Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

  Moving on to more pleasant thoughts, I say, “There are two bridal boutiques I want to visit. We have appointments at one and four.”

  “So you still thinking the Swordfish Festival for the date?” Gwen asks.

  I chuckle, recalling the conversation Logan and I had earlier that morning on the subject of setting the date. Now was the date he preferred.

  “I’m waiting to hear back from the pastor to find out what his availability is. I’d like to have the ceremony at the lighthouse, right on the bay this spring, so I’m still thinking the Swordfish Festival.”

  “Spring gives us a few months. We should be able to swing that,” Josh says.

  “Mitch can coordinate with his team to cater the food.”

  “Would he do that?” I wanted to approach Mitch about that, but I felt bad suggesting he work during a day he should be relaxing and celebrating.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I can’t believe I’m planning my wedding. It’s one of those things you think about from the time you’re a little girl, but now it’s reality. I almost want the day to be here already, but I want to plan it too.”

  “It’ll be here before you know it, but first things first. We need a dress.”

  The first boutique was a bust. The dresses were all too fairy princess for my taste. As soon as we entered the second shop, I see my gown: a strapless lace sheath. Simple and yet elegant.

  “That’s it.”

  “Oh, that is it,” Gwen says dreamily.

  Half an hour later I’m standing in front of a three-way mirror and, oh, the dress is even more perfect. It’s only a sample. The actual gown will be custom made for me.

  “Wait until Logan sees you in that,” Gwen says what I’m thinking.

  “This is the one.”

  The bridal consultant beams. “Then let’s get your measurements.”

  After placing a deposit for my wedding gown, we head to a restaurant. “Are you going to do a veil?” Gwen asks as she reaches for her cosmo.

  “I don’t think so, but I do want my hair up.”

  “I can do that,” Josh says. “Maybe we can tuck a few flowers into it.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Isn’t that your neighbor, Saffron? That Elise chick?”

  Gwen’s question yanks me from the happy wedding bubble I’m in, and I turn in the direction that she’s staring. “Yeah, that’s her. I wonder what she’s doing here?”

  “Well, she’s not buying those clothes in Harrington.” Josh reaches for his water glass. “And I’d bet money she doesn’t take her car to Jake’s garage, fine German engineering and all.”

  “Saffron.” Elise is forgotten with the arrival of Dean. I had called him to tell him we’d be in town and would love to hook up for dinner. “Hey. Long time no see. You remember Gwen and Josh?”

  “Yeah, how are you?”

  “Good, glad you could join us,” Josh says. “What are you drinking?” He flags down our waiter.

  “Jameson, neat. So what brings you to Bar Harbor?”

  “Wedding dress shopping. I got engaged.”

  Genuine joy washes over Dean’s face. “To Logan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. What about you? How have you been?”

  “I’m good, keeping busy with work. Well, it isn’t just work keeping me busy. I met someone recently—Katherine.”

  “And?” It’s all the encouraging Dean needs to talk about the new lady in his life.

  Returning home, I’m greeted by Logan, who is relaxing on my sofa with Reaper. After kicking off my shoes, I settle at his side, his arm wrapping around my shoulders and tucking me more closely to him.

  “How did it go?”

  “A success.”

  “I suppose asking you to describe it would be fruitless.”

  “Yup. I called Dean and invited him to dinner. I was happy he could join us.”

  “Lawyer Dean?” His body has tensed ever so slightly in response to that news.

  “Yes, he’s seeing someone. He sounds quite smitten.”

  “Really? So he no longer has eyes on my woman?”

  “Your woman?”

  “Yeah. My. Woman.”

  Shifting, I straddle his lap. “So very caveman of you, Logan. I like it. What do you think about getting married on the day of the Swordfish Festival?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, it is when your feelings for me deepened.”

  He laughs, such a great sound. “True. You don’t mind that we will be eternally linked to the swordfish?”

  “I’ve a whole new outlook, remember?”

  He smiles, as if recalling the fond memory. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but you’re going to have to include Chastity in the planning.”

  “Right.” And then I remember the day she opened up to me, and, under her harsh exterior, that she’s just looking to fit in. “I can do that.”

  His hands drift up my back to tangle in my hair just before he pulls my mouth down to his. Lips mold, tongues battle, and the need to get closer builds until Logan is ripping my shirt up over my head. He yanks my bra down and closes his mouth over my breast. Linking my hands behind his head, I hold his mouth there as my hips start to move, rubbing against the hard length of him, seeking to ease the ache that his tongue is stirring.

  He flips us and in the same motion, peels my jeans and panties off. Our gazes are locked as he undresses in front of me until he is standing there brilliantly naked and aroused. Kneeling on the sofa, he spreads my legs wider, running his hands to my thighs, and kisses me right on the nub that’s throbbing.

  “Oh God, yes.” His tongue moves over my aching flesh, pushing into me, deep and hard. My hips move, seeking deeper penetration. He works me until I’m about to come, and then he moves up my body, shifts his hips, and drives into me. My body spasms, the orgasm washing over me in magnificent waves. He doesn’t stop, his thrusts moving harder and faster until he tenses, his muscles flexing from the fierceness of his orgasm.

  He drops onto me. I take his weight, his heart beating hard and fast, his breathing as labored as my own.

  “We scared the shit out of Reaper,” I say in his ear. My baby isn’t used to Mommy having sex on the sofa.

  He laughs, the sound flowing over me, and to my surprise I feel him growing hard. His head lifts and he says, “The more he sees us, the more comfortable he’ll get.”

  He shifts and almost completely leaves me before he sinks back in, really slowly. I moan.

  “This for Reaper’s benefit?” I ask.

  In response he bites my nipple. The slight pain in combination with what he’s doing between my legs has another moan escaping.

  “Yep. I’m a real animal lover.”

  The first negative story about the engagement of David Cambre to his sex kitten is printed only a few days after I find my wedding gown. I’m standing in the grocery store reading a magazine article that details how I lured David into marriage through inventive and kinky sex play. As I’m reading, Tommy comes up next to me.

  “I heard the Fletcher sisters talking. They want to ask you what kind of sex play gets such effective results.”

  I’m embarrassed, but I can’t help but laugh, because it’s completely ridiculous. I know everyone in Harrington knows it’s completely ridiculous, but how does the press come up with this shit?

  “There isn’t one shred of fact in this entire article. Did you know that, prior to being a bartender at a nearly topless bar, which I still haven’t figured out what that means, I was Brad Pitt’s paramour? How the hell did they learn I like Brad?”

  “Who knows,” Tommy says, but he reaches for my hand. Concern clouds his expression. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “Everyone important knows it’s bullshit.”

  I squeeze Tommy’s hand before I put the magazine back. “I know.”

&nbs
p; That night Logan lies in bed, but he’s brooding and I can only guess it’s because of the article. He confirms this when he says, “I’m sorry about the article in that ridiculous rag. My lawyers are demanding a retraction.”

  “You’re going to have to grow a thicker skin, because we’re news and the stories written about us are not going to be flattering. No one understands why you’re marrying someone so completely beneath you.”

  He sits up at that, the anger in his expression startling. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “I believe that Logan MacGowan and Saffron Dupree are perfectly matched.”

  “But?”

  “I think that David Cambre is way out of my league.”

  “But I’m both.”

  “I know, and so we’re going to have to get used to stories like the one in that rag mag because no one will ever understand why David Cambre would settle for a bartender from a little poor fishing town.”

  He whispers, “Bartending is what you do, who you are is the most loving, sweet, fun, and adventurous woman I’ve ever known. You make me laugh, you make me love . . .” But quickly, he turns serious. “Have you noticed anyone lurking around your house?”

  I’m not sure where that came from and why he looks so determined all of a sudden. “No, why do you ask?”

  “It may be nothing, but I have the sense that someone’s been snooping around the lighthouse. The reporters are gone because I kicked them off my property, but I still feel as if someone is watching us. Darla didn’t dump the paint on you, as it turns out, so I’m uneasy. I’m probably being paranoid, but I would really like for you to be very careful and make sure you bring Reaper with you when you go out on the beach. If there’s someone around, he’ll sense it.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m uneasy now too, but I promise to make an effort to be more alert.

  I was okay with the first article, my introduction into the celebrity realm, but it seems the other tabloids have decided to have fun at my expense. Each story printed is more unbelievable than the next.

  Again I’m in the market reading about myself in the tabloids. There’s one story that claims I am a high-priced prostitute and the picture that accompanies this is one of Logan and me at The Pierre coming home from the gallery show. I wasn’t even aware we had our picture taken and for these assholes to take such a beautiful memory and twist it into something sleazy really pisses me off. And if this isn’t bad enough, further into that same story is another picture of me, at least they claim it’s me, and I’m kneeling in front of some man I’ve never seen before. Hateful. Just because I tend bar at a fishermen’s watering hole doesn’t make me a slut. As much as I know I’m being foolish to allow it to hurt me, it does all the same.

  As I drive home from the market, I try to pull myself together. I really don’t want Logan to see how much this is hurting me. As soon as I pull up to my house, I walk around to the back toward the beach. I know it’s all bullshit and that these people don’t know me, but it’s hard not to take it personally.

  Logan, having heard my car, seeks me out and without a conscious thought, I blurt out, “I know it shouldn’t upset me, but it really does.”

  I can feel the anger radiating off him, but when he speaks his voice is soft. “I am so sorry. I had no idea they would be so cruel.”

  “How could you have known?”

  “I should have guessed. The thought that you’re being ripped apart and your character being defamed only because you are with me . . . I want to rip their fucking throats out. I want to buy their magazines and shut them down.”

  “You can’t fight all of them.”

  “Fucking David, I am seriously growing to hate him.”

  “But he’s you.”

  “He is what that world created and he is kept going by that world.”

  “Regardless, he’s a part of you and that means he will be a part of us and everyone will believe that they have a say in our lives.”

  He steps away from me, and when he looks back I can see the fury turning his eyes almost black. “I don’t want that kind of life for you. I want anonymity again, and if there’s a way to make it happen I will. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Not really.”

  “Just promise that you will listen with your heart as well as your ears.”

  “What are you up to?” I ask, but I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

  “Just reaching for the dream. And in case there’s any doubt in that pretty head of yours, you are the dream. Remember that.”

  “Okay.”

  He takes my hand as we start back to the house. “I would like to have an alarm system installed in your house. Are you okay with that?”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “I’ll do the worrying, you just be careful.”

  “You aren’t telling me everything.”

  He reaches for my other hand. “I’m not, because I think you have quite enough to deal with, but if I feel you need to know in order to keep you safe, I’ll tell you. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I see the tension fading from him as well as the anger. We start down the beach again and then he says, “So I had a dream about you. You were naked and there was caramel sauce.” I look up to see his lascivious grin. “Tell me, love, that you bought caramel sauce.”

  How he can switch moods so quickly I don’t know, but my body is suddenly throbbing. “I did.”

  He releases my hand as a mischievous grin curves his lips. “I’ll give you to the count of three.”

  Three days after our adventure with caramel sauce, the stories are still going strong, but I’m trying to separate myself from the woman depicted. It isn’t me they’re writing about. To the press I’m a person of interest only because I’m connected to David. Eventually, the media will move on.

  However, when the hate mail starts arriving, Logan takes that very seriously. He’s got the sheriff tracking the mail and he’s added additional locks to my house. I know there’s more to what’s fueling him than just the mail, but I find I don’t really want to know the details. There’s already so much going on.

  Outside of turning my house into a fortress, I’ve noticed that he spends a great deal of time planning. It’s the only word I can think to describe his actions. And there are times when I’ll be reading and he’ll be at his desk working and I’ll look up to see him watching me with such sadness in his expression that it breaks my heart. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he always turns the conversation to making love. Almost all the time now, he’s carrying me off to the bedroom and sometimes we don’t even make it that far. It’s wonderful, but there’s a desperation about him—as if he’s trying to get his fill in because there’s a time limit.

  Thinking of him makes me miss him, so I walk to the lighthouse, but when I arrive I hear something shatter. I find Logan standing in the midst of his ruined studio: fragments of sculptures, broken canvases, and the pile of wood I can only assume was his easel. His chest rising and falling from exertion and his hands are clenched into fists.

  “Logan.”

  He doesn’t seem to know I’m there until I walk closer and repeat, “Logan. Logan, what are you doing?”

  “Some mistakes you never stop paying for,” he whispers before he slowly turns around to face me. “You should run as far from me as possible.”

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s just as well, because I’ll never let you go.”

  And then he’s kissing me. When his mouth leaves mine, he lifts me into his arms and starts from the room. “I’ll always come for you. Even when it seems impossible, I will find a way to come for you.”

  “Logan?”

  “Just remember that. In this world, all I want is you.”

  Though our lovemaking is beautiful, I can’t help having the sense that the other shoe is about to drop.

  Driving home from a wedding session with Gwen, my thoughts are on the florist I need to call tomorrow. We spent the night
discussing flowers. Logan was invited because he has taken a very active role in planning, but his expression when he learned what we had planned for the night was comical.

  The roads are not very well lit at this hour, so I’m going under the speed limit. It’s been two weeks since Logan had a meltdown in his studio. I’ve repeatedly asked him what caused it, but he politely dismisses the question, usually turning the subject to something else. Rain starts when I’m about halfway home, making the roads pretty slick. Reaching the top of a rather steep section of the road, I apply my brakes to slow my descent, but nothing happens. I don’t immediately appreciate the trouble I’m in. My foot still slams down on a pedal that’s not responding, my speed picking up at an alarming rate. The road bends at the end of the decline, and I try to downshift, but the car is really moving. I can’t make the turn. Even as I’m pulling the wheel to the left, I know I’m not going to make it.

  My headlights illuminate the guardrail seconds before the sound of crushing metal fills the silence. My head jerks forward and back so hard, pain immediately erupts in my skull and shoots down my spine. The car comes to a shaking stop, but it takes me a bit longer to react since shock has set in. My purse had been next to me, but it isn’t now. I’m about to reach for it, but flashes of all those shows where you’re not supposed to move someone with a neck injury keep me from doing so. Especially with the pain radiating from my back. I don’t want to cause more damage. Panic sets in. Logan will be waiting for me; when I don’t arrive he’ll come looking, but until then I’m stuck and alone in the dark.

  Unconsciousness threatens, but I force myself to stay awake.

  My car is totaled; I don’t need to see it to know. It’s my own fault. Buying such an old car, it was bound to malfunction, even though I did have Jake look it over. Wear and tear is natural, especially on older cars like this.

  I can only imagine Logan’s reaction. At this point I don’t really care how he reacts just as long as he’s here at my side. It’s only about a twenty-minute ride to Gwen’s. How much time has passed? The thought just leaves my head when I see headlights appear over the horizon, another set coming up from behind me. Logan barely puts the car in park before he’s flying to get to me. He thinks I’m dead. The sight of him illuminated by my headlights will haunt me for a long time to come.