Then He Kissed Me

by Christie Ridgway

  He shoved his hand through his hair and tried again. “Roxy -”

  “I’m thrilled with the idea that you’re engaged to Stevie. I confess I was a little goosed by the idea of my fiancé’s ex handling our wedding. But now that she’s going to be marrying you - well, that takes the pressure off. I think we were all feeling bad - me, Emerson, even his parents - that she might have been hurt by their breakup. Clearly she’s moved on.”

  “Clearly.” Stevie’d moved on? Who knew? But if his little impromptu engagement announcement eased Roxy, then he was going to keep the middle Baci affianced for as long as necessary.

  To mask his worry, he gave his sister another smile. “Can I take you on a tour of My Aching Back vineyard?”

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  “That’s what I call it,” he said. “C’mon, this way.”

  They strolled through the two acres, steering around the piles of debris he’d accumulated. “The vines seem to be surviving despite the neglect of this past season. The old guy who owned the place had an idea to make an artisan wine from the grapes grown on just these two acres.”

  He walked her up to the small winery building, the one built on feudal lines. Roxy turned to him, wide-eyed. “It comes with a castle?”

  “Guess the old guy had a fanciful imagination. Apparently plenty tried to talk him out of the whole idea. The acres are zoned for commercial, too, and he received plenty of offers to sell out, but the man was stubborn.”

  Roxy grinned. “Sounds like Grandpa Crawford. Remember when he was offered a fortune by the gas station people for the peach orchard at the crossroads? He greeted them at the door with his shotgun.”

  “You can still pick the sweetest fruit there in the summer. When I was living in Atlanta, I’d drive out and eat them warm off the tree.”

  His sister tilted her head. “I never noticed before how much you remind me of Grandpa.”

  “Oh, thanks. When he went to meet his maker at eighty-eight years old he had a bum knee, dentures that didn’t fit, and a crotchety attitude.”

  “But a full head of hair,” Roxy pointed out. “What I mean, though, is that right now, with dirt on your hands and that satisfied light in your eye … you’re a dead ringer for him.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “You know what I think? I think you should buy this from Liam. It could really be My Aching Back vineyard.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.

  “I’m not joking. Think about it. It’s a little gray and gloomy today, but at other times of the year…”

  He knew exactly what it would look like at other times of the year. The colors would be spectacular: the spring green of early foliage and fruit; that unique, bubbly quality of summer’s golden light; fall’s rust and purple as leaves turned and Napa’s famous cabernet berries darkened. The soft grays and browns of winter were the rest before the rainbow.

  The idea of seeing all those shades held some appeal, he had to admit.

  Roxy must have sensed his thoughts. “You could settle in the Napa Valley, Jack. In Edenville. Then we’d both be here. We could really be family again.”

  He tried to imagine “settling.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that half of the reason he kept moving from city to city and job to job was in an effort to escape himself. New people, new places; they worked for a short period of time to distract him from the weight of the past. Settling would mean forgoing even that temporary relief. As for family - he was accustomed to doing without that.

  “You’d even have your very own castle, Jack,” his sister added, wiggling her brows.

  “Oh, now there’s a draw,” he said drily.

  She laughed again. “Those redneck genes we inherited from Mom bred stronger than that blue blood coming down from Papa’s side, I guess. We’re more Georgia scrappers than effete aristocrats.”

  “Mixed breeds are always best, they say.”

  The good humor on her face made way for seriousness. “And we are strong, Jack. You know that.”

  But she should never have been tested. He shoved a hand through his sticky, dusty hair. “Roxy -”

  “Survivors,” she insisted.

  “Then I guess you don’t need these bottled waters,” another woman remarked. Stevie.

  He whirled around. There she was. His fiancée - unless and until she denied it, of course.

  “Hi!” Roxy’s face broke into another of her happy smiles. He could only hope Stevie wasn’t about to crush his little sister. Or maybe it would go the other way around, because Roxy enveloped the taller woman in a brief, but tight, hug. Yep, this “engagement” had definitely eased his sister’s anxiety.

  “I have to say congratulations again,” she said. “My brother is a fast worker, isn’t he?”

  Stevie handed him a water. “Hard worker today.”

  He accepted the bottle and tried thinking like an engaged man. “I’d kiss you, but then I’d really put the phrase ‘lady killer’ into practice. I need a hot shower and one wet…”

  Her look told him not to finish that thought.

  “… bar of soap,” he finished, biting back his laugh. Then the laugh was on him, because he could see it in his mind’s eye. Those long legs, sleek with soap bubbles, her generous breasts cradled in his hands - he cleared his throat. “What brings you across the blacktop?”

  Her head turned over her shoulder and he followed her gaze. With a burn of rubber, Liam’s car was pulling into the road, leaving Stevie’s sister and a dark-haired man staring after him. “I’m tired of complications,” she said.

  His eyebrows rose. So she came over here? Where her fake fiancé was talking to his sister who was planning to marry her ex? Interesting. This could either mean her family situation was more complex than he’d managed to glean from his brief moments of eavesdropping earlier, or she was here to burst his little sister’s blissful mood. He could hear Stevie now: You’ve got it wrong, Roxy. Jack’s the last man I’d wed. And who would blame her?

  “I’m so glad you did cross the street,” Roxy was saying. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about since last night. I don’t know how … that is … maybe

  Oh, I’ll just spit it out. Our parents are going to be in town. Some other family members, too. So it might be ideal…“ She laughed. ”I’m dithering again. Stevie, would you and Jack consider a double wedding?”

  The long-legged brunette’s gaze snapped to his. Shock registered.

  He knew exactly how she felt. Christ! Married in less than a month?

  If she’d been inclined to let the engagement story lie, this would likely push her to the truth.

  “A double wedding,” she mused, her eyes still on Jack. “Hmm…” One finger tapped her full bottom lip in speculation.

  Though ice trickled down his spine, he kept his stance relaxed. Damned if he’d crumble and claim it was all a big mistake, not when he’d put his little sister into such a giddy mood - but a double wedding! Hell, what if Stevie agreed?

  Then her hand dropped, her mouth curved into a smile, her gaze shifted to Roxy. “It’s an appealing idea, of course, but no. I think I’ll milk this engagement thing for all it’s worth for a while longer than that.”

  “I understand.” Roxy hugged her again.

  Jack took a swallow of his water to lubricate his dry mouth. “I’m devastated.”

  Stevie laughed at him over his sister’s shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  He could breathe and smile again after all. “Starting when?”

  Roxy shook her head as she pulled away from Jack’s fiancée. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said. “You’ll wait?” he asked Stevie.

  “I’ve got to get back,” she answered, brushing past him as she started off in the opposite direction.

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  “It’s so everyone will know I’m over Emerson,” she said
under her breath. “I’ve got to do something to quell that ridiculous rumor.”

  Ridiculous? That couldn’t be relief he felt - except that he was relieved and glad they each had their own agenda that was satisfied by this new move. It made the situation win-win.

  Roxy practically skipped at his side as they made their way back to her car. A year ago, he’d wondered if she’d ever be this carefree. Though it gave pause to his ever-present guilt, the hovering black cloud wasn’t completely dissolved by her sunny mood.

  As she slipped into the car, his gaze snagged on her engagement ring. God. He’d asked someone to marry him - even if it wasn’t a real proposal. “What are we doing, Rox?”

  She seemed to understand what he meant. She patted his hand. “Going for normal.”

  Normal. His gaze traveled over the small vineyard, to his dirty hands, then to the woman back at work polishing the car across the street. He’d known there’d never be normal again, not since he’d been locked in the dark ten years before. Neither he nor Roxy had fully walked in the light ever since.

  *****

  Roxy rushed to meet Emerson in the restaurant’s bar at the Valley Ridge Resort where she was staying until the wedding. The heels of her new boots clattered on the pavement as she wrestled to open the heavy carved door. It was dim inside the foyer after the well-lit exterior. She paused, blinking, willing away her temporary blindness as well as that familiar frisson of fear that always breathed across her skin when she experienced temporary blindness.

  Hands bit into her shoulders and she was yanked against a hard body.

  Though her vision was still not up to par, she relaxed. Emerson. He was solid and warm, not lean and cold-fingered. She snuggled her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist as he pulled her close. “It’s you,” she murmured, the exact thing her heart had said almost from the first moment they’d met. Silly, maybe, but she was convinced that something inside her had recognized him as the man she was destined to love. Fated, just like a fairy tale.

  She’d comforted herself with stories like that when she was fourteen and so alone.

  His hold on her tightened. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, ducking his head to place his cheek against hers. “Where were you?”

  Pulling a little away, she frowned up at him. “I had some things to take care of before we met up. I’m only a few minutes late.”

  “I know.” He grimaced. “I promise I’m not turning into a psycho boyfriend.”

  “Psycho fiancé,” she corrected, her voice a little sharp. Then she took a harder look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought I was going to be late. I tried calling and your cell didn’t pick up and then my mind -” He abruptly released her. “I am psycho. Forget I said anything.”

  He smiled down at her now, his expression bland, his demeanor courteous. Passionless?

  Was it bad of her to have enjoyed - just a little - his momentary panic? And to be resenting how easily he could redon his affable exterior? He’d make an excellent politician, she thought.

  Frowning at that, she moved back farther to rummage through her purse. “Ah!” She held up her cell. “Sorry, it’s not charged.”

  “No problem.” He was still smiling that benign smile as he patted her shoulder.

  She felt another spurt of resentment at the gentle touch. Shouldn’t he have been annoyed, just the tiniest bit, about the phone? “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Forgetting to plug it in every once in a while is an irritating habit of mine.”

  “Not an issue,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Nothing you do irritates me, Roxanne.”

  Well, shouldn’t something about her stir him up? Wasn’t he just too easygoing for a fated fiancé?

  His hand went to the small of her back as he urged her in the direction of the bar. “Ready?”

  Yes. She was ready for something more than shoulder pats and cheek kisses, and to that end she’d made her own plans for the evening. “I thought we’d go to my room instead.”

  He froze. “Uh, your room?”

  What man resisted getting his intended alone? She nearly stomped her new boot into the plush carpeting. “We have the seating arrangements to go over for the rehearsal dinner, remember?”

  “My mom called me about it,” he admitted. “Though she’s as concerned about the press conference beforehand as where the king and queen will be sitting at the table.”

  Roxy linked her arm in his and drew him to the exit. “I have my ideas on the latter laid out in my suite.” Along with a few other things. “Right this way.”

  During the short walk to her suite, he went from pleasant to preoccupied, she noticed. As the door swung open, he didn’t seem to register the wine she had chilling in an ice bucket on the small table, the tray of appetizers, the fire kindling in the hearth. With a little sigh, she slipped his suit jacket from his shoulders and folded it over the back of an armchair.

  Tonight she wanted his mind on her, his mood passionate, and she was going to get it!

  When her hands went to the knot of his tie, though, he pushed them away and worked on it himself as he strolled over to inspect the seating chart she had planned them never getting to … unless it was much, much later.

  “I see you filled some names in already,” he said.

  “Ours.” She joined him, standing close enough that her breast pressed against his arm. To go along with her brand-new cowboy boots - in turquoise and fuchsia! - she wore a paisley wrap dress featuring the same colors. It was almost like a robe - one little tug and the tie would fall free. Underneath she wore a matching panties and bra set that she’d been saving for the honeymoon. “I think the bride and groom should be side by side, don’t you?”

  Rotating her body just a fraction, she managed to press her nipple against his bicep. It was already hard, and the bra and jersey knit of her dress were both so thin that he had to be aware of her response. She could smell her perfume in the air, the scent releasing as her skin warmed.

  But he seemed to notice none of that as he picked up the seating chart. The movement separated their bodies. “I see Jack on here. Where are you going to put Stevie?”

  In a locked closet. But that was more than unkind, given the circumstances. Roxy yanked the dripping bottle of sauvignon blanc out of the ice and poured herself a hefty glass. Jack deserved his happiness, too, and she didn’t have an objective objection to the woman he wanted. She’d been genuinely happy that the two had found each other. Relieved that she no longer needed to feel guilty for things she’d done or continually worry over Stevie still coveting Emerson. But then why did he have to bring up his ex?

  He was frowning, his gaze unseeing. “Do you really think they could have fallen in love so fast? I mean, I just don’t get it.”

  Her chest went tight. “We fell in love quickly. Unless you’re implying there’s something wrong with my brother? Or” - that paragon -“ Stevie?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Stevie.”

  Roxy looked away. Long legs, sleek dark hair, and a cat face that was wide at the eyes, pointed at the chin, and full at the lips. Nothing wrong with Stevie at all. No reason to feel short and washed out at the mention of her. “Of course not.”

  He pulled out a chair for her. “I guess we might as well get this chart done.”

  Roxy glanced back, gaze falling on the open bedroom door, the fire in the second fireplace, the blankets and sheets turned back. “I guess.”

  When he sat on the other side of the table, even their knees didn’t touch. Roxy took another swig of her wine and cursed her lingering diffidence. As much as she wanted Emerson, her inner vixen was as imprisoned as she’d once been.

  And if she didn’t have his touch, how could she trust in his love? It almost seemed as if the closer they came to marriage, the more he withdrew. At this rate, he’d be a complete stranger by their wedding day.

  She couldn’t have that.

  Inhaling a breath, she leaned
forward. “Look, Emerson -”

  “Hell,” he suddenly said. “I can’t cover this up anymore.”

  Her heart knocked once against her chest, stilled. “Wh -”

  “I’m irrationally worried when I can’t reach you,” he continued, running his hands through his hair, tossing the normally smooth locks. “It makes me nuts.”

  “Oh.” Blood started moving through her body again. “I -”

  “You’ve got to keep your phone charged, okay? You’ve got to humor me on this.”

  A smile bloomed on her face. He looked intense, upset, passionate even. A buzz of happiness fizzed in her veins. She was so right about that fate thing. “I will. I promise I will.”

  But her words didn’t calm him. He threw back his chair and then crossed to where she’d left her purse on the small chair by the door. “Where’s your phone? Is your charger by your bed?” Without waiting for her answer, he was digging through her bag.

  She sat back in her chair, smiling at him. Emerson, impatient, was at his most endearing. The show got only better when he rushed toward the bedroom, her slouchy leather bag between his big hands.

  That got her to her feet, and she leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb as he dumped the contents of her purse onto the mattress. His fingers pawed clumsily through the tissues, makeup, and mints. “Hah!” he said, his voice triumphant as he held up the small device he’d been seeking.

  Grinning at him, she applauded.

  He didn’t take a break for the accolades. Instead he located the charger on the bedside table and mated it to her phone. Wow. Her inner vixen squirmed a little at the image and she closed her eyes, savoring it. She thought of him mating with her, of his weight and strength surrounding her. The vixen squirmed again.

  “You know, Emerson,” she murmured. “I could use a little jolt of juice myself.”

  Silence was the only response. Surely he’d heard her. Half embarrassed - had she shocked him? - and half concerned - would he never take the hint? - she opened her eyes.

  He was sitting on the mattress, obviously paused in the middle of putting her things back in her purse. How considerate! Then she noticed that he was staring at something in his hand, a puzzled expression on her face.