The Wedding Date

by Christie Ridgway

  Trick slammed the drawer shut. “What’s with you? Fighting with your lady?”

  “It’s over,” Gary said glumly.

  “Over? After all the work on your boat? After Monday night when you were planning on talking commitment?”

  “She wanted more.”

  “More what?”

  “More of me. We defined commitment differently. She was thinking wedding dates when I was thinking of dates only with her.”

  Discomfort slid down Trick’s spine like a cold fingernail. He cut a glance at the closed bathroom door. “It’s good it’s over then,” he told Gary bracingly. “You know you’re not ready.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence passed over the line.

  “Just one thing, Trick.”

  “Hmm?” The sound of the shower cut off.

  “I’m beginning to feel like a virgin old maid. Tell me again—just what are we saving ourselves for?”

  Trick sighed, his eyes on the rumpled bed. “The real question is, just what are we saving ourselves from.”

  Too easy to answer. The pain of betrayal. The dark void left by a broken trust.

  He whistled out a sigh, aware Gary’s call had stopped him from committing a huge mistake. He ran his hand over his right hip and thigh. Even through the boxers the ridges of the scars never let him forget the price of so-called love.

  As he hung up the receiver, the bathroom door opened and Emma, wrapped in a towel, stepped out. Drops of water trembled on her collarbone.

  “Good morning,” she said, a smile trembling on her lips.

  His breath evaporated, but he steeled himself against the scent of his soap on her skin. “You’re beautiful.” Nothing could stop the words.

  “You make me feel that way.” Another sweet smile.

  She advanced, and he backed up, until his calves hit the edge of the mattress. She lay her palm against his chest, over his pumping heart. He tried sucking in some air.

  “Who was on the phone? 911?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You look a little panicky.” Her teasing lifted the corners of her mouth. “I thought maybe you needed some help.” Her hand moved to cup his left pectorals.

  They swelled into her hand, and heat rushed to his groin. He gasped. “Resuscitation.”

  “I’ve got oxygen.” She rose on her toes and fitted her mouth to his.

  Along with her minty breath, her tongue entered him. A wild rush of arousal sped from his groin outward. His hands went behind her and brought her hips flush against his throbbing erection. He bent his knees, rubbing his pelvis against hers.

  The muscles in his right thigh screamed their usual early morning protest. He tore his mouth from Emma’s, gasped in air, then gritted his teeth to ride out the spasm of pain.

  Her eyes half-opened. “What’s wrong?”

  Another breath, then the pain left, but he listened to the second warning of the morning. If they made love now, he couldn’t hide from her the scarring on his hip and the gouged-out muscle of his upper thigh. How would Emma react to the imperfections in her perfect man?

  He’d never taken a woman to bed and cared so deeply about her reaction. The vulnerable feeling made the scar pulse and ache like it hadn’t done in years.

  Looking into Emma’s puzzled face, Trick felt as helpless as he’d been in that hospital bed ten years ago. Then, another woman, a woman he’d thought he’d loved, had turned her back on him and walked away. Within a week she’d found herself another surfer, a man without imperfections, who went on to capture the fame and money that had once been Trick’s.

  He’d agreed to be Emma’s “perfect man” because he knew so well the damage inflicted by a love betrayed. But Carina’s betrayal of him had made him cautious. He’d kept quiet about who he really was, and now he realized he’d been testing Emma. But his success—or, from her point of view, his lack of it—hadn’t influenced her feelings for him. She’d passed the test, consequently drawing him even closer.

  Yet, ironically his deception had drawn him close enough to Emma to be hurt. Though not the temporary wounds left by Carina’s defection. No, if his scarring made him imperfect or repugnant in Emma’s eyes, the harm would be irrevocable. His heart constricted in anticipated pain.

  Part of him wanted to tell Emma everything.

  And yet he found he could say nothing. He couldn’t shake the fear that it would be like showing a predator his most tender flesh.

  He set her firmly away from him. “I think there’s orange juice in the fridge.”

  A poignant pause. Her lashes hid her eyes and she rubbed at her goosefleshed arms with her palms. “You go ahead. I have to leave.”

  Trick’s stomach churned. “You won’t stay for breakfast?”

  “Gotta go. Things to do.” Without another look at him, she walked around the room gathering up her clothes.

  He knew he’d hurt her, but even that knowledge didn’t allow him to leave the past and its lessons behind. “You’re on vacation.”

  “Gotta go,” she said stubbornly. She disappeared into the bathroom.

  Emma walked quickly into the kitchen, hoping Trick had stepped out for the newspaper or something so she could slip away unnoticed. She didn’t want to find out whether his coolness was morning-after awkwardness or just plain rejection.

  “What’s the skinny?”

  Emma jumped at the parrot’s loud greeting. “Morning, Captain.” Trick wasn’t in sight.

  The bird hopped awkwardly toward the end of his perch. “Polly wants a cracker!”

  Emma grimaced. “We all want something.” She obligingly crossed to the crockery jar that had produced a cracker the night before, and pulled out one shaped like a butterfly.

  Slipping it through the bars of the cage, she offered it to Captain, who immediately shrieked and backhopped away. Puzzled, Emma looked at the cracker. “What’s the matter? Is it the wing thing? Don’t worry, this is an insect, not a bird.”

  Scissoring the cracker between two of her fingers, she moved it closer to Captain. Another shriek. “Shrimp brain! Chowderhead!”

  “What’s going on?” Trick stepped through the French doors that opened to the beachside terrace.

  Emma held up the rejected wafer. “Polly doesn’t like this cracker.” Trick had replaced the boxers with a pair of shorts and a white hooded sweatshirt.

  Trick plucked it from her fingers, then held it through the bars of the cage. Captain immediately hopped forward and snatched it with his beak. The bird moved down the perch, placed the cracker across his seed dish and began nibbling the butterfly’s wings.

  “Hey.” Emma noticed the bird’s awkward gait. “He only has one leg.”

  Trick nodded. “He came that way. The Humane Society had him. He’d apparently been let loose or gotten away.” Trick rounded the kitchen counter and pulled two mugs from a cupboard. “I think he’s been mistreated. He’s very wary of strangers, particularly women. Coffee?” Trick had poured one mug full and held the carafe poised over the other.

  Emma hesitated, torn between leaving immediately and staying forever. She felt incredibly awkward in last night’s dress and high heels. But she’d left off her stockings, and her bare legs felt cold. “Please. Black.” Anyhow, slinking away wasn’t her style.

  He came toward her with the mug. His gaze ran over her, his eyes flame-blue, a remembered heat and a new appreciation within them. “I see that dress, I don’t need coffee.”

  Confusion rose in her like the steam off the mug. What was going on? One minute he was passionate kisses, the next minute orange juice. Sizzling looks followed by coffee in the kitchen. She whirled around to face the bird cage.

  Captain ruffled his feathers and mumbled in response to her quick movement. He sent her a suspicious look. “Shrimp brain! Chowderhead!” After a moment he cocked his head, as if reconsidering. “She’s foxy.” He let out a long wolf whistle.

  Emma shook her head. “Captain, you could make
a woman crazy. Cold then hot. Hot then cold. Must be payback for the lady that hurt you.” She felt Trick’s gaze on her and suddenly couldn’t stand the not knowing.

  With determination, she turned and looked at him. “What did last night mean to you?”

  His gaze slid away. “Emma…”

  “I liked it. As a matter of fact, I—”

  “God, Emma, stop. You can get hurt talking like that. Haven’t I told you—”

  She held up a finger. “Oh, I remember. ‘You’ll show a man your heart and he’ll feed off it.’ Is that what you’re planning, Trick?”

  “I don’t want to.” He looked miserable. “Damn it, I know I’m not handling this right.” Fingers speared through his hair. “I just don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

  Cold seeped through her pores and froze her insides. “The wrong idea?” She took a long, deep breath. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Trick slammed down his mug and coffee sloshed onto the countertop. “We’ve taken this too far. This all started as a favor. We were pretending, for God’s sake.”

  “A favor. Pretending.” She stacked up the words. Apparently this wasn’t just morning-after awkwardness.

  “Damn it, Emma.” He shook his head. “Why did we think I could play your perfect man?”

  The skin at her nape heated. “Are you telling me that last night was another favor? More pretending?” Was that why he’d avoided making love this morning?

  “Hell, no.” To his credit, he sounded appalled. “It’s just that I’m not ready to…for…maybe we shouldn’t—”

  She held up her hand to stop his words, embarrassed heat and cold anger at war within her. “Please don’t say any more.’“

  “You’re mad.”

  “Only at myself.” Which was true. Hadn’t she learned? Men didn’t give back. Trick had said he wouldn’t from day one. She picked up her purse and rummaged inside for her checkbook.

  Pen in hand, she began filling out a check. She knew he watched.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Settling up with you. I think we’d better terminate this silly agreement.”

  “You’re not going to pay me.” His voice was implacable.

  She didn’t look up. “You said you’d let me.”

  “I never agreed to an amount.”

  “I’ll leave it blank. You can fill it in.”

  His voice came through gritted teeth. “I won’t take money from you.”

  Now she stared him down, her anger aiming itself straight at him. “But you’ll take sex from me? Do you figure that’s your payment?” She ripped the check out with a flourish and slapped it on the counter.

  “Emma—”

  “Let’s drop it. I got what I wanted, you got some cash and a roll in the hay.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the front door.

  “But Emma, who’ll escort you to the wedding?”

  She slammed the door behind her, ignoring the quiet question and the knowledge that she hadn’t the slightest idea in which direction lay home.

  Emma had already stomped a block away when Trick found her. He slowed his VW and called to her through the open passenger window. “Hey, lady, want to get lucky?” Maybe humor would soften her up or cool her down, whichever was necessary.

  She didn’t break stride or even glance in his direction. “My luck ran out approximately ten hours ago.”

  Of course that set his mind scrambling back. Ten hours ago they’d just been getting to his bed…. He felt slightly miffed, if not downright insulted. Despite their disagreement, last night they’d scorched the sheets, and she didn’t seem to appreciate the inferno at all.

  He gave the car a little gas to catch up with her. “You can’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

  “Puh-leeze.” The sidewalk should be dented from the force of her footsteps. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you performance isn’t everything?”

  Trick touched the accelerator again. “Now there’s one of those female type comments that leaves my jaw dragging in the dust.” He steered closer to the curb. “What is there besides performance?”

  He thought for sure that would get her to stop. He even braked the car, certain she’d halt, hands on hips, to yell at him.

  The comment didn’t even put a hitch in her hurry.

  With a resigned sigh and his foot on the gas, he eased up beside her again. “Hey, I’m just trying to get your goat. Come on, get in and I’ll take you home.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “We need to finalize arrangements for tomorrow. The wedding, remember? That drive to Santa Barbara will take at least four hours.”

  “I told you. I don’t need your services any longer.”

  “Emma, we have a deal. I promised.”

  She flapped her hand in his direction. “I release you.”

  Why couldn’t he feel relieved? Why couldn’t he spin a U-turn and drive away, forgetting all about her? Instead, he desperately wanted to be her escort to the wedding.

  Maybe when I fulfill this obligation, this dangerous need to be close to her will disappear.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then accelerated to her again. “You’re going the wrong away.”

  She appeared not to hear him.

  He licked his lips and crossed his fingers. “I hoped to talk to your boss again.”

  Bingo. That stopped her.

  “You wanted to talk to Ron again? What for?”

  He uncrossed his fingers. “Business.”

  She came closer to the car, actually leaned her forearms against the door. “Maybe a job?”

  The nakedness of her lips sent his imagination in lustful directions. Leaning sideways, he opened the door. “Get in.”

  She slid onto the passenger seat. Even with the windows open he could smell her—his soap mingled with Emma’s own fragrance. His groin tightened. It reminded him of his bed.

  “Ron has a lead on a job for you?”

  “We talked work last night.”

  He turned the car around and headed it toward her aunt’s place. She subsided into silence, leaving him with some unusual moments of quiet in her company. Nervous moments.

  What the hell was she thinking about? “So—are we back on for tomorrow?” It occurred to him that he always ended up begging her to do something that was her idea in the first place.

  “Okay.”

  Whew.

  His relief was short-lived, however, as the reality of the situation dawned on him. I’m an idiot.

  If he wanted to keep his innermost self safe, he should be avoiding this woman. But driven by lo—lust, or some equally destructive impulse, he’d tracked her down, then twisted her arm to agree to let him drive with her to Santa Barbara where the wedding was to be held, spend the night, attend the ceremony, then drive back.

  Long hours in a car. A long, dark night. A long, romantic event.

  Oh, yeah. The perfect opportunity to not let her know what he thought and felt.

  10

  Emma stuffed her nearly forgotten slip into the side pocket of her overnight tote, then grabbed the hanger of the dress lying across her bed. Time to pick up Trick.

  “Trick.” Darn him. When he’d been worried about giving her the wrong idea, she’d been falling in love with him. “Trick.” She said the name again, louder, waiting for the flare of anger she’d nurtured for more than twenty-four hours and ignoring the warm sense of belonging she felt at the sound of his name.

  Who am I kidding? The sense of belonging couldn’t be ignored any more than the anger toward him could be sustained.

  And they had only two more days together.

  Emma sighed.

  Even after the disaster of Michael, despite all the pessimistic views of love she’d expressed, inside, she’d always held out hope of finding the perfect man.

  And now that she’d found him, he wasn’t buying.

  She sighed again. How had this happened anyway? One minute she was merely trying
to get an escort and the next she’d discovered herself in love with the empathetic, funny, comes-through-when-the-chips-aredown guy she’d happened to pick.

  And Trick was all of those things. He understood that she needed to regain her pride. He made her laugh. And despite all the obstacles and complications, he still was willing to be her wedding date.

  She caught sight of her defeated face in the mirror over the bureau. Was this the same person who never asked for help replacing the bottle on the office watercooler?

  “Am I a wimp or a woman?” Determination straightened her spine and galvanized her spirit. She had no intention of letting Trick go.

  His inability to see what they could have together merely presented a slight inconvenience. Just a small minus when compared against his wonderful pluses-that he’d shared himself with her, that he’d come through for her.

  With a little skip of her heart, she went out the door. Call me an incurable optimist. But she felt certain honesty and an open heart could overcome any resistance.

  She grinned. By the end of the day, she felt sure Trick would be seeing things her way.

  Emma’s flashy little coupe braked to a halt in his driveway, and Trick threw his bag in the back and slid onto the passenger seat. “Hi.”

  She returned his greeting with that radiant Emma smile, and its sensual warmth slid all the way to the soles of his feet.

  He closed his eyes to its numbing power and tried remembering what he’d promised himself last night.

  I’ll tell her about my past. No more equivocation. No more half-truths. This woman demanded honesty, and she’d skewer him for prolonging the deception.

  He sighed. She’d resent what he’d kept from her, maybe even hate him for it, but he no longer had an excuse for his silence. Emma’s presence in his bed hadn’t been influenced by his wealth and success.

  Which, of course, made it more difficult to tell her something that could mean he’d never see her again.

  “You okay?”

  At the sound of her voice, he opened his eyes and nodded.

  She turned the car around and headed toward the freeway. Her fingers played with the controls on the dash, and a welcome blast of cool air came through the vents. She fiddled with the radio controls and found the news, a steady drone that didn’t filter to Trick’s consciousness. He rubbed his hand across his eyes.