by Faith Austen
“My favorite troublemakers,” she said. “It’s a good thing Miranda had other plans since you have your hands full,” she said to James. His arm around my waist squeezed tight. I wasn’t sure if it was in possession or reassurance.
“I do,” he answered. “Sara, meet Tina and Jennifer.”
I didn’t have my hands free since one was still on ice and the other was trapped by James’s arm, so I nodded and smiled. To my surprise, both women nodded and smiled back.
“Too bad for us,” Jennifer said from her place beside Will. Giving Will a playful elbow in his gut, she went on, “James is the best of these three.”
“Hey,” Will said in affront. “You’ve never complained before.”
“Not complaining, sweetie. Just pointing out that James is the best catch of the three of you.”
“Because of his business?” I asked, ready to change my cautious approval to dislike if Jennifer was judging James on his bank account.
“Not that, honey. All three of these boys are loaded. But Will is a terminal bachelor. Someday Ryan and James will both settle down, but not Will.”
“So what’s wrong with me? Why is James a better catch than I am?” Ryan asked, not sounding the least bit concerned that he wasn’t at the top of their list. Considering that Tina was pressed up against him, he didn’t seem to have cause for worry. Tina shot him a look that said, ‘Get real.’ Out loud, she said, “You’re a little scary. So serious all the time. And your job isn’t exactly low key.”
“I thought you ran Archer Security?” I asked. Ryan seemed serious, but I wouldn’t have called him scary.
“I do,” he said, a wry smile curving his lips. “But I also handle our more specialized cases.”
“Sometimes they get a little hairy,” Will cut in.
“Oh,” I said.
I could only imagine the kind of jobs Ryan took. I’d heard of Archer Security. They didn’t do pay-by-the-month house alarms. They specialized in elite systems for the wealthiest clients. And they provided personal security for everyone from visiting dignitaries to celebrities with scary stalkers.
I knew about them because one of their people had foiled an assassination attempt on a foreign ambassador a few months before. He’d foiled it by taking the bullet himself. It had been huge in the news. Not only had the Archer team protected their client, they’d tracked down the assassin and handed him over to the police.
I gave Ryan another look. This time, I saw it. Beneath his quiet demeanor was a core of steel. This man would get the job done, no matter what it took. Curious, I asked,
“Was the ambassador’s attempted assassination one of your hairy cases?” I knew he’d know what I was talking about. The assassination attempt had been on every news channel for over a week. Ryan shook his head.
“The ambassador was business as usual. Unfortunate that it hit the news. We like to keep a low profile. News should be about our clients, not our agents.”
“Is the guy who got shot okay? The last I saw, he was in the hospital.”
“He’s back in the field. It was only a shoulder, nothing serious.”
“Good,” I said. Ryan winked at me.
He was good looking, no question. That thick, short, dark hair, his almost black eyes, a lean but powerful build. Still, Tina was right. Not exactly great relationship material. I wouldn’t be comfortable with a man who considered a bullet to the shoulder a minor issue. Not if he was out there facing far more dangerous stuff than just being shot.
The woman who took him on would have to be strong enough to handle his job and laid back enough not to freak out about it. Feeling like poking at James, I leaned my head back and looked up at him.
“Your job isn’t dangerous, is it?” He rubbed his chin against my temple, smiling down at me.
“Not remotely. Stressful sometimes. But not dangerous.”
“Good,” I whispered, forgetting for a moment that we had company. James’s eyes had darkened to a rich green, the color so deep I felt myself falling into them. His eyes were saying something I liked, something warm and hopeful that had my heart racing. A throat cleared. I flushed and looked up to see Ryan studying me with a grave expression.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jennifer said, gesturing at James and me.
“All right,” Will said. “Enough of that, James. You’re making us look bad in front of the ladies.” Turning to Tina and Jennifer, he said, “Do you two want to go out and have some fun? It looks like James and Sara are in for the night.”
Both women agreed, and with a few nods and winks, the four of them left the bar. The ice bag on my knuckles was mostly water by this point. I dropped it on the bar beside my empty water glass.
“Do you want to go?” James asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Your friends were nice, but I don’t want to share you anymore.”
His fierce smile was all the answer I needed. With one arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder, James led the way out of the lobby.
“Do you feel like a walk?” he asked.
“That would be nice. But let me stop at my cottage and take off these shoes.”
“Works for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sara
We walked back to the cottages together in comfortable silence. I hadn’t had much of a chance to explore the resort since I’d gotten there between being with James and my obligations for the wedding. I was looking forward to being alone with James again.
It seemed like he’d been thinking the same thing considering the way he’d brought up taking a walk. The more time I spent with him, the more I was coming to believe that he really did want to be with me outside of fixing his tarnished reputation.
We stopped by my cottage only long enough for me to take off my sandals and leave them just inside the door. James took my arm in his and led me down the path, bringing me to a walkway that wound through the gardens lit only by fairy lights and the moon this late in the evening. Here and there I caught glimpses of other couples enjoying the evening, but for the most part we were alone.
After a few minutes of walking, we turned a corner and came face to face with a uniformed waiter. When he saw us, his posture straightened and he said,
“Sir, everything is ready.” Then, waving us forward with a flourish, he disappeared.
I turned to look at James in surprise. “What is this?” I asked.
“Go in and see,” he answered with a mysterious smile.
I walked down the narrow path the waiter had been blocking, the trimmed edges of tall bushes brushing my bare arms. Just as the close quarters were starting to feel uncomfortable, I stepped into a clearing straight from a fairy tale.
Before me was a blanket spread across the grass in the center of a circular wall of bushes decorated with the same tiny lights that hung through the rest of the garden. Here they were thick enough to illuminate the clearing in a golden, dreamy glow.
A picnic basket sat on the blanket, the neck of a champagne bottle sticking through the half-open lid. Beside the basket, a bouquet of tulips and lilies lay bound with the wide, white ribbon.
I looked from the scene before me to James and back again. He ducked his head just a little. If I didn’t know better I might have thought he was embarrassed.
“You did this?” I asked. “For me?”
“For us. And yes. Sort of.” He gestured for me to sit on the blanket, giving me his hand so he could help me down. I arranged my skirt over my legs as he explained. “I told Melissa exactly what I wanted and she arranged it. I would have done it myself, but-”
“There wasn’t any time,” I said. I didn’t make a difference whether he’d had the idea and delegated or done everything with his own hands. He’d thought of this and made it happen. I’d never seen anything so romantic. Taking a seat beside me, James reached for the champagne bottle, opening it with expert hands.
“I know you don’t drink often,” he said. “And you already had a glass this morning, plus w
ine with dinner. But champagne seemed appropriate for a not-quite-midnight picnic. You don’t have to have any. Or only a few sips if you want.”
“I’ll have a glass,” I said, charmed by his consideration. I hadn’t said anything about not being a big drinker, but he must have noticed. I didn’t want to get tipsy, still I thought a glass would be fine. I waited for him to pour, noticing he only filled the glasses halfway. Handing me my glass, he said,
“A toast - To new beginnings.”
We clinked glasses and sipped our champagne. I felt suddenly shy in this intimate, romantic setting. James had already reassured me he didn’t expect more than I wanted to give. I reminded myself to remember my prayer from earlier.
I wasn’t going to lose my head over James. A kiss was fine. The twinkling lights and champagne practically demanded kissing. But no more than that. With a twist of worry in my stomach, I hoped James really was alright with that.
He flipped open the picnic basket and began to pull out white boxes closed with navy blue ribbons. I recognized them as the colors of the Drake’s cafe. He handed me the first and began to open the second. The third and forth he left on the blanket beside us.
“I asked for two specific things,” he said, carefully untying his ribbon. I did the same to mine. “But I left the other two up to the chef and Melissa.”
I wasn’t hungry, not after the rehearsal dinner. But I was intensely curious. I folded back the flaps of the box to reveal four huge chocolate dipped strawberries. I hummed in delight. James looked up to see what I had. Teasing, I angled the box back toward me to block his view and said,
“Are we sharing?”
“I hope so,” he said, opening his own box to reveal two small but luscious fruit tartlets, loaded with gleaming blueberries, raspberries and kiwis.
I slid my box onto the blanket and held out a strawberry, lifting it close to his mouth so that he could take it from my fingers with his mouth. He did, meeting my eyes as he bit into the chocolate. I flushed, a little embarrassed at my own daring. To cover my sudden discomfort, I took a bite of my own strawberry. Delicious.
We traded treats back and forth, feeding each other, ignoring our champagne and talking when we weren’t eating the desserts. Like the night before, we talked about everything and nothing.
He told me about being grounded after trying to stay up all night with his brother on a dare and accidentally setting fire to popcorn in his kitchen when he fell asleep while it was popping on the stove.
I told him that I’d always thought I’d be a math teacher, up until I tried student teaching and realized I couldn’t stand it. At the same time I’d taken my first accounting class and ended up loving the language of debits and credits.
Stories that meant something and those that didn’t flowed back and forth, revealing bits of each other as we made out way through the bounty of the picnic basket.
The other boxes held a collection of truffles and one oversized chocolate chip cookie. We didn’t eat all of it, mostly nibbled as we talked, occasionally sipping champagne. When my glass was empty, I set it aside, leaning it against the basket.
It had been wonderful, but I wanted to stop before I had too much. As it was, my head was spinning just a little, though that was probably more from the romantic picnic than from the half a glass of champagne.
James put his own glass aside and looked at me, easing forward, his eyes intent on mine. I had no doubt he was going to kiss me and my heart leapt. We’d kissed before, sweet, chaste, closed mouth kisses that had left me weak kneed.
His hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb tracing back and forth over my cheek bone.
“May I kiss you, Sara?” he asked.
I knew that if I said no, he’d move away. He wasn’t asking for form, he really wanted to make sure I was okay with this. I was.
“Yes,” I whispered, reaching up to meet is lips with mine. His were firm and warm, his mouth opening mine until our lips moved together in a wonderful, soft kiss that left my heart pounding and my breath short.
James moved closer so that he was beside me and held me close. A tiny part of my brain let out an alarm, but his hands never strayed beyond my upper back and my face.
His kiss made me dizzy, and I reached up to bury my fingers in his silky hair, anchoring myself to him. He let out a short groan and pulled back.
“I want to be a gentleman, sweetheart. If you touch me, it’s a lot more difficult.”
“Even your hair?” I asked, genuinely confused. I hadn’t thought that was too much, it had felt natural, not wrong. But what did I know about men and kissing, much less what might come after? Nothing, really.
James dipped his head down and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Even my hair,” he said. “I don’t think you realize how tempting you are.”
“I guess I don’t.” I didn’t. Tempting was not on the list of adjectives I might have used to describe myself. Kind, smart, patient. But not tempting.
“Tell me something,” James went on. “You’ve never given yourself to a man, have you?”
Unable to speak past my violent embarrassment at being half-way through my twenties and a virgin, I just shook my head.
“And have you held back because you’re afraid of sex? Or because you know that giving your body to a man is something you can only do for the first time once and you want to make sure you honor yourself and the body God gave you by waiting until you’ve found the right man.”
“I’m not afraid,” I whispered. “But waiting feels like the right thing to do.”
“I thought that was it,” he said, tracing my eyebrow with one fingertip as he looked down at me with an odd combination of heat and affection. “Are you waiting for marriage?”
I nodded. “I wasn’t at first. I mean, I hadn’t thought it through like that. But I while ago I realized that I am. It won’t be right until I’m with the man I want to marry.”
James nodded back but didn’t say anything. A bolt of dismay shot through me. Before I could think about it, I said, “Does that mean you don’t want to see me anymore? Because I won’t sleep with you?”
His laugh shocked the worry right out of me. “Of course not, Sara. You told me you wouldn’t sleep with me right off the bat. I didn’t think a kiss would change your mind. I wouldn’t respect you this much if it would.”
He ducked his head down beside mine and kissed my earlobe before he said, “I love that you value yourself and your faith enough to wait. I won’t try to change your mind.”
Pulling back, he repacked the picnic basket as he said, “But it’s going to be hard to remain a gentleman if we stay out here too much longer. Besides, you have a big day tomorrow with the wedding and it’s getting late. I don’t want you to turn into a pumpkin.”
I let him help me to my feet, my eyes darting around the clearing, avoiding his as I got my bearings after our conversation. I fiddled with the ribbon on my flowers, thinking that I’d never had such a candid conversation about sex with a man. Definitely not with one I’d kissed.
I wasn’t sure if I should be embarrassed or happy. As James hefted the basket and blanket in one hand and took my arm with the other, I decided to stick with happy.
I’d had my first real kiss. After James, none of the others, few as they were, counted at all. He left me at the door to my cottage with a short kiss to my forehead.
I floated inside, washing my face and hanging my dress in the closet, all the while reliving our kiss on the blanket over and over. I slipped between the soft sheets of the bed and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sara
I opened my eyes to a dark room, momentarily forgetting where I was. I shifted to sit up, and the sheets sliding away brought me back to reality. I was in my cottage at Drake Gardens. I’d fallen asleep after the most romantic evening I’d ever had, followed by what I was now considering to be my first real kiss.
Just as I wondered why I was awake, I hea
rd a ping from the side of the bed. My phone. Someone was texting me. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was after two in the morning. Who would be texting me? Belatedly, I remembered the weird messages I’d gotten earlier. I’d thought they were a mistake, until I saw my name.
It had been stupid to hope they’d go away if I ignored them. I’d just wanted one night of a fairy tale with James. A night when nothing could go wrong. Tim had almost ruined that, but even though I’d had to punch him, it had turned out okay in the end. At least for me. I had no idea what Christie had said when she saw his face.
Turning on the light, I sat up and looked at my phone. Maybe it was just one of my friends drunk texting me from a bar. It was Friday night. That didn’t happen often, most of my friends were from church and didn’t drink much, but it did happen every once in a while.
I checked the display on the phone. It was not a friend.
I’m tired of this.
Meet me at your house at 3am.
The last text had just come in. Tired of trying to ignore this, since the texter was obviously not going away, I typed back,
Who are you? How do you know where I live?
A pause. I held my breath, terrified by the possible answers. Was it someone I worked with?
You know who this is. Your 10,000 wasn’t enough. I want the rest.
Greg. I’d thought he was long gone. My lawyer had looked for him and found no traces of the Greg I’d known. And what did he mean by the rest? He’d taken my entire savings account. There wasn’t any more to give.
I don’t have anything else. You took everything.
I know you have more. I’ve been through your files. Meet me in 30m or I send this everywhere. Come alone!!!
A second later another text popped up. No words, just a video. Dread pooling in my stomach, I hit play. The screen showed James and myself in the dark hallway off the lobby of the Drake. He was facing me, his hand on my arm. But it wasn’t the video that was the problem, it was the audio.