by Ginna Gray
The dear old soul was the only close family that Elizabeth had, and she loved her dearly. Not wanting to upset her aunt, she had not revealed to her the full extent of Edward's perfidy or the circumstances of her arrangement with Max. As far as Aunt Talitha was concerned, this marriage was a love match.
"Well? What're you just standing there for?" Aunt Talitha demanded, thumping the floor with her cane. "Get cracking."
At once, Mimi drawled, "Don't you worry, Aunt Talitha, darlin'. I've got it covered. Her suit is new. And those are your mama's pearl earrings, aren't they? I thought so," she said at Elizabeth's nod. "So that's your something old. And I brought just the thing to cover the last two."
Mimi pulled a lacy confection out of her purse and dangled it from one finger. "Here you go—this is your something borrowed and it's blue."
"What is that?" Elizabeth asked, looking askance at the object that Mimi twirled around her forefinger.
"It's the blue garter that I wore when Big Daddy and I got hitched. We had a wonderful marriage, so I'm hoping that it'll bring you good luck this time around."
"Oh, Mimi, I don't th—"
"Perfect. That's a splendid idea, Mimi. Well?" Aunt Talitha thumped her cane against the floor again. "What are you standing there lollygagging for? Get on with it, girl. Put the thing on and let's go. That delicious young man of yours is downstairs waiting, and he's beginning to get restless."
"Why, Aunt Talitha. I do believe you've got the hots for Elizabeth's intended," Mimi teased.
"Humph. Just because I'm eighty and a maiden lady doesn't mean I don't know a real man when I see one. Anyway, I always did have a weakness for dangerous men. If I was fifty years younger I just might steal him away from Elizabeth." She got a faraway look in her eyes and added with a wistful sigh, "In a way, he reminds me of my Martin."
Elizabeth and Mimi exchanged a quick look but said nothing. They both knew the story of Great-Aunt Talitha's one true love. When she'd been eighteen she and Martin Delany had been engaged to be married. All the plans had been made and the invitations mailed when, just ten days before the wedding, Martin had been killed in action in the Korean War.
He had gone out on what was supposed to have been his last maneuver before shipping out to return home. He and his platoon had walked into a trap and been caught in a crossfire that cost them heavy casualties.
Aunt Talitha, never completely recovering from the loss of her beloved Martin, had remained single.
"There. All ready. And here's your bouquet," Mimi announced, handing Elizabeth the nosegay of cream-and-pink rosebuds and baby's breath.
"Oh, my dearest girl," Aunt Talitha murmured. Her patrician features softened and her faded blue eyes misted over as she inspected her great-niece. "You look so beautiful. So very beautiful." She leaned in and pressed her papery cheek to Elizabeth's. The familiar scents of lilac perfume and lily of the valley sachet that her aunt kept in her lingerie drawer enveloped Elizabeth. "Be happy, my precious," she whispered. "You deserve only the best."
The old lady sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a lace-trimmed hankie, then straightened her spine. "Now then, give me a minute to get downstairs in the elevator. As soon as I'm seated I'll signal the pianist to start the wedding march and you and Mimi come down."
The ceremony went off without a hitch. The parlor furniture had been moved to the perimeter of the room and the guests were seated in the rows of folding chairs that had been set up. Reverend Harvey, Max and his friend Troy waited in front of the fireplace as she followed Mimi into the room.
If Max was impressed with her appearance it did not show. His harsh face wore its usual stern expression. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did he reveal what he was thinking.
Elizabeth went through the ceremony in such a daze that she had to be prompted twice to respond. It seemed as though suddenly she had a ring on her finger and Reverend Harvey was pronouncing them husband and wife.
Reverend Harvey's, "You may kiss the bride" were the first words that truly registered with Elizabeth.
She darted a horrified look at the minister, then at Max. Her eyes widened, and she experienced a moment of panic as Max pulled her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
Elizabeth expected a token buzz on the lips to comply with tradition, but there was nothing perfunctory or quick about the kiss. It was hot and sensual and thorough, and lasted so long that a few of their guests began to chuckle, then clap. When Max at last raised his head and ended the embrace, Elizabeth felt light-headed and had to clutch his arm to keep from staggering.
If he was at all affected by the kiss it did not show. As Reverend Harvey announced "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell Patrick Riordan," Max turned with a smile to accept the congratulations and good wishes of the guests who crowded around them.
When the well-wishes were done, everyone went into the dining room, where the caterers had set up a sumptuous buffet. For the next hour or so, Elizabeth, her untouched plate in hand, circulated among their guests and somehow managed to make small talk, though she could not have told you what she had discussed or with whom.
All too soon Max sought her out and murmured, "We'd better be leaving soon. I don't want us to be too late arriving in New York."
The knot in the pit of Elizabeth's stomach twisted tighter, but she gave him a wan smile. "All right. I'll run upstairs and change into something more suitable for traveling. Dooley has already put my cases in your car. I won't be long."
Max walked with her to the foot of the stairs. He watched her climb the steps, his expression pensive.
Damn, but she had great legs, he thought. It occurred to him that in the past whenever he'd been around her she'd worn an evening gown or slacks or one of those long skirts with high-heeled dress boots. This was the first time he'd gotten a look at her legs, and they were terrific.
"Do you have any idea just how lucky you are?"
Max turned at the drawled question and saw Mimi Whittington standing in the archway between the parlor and the foyer. With a hand on one hip and a champagne glass in the other, she strolled toward him with languid steps. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she took a sip of bubbly and cocked one eyebrow at him. "Well? Do you?"
Max glanced up the stairs, but Elizabeth had already disappeared down the hallway. "You're right. I am lucky. She's a nice-looking woman."
"That's not what I meant. Although, she's a damned sight more that nice-looking. What's the matter with your eyes? She's downright gorgeous. And her soul is just as beautiful. She's also smart and sweet and she's got a heart as big as Texas."
"Is that right?" Max wondered where this conversation was leading. He did not have to wait long to find out.
Mimi looked him up and down. "I don't know you very well, but my first impression is that you're a fairly decent guy."
"Thanks," Max replied with a twisted grin. "I like to think so."
"See to it that you don't prove me wrong." She poked his chest with one long, red-enameled fingernail. "Because I'm warning you, big fella, you make her unhappy … and I'll hurt you. That's a promise."
Before Max could reply, the woman turned and sauntered back into the parlor and rejoined the other guests.
Had anyone else made that threat he would have thought it a joke. Or at least an exaggeration. But the look in Mimi Whittington's eyes told him she was dead serious.
Max shook his head. How, he wondered, had those two women become best friends? He could not think of any two people who were more opposite if he tried. Elizabeth was refined and elegant and Mimi was flashy and flamboyant. At times even bawdy. Never in a million years would he ever have suspected that they could be friends, yet they were.
"I'm ready," Elizabeth said from above him in a not-quite-steady voice.
"Good." Turning back to the stairs, Max watched her descend the steps. She had changed into a pencil-slim brown suede skirt, brown knee-high boots with three-inch heels, a brown turtleneck sweater with a but
terfly brooch pinned to the collar and a tweed jacket in earthy autumn tones. As always, she looked perfect.
Max took her hand as she descended the last two steps. "You look nice."
A look of surprise flickered over Elizabeth's face. "Thank you," she murmured politely, but Max did not miss the wariness in her eyes.
What was that for? he wondered, frowning. Didn't she believe him?
Taking Elizabeth's elbow he shot her a hopeful look. "You know, we could sneak out now while no one is looking and miss all the hoopla."
She looked at him aghast, as though he'd just uttered a heresy against God and country. "What? Absolutely not. That would be impolite. I'd never do that to our guests. Besides, Aunt Talitha and Mimi would be crushed."
"Somehow I knew you'd say that," he replied in a resigned tone, and nudged her toward the parlor. "C'mon, let's get this over with and be on our way."
They worked their way around the room and said their goodbyes. While giving her aunt and Mimi a farewell hug and kiss, Elizabeth clung to the women, fighting back an almost irresistible urge to run upstairs and lock herself in her room.
She could stall only so long, however, and finally Max put his arm around her waist and murmured, "It's time to go, Elizabeth."
Their guests had gathered on the front veranda and lawn, and when she and Max came out of the house they were peppered with rice all the way to his black BMW.
In the excitement Elizabeth didn't notice that they were not alone in the car until Max had driven halfway down the mile-long drive and Troy Ellerbee spoke up from the back seat.
"Thank goodness that's over," Max's assistant said, and Elizabeth jumped as though she'd been shot.
She twisted around and gaped at the man seated directly behind her. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Max answered for him. "Troy is going with us."
Looking away from Troy Ellerbee's cold stare, Elizabeth focused her gaze on her new husband. "Going with us? You mean as far as Houston?"
"No, he's going with us to New York. I told you, I have an important meeting there on Monday. I need Troy with me."
Elizabeth glanced at Troy and found that he was watching her with a smug expression. She straightened around in her seat and stared ahead. "Oh. I see," she replied, although she didn't. She didn't see at all. What kind of man took his assistant with him on his honeymoon?
The answer came to her immediately. A husband who, as Mimi would say, didn't give two hoots and a holler about his bride, that's who.
Throughout the drive to Houston International Airport, and the long flight to New York aboard Max's private jet, her new husband didn't say a dozen words to her.
When they boarded the sleek plane, he introduced her to the pilot, a man by the name of Tom Givens, then gave her a speedy tour of the plane's interior, pointing out the bedroom and adjoining bath at the rear of the plane, the salon and bar and the cockpit. The whole while Elizabeth had the feeling that Max was impatient to get back to work.
"Well, that's it," he said finally. "You've seen everything but the luggage bay. Make yourself comfortable. We'll be taking off any minute now."
He and Troy sat down at a small table and resumed their business discussion as though she weren't there.
Feeling like a third wheel, Elizabeth made her way to the front of the salon and buckled herself into one of the easy chairs. By that point Max and Troy were so immersed in their talk that she doubted either man remembered she was there, or were aware of the jet streaking down the runway and lifting off the ground.
She might as well not be there, Elizabeth thought, growing peevish. Throughout the flight she idly flipped through several financial magazines, which seemed to be the only reading material on the plane, not absorbing a word.
It was insulting, she fumed in silence. So theirs wasn't a love match. So what? And truth be told, she wasn't looking forward to the night to come. But you'd think the man would at least show some interest in the woman he was about to bed.
With the time-zone change it was almost midnight when they checked in at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. The bell captain, the concierge and the desk clerk recognized all of them. Ever polite, each addressed Elizabeth first, calling her Ms. Stanton, before welcoming Max and Troy.
Max let the mistake go until they reached the front desk. There he explained that, as of that afternoon, Elizabeth was now Mrs. Riordan. At once the well-trained staff showered her and Max with effusive good wishes.
"The suite your secretary booked is ready, sir," the desk clerk informed Max. "Oh, and before I forget, you have several messages."
As the clerk handed over the stack of slips, Elizabeth experienced a moment of panic. Surely Troy wasn't going to share the suite with them. The night ahead was going to be awkward enough without that.
Max shuffled through the message slips, then almost as an afterthought he looked up and added, "Did you have a smaller suite available on the same floor for Mr. Ellerbee?"
Elizabeth closed her eyes, almost faint with relief.
"Yes, sir." If the clerk thought it peculiar that Max had brought his business associate with him on his honeymoon, he had the exquisite good manners and training to keep his expression deadpan.
When they stepped off the elevator on their floor, Troy nudged Max and said, "You probably ought to give Mr. Aramoto a call back right away. He left three messages for me to remind you."
"Yeah, will do. I've got four messages from him myself."
In silence, her insides aquiver, Elizabeth walked beside the men down the wide hallway. At the door to their suite, they all stopped.
"I'll see you in the morning, boss," Troy said to Max. For the first time since they'd left Mimosa Landing that afternoon, he looked directly at Elizabeth.
"Good night, Mrs. Riordan." His tone was polite, his expression noncommittal and his blue eyes were cold as a glacier lake.
"Please, call me Elizabeth," she requested.
"Yeah, do that," Max absently interjected. Still sorting through the message slips, he seemed oblivious to his assistant's frosty attitude. "You'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future. No sense standing on formality."
"All right. Good night, Elizabeth," Troy murmured, then turned and headed down the hallway.
Watching him go, Elizabeth wondered what it was about her that he disliked so.
Max unlocked the door to their suite and motioned for her to precede him, but when she started to step through the doorway he said, "Whoops. I almost forgot."
"Oh! Max! What are you doing?" Elizabeth squealed as he swooped her up in his arms.
"Carrying you over the threshold. Isn't that what bridegrooms are supposed to do?" He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind them.
In that dizzying moment a flood of sensations cascaded through Elizabeth. She became intensely aware of several things all at once—Max's heat, the hardness of his chest against the side of her body, the strength of the arms that held her, the breadth of his shoulders. The manly scent of him.
He hefted her experimentally and frowned. "Good grief, woman, don't you eat? You can't weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet."
Flustered, Elizabeth could feel embarrassed heat rising up over her chest and neck and flooding her face. She had never been this close to him before. He carried her as easily as he would a child.
"I most certainly do. I weigh a hundred and six. And it isn't polite to comment on a lady's weight."
"Is that right?" He walked to the center of the lavish sitting room, his intense gaze zeroing in on her for the first time that day.
Unable to look away from those mesmerizing blue eyes, Elizabeth caught her breath. The change in him was stunning. It was as though he'd punched a button and switched gears. In an instant his demeanor changed from that of a tough, distant businessman to that of a sensuous and seductive lover.
Elizabeth shivered. Her heart began to pound. Like a banked fire being stirred to life, sensual heat began to bur
n in the depths of his blue eyes.
"You, uh … you can put me down now," she said, still unable to look away.
"Hmm. When I'm ready," he murmured. His gaze dropped to her lips and lingered there. His eyelids lowered drowsily and his head began an angled descent.
The telephone rang and Elizabeth jumped within Max's embrace.
"Dammit," he spat. He glared at the telephone as though debating whether to answer it or rip the thing out of the wall. When a knock sounded on the door he cursed again, but this time he lowered Elizabeth to her feet. "That's probably the bellman with our luggage. Why don't you get the door while I answer the phone. It'll be Mr. Aramoto calling again."
Struggling to regain her composure, she hurried to the door and instructed the bellman to put their cases in the bedroom. Max was still embroiled in conversation with whomever was on the telephone when the man left. Once again, he seemed unaware of her presence.
Not anxious to attract his attention, Elizabeth escaped into the bedroom. After unpacking both her and Max's cases, she took her nightclothes, a long midnight-blue, silk-and-lace nightgown and matching peignoir, and went into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, standing in front of the bathroom door, she closed her eyes, placed her palm flat over her midriff and commanded herself to be calm. It wasn't as though she was a virgin. She and Max were married now, and sex was part of marriage. It wasn't a death sentence or anything like that, so don't be such a ninny, she scolded herself in silence.
Opening her eyes, Elizabeth drew a deep breath, opened the door and stepped through it, only to come to a halt three steps inside the bedroom. It was empty.
She went to the double doors leading into the sitting room and opened them a crack. She could see Max pacing back and forth across the room, still talking on the telephone. At some point he had taken off his suit coat and tie, unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt and rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing a mat of black curls on his chest and a liberal sprinkling of short dark hairs on his forearms. He looked sleek and powerful … and dangerous. Like a prowling leopard, she thought uneasily.