Bringing Home a Bachelor

by Karen Kendall

  Because one thing was for sure: she would not attend the wedding breakfast. She’d never, ever see Pete again, not voluntarily, anyway.

  * * *

  FULLY DRESSED IN HIS tuxedo again within five minutes, Pete headed downstairs in record time. He slipped back into Ballroom C, where the reception was winding down now—Mark and Kendra had evidently left.

  He made sure everyone who wanted a last drink got one before the bar closed, and saw to it that the tables all got bused. He poured some seriously inebriated guests into a couple of taxis, and even escorted Mark’s slightly tipsy Aunt Mildred to her room on the third floor.

  He shoveled some last late-night partiers into the Starlight Bar and Lounge, Playa Bella’s own nightclub, and kept an eye out for Melinda, but didn’t see her. The person he kept seeing instead was Melinda’s and Mark’s mother, Jocelyn. And for some reason she was glowering at him, though her husband Richard was just as affable as always.

  Pete spent a few minutes with the bride’s parents to make sure they were happy with everything and had no questions about the final bill. Then he walked over to say good-night to the Edgeworths.

  He’d eaten countless oatmeal-raisin cookies in Jocelyn’s kitchen as a kid, and she’d been very warm to him at the beginning of the evening, so he couldn’t account for the arctic chill in her voice now, unless…

  “Mark and Kendra looked so happy,” he said, placing a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder. “Didn’t they?”

  “Yes.” She sidestepped quickly, shrugging him off, while Richard didn’t seem to notice.

  Had Melinda told her mother what she and Pete had done? No…why would she have? It wasn’t the kind of thing a girl discussed with her mom over coffee. Or was it?

  “You and your staff here at the hotel did a fine job,” said Richard genially. “Very nice party. Thank you.”

  Pete shrugged modestly. “Kendra and her mother planned it down to the last detail. So it was easy for us. But I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves.”

  “As did you,” Jocelyn said acidly.

  Pete froze. Then he lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, it was great to see everyone after all these years.”

  Melinda had definitely said something to her mother, damn it. But why? And how much had she told her? He could feel heat rising up his neck and into his face, for the second time that evening.

  “How’s the old neighborhood?” he asked, looking for a safe topic of conversation.

  “Fine,” Jocelyn said, avoiding his gaze and hunting for something in her purse.

  “Oh, nothing much has changed, except for a few more burglar bars and alarms,” Richard mused. “Crime’s even crept into Coral Gables, you know. Some of the incidents are pretty brazen. Our neighbors the Sanchezs had their front door kicked down, clean off its hinges. But their alarm went off, so whoever it was skedaddled before any other harm was done.”

  Richard was that kind of harmless guy who’d use the term skedaddled. Pete wished there were more of them left in the world.

  “D’you know the Sanchez family, Pete?”

  He shook his head. “They must have moved in after I left for college.”

  “Mmm. That’s right, you headed down to Texas and got yourself some southern manners along with that BA in business.” Richard winked.

  Jocelyn, who’d been applying powder to her nose, snapped shut her compact with a little more force than necessary. “He learned how to sweet-talk women, didn’t you, Peter?”

  O-kaaaay. Pete chuckled mildly. “Well, I don’t know about that, Mrs. E. I haven’t been all that lucky in the babe department lately.”

  She shot him the lipless smile of a cobra. “That’s not what I hear.”

  Richard’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “Jocelyn,” he said in reproving tones.

  Oh, hell. Did Melinda’s father know, too? No, he just looked puzzled by his wife’s hostility. Pete hoped that she wouldn’t explain anything to him. He felt awkward enough as it was.

  “So!” He clapped Richard on the shoulder. “Are you staying at Playa Bella tonight, or driving home?”

  “We’re driving home. But we’ll see you bright and early at the wedding breakfast tomorrow.” Jocelyn really had the cobra thing down: she managed to move her head forward and then back while making the barest shimmy with her shoulders. It shouldn’t have been menacing, especially not on a five-four blonde, but it sent a clear warning signal down Pete’s spine.

  “Great,” he said jovially. “You know we’ll do it up right. Playa Bella is famous for our mimosas, and the French toast is unrivaled. Now, do you have your valet ticket? I’ll walk you out.”

  “Ah. Very nice of you, Pete.” Richard preempted his wife, who’d opened her mouth to refuse the offer. He fished around in his jacket pockets for the ticket.

  Pete would have sworn he saw just the tip of a black, forked tongue flicker out of Jocelyn’s mouth, and blinked. Had he gotten some bad fish?

  “Here we are!” Richard produced the wayward valet ticket and handed it over. They all made their way out to the marble foyer. One of the doormen opened a fifteen-foot-high entrance door upon sight of them, and Pete cast a glance heavenward in thanks that he was about to escape from Melinda’s mother.

  They stepped out into the humid Miami night air, he dealt with the valet guys and then murmured a good-night. Within seconds he was breathing a sigh of relief back in the air-conditioning, practically hiding behind a giant, ornate floral arrangement in the lobby.

  He took a step towards his room, and another. And then something jabbed him in the small of the back. It felt like a gun.

  Pete spun around and discovered that he’d been held up by Jocelyn’s long fingernail.

  “I want to talk to you,” she hissed. “Not now. Not at breakfast. Tuesday morning. Eleven o’clock.”

  “I, uh, believe I have an appointment scheduled then,” Pete stammered.

  “Then cancel it.” And with that, Jocelyn coiled herself back out the door.

  8

  MELINDA WOKE BLEARILY to a gentle tapping on her hotel room door.

  “Room Service,” came a faint call.

  She frowned, but got out of bed and pulled on a robe. “I didn’t order anything,” she said to the uniformed maid outside.

  “Compliments of Mr. Dale.” The tiny woman came in with a tray and set it down on the room’s desk. “Coffee, cream and sugar.”

  Mel got a couple of dollars out of her purse to give to the woman, and stared at the tray once she’d left. Next to the beautifully folded, snowy-white napkin was a single red rose. And under the rose was a cream envelope.

  She stared at the envelope suspiciously as she poured a cup of coffee and mixed cream and sugar into it before taking a grateful sip. She drank most of the coffee before she finally slid the note out and read it. In neat but bold lettering it said:

  Dear Melinda,

  Last night was incredible…a wonderful surprise to find out that the little girl next door has grown up to be all sexy woman. I can’t wait to see you at breakfast. In the meantime, how about some coffee?

  Pete

  She picked up the rose and smelled it; inhaled the deep, sweet floral velvet of its petals. She read the note again. He did have nice manners—he’d been sweet and thoughtful without making her feel cheap.

  She picked up the envelope to slide the note back into it, and something fell out onto the tray—the tiny, perfect sand dollar she’d found on the beach and tucked into her cleavage. Another unexpected touch.

  Mel had planned to get her things together and go home, skipping the breakfast, but now she hesitated.

  Slinking out of here like a dog with its tail between its legs smacked of shame, and she had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

  Nothing.

  She and Pete were two consenting adults and they’d known each other for a long time. So what if it had been a booty call? They happened all the time.

  And while she really didn’t want to see her mother, she refused
to run away and by doing so, validate Jocelyn’s hurtful comments. So she had another cup of Pete’s complimentary coffee, then ratcheted up her chin and headed for the shower.

  * * *

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Melinda stepped out onto the bay-front terrace where Playa Bella had set up the wedding breakfast. She wore a navy sundress with white polka-dots, some freshwater pearls around her neck, and white kitten-heels. She’d left her hair down.

  While the coffee had helped clear her head, she was definitely feeling the effects of too much champagne the night before. Still, she greeted Aunt Mildred with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and then chatted with some of the other guests.

  Kylie, Melinda and Mark’s very young aunt—and Melinda’s good friend—looked even more hungover than she was. And somehow sheepish, with an angry edge.

  “Hey, Kylie,” Mel said, as she gave her a hug. Her aunt was only a couple of years older than she was, a tall, statuesque blonde. Mel would have been in awe of her model good-looks, but since she saw her practically every weekend in a scruffy plaid bathrobe, unshaven legs and mangy flip-flops, she hadn’t been intimidated by her in years.

  “Hi, honey.” Kylie seemed distant and wary, and scanned the crowd like a secret service agent, her usually warm, hazel eyes narrowed and cold.

  “Looking for someone?” Mel asked, scanning people herself for any sign of Pete.

  “More like avoiding someone,” Kylie said cryptically.

  “Who?”

  “A complete jerk.”

  Mel’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know any had been invited, except for maybe my mother.”

  Kylie’s lips twitched. “On the outs with Joss again? Sorry.”

  Mel grimaced. “Yeah. So who’s got you so pissed off?”

  “Nobody.” Kylie might be all woman on the exterior, but emotionally she functioned more like a guy. She was a great listener, but shared only when forced to.

  Hmm.

  Hadn’t Mark said Kylie had been gone from the reception, too? Had she hooked up with someone? It wasn’t like her, if so. Mel would try grilling her, but not in front of all their relatives.

  She once again searched the guests for Pete.

  Most of the younger generation seemed to be missing in action and were probably still asleep. Mel didn’t spot a single groomsman other than…there he was.

  He was dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He was giving some instructions to the servers near the buffet, serious for a moment, then nodding and smiling, clapping the shoulder of a young guy dressed in the kitchen uniform of a white cotton jacket.

  He must have sensed her gaze upon him, because he turned and smiled at her. Mel experienced a curious sensation. Her heart seemed to melt, like one of Dali’s wet watches. It slid through her insides and puddled into her shoes.

  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, not to mention that it left a large, aching cavity in her chest. She stretched her lips into some semblance of a smile as panic rose in her throat like bile.

  Booty call. That’s all it was, you stupid, stupid girl. You have no feelings for Pete and he has none for you. Got that?

  She turned away from Cryptic Kylie. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Her aunt nodded.

  Mel glimpsed her parents, and searched quickly for someone else to go and have a conversation with. She wasn’t ready to face her mother.

  Great-uncle Ernie was parked in his wheelchair by himself, enjoying a mimosa while his sparse white hair lifted in the breeze coming off the bay. He looked a little like Charlton Heston, if Heston would be caught dead in those huge, dorky, wraparound sunshades that fit over a normal pair of glasses.

  Heston also probably wouldn’t be caught dead in a melon-colored polyester jacket and plaid pants in tropical hues, but Great-uncle Ernie wore his colors with pride.

  “Good morning, Uncle Ernie,” Mel said, kissing his cheek. “How are you today?”

  “Oh, fine, just fine, thank you, Melissa.” He beamed up at her, and she didn’t bother to correct him. She’d be Marilyn next, and then Madeline.

  Oblivious, Ernie continued. “Thought I’d lost my teeth, but I found ’em. Can you believe it? I put my teeth in my glasses case—though they didn’t fit too well—and my glasses in a cup with the denture-cleanser. Let me tell you, that stuff is great for washing lenses! Who knew?”

  She laughed. “Did you have too much wine last night, Uncle Ernie?”

  “I hope so.” He frowned. “Can’t say as I remember.”

  “Beautiful wedding, though, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes…even if the bride did get the hiccups during the vows. Cute, really. Never seen that before. Have you?”

  “No,” Mel said honestly.

  “Your brother must give her indigestion,” remarked Uncle Ernie.

  Melinda was still laughing at this when Pete appeared at her elbow with a mimosa in each hand. “Hello, Gorgeous. A little hair of the dog?”

  “What dog?” asked Uncle Ernie. “Can’t abide dogs in restaurants and hotels. Hated Paris. Ten dogs in every café, I tell you.” He snorted. “Est ce vous avez fleas dans votre cappucino? Ha. I’d rather be in a nice Howard Johnson’s any day, and get no fur in my food.”

  “Playa Bella doesn’t allow dogs, sir.” Pete’s lips twitched, but otherwise he kept his face admirably composed. “That’s quite an excellent French accent you have.”

  “You bet. I was hot for this little French gal I met at the health club—this was back in the days when I had functional knees and ankles, you know—and when she said she taught at the community college I signed up for frog lessons real quick. She wouldn’t teach me any dirty words, though, and I figured out pretty quick that she was seeing some Cuban fellow.” Uncle Ernie’s mouth turned downward until another sip of his mimosa brightened him up.

  Melinda met Pete’s amused gaze over his head. She got lost in those rainwater-gray eyes of his, and forgot to be self-conscious.

  “I like that dress,” he said, as they edged away from old Ernie. “It looks a lot more comfortable than the one you had on last night.”

  “It is,” she said in heartfelt tones.

  “Of course, I like what’s under it a lot, too.” He winked.

  She felt the heat burning her cheeks. “About that, Pete—I’m, um, sorry that I…” Grabbed your dick like a drowning woman clutches at a piece of timber?

  “Sorry about what?” he interrupted.

  “Oh. Well. It’s just that I had a lot to drink, and, um…”

  “It was the champagne goggles, you mean? You’d never have touched me sober, ugly beast that I am?”

  “What? No! No, that’s not what I meant—” She stopped, flustered.

  Pete’s eyes twinkled. He was deliberately teasing her. “So, you didn’t have nightmares about me? Horrible dreams in which you begged me to put my clothes back on?”

  “No! I—”

  “You’re really cute when you blush, by the way.”

  What was she supposed to say to that? Thank you?

  “But why are you blushing?” Pete looked perplexed.

  “Because…I don’t normally, um, unzip guys’ pants—”

  “Really? That’s a damn shame.” He sipped at his mimosa, eyeing her over the rim of the glass.

  “…or grab their…”

  “I didn’t know it was possible for someone’s skin to turn quite that red,” Pete mused. “I think it might actually be dangerous.”

  “…parts,” she finished desperately. Then she drank half her mimosa in a single gulp.

  He touched his cold glass to her hot cheek, sending a shiver down her spine even in the humidity. “So what you’re telling me is that my, er, part, was endowed with a powerful magnetic force that drew you helplessly towards my zipper. Mine was special. You couldn’t help yourself.” He winked again.

  She stared at him, her mouth working. “No, what I’m saying is that I had too much to drink.”


  “Aww, and here I was beginning to be seriously flattered. Not to mention turned on again.” Pete came a couple of steps closer, right into her personal space, and sucked all the oxygen out of it.

  She could smell the soap he’d used that morning, and that clean, breezy aftershave. The quirk in his mouth was addictive. Her fingers itched to trace it.

  Her heart hammering, Mel took a step back. “You don’t have to flirt with me.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What if I want to flirt with you, honey? What if I was going to ask you what you’re doing this Saturday?”

  Her heart leaped, and then fell again. He was just being polite about Saturday. She shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean, just because of last night, you shouldn’t feel obligated to—I mean, I’m a big girl. I know it meant nothing.”

  He tilted his head and gazed down at her quizzically. “It meant something to me, Melinda.”

  “It was just sex,” she blurted. “A booty call. I get that.”

  Pete opened his mouth to say something—probably a polite denial of what Mel knew to be true—but snapped it closed again as her mother and father appeared at her elbow.

  “Melinda,” said Jocelyn in frosty tones. She smiled brightly, though—too brightly.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Richard said, kissing her cheek. His gaze darted from her mother’s face to hers and then back again. Clearly, he knew there was trouble between them.

  Pete looked actively uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, but produced a hearty grin.

  “And Pete. How are you this morning?” Richard stuck out his hand. He and Pete shook.

  “Peter, I noticed that one of the buffet trays is empty,” her mother said coolly. “And that table in the corner? It’s littered with dirty plates and utensils.”

  “Mom, Pete is not a waiter,” Mel said through gritted teeth.

  “No, but he does supervise the staff, don’t you, Peter? When you’re not busy, that is.”

  “Thank you for alerting me, Mrs. Edgeworth,” Pete said smoothly. “I hope you’ll excuse me while I take care of those issues. Enjoy your breakfast.” And with those words, he vamoosed, leaving Mel with her parents.