Emma meant to protest. She really did. But the moment Joe took her in his arms again and began kissing and caressing her, she couldn’t for the life of her remember why she had been meaning to resist.
Everything she thought she needed—the passionate declarations of love, the real heart-and-soul marriage of wills and minds—paled in comparison with the tenderness in his touch and the way he looked at her.
It wasn’t what he said.
It was how he made her feel.
Safe. Protected. Cared for. Desired. To the point that Emma knew, as Joe began to make mad, passionate love to her all over again, commanding everything she had to give and bestowing on her everything in return, that not only was this the only marriage she was ever going to have, but that Joe was the only man.
Chapter Ten
“My, don’t you look happy this morning,” Helen Hart said when Emma walked into the Wedding Inn, briefcase in hand.
Emma entered her office and Helen followed her inside. As Emma opened the lush velvet draperies and white sheers, sunlight bathed the room in a cheerful glow. “That obvious, hmm?”
“Maybe it’s just the honeymoon glow that all newlyweds have.”
Emma certainly felt like she was on her honeymoon. She and Joe had made love twice during the night, and again this morning before showering and heading for work. Had they not had professional responsibilities to attend to, they would still be there now.
Aware she was tingling, just thinking about the depth of their passion, Emma thumbed through the stack of unopened mail on her desk.
“You know, when you and Joe repeated your vows on Monday I admit to being pretty skeptical this would ever work. Then I saw you two kiss each other at the end of the ceremony and thought, well maybe. But I still wasn’t sure. Especially after I tried to have a conversation with Joe about the sanctity of marriage. But now…” Helen’s voice trailed off approvingly. “Seeing you this way…”
“Has changed your mind?” Emma guessed.
Helen nodded slowly. “You look like you’re head over heels in love with him.”
If Emma’d had any doubt about that, it had been cleared up last night. The question was, how did Helen’s youngest son feel about her? Joe hadn’t said. And though his kisses were certainly full of tenderness and passion, that did not mean he loved her, too. Or would ever love her in the way she wanted and needed to be loved.
On the other hand, Emma mused as she continued to flip through her mail, how much did Joe saying the words really matter if the two of them continued to have fun together, understand each other and offer each other pleasure in bed?
“Oh, dear,” Helen said softly.
For a moment, Emma thought Helen was talking about the slight but problematic shift in her own mood. Then Emma noticed Helen’s attention was directed toward the majestic entrance of the Wedding Inn. “What?”
“Michelle Snow is headed this way. And it looks like she’s crying.” In wedding-business mode, Helen turned back to Emma. “I wonder what Gigi Snow has said or done to that poor bride now.”
Emma figured they were about to find out. By the time Michelle reached the wedding-planning office, Emma had the tissues ready. Helen had returned with a bottle of spring water and a crystal glass bearing the Wedding Inn logo.
Michelle pulled a stack of RSVPs out of her purse and thrust them at Emma. “Mother said you all needed these this morning.”
Emma nodded. They had to get the final dinner selections and guest numbers done today. “Yes, we do. Thank you for bringing them by.”
Helen smiled at Michelle. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
“Thanks, Helen,” Emma said.
Helen shut the door behind them. “What’s going on?” Emma said. She pulled up a chair so she and Michelle were sitting face-to-face.
Michelle rubbed her swollen eyes. “Benjamin and I had a horrible fight last night.”
Emma reached over to pat her hand. “That’s normal. Everyone gets very tense the last few days before a wedding takes place.”
Michelle shook her head, the worry in her eyes growing more intense “He’s having secret conversations on the phone, Emma. Someone will call him and then he’ll go off and call somebody else.”
Emma had to admit that didn’t sound good. But leery of jumping to unfounded conclusions, she pointed out casually, “Maybe it’s just business.”
Michelle pressed her lips together. “I’ve known him for two years, Emma. Ben’s never had a problem talking business in front of me. In fact, he used to enjoy showing off his conversations with some of the most elite members of the club.”
Emma tried to come up with another reason for the groom’s secrecy. “Maybe he’s trying to arrange a wedding surprise for the both of you. Or the gift the groom traditionally gives the bride.” Both were reasons to want to have private conversations.
Michelle shook her head again. “I know what my wedding gift from Benjamin is—a necklace. We picked it out together at Tiffany’s last spring. And purchased it then. He just hasn’t officially given it to me yet.”
Well, that kind of took the romance out of the gesture, Emma thought, feeling a little disappointed for Michelle. “Well, maybe he decided to add something at the last minute,” she countered optimistically.
“I don’t think so.” Michelle shredded the tissues in her lap. “No, whatever it is that is going on with him has made him tense and awful and unhappy. Plus, he’s worried about the extra money my mother is demanding he fork over for the wedding. Just yesterday, she told him he had to pony up another twenty-five grand, and he doesn’t have that kind of money.” Michelle teared up. “Plus—” Her voice broke. She seemed unable to go on.
Emma watched as Michelle uncapped the bottle of spring water with hands that shook. “What?”
Michelle swallowed hard. Took a sip. “Last night we went out to dinner and two of his credit cards were refused. I finally had to pay, because he didn’t have enough cash in his wallet.”
“I’m sure that was embarrassing.” Emma handed Michelle some fresh tissues.
“I told him it was okay, but I could tell he was upset. Anyway, we went back to my place and we—um—well we sort of made up and I thought everything was fine. But then I caught him sneaking out around two this morning, only to sneak back in around four.”
That really didn’t sound good. “Did he say where he had been?”
“No. Well, he said he had been out running, and he was sort of sweaty and wound up, but who runs at three in the morning?” Michelle lamented. “I tell you, Emma, nothing about his behavior is making any sense at all! And as if all that wasn’t enough to make me have second thoughts about going through with this, we were supposed to pick up some wedding gifts over at my parents’ house and bring them over to the Inn this morning so they would be here for the reception. My mother wants all the gifts displayed in the most ostentatious manner possible, as per usual. And I didn’t have room in my SUV for all of them, so I asked him to go over there with me before we went to the country club. I figured we could put some of them in the trunk of his car. And that way I wouldn’t have to make two trips. He said no. He already had stuff in his trunk, and he wasn’t taking it out. And that’s when we really got in a fight.” Michelle burst into tears all over again. “He called me all sorts of names, said that my mother and I were ruining his life and he stormed off to work. That’s when I came over here.”
Whew! What a twenty-four hours.
Michelle bolted out of her chair and began to pace in an agitated manner. “If it weren’t for my mother—and me not wanting to hear her say I-told-you-so—I would call this wedding off today!” Giving Emma no chance to respond, Michelle took a deep breath. Pressed the flat of her hand against her diaphragm. “But I’m not going to call it off. Because I am not going to give my mother—or my husband-to-be—the satisfaction.”
That wasn’t much of a reason to get married, Emma thought as she wondered inwardly how long this marr
iage that was about to take place was going to last. But aware she wasn’t paid to advise clients on that, she smiled gently and said with more than a tinge of hope in her voice, “Maybe things will calm down, if we all just step back and take a deep breath and—”
“Then again maybe they won’t,” Michelle muttered bitterly as she turned back to Emma. A troubled light was in her eyes. “I swear to you the Benjamin I’ve been seeing the last few weeks is not the man I fell in love with.”
Neither was Joe, Emma thought, unable to help comparing their two situations just a little bit. The difference was, Joe had changed for the better in the time they had been apart, and was getting sweeter to her every minute of every day. Benjamin Posen did not seem to be doing that, as his engagement to one of the richest debutantes in the Raleigh area wore on.
But that was the least of Emma’s problems, and something she could do little about, anyway. Meantime, they had the most elaborate wedding of the year to put on and many, many practical things to be done. First on the agenda was making peace between the bride and her groom. “I know tonight is your bachelorette party and Benjamin’s bachelor party. I think the two of you should get together here beforehand. Say around four? I’ll arrange a romantic high tea for the both of you on the balcony upstairs. It’ll give you a chance to catch your breath and think about what’s really important here, which is the two of you.”
“Well…” Michelle hedged, clearly tempted.
Emma wrapped a comforting arm around the bride’s shoulders. “This will give the two of you a chance to make up and reaffirm your love for each other before things get any more crazy.”
“I would like that,” Michelle murmured. Her eyes sparkled with tears, but this time Emma noted that they were of the sentimental variety.
Inwardly, Emma began to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe she could pull this wedding off after all.
“NEED SOME HELP?” Joe asked.
Her heart filling with joy at the sound of her husband’s low, sexy voice, Emma looked up from the pile of response cards for the Snow-Posen wedding she had stacked on her desk. She had been going on high-speed all morning, checking the weather for the next two days, talking to Lily the florist about the arrangements and the construction crew about the tents, which were going up in the morning. The twenty-seven-piece orchestra conductor had been in to go over the list of songs they were expected to play at the reception, and the Inn’s head chef was waiting for the final breakdown on how many wanted the Maine lobster entrée, and how many wanted filet of beef for the dinner.
Emma rose from behind her desk and moved gracefully around to join him. The smile in his amber eyes matched the feeling deep inside her. “I didn’t expect to see you,” Emma said, brushing her lips against his stubbly jaw. Nevertheless, she was very glad he was here.
Looking ruggedly fit and handsome in a red-and-gray Carolina Storm players T-shirt, gray running shorts and sneakers, Joe wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her against him for a brief hug. He pressed his lips against her hair. “I had some space between workouts and figured it might be a good time for us to grab some lunch. So what do you say we find ourselves something good to eat in the Inn kitchen?” He took her by the hand.
The next thing Emma knew she was leaving the confines of her office and walking toward the rear of the building, her hand tucked in his larger, callused palm. “Then if you want, I’ll help you finish whatever it was you were doing there,” he promised.
Aware how easily they were becoming a couple again, Emma matched her steps to his. “I was doing the final totals on the entrées for the Snow-Posen wedding supper.”
Joe reached over and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “How many people are attending that wedding?”
“Five hundred and six, at last count.”
Joe whistled, impressed. “That’s close to the maximum guest allowance for the Inn.”
Emma nodded.
Joe’s glance traveled over her features with lazy male appreciation before returning to her eyes. His expression became even more intent. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Something’s worrying you.”
Once again, he had read her so easily. Glad she had him to confide in, Emma gripped Joe’s hand all the tighter. “Michelle Snow is having cold feet.”
Joe looked stunned. “You don’t really think she’ll back out?”
“I’m hoping not,” Emma said honestly. Because if Michelle did, and the reason was at least partially due to arguments over the wedding details and cost, it would not only mean heartbreak and humiliation for Michelle and Benjamin, it would be a black mark on Emma’s professional reputation as well. People hired wedding planners to make their nuptials go smoothly. And right now, thanks to Gigi Snow’s constant mind-changing, general witchiness and overbearing demands, the Snow-Posen wedding was not proceeding anywhere near as blissfully as it should, given how much work Emma had put into it. “I’ve arranged for them to have a private tête-à-tête this afternoon.”
“So maybe that will do the trick?” Joe guessed.
“If luck—and common sense—are on our side,” Emma affirmed as they reached the Inn’s kitchen. It was bustling with activity as a dozen prep chefs slaved away on the next day’s wedding feast, as well as that evening’s rehearsal dinner.
Joe walked in and bussed the Inn’s head chef, Vonda Gilbert, on the cheek. The fifty-year-old woman broke into a smile as she hugged Joe right back. Although married and the mother of her own brood, she had worked at the Inn for twenty years and loved the Hart kids as much as if they were her own.
“Got somethin’ you can spare us for lunch on the patio?” Joe asked.
Vonda nodded, looking neat and professional as always in her white double-breasted chef’s jacket and slacks. Instead of a hat, she had tied a jaunty red bandanna over her springy gray curls. “Soup’s on the stove, and there are plates of finger sandwiches in the fridge.”
“Mmm. My fave.” Joe winked, already getting two bowls down from the shelves.
Vonda shook her head, exasperated at Joe’s manly reaction to such delicate fare. “They aren’t all cucumber or cream cheese—some are chicken and deviled ham,” Vonda said as she heaped crustless sandwich squares onto plates.
“I’ll take the ones with meat,” Joe said, abruptly looking as famished as Emma felt. “What are you going to have?”
“Whatever you’ve got there is fine,” Emma said. She knew it would be delicious.
As familiar with where everything was as the kitchen staff, Emma got out a serving platter. She and Joe loaded it up with the soup, utensils and napkins, plates of sandwiches and iced tea, and some of the tea cakes and cookies Michelle and Benjamin were going to be served later. Then Joe—who’d had years experience busing tables there while growing up—hoisted it onto his shoulder and carried it outside to one of the wrought-iron tables overlooking the rolling green back lawn where the billowy white tents would be erected the following day.
They had just settled down when Mac Hart charged out of the kitchen. He was wearing his sheriff’s uniform. A Stetson shaded his handsome brow. Mac grinned as he caught sight of them and strode purposefully over to join them. “Got some good news for you. Two guys were caught breaking into a pro shop in Durham around four this morning. They had a list with them that included two homes that were also broken into overnight, as well as your street address.”
“Did the police retrieve the stolen goods?” Joe asked, leaning forward urgently.
Mac frowned. He took a ladder-back chair, turned it around backward and sank down onto the seat, folding his arms across the top. “No,” he admitted in obvious regret. “All the crooks had in their white painter’s van was two sets of very expensive golf clubs. And some booth-rental paperwork for a golf show in Charleston, South Carolina, this weekend. The Raleigh police have already searched their homes. They found a cache of the clubs that had been stolen in the last few months—all marked for sale at the upcoming show—but no hockey stuff.”
Joe’s face fell, and Emma shared his disappointment.
“What do they have to say about what they did?” Joe asked.
Mac frowned. “Not much so far. I was just over to the jail to see them a little while ago.” Mac paused to pluck a tea sandwich from the plate on the center of the table. “The Raleigh police think the thieves have been acting on someone else’s information or direction, but thus far we don’t know who that might be. Anyway, I was hoping maybe you could help us. So here’s my question. Do you know of anyone who could have directed the thieves to your home, and your memorabilia, last night?”
Perplexed, Joe shrugged, and shook his head. He looked over at Emma.
“I have no idea, either,” she admitted unhappily.
Still, Mac persisted, trying to crack the case. “Think, little brother. Is there anyone who either knows or suspects how much this stuff is worth to you, someone who saw it recently and commented on it? Or someone who might want to make you pay by taking it? Because the theft of your stuff is the only piece of this puzzle that doesn’t fit. But it’s the one clue that may lead us to the real mastermind behind this burglary ring, and the recovery of your stuff.”
Joe thought for a moment and finally said, “The only person who’s commented on it recently was Tiffany Lamour. She was over at the house yesterday morning and saw it just sitting there in boxes in front of the display case in the family room,” Joe said.
“That woman does have it in for you,” Cal Hart said, coming around the corner. He was dressed in a shirt, tie and slacks with his physician ID badge clipped to his pocket.
Joe frowned at Cal. “How do you know?”
Cal helped himself to some lunch, too. “She was just over at the medical center, nosing around about you. She said she’s doing background for a piece she wanted to do on you for her CSN show, but I’ve got to tell you, baby brother, the questions were pretty personal. And most of them didn’t have a damn thing to do with hockey. They were all about your relationship with Emma. Sorry—” Cal shot an apologetic look at Emma, then turned back to Joe “—but I thought you both should know what’s going on behind your backs.”
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