Newlywed Games

by Mary Davis

  “I’ll escort my wife.”

  At the cold words, Meg jumped slightly. But before she could say anything, Bruce took her by the arm and all but carried her to the door.

  Good heavens, what was his hurry?

  And what was with that proprietary tone when he said my wife? What’s more, did he have to keep such a firm grip on her arm? Appearances notwithstanding, he was carrying the game a bit too far this time.

  She reached over to pry her arm free, and he released her immediately. Studying him, she realized he was angry! He probably hadn’t even been aware of the hold he had on her. His displeasure seemed to be focused on Brock. But why? Brock had only offered to escort her.

  “I’m sorry,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear as they stood to wait for the elevator.

  “It’s all right,” she answered quickly, but knew it wasn’t. Something was going on between Bruce and his brother…something that made Bruce irritable and left her feeling as though she’d wandered into some kind of minefield.

  And that was a feeling she didn’t care for. Not one little bit.

  Fourteen

  AS THE MAÎTRE D’ AT THE CRYSTAL SWAN LEAD THE WAY TO their table, Bruce noticed Meghann’s awe of the lavish interior. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung above the dance floor as music from the live orchestra floated around the room. Her quick intake of breath let him know he had succeeded in impressing her.

  Of course, his father would approve as well. But that fact didn’t mean near as much to him as the excitement he saw on Meg’s face.

  The hostess led them to a white linen-covered table. Three small candles flickered in a shallow bowl of scented water with spices and rose petals floating in it.

  After seating Meghann, Bruce flinched inwardly when his father ordered an expensive bottle of champagne. This night would be better served without it. When would his father realize Bruce’s days of drinking and parties were over? He’d found something far more rewarding in his faith…if only he could help his family understand that.

  “This is a night to celebrate,” Ivan Halloway said when both Meghann and her mom declined the bubbly brew. He scowled when Bruce, too, deterred the waiter from filling his glass. “How am I to propose a toast with half the glasses empty?”

  Bruce held up his goblet of lemoned ice water. “Our glasses aren’t empty, Father. Propose away.”

  Ivan shook his head slightly but stood with his raised champagne flute anyway. “To my son, Bruce, and the woman who finally turned his head. After all this time, we figured him for a lost cause.” He gave Meg a restrained smile. “Good to know we were wrong.”

  Glasses clinked, three drinking their champagne while the other three contentedly sipped water.

  After they had ordered, Brock walked around behind Meghann’s chair. It was all Bruce could do not to grab and shake his brother when he made a courtly bow and asked, “May I have this dance?”

  Tell him no. Tell him to sit down and leave you alone. But Meghann turned to looked at Brock with a smile. “I—uh…” She glanced at Bruce.

  The last thing Bruce wanted was for Meghann to be in his brother’s arms, but when she gazed at him with that confused look in her big green-brown eyes, his anger melted. “It’s up to you, darling, if you want to risk your feet to ol’ elephant toes.”

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because I’m better looking,” Brock said with a smile and a wink. “And as for my dancing, let’s just say I’m adequate. I promise not to run you into anything or step on your feet.” He took her hand to assist her up. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Meghann stood and accompanied Brock to the dance floor.

  Bruce knew it was irrational, but frustration washed over him that she was going with Brock. It took every ounce of self-control to stay in his chair, silent. What he wanted to do was stand up, pull her hand away from Brock’s, and tell her she couldn’t go. But he wouldn’t hand out dictates as to what his wife could and couldn’t do the way his father did—

  Your what?

  He swallowed hard at the reminder. Meghann wasn’t really his wife. There was nothing that bound her to him. She could dance with whomever she pleased.

  And that fact was driving Bruce crazy.

  Of course, the fact that Brock’s fun, relaxed attitude had always been appealing to the fairer sex didn’t help at all. Any more than Bruce’s painful awareness that his brother was not above stabbing him in the back.

  Why hadn’t Bruce persisted in asking Meghann out? Then he would have a solid foundation—a real one, not this farce they were perpetrating—to hold on to. They might even be engaged by now, and his brother wouldn’t be a threat.

  He watched as his brother put one hand around Meghann’s back, then took her fingers in his other hand. Brock leaned close to Meg and said something, and she shook her head. Now he was talking again, but they weren’t dancing yet. What could he possibly be saying? She smiled up at him, but why? His magnetic personality no doubt.

  “What do you think, Bruce?”

  I think I could lose her to my charming little brother.

  “Bruce, are you listening to me?” The harsh, firm question pulled him from his morose thoughts.

  Bruce straightened and turned to his father. “I’m sorry, sir. What were you saying?”

  “Stocks, boy, stocks!” He slammed his drink down, sloshing some of the clear liquid on the linen tablecloth. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Which way do you think the computer market is going to swing? I heard Gates is going to…”

  Bruce tried hard to concentrate on his father’s words about the market. But he couldn’t keep his mind on the subject. His attention kept drifting back to Meghann, the way she looked nestled in Brock’s arms, the graceful way they moved together. They were laughing…and he wanted to pick up the champagne bucket and throw it at them.

  Thankfully, the music ended as he was about to give in to that very impulse. He settled back in his chair, relieved that they would return to the table now. He took a sip of water and almost spit it out when the orchestra started the next piece, and Brock swept Meg into another dance.

  Confound it, were they going to dance all night?

  A touch on his arm broke his concentration. “Bruce?” At his mother’s soft tone, he turned to meet her gaze. “Would you do me the honor of this waltz?”

  “Olivia! I was speaking with him,” Bruce’s father said, clearly irritated.

  “You can talk to him later. It’s not often I get the chance to dance with my son.”

  Bruce stood up and held out his arm for his mother, relieved he didn’t have to feign interest where none existed.

  “What am I supposed to do while you two are frolicking out there?” His father waved his hand toward the dance floor.

  Bruce and his mother turned simultaneously back to face him. “Talk to Gayle,” his mother said. His father frowned. “You’re an intelligent man. I’m sure you can think of something to say.”

  He was still scowling when they turned toward the dance floor.

  Poor Gayle, Bruce thought. I should go back. But what about Meghann? He could keep a closer eye on her on the dance floor. “Maybe I should go rescue Meg—I mean Gayle back at the table?”

  “Nonsense. Your father will behave himself.” His mother gave him a calm smile. “Contrary to his behavior, dear, he is happy for you.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He thinks you’re back to normal.”

  “Normal?” Bruce looked down at her.

  “You know. That religion thing changed you so. But now you’ve got a woman in your life, and I must confess that the way you went about it, so sudden and secretive, makes your father feel like he has his son back.”

  He stared at her, nonplussed. They thought he’d been secretive, that he’d gone back to his old ways of doing things for himself, with no thought to anyone else. Is it possible for me to feel any more rotten, Lord?

  With a sigh, he shook his head. He
doubted it. “That ‘religion thing,’ as you put it, was a welcome change.”

  “Are we going to dance or not?”

  He knew that was his mother’s subtle way of saying she didn’t want to talk about unpleasantries, that she preferred to move on to something more agreeable. She’d learned, as had their whole family, to avoid certain topics…topics his father was dead set against.

  Which included anything remotely religious.

  Bruce slid his arms around his mother and they waltzed around the floor. But even as he moved into the dance, he found himself keeping watch on Meg and Brock, not too close or obvious.

  “I’ve decided to forgive you,” Olivia Halloway said formally, like a queen pardoning one of her subjects.

  Bruce felt bad he hadn’t been paying attention, especially since he had no idea why he’d been granted amnesty. Or what for. “Excuse me?”

  “I forgive you. For not telling us about Meghann or inviting us to your wedding.”

  He smiled down at his mother, the peacemaker. She hated strife between any members of the family.

  “I like her,” she was saying. “She’s different from the other girls you’ve dated.”

  No doubt about that. Meghann wasn’t like any woman he had ever known. For starters she was a Christian, but he didn’t suppose his mother wanted to hear that. She was nice, not at all conceited, smart, and beautiful. He had dated attractive women before, but not one as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside.

  Pity she’s not really yours. That she seems so content in your brother’s arms, smiling at him. Ah, women. Every one as fickle as the last, eh?

  He knew the thoughts weren’t true, that Meg wasn’t like that. But he couldn’t seem to stem the jealousy welling up inside him again.

  “Would you mind if we traded partners?”

  Bruce glanced down at his mother in surprise. “I’m sorry, did I step on your—”

  “No, dear, of course not. I’d simply like the privilege of dancing with my other son, as well.”

  Of course. Why not? Everyone wants to dance with the fun-loving Brock Halloway.

  “Bruce, don’t you want to dance with your wife?”

  His mother’s soft question drew his attention from his angry thoughts to her face and understanding dawned. She hadn’t really wanted to dance with him. She probably hadn’t want to dance at all. But she’d seen he was bothered by Meg dancing with Brock, so she was fixing matters in her own, nonoffensive, remarkably effective way.

  A dimple peeked out on her cheek as she smiled at him. “Are you going to lead or shall I?”

  “I’ll lead,” Bruce said with an exuberant smile. He guided her masterfully over to Brock and Meghann, reaching out to tap Brock’s shoulder with a flourish. “Shall we change partners?”

  “I’m rescued.” Brock winked at Meghann, and Bruce fought back his irritation. But it flared even stronger when she blushed a slight shade of pink.

  Rescued? Hardly. He looks more like the cat who ate the cream than a man in distress.

  “Or should I say, my feet are saved.” Brock made an exaggerated limp as he took up the waltzing position with his mother. “She’s lovely, dear brother, but you’ve been remiss in teaching her certain things. Not at all considerate of you.”

  The mockery was evident in Brock’s tone and expression. But before Bruce could determine if it were he or Meg being mocked, his brother turned to smile at their mother. “Be gentle, Mother, my toes are tender.”

  With that, he swept her away, looking at Bruce only long enough to give him an altogether too-smug smile.

  “I wasn’t that bad,” Meghann said, knowing an embarrassing blush was rushing up her cheeks.

  “You stepped on his feet?” Bruce said with upraised brows.

  “Only four times, well almost five. That’s pretty good for a beginner.”

  “Beginner?”

  She shifted from one foot to another. That dance had been bad enough; she’d be dipped if she’d let Bruce stand here and further humiliate her. “I’ve never waltzed before. It was so embarrassing. Can we go back to the table now?”

  Bruce stepped in closer, putting his right hand behind her back and holding up his left hand for her to take.

  Oh, please. “You’re not going to make me step on your toes, too?”

  “My feet were made for walking on, darling,” he said with a smile.

  “Not the tops!”

  “Come on,” he coaxed, wiggling his fingers. “How would it look if you danced with my brother but refused to dance with me, your ever-devoted husband?”

  Appearances, appearances! Everything was how it appeared with him. Wasn’t there a shred of emotion behind anything he did? Something to hang her hopes on? She guessed not. Well, then, he deserved bruised toes.

  She reluctantly put her hands in position. “Don’t blame me when your shoes get scuffed.” She looked down at her feet. “I start on the left, right?”

  “You start by looking up.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his and was rewarded with a breathtaking smile. Her heart beat faster. Could he tell the way a simple smile from him affected her?

  “Keep your carriage straight,” she heard him say but the words didn’t register. She was too distracted by the tingle his warm hand around hers sent up her arm.

  “Keep your back straight.”

  This time Meghann came out of her daze and threw her shoulders back and went rigid.

  “No. You’re as stiff as a board. Relax.”

  His cajoling tone eased her misgivings. “How am I supposed to stand straight and be relaxed?”

  “Pretend you have a pole down your back. Your back remains straight while the rest of you moves. Relaxed, but not limp, sort of taut. My hands and body will guide you to where we are going. A press of my hand, the pull of my shoulder…just focus on me.”

  Like she ever did anything else.

  Meghann closed her eyes, trying to organize her mental notes—relaxed, straight, not stiff or limp, his hand pushing, and his shoulder pulling. How did Fred and Ginger make it look so easy? How could she focus on learning to waltz with him so close and strong and smelling like a fresh spring rain with a hint of musk? Get your mind back on the task, Meghann.

  “Don’t think about where I’m leading you, just relax and it will come naturally. Okay, we’ll start with a simple box step.”

  Meghann quickly dropped her gaze to her feet and concentrated on which way they were supposed to go. Her back was straight. She made sure of that.

  “Head up,” Bruce said softly.

  She lifted her chin but kept her eyes downcast on their feet.

  “Look over this shoulder,” he said, moving the shoulder her left hand was on.

  She glared at him, concerned. “How am I supposed to keep from stepping on your feet if I can’t see them?”

  Her only answer was a quirky smile accompanied by a squeeze of her hand and slight pressure on her back. “Left foot back, yours,” he said as they began. “And if you look down, I’ll pinch you.”

  They made a perfect box—stiff, but it was a box. Another box and another, and not one toe injured…yet.

  “Relax and let me lead.”

  This time instead of the simple box she felt him press with not only his hand in hers but his shoulder as well. She moved back and back again. She almost stepped on his foot but recovered with a quick two-step. He smiled at her approvingly, and they went back and forth and made a box a few more times. Unbelievable, she was waltzing.

  “I think you’re ready for the next step,” he said with a chuckle. “Pardon the pun.”

  “What?” She stiffened. Something different? Panic rippled through her. She’d been doing so well. Why did he want to risk his feet?

  “Relax,” he said. “Just follow where I lead you.” He turned her with a press of his hand and the slight lift of his shoulder. Around they swirled on the floor.

  This leading thing really worked. It was almost easier than d
ancing the tight little box. When her eyes flickered to his in surprise, he smiled and her breath caught, held captive by his gaze. He looked as if he might kiss her. She leaned toward him expectantly…and stepped squarely on his foot. He was leading, not leaning, stupid!

  “I’m sorry. I forgot where my feet were supposed to go.” A nervous giggle escaped. “I guess I wasn’t paying very good attention. I got a little…”

  “Distracted?” he finished for her.

  A pleased smile captured his mouth, and she had the distinct sense that he knew—and was pleased—that he’d been the cause of her wayward thoughts. Or was he laughing at her? No. She wouldn’t think that of him.

  “Shall we finish this dance?” He continued to masterfully lead her around the floor.

  “It’s a good thing I danced with Brock first.” She tried to make light conversation.

  “Pardon?”

  She almost stepped wrong at the dark look on his face. “I—I got most of my toe stepping-on out of the way.” She forced her tone to be light, hoping it would remove the frown from his handsome features.

  It worked. His face relaxed again and he smiled at her. “You aren’t a bad dancer. You catch on quickly.”

  “It’s because you are good at this. I can really tell which way you are going to go.” That did it. The frown gave way to an amused smile. “I always thought that leading was a figment of the man’s—of someone’s imagination.”

  The music came to an end, and they headed back to the table where hopefully their food would arrive soon.

  Bruce’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back. Meghann kept her pace slow so as not to lose him as they wound their way back to the table.

  “I’m sorry about getting your family involved in my mess,” Meghann said.

  “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it. It makes my mother just as happy as it does yours.”

  “I was going to tell your brother the truth, but I was too busy stepping on his feet.”