“I wish I were here under different circumstances. I don’t wish it wasn’t Vince’s wedding—I’m really happy about that. I just wish we weren’t, you know. We’re hurting your family and they don’t even realize it. It breaks my heart.”
Hearing her voice catch made the breath rush out of him, made his forehead tick with pain and an overwhelming desire to comfort her.
After that kiss on the lawn, Dexter had felt his first real twinge of guilt. Just like Jules, he hated lying to his family. They would find out the truth someday, and it certainly wouldn’t strengthen familial bonds. If he thought he was estranged from Dad now, how would it be then?
“I know,” he said. For a moment, they looked at each other, so close he could’ve reached out and drawn her to his chest, just held her until the remorse in both their hearts evaporated.
When he felt her foot move under the sheets, he threw back the covers and sat up. “I’m going to”—climb out the window—“sleep on the floor.”
Jules sat up. “Am I hogging the covers?”
He snatched his pillow and the blanket at the foot of the bed. “No, it’s this damn mattress. It’s been too short for me ever since my growth spurt at fifteen. My feet hang off the end.” He dropped to the floor, didn’t bother using the blanket.
“Are you sure?”
“Totally. I’ll be out like a light in two seconds.”
“Do you need another pillow?”
“Nope, perfectly fine.” He saw her lean over the side of the bed to look down at him, so he drew the blanket over his body. “See? All cozy. Now, let’s get some sleep.”
She sighed in the darkness. “Okay. Good night, then.”
“Yeah, ’night.” He rolled to face the wall, not relaxing until he heard her lie back down.
Despite what he’d said, Dexter had a hell of a time falling asleep. First, he thought about his father, how he had to talk to him before he flew back to New York tomorrow. Next, he tried to concentrate on his meeting with Three Jacker Media on Friday, on that one PowerPoint design that still wasn’t right. Every time he got close to drifting off, he heard Jules move, heard her breathing in the dark. When he did manage to sleep, it was filled with restless dreams.
Correction—one dream, one fragment of one dream that cut off every time a petite woman in a Vegas limo turned to face him, fisting the front of his shirt until a single button popped off.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Jules had gotten up, because the next morning, he woke to find a mug next to his head, filled with room temperature water that flooded the air with the smell of mint.
Chapter Eight
The surroundings were unfamiliar, but at least Jules knew where she was when she yawned herself awake. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, blurry from the sunlight streaming through the sheer drapes. The clock radio read ten thirty.
The wedding was at noon. They’d better get a move on.
She crawled to the foot of the bed, but Dexter was gone, his spot on the floor empty. The pillow and blanket he’d used were back in place on the bed, making it look like they’d slept next to each other all night.
She’d never admit it, but she was grateful he’d moved to the floor. Playing it cool was one thing, but ever since that kiss on the patio, she’s been more than a little shaky.
In fact, all of last night had left her shaky. She’d had a blast with Dex, trading get-to-know-you stories as they’d dressed for the party, sharing crazy-ass smiles meant to get out of sticky conversations, laughing every time they had a quiet moment together. How he’d been so protective and sweet about defending “his wife’s” reputation. And lastly, how she’d wanted so badly to scoot over in bed just to be close to him.
They were friends; they had a foundation now. But there was also something else. Though the thought of what it might be wasn’t exactly welcoming.
Would he ever want a relationship? Could a womanizer change his ways? Commit to one woman? Maybe in chick flicks, but in real life…? Probably not.
The smell of shampoo and aftershave filled the bathroom, and traces of steam still clung to the corners of the mirror.
Wow, she must’ve slept hard to have not heard him shower and shave. Had she been snoring? Did Dexter see her sleeping with her mouth wide open?
His laptop was gone, which meant he’d gotten up at the crack of dawn to make business calls or finalize a merger. Even on his brother’s wedding day, he couldn’t put work on the back burner. Yet another reason it was foolish to consider him as anything more than a friend…her partner in a business deal.
Jules took a long shower, swiping Dexter’s razor to shave her legs while her deep conditioner did its thing. She’d left the bathroom door open a crack to hear if he came back, so it was a surprise when she found a note on the made bed.
I told them we had a late night, it said in tight block letters. I figured that was a reasonable explanation. Food is in the kitchen. Roxy’s been asking for you. Wedding’s in an hour. I’m a groomsman, so if I don’t see you before, try not to make matters worse.
Jules crumpled the note and hurled it across the room, missing the trash can. Try not to make matters worse. What the heck did that mean? She hadn’t done anything to make it worse. Well, okay, she should’ve talked to him before spouting off about their fake sex life.
Fine. Whatever. I won’t make it worse.
She blow-dried her hair, then fingered it into a loose French twist. The dress she’d brought for the wedding had a high neck, so wearing her hair up would look more…presentable? She shouldn’t care about that, either. The Elliotts knew darn well what she was like. Just because she’d married Dexter didn’t mean she’d suddenly change. Good people like the Elliotts would never expect that.
She stepped into her long pink dress, zipped the side zipper, then fastened the clip at the back of her neck. It was vintage Halston from the ’80s that reminded her of Molly Ringwald’s prom dress in Pretty in Pink. At least the top half did. The bottom half was full and pleated and puffed out when she spun. It was one of her favorite outfits. With no jewelry besides one jingly charm bracelet, she slicked on lip gloss and headed downstairs.
Hunger pangs clawed her stomach the second she entered the kitchen. The room bustled with catering staff, and she jumped out of the way when one dashed between her and the coffeepot. She preferred tea in the morning, but since it was almost lunchtime and she wasn’t about to riffle through Eileen’s kitchen, she poured a tall helping.
After a few sips hit her bloodstream, she smiled and leaned against the counter. She’d forgotten that Eileen Elliott took it upon herself to keep the town’s namesake afloat by infusing everything she could with their chocolate. Another deep, gratifying sip. It wasn’t like café mocha you’d buy at Starbucks. Eileen’s coffee had a taste all its own, and Jules felt sixteen again.
“Finally!”
Roxy entered the kitchen wearing a dress even shorter than the one last night. The girl had great legs, but did she need to show so much of them all the time? Jules laughed inside, feeling like the big sister Roxy never had. But maybe should have…
“Sorry, I slept late.”
“Dex told us. They’re all out back, it’s about to start. Any coffee left?”
“Aren’t you in the wedding?”
Roxy shook her head, her short hair bobbing around her chin. “Maddie has six girl cousins who expected to be in the wedding.” She shrugged and poured coffee. “It’s a Southern thing, I guess. But it’s a load off. I hate weddings.”
“Me, too.” Which wasn’t even true, but a knee-jerk reply.
“Is that why you eloped?”
Oh, snap. Had she and Dexter covered that? Stay as close to the truth as possible. “Dex knows that about me; he wanted to make it as low-key as possible.”
“So you went to a Las Vegas wedding chapel at midnight?” Roxy eyed her over her mug.
“That might not seem low-key to you, but I’m from Vegas. A chapel on the Strip is the same as
city hall.” She glanced toward the patio door, longing to escape before she made matters worse.
Freaking Dexter getting in her head.
“It was romantic,” she added. “Our whole relationship has been one leap of faith after another. Getting married was my big leap for him.”
She must’ve been becoming a very convincing liar, because saying that felt completely true.
“Hey.” Jules pointed outside. “Looks like Danny’s telling the organist to start. Shouldn’t you be with them?”
Roxy’s mug landed on the counter with a thud. “Shoot, it’s starting early. Want to sit with me in front? You’re family.”
“Thanks, but I’ll hang in back and finish my cup, if that’s cool.”
“Sure.” Roxy gave her a smile and squeezed her hand. “See you later.”
Jules peered outside again. Wanting to see Dexter, but also not wanting to. Oh, her broken brain!
An unsupervised serving platter of pigs in a blanket made her mouth water. She swiped one, popped it in her mouth, and tried not to think what kind of nonmeat she was eating. It was delicious, so she swiped another and bit it in half. Mmm, as tasty as the first.
At the opening chords of the bridal march, Jules inhaled the other half, picked up the bottom of her dress, and dashed out the side door. Two hundred white chairs lined the large backyard; at the front was a tall white arch covered in clinging vines and pale gray roses. Everyone was on their feet as Maddie, in a long white dress, walked up the aisle, arm in arm with her father.
Feeling touched and emotional was a completely natural reaction. But Jules hadn’t expected such a lump in her throat. She’d never have anything like this. Not that she’d want a traditional wedding ceremony, or a ceremony, or a wedding at all.
She found an open chair on the back row and sneaked in. It made her smile to see Vince beaming at his approaching bride. She was sincerely pleased for him. He’d been one of her best friends for years, and deserved love and happiness.
Doesn’t everyone? Don’t I?
The lump in her throat grew.
To the left of Vince stood his groomsmen—a line of Elliotts wearing pale gray suits, light pink ties and one small pink rose pinned to their lapels. Dexter was second in line between Luke and Danny, and damn it all, the man stood out like one of the royals.
Okay, fine, even if she hadn’t realized it all these years, Dexter was by far the hottest Elliott. No use denying it. The knot in his tie was perfectly square, perfect side part in his dark hair, though his boutonniere was a bit off-kilter.
The tiny imperfection made her heart skip a beat, maybe even goo a little.
Through the two hundred people between them, Dexter caught her eye and gave a little nod. She was about to wave her fingers when a memory suddenly resurfaced. She saw them at their wedding, could feel the rented veil on her head. Dexter smiling at her, laughing together, hysterically laughing. At what?
“I do,” he’d whispered. “I sure the hell do. You’re exactly what I need, Jules—right now and forever.”
Suddenly, her chest filled with so much heat and pressure, she could almost drown in it, while her eyes remained locked on Dexter across the yard. Her mouth was dry, but she tasted something on the back of her tongue. Last night’s kiss. It was Dexter she tasted, recalled perfectly how his mouth had felt against hers.
You’re exactly what I need, he’d said in front of that mutton-chopped Vegas minister. Had he meant it? Or was she recalling a false memory? Imagining what she wanted him to say?
Someone poked her side. She blinked and gasped when she realized with horror that the two hundred people had sat down, and she was the only one still standing, gazing across the empty space at Dexter.
Two hundred people were now turned and staring at her.
“Sorry!” she called out, waving in the general direction of the bride and groom. “Your turn. I’ll sit now. Go ahead, Vince.” She gave the thumbs-up, then quickly dropped to her seat.
Dexter’s brow furrowed when he looked away from her, and she felt like an idiot. Yes, she wanted to remember what had happened that night, but her sporadically resurfacing memories sure had bad timing.
The rest of the ceremony was a blur, and before she knew it, the band was playing, and Vince and Maddie were having their first dance. Judging by the state of the chairs and tables, she’d totally zoned out through the toasts and the cutting of the cake.
“That was a nice touch.” Dexter was at her side, holding a champagne flute out to her.
She took it automatically but put it on the table. This was bad, very, very bad. Her heart should not speed up when Dexter came near or when she thought about him. Why couldn’t he start yammering on his Bluetooth or flirt with a trampy-looking guest? Wasn’t that what the guy was all about?
“Nice touch?” she asked.
“Staying standing after everyone sat, looking gooey-eyed at me.”
Jules felt a flush coming on. Bad, bad timing. “I’d never look gooey over you.”
“I’m saying it was a good thing. People totally bought it.”
“Oh.” She reached for her glass, but it had already been cleared away by the über-efficient waiters. “That’s why I did it. Obviously.”
She glanced away, in case she was still blushing, while swinging the bottom of her skirt.
“We should dance now— Jules. What the hell? You’re not wearing shoes.” He was staring down at her feet, shock creasing his face.
“I told you I wasn’t going to.”
“Last night you said you weren’t, but then you did.”
“So?” She pulled up her dress a few more inches and showed her bare feet. What was so wrong with them? They were pretty.
“Has my mother seen you?”
“Yes. And who cares?”
Dexter groaned, and was very obviously trying not to look at her feet. “It’s not proper.”
“I’m not proper, either.” She placed her hands on her hips and tipped her chin to eye him, relieved to be engaging in something that pointed out their glaring differences. “You knew that when you married me. Didn’t seem to bother you then.”
“I was drunk,” he said a bit too loudly, even though the music was blaring. He cleared his throat then took her hand, leading her away to the same semiprivate corner he’d dragged her to last night. “Neither of us can be held accountable for that night.”
“Ah, so the only reason someone like you would ever possibly marry someone like me is if he was too smashed to think straight?” She turned away. “Nice. Thanks.”
“Talking is a waste of energy.”
“Let’s dance, then. People expect it.”
“Can you even dance”—he pointed his chin at her feet—“like that?”
“Really, Dexter. You’ve got issues. Among other things, you’re way too concerned about what other people think.”
He crossed his arms. “You knew that before, and married me anyway.”
“I was obviously under some delusion that it didn’t matter. If I was thinking at all.”
“Shh,” he said, getting in her face. “You need to learn to use your inside voice.”
“We’re outside. And never shush me again. Seriously. You know darn well this isn’t about my feet. You think they’re cute, you just can’t admit it.”
She caught the flicker of a smile in his eyes, and knew he was ready to loosen up. Had making one joke done that?
“Is there a problem?”
Jules glanced past Dexter’s shoulder at Quent Sanders, dressed in a suit and tie.
“Why the hell are you here?” Dexter said through a clenched jaw, muscles working under his skin.
Quent held up a wineglass. “Your mother invited me.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Okay, so I invited myself. With my father away, I have an especially keen interest in his cases that I’m overseeing. Yours in particular.” He eyed Jules. “Looks like you two aren’t getting along. Seems strange that one
day after you signed for the house as a married couple that your relationship is on the rocks. We call that fraud.”
Dexter glared at him, the vein on his neck throbbing.
Okay, she’d had suspicions before, but now Jules was convinced there was bad blood between these two. It wasn’t the right moment for her to ask, since—if they really had been together for six months—Dexter would’ve already told her.
“Who says we’re not getting along?” Jules said.
“Looked like the beginnings of a full-blown fight from where I was standing.”
“Looks are deceiving,” Dexter said. “That wasn’t a fight, it was foreplay.”
Jules’s eyes were probably as wide as Quent’s, but she didn’t have time to react further. Dexter wheeled around and slid a hand to the back of her neck. Her body didn’t fight when he pulled her in.
From sheer force, their teeth hit together, but Dexter’s strong grip wouldn’t allow her to flinch. Not that her brain gave her that option. Both his hands held the sides of her head and she had to grab his elbows to hang on. Without breaking for air, his hands moved down her arms, taking each of her hands and leading them to clasp around his neck.
Even though it was hopelessly wrong—make-believe at its worst—Jules let herself fully sink into the kiss, felt its warmth and energy sing through her bloodstream, fill her head. She wanted to kiss him, to be as close to this man’s beating heart as possible.
Next thing she knew, she was off her feet, Dexter carrying her away.
“Had enough fighting, baby?” he said in a husky voice with enough volume that she knew it was meant for Quent to overhear, and thankfully snapping her out of fantasy land. “Time to get outta here?”
“Oh, yeahhh,” she said, pulling back so she could bite his lip and thrust both hands through his hair. She knew Dex would hate that…messing up his perfect part. So she kept at it, opening her eyes a sliver to see he was taking her around the side of the house to another entrance.
Wife for the Weekend Page 11