by Faith Austen
Yet there I’d been, commanding her to stay while my heart pounded at the thought that she’d walk out. What was wrong with me? Sara was different; I’d figured that out. Beautiful, smart, funny. But she was just a woman. There were thousands of those, hot and available, right outside my front door.
Why was this one so important? She thought I was a cheater? Fine, then get out. That’s what I should have said. Instead, I’d soothed her, and taken her to breakfast.
That brought me back to everything being upside down. Normally it was a challenge to scrape these girls off. I’d talked Sara into staying. Because I needed time for her to fix my reputation? Or because I couldn’t stand the idea of watching her leave?
Chapter Seventeen
Sara
I’d love to say that seeing my sisters’ jaws drop at the sight of me didn’t give me a rush. To say that I was mature and confident all on my own, without the dress and jewelry, without James on my arm. That I didn’t need to feel, for just one night, like I had the upper hand after years as the butt of their jokes. But I’d be lying. I’m not a saint.
Knowing that I was wearing more than they’d ever be able to afford, and I looked fantastic in it, felt like a victory after years of their cruel taunts. Never mind that I couldn’t afford it either.
My heart was getting all tangled up with James, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate that the point of our arrangement, at least my side of it, was working out better than I’d hoped. I didn’t just have a date for the wedding, James had turned me into a princess.
A princess who was very distracted by her prince. While I was greeting the other guests, nodding along to introductions and shaking hands, I was acutely aware of James’s hand on my shoulder, the heat of his palm branding my bare skin. The dress I wore was demure, but his innocent touch made me feel as if I were a femme fatale.
I reminded myself that I wasn’t going to forget years of virtuous living over a man I’d only met the day before. No matter how perfect he seemed. Greg had seemed good too, at the beginning. Besides, even if I was willing to take our physical relationship further, I wouldn’t know what to do.
Kissing was the extent of my bedroom skills and I wasn’t even very experienced at that. Despite my concerns about our deepening intimacy, I wondered when he was going to kiss me again. So far our kisses had been mostly chaste.
Somehow I didn’t think they’d stay that way forever. Part of me urged caution, but the daring part of me was eager for just a little bit more. How long would it be until we were alone again?
Now that I’d gotten to know James, I didn’t want to waste our time together on this wedding. Knowing Christie, she’d be getting married again in few years. I’d never get another chance to be with a man like James.
As soon as the thought formed in my head, I chastised myself. Christie could be awful, but I shouldn’t be spiteful about her issues with marriage. There were times when I thought she was God’s way of testing my compassion. Just in case I got too comfortable thinking I had a good heart, my thoughts of Christie popped up to remind me that I was as petty as the next person.
The cocktail hour was a blur of cheek kisses and polite hugs until we made our way over to Christie and Tim. They stood in the back of the room beside my mother, holding court as if they were visiting royalty.
I smiled at my mother when she caught sight of me. Her eyes went comically wide before she called out my name and rushed forward, enveloping me in a tight hug. We were so different, my mom and me. She was bright colors and exuberance while I was understated and quiet. But wrapped in her tight embrace, the strong and familiar scent of her perfume in a cloud around us, my eyes got wet.
“You look so gorgeous, baby. Like a dream.” She pulled back to cup my face in her hands, her eyes on mine, beaming with adoring love. “My beautiful girl.”
Yep, no matter that we might be total opposites, I loved my Mom. Leaning in to kiss her cheek, I said, “You look great, too, Mom.” She really did. Her little black dress had an emphasis on the ‘little’ and her cleavage was the opposite, but she looked great, especially considering she was the mother of three grown daughters.
She tugged me to her side, separating me from James, who was promptly claimed by Christie and Cathie. He sent me a wink before turning to them. Oddly, I wasn’t worried about him being alone with my sisters. From the things he’d said earlier and the night before, he despised them and liked me. Nothing those two could say would change that.
“Did he take you shopping?” my Mom half-whispered into my ear. She’d backed us a few feet from the crowd so we could talk in relative privacy. I knew what she was getting at.
Susan Cunningham (I still couldn’t get my brain to adjust to any of her more recent last names) knew clothes. Depending on her current husband, she didn’t always have the budget to shop as well as she’d like to, but she always knew the latest collections. So I wasn’t the least bit surprised when she said, “I know that dress. De la Renta, from two months ago. And those sandals are Rene Caovilla’s. I tried them on at Saks. He’s not shying away from spending money on you.”
“Mom, this isn’t what you think.”
“Sara, no man spends twelve thousand dollars on a woman’s clothes if he’s planning on walking away. Trust me.”
I choked on my champagne. Twelve thousand dollars? I’d known the dress and shoes had to be expensive, but that was crazy. And she didn’t know about the jewelry. As if she’d read my mind, she said,
“My guess is that necklace and the matching earrings and bracelet are his work as well. I’d give you an estimate on those, but I don’t want you to pass out in the middle of your sister’s rehearsal dinner.”
“Mom,” I whispered, “Stop. Seriously. You’re freaking me out. I don’t want to think about this.”
“Well, you need to. That man looks at you as if he wants to protect you from everyone in the world except himself. Pay attention and don’t let him get away.”
“Mom, really -” I stopped when she raised her hand in front of my face. Did she just give me the hand?
“Sara, just keep your eyes open. That’s all I’m saying. Men like James Drake don’t come along every day. I should know.” She glanced across the room at Christie and Cathie. “Now I’m going to go save your man from your sisters before they scare him away. I swear, he looks like he wants to kill them already. I love all my girls, honey, but your sisters could try the patience of Mother Theresa.”
With that, she walked away, her perfume trailing behind her. I meant to follow, but I was still reeling from everything she’d said. Twelve thousand dollars.
Not counting the gold I wore around my neck, my ears, and on my wrist. I’d been agonizing about Greg stealing ten grand and James had dropped more than that in one day, on clothes I didn’t even need. Adding in the other evening dress, shoes, dresses, and accessories, I didn’t want to even want to try to guess how much he’d spent. It was probably enough to pay off half my mortgage. I didn’t know what to think about that.
Was my mother right? Was he really planning to be with me longer term? He’d said he needed to show the world that I was his girlfriend. Apparently this was how he treated his serious girlfriends. My mother just didn’t know the whole story. And it was impossible to tell how much if this was how James really felt and how much of it was for show.
I was so distracted, an arm slid around my waist before I noticed anyone nearby. I didn’t have to look up to know it wasn’t James. The bad cologne was enough to clue me in. Tim. I tried to ease away without causing a scene, but his fingers tightened on my waist.
“You’re looking uncharacteristically sexy tonight, Sara. Who knew you had it in you? You usually dress like an accountant.”
“I am an accountant, Tim.” I pulled back on his arm, trying to move away. His arm didn’t give. Dipping his head to my cheek, he said,“Once the new guy gets tired of you, I’ll be here. I can take care of you too, Sara.”
“You’re mar
rying my sister,” I hissed, leaning back. This guy was disgusting. How could my sister be marrying him?
“Christie is a practical woman. As long as I can keep her credit card bills paid, she doesn’t ask questions.”
I didn’t want to draw attention, but I couldn’t take another second of his slimy hands. As subtly as I could, I jammed the spike heel of my sparkly gold sandal into Tim’s instep. His arm loosened, and I stepped away, trying not to cringe at the trail of his fingertips along my waist. Yuck.
“Don’t be so rude, Sara,” he chided, only slightly favoring his foot as he stepped back. “When this guy dumps you, you’ll be on your own. I could be a good friend.”
“Go away, Tim.”
Not an original come back, but I was too grossed out to be witty. I whirled around, just wanting to get away from him. The sad thing was, I believed him about Christie. Not that she’d be okay with me being her husband’s mistress, but that she didn’t ask too many questions.
I wondered how many late meetings and business trips he had. I was betting it was a lot. The thought depressed me. I didn’t really like my sister, but she was my sister. A marriage of convenience with Tim wasn’t a happy prospect.
This time when an arm wound around my waist, I relaxed into it, recognizing James by instinct, even before his clean, masculine scent hit me.
“Sorry you got stuck with the evil twins while I talked to my Mom,” I said.
“That’s okay. You can make it up to me later.” The promise in his voice was enough to heat my blood. “What did Tim want?” he asked.
“Nothing.” No way was I going to tell James what Tim had said. I had a feeling he wouldn’t take it well. And Tim wasn’t worth pissing James off. I could handle Tim.
“I didn’t like him touching you,” James said, his mouth moving against my ear in a whisper of a kiss.
“Neither did I,” I admitted.
“You’re mine. No one touches you but me. Understood?”
“James,” I said, pulling away so I could face him. “I didn’t want him to touch me. I got rid of him as fast as I could.”
“I know.” James took my shoulders in his hands and turned me to face him. Dipping his head to mine, he said, “I know you didn’t like it. And I know you were being polite. Next time, don’t be. No one touches you but me. Ever. That’s more important than being polite. Now tell me you understand.”
“What if I don’t want you to touch me?” I couldn’t help asking. James kissed my temple.
“If you don’t want me to touch you, we’ve got bigger problems than your brother in law getting in your face.”
“Okay.” That was the best I could come up with. My brain had scattered at the touch of his lips.
“Good. He touches you again, he answers to me.”
“Okay.” My brain clicked back into gear. “If it bothers you so much, why did you leave me with him?”
“I wanted to see what you would do,” James said. I lurched back, suddenly angry.
“What?” I screeched. He’d left me to handle that pig as a test? James’s arm slid around me, pulling me in close. People turned their heads to look.
James grinned down at me and pressed a kiss to my temple, whispering,“I’m buying you ten more pairs of heels just like that. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him leaving tracks of blood. You did a good job, sweetheart.”
I didn’t want to, but I melted—not just at him calling me sweetheart, but his praise. Testing me was high-handed and annoying. His being proud of me was hard to resist.
Before I could think of what to say, Tim announced that it was time to go into dinner. Good. One meal, and hopefully not too many speeches to get through, and I’d be alone with James again.
Chapter Eighteen
Sara
James and I checked the seating chart on an easel by the door and found we were seated in the far end of the room, furthest from the wedding party. I knew Christie had stuck us there to make a point. As her sister, I should have been sitting close to her, Cathie, and my mother. For the first time, I was thrilled she could be so mean. I’d rather be alone in a corner with James than sitting near the wedding party any day.
James pulled my chair out for me and helped me sit before taking his own seat. No one sat to his left. On my left was an older couple I didn’t recognize. After stilted introductions, during which James neglected to mention his last name, the couple turned to face the rest of the table and ignored us. Perfect. If we drowned out the sound of one of the groomsmen getting ready to give a speech, we could almost pretend we were alone.
We both stayed quiet and ate our salad while the groomsmen droned on and on about his long friendship with Tim. About anyone else, it might have been sweet. But since I knew he was talking about Tim, it was mostly annoying. I zoned out a little, trying to enjoy the meal and wondering how long it would take, when I felt the heat of James’s hand on my back. I realized he’d rested his arm along the back of my chair as he traced his fingers along my bare shoulders.
Trying not to be obvious, I looked up at him. James’s eyes were on the speaking groomsman, his expression bland and vaguely interested. For all that anyone else could see, he was the picture of innocence. On the bare skin of my upper back his warm fingers drew figure eights. It was a simple touch, not suggestive at all. But if it was so innocent, why did it send sparks of heat flying through my body?
“James,” I whispered. His eyes flicked to me and he winked, then went back to pretending to pay attention to the speech. That was my only effort at protest. Why bother? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Not really. It wasn’t so much what he was doing as the way it made me feel. Restless. Warm.
Without thinking, I leaned my shoulder into his touch, trying not to shiver when his fingers closed over the sensitive nape of my neck and massaged. I tried to act like he wasn’t driving me crazy, but I wasn’t that cool. When he ran a fingertip over the lobe of my ear, I barely caught myself before I made a low sound in my throat. The man beside me shifted, as if he was going to look at me, then my silence convinced him it wasn’t worth the effort.
No change. Only more of those teasing, light touches. I shifted away, then halted, stopped by James’s hand tightening on my shoulder.
“Am I bothering you?” he asked in a low voice, his expression too bland to be real.
How to answer that? If I said he was, he’d stop. I knew that instinctively. Did I really want him to stop? His touch was alluring, sensual, and more than I’d ever felt before. But we were fully clothed, in public, and he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Neither was I. So far he’d seemed willing to take things slow. I leaned toward him to shut out the rest of the table from our quiet conversation.
“No, not bothering me exactly,” I said, not sure how to articulate the hesitant awakening I felt everywhere he touched me.
“Then relax. Nothing is going to happen to you that you don’t want, Sara. I promise.” His green eyes met mine. “You can trust me.”
“I know,” I said. “Maybe I’m worried I can’t trust myself.”
James’s eyes flared for a moment before he gave me a satisfied smile and leaned in to lay a kiss on my lips. “Then trust me to protect you against your own judgement, too. I know you need to take this slowly. I respect that, sweetheart. And I have enough experience to know how quickly someone with no experience can lose her head. I won’t take advantage of that.”
I knew exactly what he meant. The intoxicating effect of simple touches and closed mouth kisses told me that if he decided to push things further, I’d likely lose my own judgement. It meant a lot that he understood that and was prepared to protect me, even from myself. I hadn’t exactly meant to end up a twenty-five year old virgin, but I didn’t want to be a stupid one as well.
“Okay,” I said. James gave my shoulder a squeeze and turned his attention back to the speeches at the other end of the room. I pretended to do the same, but in truth my focus was on his fingers swirling across my shoulder and down my ar
m, setting my nerves alight and making me wish we were alone.
The waiters served the soup course, a delicious cream of lobster. To my disappointment, James dropped his hand to eat. My shoulder felt cold after his touch. Another speech later and they were clearing the soup and laying down the main course. Christie had ordered filet mignon, asparagus, and some kind of potato dish with a creamy sauce. Yum.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of more boring speeches made tolerable by the delicious food and James beside me. We were silent, but I was acutely aware of his presence. At one point, between the removal of our dinner plates and dessert, James reached out and took my hand in his. I expected him to say something, but he remained quiet, just holding my hand, playing with my fingertips. When I caught his eye, he winked.
He had my head spinning. I’d held hands with men before and felt nothing from it, but this was different—maybe because it was James. He wasn’t teasing me or trying to make a point. No one could see our joined hands beneath the table. He was simply keeping me close. It was dangerous. Not for him, for me.
I wasn’t the kind of girl to get easily involved with men. Sometimes, I wished I were. Life would be so much simpler if I could be like some of my friends, moving from one man to another. I tried not to judge others about sex. I’d never been comfortable being casual with my body. It belonged to me, to God, and to the man I’d marry. What others did was up to them, but that was how I felt about myself.
Unfortunately my desire to avoid casual sex meant I didn’t date much. Most men didn’t want to go out with a woman who wouldn’t have sex with him. But it wasn’t just sex. I’d never been comfortable with casual touch either. That I not only tolerated James’s touch but loved it told me I was already in too deep. I was falling hard for him.