petals were scattered across the floor. Sarah grabbed the wine bottle from the dresser, staggering a little, then turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

  "I do believe you've been drinking," Nick said as he came into the room.

  "It's only wine. Practically health food."

  "Randall was here earlier."

  "How did you know that?"

  "I listened through the wall, of course."

  "You're a bad man, Nick Baxter."

  "A lot of people think so. Did I also hear my mother's voice?"

  "Why, yes you did. She dropped by to inquire about the state of my sunburn. Wasn't that nice of her?"

  "And she found Randall here? That must have been interesting."

  "That's one way of putting it."

  "So that's why your party broke up early?"

  Sarah leaned in confidentially. "FYI," she whispered loudly. "We're not married, so everyone would have been horrified if they knew we were having a party in the first place."

  "Everyone?"

  "Everyone."

  "I'm detecting sarcasm."

  "Then you're quite the detective." She grabbed the wine bottle. "Drink?"

  "No, thanks. Looks as if you're drinking enough for both of us." Nick sat on the bed next to Sarah. "So the moment our mother showed up, Randall left?"

  "Yup. He escorted his mother back to her suite. But if she could walk here, why couldn't she walk back?"

  "That's a very good question."

  "I thought so."

  "How do you feel about Randall leaving?"

  She shrugged. "It's par for the course. Sorry about the golf analogy."

  "How did you feel the day you left me in Park City?"

  She paused, turning away. "I had a flight to catch."

  "And Randall was on it."

  "Was I lucky, or what?"

  "You tell me."

  "Boy, I wish you'd stop saying stuff like that." She slopped more wine into her glass.

  "Sarah? Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Yes. I'm absolutely sure I want to finish this wine."

  "You know what I mean."

  "Mona will be in Chicago. Even she might have a hard time micromanaging our marriage from hundreds of miles away."

  "Don't bet on that."

  "I can deal with her."

  Nick laughed. "Don't bet on that, either. You don’t stand a chance against my mother. You’re too nice.”

  “Nice? Me?" She made a phffft noise. "I'm not nice."

  "Give it up, Sarah. You may be assertive in the rest of your life, but trust me. My mother is going to chew you up and spit you out, now and forever. Until Randall starts acting like a man and stops being scared of his own mother, that's how things are going to be."

  "He's not scared of his mother. He's just…respectful."

  Good God. How was he ever going to get through to her?

  If only she'd experienced his family as he had, they wouldn't be having this discussion. The grandiose diamond she wore was a perfect example of Baxter mentality at its finest. He knew why Randall had gone overboard on it. Not because Sarah would like it, but because of his own ego. All he had to do was point to that diamond to make it clear to any other man that Sarah belonged to him.

  "That's one hell of a ring," Nick said.

  "Yeah." She laughed a little. "Liz says the diamond is so big it looks like it came from a gum machine."

  "Take it off."

  Her gaze shot up to meet his. "Why would I do that?"

  "We've talked about this. As long as you're wearing it, I can't touch you."

  She smiled. "So it's kinda like Kryptonite?"

  "Yeah," he muttered. "Kryptonite." He let out a weary sigh. The odds of getting her to take this situation seriously when she'd consumed enough wine to float a battleship were exactly zero.

  Then all at once there was a knock at the door.


  "Who's that?" Nick asked.

  “Well, it’s not Randall, I can tell you that. Oh! Room service. That’s who it is.”

  "Ignore it."

  "No! It’s good stuff.”

  "Sarah—"

  She rose and looked out the peephole. Nick waited impatiently as she opened the door, accepted a tray from the room service waiter, and fished through her purse for a tip. After the waiter left, Sarah turned around and held out the tray. "Hungry?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Chocolate covered strawberries. Yum."

  She sat down on the bed, put the tray on the nightstand, and took a slow, blissful bite of one of the strawberries. She closed her eyes as she chewed, sighing and making little mmmm noises as if eating a chocolate covered strawberry was an orgasmic experience. When her tongue darted out to catch a tiny smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth, Nick actually felt himself getting excited at the sight of it.

  Enough.

  "Sarah! Will you stop with the strawberries and listen to me?"

  Her eyes sprang open, and she twisted her mouth with irritation. "Randall ordered them for me."

  "Yeah? So why isn't he here to share them with you? Oh, yeah. He decided his mother was better company."

  She frowned and took another swallow of wine.

  "What's really stopping you from calling it off? Is it the fact that a whole bunch of people have flown thousands of miles to watch you get married, and you'd be embarrassed?"

  "No. I want to get married."

  "Is it because you're scared of my mother? You say you can deal with her, but can you really? Are you scared that if you say you don't want to marry Randall, she'll make you sorry you were ever born?"

  "Of course not!

  "Or is it that you're still holding out hope that you're going to say 'I do' and suddenly Randall will turn into husband of the year?"

  "Damn it, Nick! Will you leave me alone?"

  She stood suddenly, only to lose her balance and list hard to one side. Nick caught her wrist and eased her back down to the bed.

  "Oops, she said, putting her hand to her forehead. "I think I'm a little dizzy."

  "Lie back."

  She turned and leaned against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, swinging her legs up at the same time. Her whole body heaved with a sigh. The sunburn his mother was so worried about only made her prettier, as if she was glowing from the inside out.