He got his chance to approach her as the photo shoot broke up. Moving in from the side, he touched the back of her arm. She glanced at him, and the frost in her eyes sank into his bones.
“I’m surprised you made it,” she said. “Now that I’m familiar with your stamina, I assumed you and Barbie would be at it all night.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like.” He held her cold gaze. “She really did come to clean the room. I was trying to get rid of her when you showed up—”
“And she was taking along your T-shirt as a consolation prize? Or was it a souvenir?”
“Neither. I dropped it on the bathroom floor and she picked it up.” He touched her arm again. Her skin was silky and cool. “I should’ve told you she was there the second you came in. But I was afraid you’d think exactly what you thought.”
“Even if that’s true—and I don’t believe it for a minute—it means you have a pretty low opinion of me.”
“Not at all. It means I’m an idiot, which can’t come as a surprise to you.”
Her lips curled in a cynical half smile. “Nothing about you would surprise me now.”
She started to turn away when the photographer popped up in front of them. “How about a smile?” the woman said, lifting her camera. “You two look like you lost your best friends.”
“Funny you should say that.” Jan’s lips twisted wryly. “By the way, let me introduce you.”
Shit! Mick threw his hands up defensively. But it was too late. Before he could run, or faint, or be beamed up to a spaceship, Jan took the cheap shot. “Rowena Childs,” she said, “meet Mick McKenna.”
And with a last bitter smile that splintered his heart, she turned her back and walked away.
MARCHING TOWARD THE inn, Jan’s heart raced, her nerves jangled, but she was damned proud of herself. Instead of falling for Mick’s tempting tale, she’d kept it real, and even delivered a parting shot that would have him sweating bullets for weeks.
Take that, Mick. Congratulations on your impending nuptials.
“Jan!” Julie waved her over. “These are Cody’s parents, Harper and Maeve.”
Harper’s big hand engulfed Jan’s. “You Marone girls sure are a pretty bunch.” His deep drawl rumbled. “Makes me wish we had more sons so we could rope you into the family.”
New Jan met his gaze boldly. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got—cousins, uncles, nephews. Let’s have a look at ’em.”
Harper belly-laughed, and Maeve said, “Be careful what you wish for, Jan. Once the wedding photos hit Facebook, you’ll find Browns lined up at your door.”
“I’ll be sure to post my new address.” Anyone sharing the Browns’ gene pool would get a warm welcome from her.
Then a hand touched her arm.
Mick.
The nerve.
He smiled at Harper and Maeve. “Hi, I’m Jan’s date, Mick McKenna.” He linked hands with her like they were a couple, obviously assuming she’d swallow it rather than knee his nuts in the middle of Julie’s reception.
He was right, of course. She sucked it up, simmering silently behind a bogus smile as he paid her back for the Rowena intro with a string of hilarious Jan stories that had the Browns in stitches.
But being Mick, he got cocky and pushed her too far, draping his arm over her shoulder like he had a right. Like she’d stand still for it.
Playing along, she slid her arm around his waist, under his jacket. Then she pinched him, hard.
He flinched, dropping his arm to grab his side, covering it up like he was scratching an itch. But before she could gloat, he reached out and gently, affectionately, brushed her hair back over her shoulder.
Harper’s face split in a grin, which puzzled her until Maeve casually tapped the side of her own neck. Then Jan’s skin caught on fire. Shaking her hair down over the hickey, she muttered, “Excuse me,” and bolted.
Kicking off her high heels, she steamed across the lawn, weaving between café tables and lush flower beds, on a march toward the inn.
Mick matched her stride for stride. “I’ll be black and blue for a week,” he growled.
“I’ll have this hickey for a month,” she shot back. “I can’t believe I let it happen.”
“You didn’t complain at the time.”
She pulled up short beside an arbor blanketed with roses. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“Yes, we are.” His eyes burned. “You’ve had your say. When I tried to have mine, you lobbed Rowena at me like a stink bomb and ran away.”
“I didn’t run away.” Not exactly. “I walked.”
“Either way, your”—air quotes—“ ‘wedding gift’ isn’t working this time.”
“Give it a few weeks.” She smirked. “You’ll run into Rowena, maybe at the parade. You’ll grab a beer together, get to talking, and realize how much you’ve got in common. Next thing you know . . . dum dum da-dum.”
“Dumb is right.”
“That’s the wedding march, dummy.”
“I know what it is, and it’s dumb. I’m not marrying Rowena. In fact”—he shot out a finger—“it’s not possible for you to introduce me to the woman I’m gonna marry.”
“Why not? Is she an alien? A ghost? A zombie?”
“She’s a pain in the ass, is what she is. And you can’t introduce me to her because I already know her. I’ve known her all my life.”
Jan’s opened her mouth to fire another pistol shot. And then his words sank in.
She closed her mouth. Cocked her head.
“Yeah, dummy,” Mick said. “I’m talking about you.”
“You are?” It came out soft and wondering.
He softened too. His eyes, his voice. The curve of his lips. “You asked me this morning what I meant when I said I love you. Now I’m telling you.”
His knuckles brushed her cheek, feather light. “I love you every way a man can love a woman. I love your face.” He took it in his hands. “It’s the most beautiful face in the world to me. I love your brain”—he tapped her temple with one finger—“even when it’s barely working. I love your heart”—he laid his palm on her chest—“as big as Boston.”
His gaze traveled slowly to her toes. “And last night I fell in love with your body. I’d like to love it again tonight, and every night for the rest of my life.”
He ran his hands down her arms, linked his fingers with hers. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. It’s always been you.”
She gazed at him, stunned. “But . . . why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“And have you feel sorry for me, like I was some lovesick puppy dogging your heels, wishing you’d love me back?”
“But I do love you, dummy.”
A smile broke like sunrise over Mick’s face. “You do? Since when?”
“Since Tommy Teeter.”
He laughed. “That little prick. I’m gonna look him up and buy him a drink.”
He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles, each one, then pressed her palm to his heart. “Does this mean we could’ve been together all this time?”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “We were too young and stupid before now. I had to be New Jan first.” Taking charge of her life, believing she could be desirable, even lovable. “And you had to have a nightmare.” Making him vulnerable, forging the intimacy that made everything else possible.
“If we weren’t in bed together, none of that would’ve mattered,” Mick pointed out.
“I’ll take credit for that,” she said.
“It was my room.”
“Yeah, but you gave it to me.”
“I knew you wouldn’t put me out on the street.”
“Baloney. You almost died when I told Barbie we were sharing.”
“So you believe me about her?”
“I do. I’m sorry I didn’t.” How could she have doubted him? Whether lover or just friend, Mick would cut off his famous left nut before he’d hurt her so cruelly.
His arms wound around her waist. “Got anything you want to say to me?”
“Mmm hmm.” She knew he was expecting I love you. She gave him something better.
Stepping back, she stuck out her hand. “Mick McKenna, meet the new Jan Marone.”
MICK PILED HIS pillows behind his head, curled his arm around Jan and reeled her in.
She came willingly, her head slotting naturally into his shoulder, her leg wrapping around his.
And her sneaky little hand heading straight for trouble.
He caught it before it got where it was going. “You’re gonna kill me, babe.” Words he’d never said before, and thought he never would.
She laughed, her breath warm against his throat. “Finally, something a little different for the bathroom wall at O’Reilly’s.”
He lifted his head to eyeball her. “What the hell?”
“The Mick McKenna wall. Haven’t you heard about it?” She did one-handed air quotes. “ ‘December seventeenth—six times. February eleventh—seven times.’ ”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What, those numbers don’t sound familiar? Now I can add ‘March twenty-first—only three. Then he pooped out.’ ”
“Like hell.” He flipped her, caging her head with his forearms.
“I’ll add a frowny face—”
He kissed her deep and long. And got his numbers up to a more respectable four before collapsing on his back once more.
Jan curled into his side like a kitten. He heaved a peaceful sigh. After the ride he’d just given her, even Miss Insatiable should be out of action for a while. Which was a blessing, because he was—okay—pooped out.
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I love you,” she said softly.
“I love you too, babe.” He nuzzled the soft crown of her head.
She stroked his chest lightly. “You’re my hero, Mick. You always have been. Always will be.”
His whole body tensed. Peace and quiet went out the window, and despair hollowed his chest. “I’m no hero, Jan. You were here last night. You know it better than anyone.”
“I know you’re having bad dreams after a near-death experience. Who wouldn’t?” Her fingertip smoothed the furrow of tension carved into his brow. “I also know you’re courageous. That doesn’t mean you don’t get scared. It means you don’t let being scared stop you. You’re the bravest person I know.”
Dread curled like a snake in his gut. What if he lost his nerve? What would she think then?
Her fingers traced over his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw. “If you’re thinking my feelings will change if you don’t run headlong into the next fully engulfed building, you’re wrong. Brave doesn’t mean stupid. Please don’t be stupid.”
That made him smile. “You’re asking a lot.”
“Don’t I know it.”
His smile slowly dissolved. “What if I’m not . . .” He swallowed. “What if I can’t do it anymore?”
“Then you’ll do something else. And I’ll still love you. We’ll still be together. None of that changes.”
He didn’t deserve this woman. Just being with her made him feel better, stronger. Getting laid helped too. So did being all but engaged to her.
Which raised one last niggling doubt.
“What if I can do it? What if I can keep running in? Will you marry me anyway?”
Soft fingertips stroked along his collarbone. “A wise man—well, a guy I know who’s occasionally not dumb—once told me that love should conquer how somebody earns a paycheck.”
“The guy sounds like a genius to me.”
“He has his moments.”
“And you agree with him?”
“About this, yeah. At least as it applies to you and me.” Her fingertips drifted away from his collarbone to trace a circle over his heart. “I know who you are, Mick. I’ll take you, for better or for worse.”
The breath that had lodged in his lungs came out on a sigh. He relaxed right down to his DNA.
He definitely didn’t deserve this woman.
“What about me?” she asked.
“What about you?” He covered the hand she’d laid on his heart. “You’re perfect. I love you. I’ll take care of you forever.”
Her lips curved, a soft tickle against his skin. “Sounds nice, but you didn’t seem totally on board with New Jan.”
“She’ll take some getting used to. Especially her clothes, and I mean that in a good way. She looks great. Sexy. Fuckable.”
“But?”
“But I discovered this weekend that I’ve got a jealous streak. I don’t like other men panting all over my woman.” He shrugged. “I’ll have to get used to it, though, because she’s hot. And I like her like that.”
“Mr. Caveman.”
“Mrs. Caveman.”
“Make that Ms. Cavewoman.”
“Whatever you say, babe.” He smiled smugly. “But you’ll always be Mrs. Caveman to me.”
New to Cara Connelly’s Save the Date series?
Find out how Julie and Cody met in . . .
THE WEDDING DATE
And get to know Tyrell and Vicky in . . .
THE WEDDING FAVOR
All available now!
Read on for a sneak peek . . .
The Wedding Date
“BLIND DATES ARE for losers.” Julie Marone pinched the phone with her shoulder and used both hands to scrape the papers on her desk into a tidy pile. “You really think I’m a loser?”
“Not a loser, exactly.” Amelia’s inflection kept her options open.
Julie snorted a laugh. “Gee, thanks, sis. Tell me how you really feel.”
“You know what I mean. You’ve been out of circulation for three years. You have to start somewhere.”
“Sure, but did it have to be at the bottom of the barrel?”
“Peter’s a nice guy!” Amelia protested.
“Absolutely,” Julie said agreeably. “So devoted to dear old Mom that he still lives in her basement.”
Amelia let out a here-we-go-again groan. “He’s an optometrist, for crying out loud. I assumed he’d have his own place.”
Julie started on the old saying about what happens when you assume, but Amelia cut her off. “Yeah, yeah. Ass. You. Me. Got it. Anyway, Leo”—tonight’s date—“is a definite step up. I checked with his sister”—Amelia’s hairstylist—“and she said he’s got a house in Natick. His practice is thriving.”
“So why’s he going on a blind date?”
“His divorce just came through.”
Julie groaned. Recently divorced men fell into two categories. “Shopping for a replacement or still simmering with resentment?”
“Come on, Jules, give him a chance.”
Julie sighed. Slid the stack of papers into a folder marked “Westin/Anderson” and added it to her briefcase for tomorrow’s closing. “Just tell me where to meet him.”
“On Hanover Street at seven. He made reservations at a place on Prince.”
“Well, in that case.” Dinner in Boston’s North End almost made it worthwhile. Julie was always up for good Italian. “How will I recognize him? Tall, dark, and handsome?” A girl could hope.
“Dark . . . but . . . not tall. Wearing a red scarf.”
“Handsome?”
Amelia cleared her throat. “I caught one of his commercials the other night. He’s got a nice smile.”
“Whoa, wait. Commercials? What kind of lawyer is he?”
“Personal injury.” Amelia dropped it like a turd. Then said, “Oh, look, Ray’s here. Gotta go,” and hung up.
Putting two and two together, Julie groaned. Leo could only be the ubiquitous Leo “I Feel Your” Payne, whose commercials saturated late-night television, promising Boston’s sleepless that he would not quit until they got every penny they deserved—minus his third, of course.
“How did I get into this?” she murmured.
For three years, since David died, she’d tried explaining to her sister
that her career, her rigorous training schedule—she really would do the marathon this year—and their sprawling Italian American family kept her too busy for a man. And Amelia, even though she didn’t buy it, had respected Julie’s wishes.
Until now.
The catalyst, Julie knew, was Amelia’s own upcoming Christmas Eve wedding. She wanted Julie—her maid of honor—to bring a date. A real date, not her gay friend Dan. Amelia loved Dan like a brother, but he was single too, always up for hanging out, and he made it too easy for Julie to duck the dating game.
So Amelia had lined up three eligible men and informed Julie that if she didn’t give them a chance, then their mother—a confirmed cougar with not-great taste in men—would bring a wedding date for her.
Recognizing a train wreck when she saw one coming, Julie had given in and agreed to date all three. So far they were shaping up even worse than expected.
Jan appeared in the doorway. “J-Julie?” Her usually pale cheeks were pink. Her tiny bosom heaved. “Oh Julie. You’ll never believe . . . the most . . . I mean . . .”
“Take a breath, Jan.” Julie did that thing where she pointed two fingers at Jan’s eyes, then back at her own. “Focus.”
Jan sucked air through her nose, let it out with a wheeze. “Okay, we just had a walk-in. From Austin.” She wheezed again. “He’s gorgeous. And that drawl . . .” Wheeze.
Julie nodded encouragingly. It never helped to rush Jan.
“He said . . .” Jan fanned herself, for real. She was actually perspiring. “He said someone in the ER told him about you.”
That sounded ominous.
Julie glanced at her watch. —5:45. Too late to deal with mysterious strangers. If she left now, she’d just have time to get home and change into something more casual for her date.
“Ask him to come back tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t have time—”
“He just wants a minute.” Jan wiped her palms on her grey pleated skirt. At twenty-five, she dressed like Julie’s Gram, but inside she was stuck at sixteen, helpless in the face of a handsome man. “I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t say no.”
Julie blew out a sigh, wondered—again—why she’d hired her silly cousin in the first place. Because family was family, that’s why.
The Wedding Gift Page 9