His eyebrows went up. “You think—ah, of course.” He managed a weak smile and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I hope Miles appreciates you. Tell him I said that.” He started to leave.
“Wait. Please. I think—”
He turned around. Whatever else Lucy was going to say died on her lips as she looked into gray eyes so much like his son’s. But these eyes were watery, broken, sad. She was struck by a vision of Miles sinking this low years from now, with an estranged son, a failed marriage.
Never. He should never look like this.
“It would be wrong to give up again,” she said finally, softly.
His thick, silvery brows came down over his eyes. “No,” he said, rising up to his full height and looking past her, the grief in his eyes morphing into fury. “It would be just right.”
Poor Miles. She twirled around, prepared to separate the two men by any means necessary until they’d cooled down. Pigheaded, stupid men! Both had shown how long they could carry a grudge.
But it wasn’t Miles behind her.
“Would you leave us, Lucy?” Alan said.
“Is she trying to give her boyfriend an alibi?” Heather said, tiptoeing her heels over the brick path. “How cute. Or is she trading up? Think there’s a job opening coming up, honey?”
Lucy glanced at Alan. He watched Heather approach, his jaw clenched. Twitching.
He’s through with her, Lucy realized. Not Miles.
“I need to get back to the reception,” Lucy said quietly.
Neither of them watched her go, weaving around the tufts of thyme growing through the cracks underfoot on her way to find Miles.
Chapter 26
HE HAD TO REACH HIS father before Heather did.
Where had he gone? Trying to get through the crowd on the dance floor without hurting anyone took time and grace Miles didn’t have at the moment.
Ducking through an archway, he strode down the tiled great room of the half-restored villa. A handful of women lined up near a doorway suggested a bathroom. Other people lounged in a sitting area, laughing and drinking, while the music from outside blared through the open windows.
Not inside. Maybe the garden.
He strode out another door that led to a covered patio, where the cake was set up on an enormous table against the wall. Stone steps led down to the garden out the back.
Just as he passed the cake, Lucy popped into view. She was coming from the garden, jogging as if in a track suit and not a pink silk dress that reached her ankles. She still had flowers in her hair, though they bounced wildly with each step, sliding down over her vivid green eyes.
Damn, she’s beautiful, he thought, stopping to stare.
As much as he wanted to talk—touch—be with her, he had to get to his father first. Who knew what Heather was saying?
He ducked his head, prepared to plow past her.
“Miles, stop!” She put both hands on his chest, short of breath, upset. “Don’t.”
She’d probably seen him with Heather, just as his father had.
Good.
He froze, stunned by the thought. You idiot. Were you hoping she’d be jealous? Because you kissed your stepmother?
“I know, I know,” he told her, disgusted with himself but pulling away from her. “I’m so sorry. I suck, I really do and all that, but right now I’ve got to stop Heather from talking to my dad before I can explain.”
“No!” She grabbed his arms. As if she had the strength to overpower a man his size. “You have to wait. He understands.”
“He thinks he does—”
“I was just there. With him. And Heather.” She sucked in a breath. “I think this is it. He’s through with her.”
Her confidence brought him no comfort. “She won’t let him.”
“He’s really angry this time, Miles. I saw it in his eyes.”
“Since when are you an expert on my father?”
Lips flattening, she moved back an inch but kept her grip on his arms. “Give him a chance.” She squeezed. “Just a few minutes. They need to hash this out in private.”
“He saw what I did—”
“And so did I. You lost your temper. That’s all.”
He gaped at her. “You freaked out when I wanted to punch Alex, but it’s okay if I sexually assault my stepmother?” He pulled free. Of all the times to get drunk and stupid. Major donors to youth charities would be at weddings like this. He could lose everything, pulling stunts like that, no matter the context. Grabbing a woman and forcing himself on her. “If I hadn’t looked up and seen my father, who knows how far I would have taken it?”
She snorted. “Obviously, since you were raging with lust, you were just about to pull out your penis and make love to her.” She whacked him on the chest. “Give me a break. You kissed her. You pushed her away. Next thing you’d do, my dear, would involve high-tailing it for higher ground.”
He studied her. She was laughing. At him. “You’re not angry?”
“Of course not.”
A weak part of himself suggested it was impossible to make her jealous because she just didn’t care that much. “Why not?”
“It was like watching little kids fighting. Some name-calling, a push here, a push there. I was waiting for the hair-pulling to start.” She reached up and straightened his tie, a small smile on her face. “Nobody—I mean nobody—could’ve thought that was a moment between lovers.”
“I saw my dad. He was furious.”
“With her, Miles. With her.”
He wanted to believe her. Slowly, some of the tension drained out of him. He became aware of her closeness. The sweet smell of the flowers in her hair.
What difference could a few minutes make, anyway?
“I was chasing after you when Heather jumped me.” He stepped close, sliding his hand behind her neck. “So actually, this is all your fault.”
“Nice try.” Her mouth was a flat line, but her eyes danced. And she didn’t pull away.
* * *
This could get risky, living in the moment, she thought.
He leaned down and lightly brushed his lips across her temple. “Did you have any champagne? I’ll get you a glass. Two. They’re small.”
She shook her head. “Maybe later,” she said softly. Her body came to life under his touch. Her mind… well, it couldn’t remember anything bad about him either.
He lifted her arm, kissing his way down to her wrist. When he got to her watch, a sporty rubberized black thing that clashed with the pastels of her wedding uniform, he looked up at her with a smile. “I’m surprised Fawn let you wear this.”
“I shoved it down my bra. Just put it back on. I like to know what time it is.”
His smile broadened. “So organized, my Lucy.”
He bent his head again. His lips brushed along the pale skin of her inner wrist, arousing a shiver.
“Remember,” she began, her heart pounding, “how I said we had until Sunday to be together?”
Without moving his lips away from her skin, he looked up at her. Voice dropping, he responded, “Yes?”
“It’s only Saturday,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes for a moment as if in prayer. Then stood up and hauled her up into his arms. “I love a girl who knows her days of the week.”
She laughed, gasping, wriggling in his arms, all the while hearing the word love reverberate in her skull.
Lifted up against his chest, she was able to see over his shoulder. Where the other large Girard man was standing.
“Excuse me,” Alan said, turning to go. “I—I’ll talk to you later, Miles.”
Still holding her in his arms, Miles swung around. His gaze dropped to Lucy’s, the conflict ravaging his face.
“Of course you can talk now,” she said, shimmying her way down his body to the ground. “I’ll just take a little walk.”
“Are you kidding?” Miles clasped her hand and wove her fingers through his. “You’re not going anywhere.”
; Alan managed a sad smile. “Good thinking, son.” He ran a hand through his gray hair. “This will just take a moment.”
“First let me explain—” Miles began.
“No. Enough of that. We both know what she was doing, and I’ve told her that. I’m sorry.”
“No, Dad, don’t say that. I never should’ve—”
Alan stepped forward and gripped his shoulder, anger resurfacing in his eyes. “Enough. There’s more to say, but not that, and not now.” His gaze moved to Lucy. “Maybe you can cheer him up. I’ve got a flight to catch.”
No, not now. They were so close. “Are you sure you have to leave so soon? I’m sure Miles would love to spend some more time with you,” she said. “It’s only Saturday.”
Miles squeezed her hand.
“Can’t,” his father said. “But I’ll be back.” He put both hands on Miles’s shoulders, smiling tightly, and then, as if shoved by an invisible hand from behind, he lunged forward and embraced him.
Lucy slipped her hand free and watched the two large men in their tuxedos hug each other quickly but forcefully. Wiping her eyes, she struggled to think of another day she’d cried as much.
Blinking and scowling through tears of his own, Alan stepped back and tugged down his jacket. “Top of the Mark, next Saturday, seven.” His eyes darted to Lucy. “Beautiful redheads encouraged to attend.”
“You’re coming back to San Francisco?” Miles asked hoarsely.
“That’s where my son is, isn’t it?” Alan said. “Well? Will I see you there?”
“Yes. Sure. Of course.”
Then he turned his questioning gray eyebrows on Lucy.
That’s the billion-dollar question, isn’t it? she thought.
Before she could construct an answer, Alan bent down and kissed her cheek. “I look forward to it,” he said before he strode away.
* * *
“Well,” Miles said. He reclaimed Lucy’s hand in case she had some crazy idea about running away.
She looked up into his face. “That was beautiful.”
He touched her cheek. “Were you crying?”
“Anybody would.”
No, not anybody, he thought. “Old age has definitely mellowed him out. That right there was more emotion, except for anger, than I’ve ever seen him show in my entire life.” Lifting her hand, wanting the softness of her skin under his fingers, he traced the band of her ugly black watch. “Then again, maybe it was just the champagne.”
“I’m sure that was it.”
He kissed his way up her inner arm until he got to the tiny silk sleeve of her dress. With one finger, he pulled it down to completely expose her round, lightly freckled shoulder. “Nice try getting rid of me, by the way. As if I’d rather hang out with my old man than you.”
A flush rose up her neck, stained her cheeks. She glanced past him. “Everyone will be coming in here any minute to watch them cut the cake.” Her voice wobbled.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “I like cake.”
“Oh,” she sighed.
He felt her shaking. Big green eyes stared into his. He caressed her hot cheeks with his thumbs, savoring their softness. He kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth while his fingers dove into the short, silky waves of her hair.
She pulled back. “Any minute. People. Here. Lots of them.”
The cake was about the size of Huntley’s Porsche and sat on a rectangular table big enough for a shipload of Vikings. With the tip of his shoe, he lifted up the edge of the tablecloth and felt for empty space underneath. Plenty of room.
He grinned at her.
“No way.”
He stroked her cheek, cupped the back of her head, brushed her earlobe with his lips. “Admit it. You want a little fun. Just this once.”
“I am not getting under—”
His lips found the sensitive spot under her ear while his right hand slipped under the gaping pink silk of her dress and stroked her nipple until it puckered. “No one will know. Just us.”
“You’ve had an emotional upheaval.”
Squatting down, he lifted the tablecloth. “All the more reason to lighten up a little.” He slipped a hand under her skirt and caressed her calf. “Or a lot.”
He kept his expression playful, but he was shaking. This was the moment, this was the time. Raw, emotional, connected—she might never let him get this close to her again after they went home.
“I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” She shook her head and dropped to the ground. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright and alive. She reached up and caressed his thigh before she disappeared.
With renewed urgency, he crawled in after her and tugged the tablecloth down. Hunched over, his head bent at an angle under the table and his inflexible leg muscles complaining, he had a brief, sobering moment of doubt.
No bed. Maybe a little planning is a good thing.
But then Lucy pushed him down until he was flat on his back under her hands, and his doubt vanished. The table was long enough for him to stretch out his legs and gaze adoringly at her.
He ran a hand along her waist, up to the delicious mouthful of her breast. The neckline of the bridesmaid dress was low, and her breasts pushed up high. His fingers slid under the silk and lace and found a taut, tender nipple.
She groaned and pressed her lips against his.
He sucked her tongue into his mouth, continuing his caress. “Admit it. You don’t always have to plan everything.”
She found his own nipple and pinched it. “How do you know I didn’t plan this?”
Choking back pain and laughter, he moved his hands down to lift her skirt. He heard the approving moan in the back of her throat.
Suddenly she pulled away, her body going rigid. “Uh-oh,” she said softly.
Then he heard them. Voices nearby, getting louder. The dance music had stopped. And a voice over the speakers was saying something about…
Cake.
“Too late now,” she sighed into his ear, then stuck her tongue in.
He shivered. Turned his mouth to capture hers, loving the feel of her on top of him. Solid, womanly, hot, real. The kiss went deeper, less playful.
More and more voices around them.
It was so hot, knowing they were surrounded by people who didn’t know they were there. He hadn’t thought she’d really get under the table with him. Just teasing. But now that he felt her warm skin under his palms… smelled her scent… heard the little gasps of her breath…
* * *
Well, this wasn’t on my list, Lucy thought.
She wriggled against his chest. The tile under her knees was hard, but his body took most of her weight, and being in his arms again was a powerful anesthetic. The flowers in her hair fell around Miles’s head, tugged out by his roving hands.
The crowd got louder. Larger. The tablecloth was too thick to let in much light—or air—but at least it promised a certain amount of privacy.
Yeah, right. If anyone heard them and happened to look under the table… what a view. She’d never live it down. Everyone had a camera. Some of these people even owned newspapers. Cable channels.
She smiled. Never in her life did she think she was capable of having this much fun. Miles did this to her. Turned her on. Lit her up. Unlocked her. She might never have the chance to feel like this again.
She wouldn’t think about that. And since they were stuck under the table until the last piece of fondant-encrusted dessert was served, they might as well enjoy it.
“What are you wearing?” he whispered, struggling with the control-top chemise under her dress.
She reached down and rolled the tight elastic fabric up over her hips to her waist. “Shhh.” Thighs finally free, she spread her legs wider and wiggled against him, her skirts falling back down over them. A little privacy, anyway.
His hands journeyed up her calves, over her knees, up her thighs. He slipped a finger under the waistband of her panties. The way he touche
d her—confident, familiar—made all the blood pool in her belly. Lower. His fingers were surprisingly agile and quick, gliding under the satin, sliding down between her legs.
There wasn’t enough air. The way he was looking at her, hot but tender—
She leaned down, kissed him. His whiskers were rough against her chin. He tasted like fine champagne.
And he was stroking her. “Relax,” he whispered against her lips.
Sucking in a breath, she rested her cheek against his chest, all her attention drawn to the hot demands between her legs. Something about how wrong it was, what they were doing, how he was in a tuxedo flat on his back and she was sprawled on top of him with his hand up her dress…
Right under the cake…
With two hundred well-heeled people surrounding them, not knowing they were there…
He rolled her sideways so some of her weight was in the crook of his arm. Kissing her open-mouthed, he pushed her legs wider apart. Gently, quickly, his finger moved in and out, circled her, stroked.
She was going to come faster than she thought physically possible.
Vaguely, she heard people talking, clapping, laughing. Glasses clinking. Plates rattling.
Miles slipped his tongue between her lips. His fingers, down lower, moved faster.
The tension built, spiraling higher. She clung to him. Pressed against his hand. It was too much, too fast. He was pushing her too high.
“Let go, Lucy,” he whispered.
She broke. He swallowed her cry with his mouth, eased her back to earth, caressed her gently.
On the other side of the tablecloth, the crowd cheered and clapped.
“To Huntley and Fawn!” a cry went up.
Miles patted her. Wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back on top of him, kissing her.
“To us,” he said.
Chapter 27
The Supermodel's Best Friend Page 28