Best Laid Wedding Plans (25 page)

When he left his parents, laden down with food and directions, he couldn't help whistling. The tune, “Dream a Little Dream,” had been playing in his head these past few days.

Wasn't that what both he and Jenni Beth had been doing? She dreamed of opening her own business, of saving her family home. And him? He dreamed of having her in his life.

On a temporary basis, of course.

The evening promised to be beautiful. The temperature had dropped and the humidity with it. The azaleas in the backyard were nearly done blooming, but they still looked good. A couple fragrant climbing roses spread splashes of pink and white along the barn-red sides of his doorway.

So much rested on tonight. A long overdue apology. A hope for the future.

On a whim, he decided to move the party outside.

After clearing his whitewashed, salvaged table, he hoisted it up and carried it to the side yard. Heading back inside, he grabbed two of the spindle chairs and set them at opposite sides of the table.

He scrounged around till he found the rest of what he needed. A vintage tablecloth, some chunky candles, and his better plates and salt and pepper shakers. Cutting some of the roses, he arranged them in Mason jars. He stepped away to study the scene with a critical eye.

Not bad.

After he convinced himself it would pass muster, he went inside and put together the pineapple-cherry dump cake. It sure did smell good—even before it started baking. Or maybe that was the lasagna. His stomach growled.

Images of Jenni Beth floated through his mind, and he realized he had an appetite for a whole lot more than food.

After he showered, he actually took a few minutes to wipe the glass door dry and hang his towel. If the gods smiled down on him, would he share the shower with Jenni Beth in the morning?

He hesitated to count on it. Tonight he was determined to put the Savannah episode on the table and deal with it. It might turn ugly. Realistically, the prognosis for that outcome? Not good. But without the discussion? They had nothing.

His hair was still damp when he heard the crunch of tires in his driveway. Moving to the doorway, he leaned against the jamb and watched as she pulled in.

She'd done her hair in some sort of long braid that hung over one shoulder. A skirt, not much bigger than a napkin, rode up as she slid from behind the wheel, showing off miles of gorgeous, tanned legs showcased by high-heeled sandals. A slinky little red top designed to make a man's eyes pop out of his head completed her outfit.

So much for casual.

The outfit made him sweat. Made it hard to breathe.

Slowly, he straightened and walked toward her. She smelled like sin.

He bussed her cheek, decided to wait till later to go for seconds. She leaned into her car, causing that skirt to hike up again, and snagged a bottle of wine from the passenger seat.

“It's red.” She wet her lips, and he felt so much better. She was nervous, too. “I wasn't sure what we were having.”

“Red's perfect.” He took the bottle from her and, with his free hand, captured one of hers. “We're having some of Mom's homemade lasagna.”

“Is that what I smell?”

“Yep. Along with a cake I made.”

She laughed. “You're kidding, right?”

“Nope. And if I do say so myself, it's a culinary masterpiece.”

“This I've got to see.”

“First, let me show you around the house.”

She rubbed her hands together in happy anticipation. “Oh yes. I've been dying to see inside.” She eyed the barn. “What a great place.”

“I think so.” A hand on her back, he herded her toward the door.

With a gasp, she stopped halfway there, staring at the table he'd set up. “For tonight?”

“Thought we'd dine under the stars.”

“You constantly surprise me, Mr. Bryson.”

He tugged her closer, set the wine on the table. “Am I forgiven, sugar?” His lips dropped to her ear. Nibbled. “Tell me we're good again.”

“We're good again.” She wrapped both arms around his waist and tipped her head to give him free access to her neck.

He could have sunk to his knees with gratitude. Nipping and kissing, he traveled from her ear to her neck and back again. When he could resist no more, he took her mouth.

Her fingers tunneled through his hair, and she met him, kiss for kiss.

She felt so good. Tasted like more. His hands slid down to her waist, slid beneath the fire-engine-red top. Her sigh nearly undid him. A tiny corner of his brain still functioned, though.

They were outside. And even though they knew he had company, he couldn't rule out his mom or dad crossing the yard to his place. Best they move inside. This moment was private.

“Come on.” He took her hand, led her through the doorway.

“Oh, Cole. This is mind-boggling.”

“Yes,” he said. “You certainly are.”

She laughed. “I meant your house.”

His eyes darkened. “I meant you. Give me another kiss, sweetheart.”

A quizzical smile met him. “What has gotten into you?”

He grew serious. “Lord help me, but I think you have.”

“Cole.”

* * *

Jenni Beth could barely breathe. This attraction, this draw, was what she'd been fighting so long. She couldn't fight it anymore. Didn't want to fight it anymore.

Stepping closer, she melded her body to his. Felt her power as his need pressed against her.

She kissed his cheek. Kissed his strong chin, enjoyed the roughness of the five o' clock shadow, the muscles that played under her hands. Male, female. So different. Thank God!

Ever so slightly, she drew away. He looked magnificent in the black denims that molded themselves to him, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. Even now, all cleaned up, he fairly shouted
bad boy
, almost convinced her he had it tattooed somewhere on this magnificent body.

Did he have a tattoo? One that didn't show? He hadn't had one before. Curiosity ate at her, but not enough to get naked with him to find out.

“Don't pull away, sweetheart.”

With a soft cry, she found herself cradled in his arms, carried to the sofa. One kiss led to another and another, and, lost to the heat, she forgot her reticence, made no objection when his hand slid under her skirt, up her thigh.

Her fingers danced beneath his shirt, but it wasn't enough. She had to see him. Making quick work of the buttons, she separated the fabric, ran her hand over that muscled chest, kissed it, nipped lightly at his nipples.

He groaned. “Darlin', you're killin' me here. I can't—”

“Don't stop, Cole. I don't want you to stop.”

“It shouldn't be like this. Not here. I want it to be perfect for you. I want to do this right. We should at least go upstairs. To my bed.”

“No. I want you right here. Right now.”

With a growl, he stripped her top over her head, dipped his lips to the top of her bra. He laid her back on the sofa and undid her skirt, slid it down her legs and tossed it to the floor.

She fought the urge to cover herself as he rested his weight on his forearm. His eyes skimmed over her in her red lace bra and panties. She still wore her stilettos.

“Oh, God, sugar, you're staggeringly beautiful.”

He fumbled with the snap on his jeans. Reaching down, she said, “Let me.”

A snap and the rasp of his zipper and he was freed.

They came together in a rush of hunger.

She had no idea how long it had been since he carried her inside his house, but when the sex-filled haze lifted she was famished. This time her hunger was for food.

“You said you'd feed me, and that lasagna smells incredible.”

He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. One more kiss as he ran a hand over her hip, down her leg, setting off fresh shivers of longing. “Guess I'd better keep my promise.”

He scooped his boxers from the floor and pulled them on. “Why don't you wander around the house and satisfy your curiosity while I get the garlic bread heated? The powder room is right over there.” He pointed to the far corner of the living room.

“Thanks.” Staring hungrily at that bare chest, his six-pack, those muscled thighs, she wondered what she'd done to deserve this. To deserve him. She'd been crotchety. Mean. Yet he hadn't given up on her.

“Jenni Beth? You okay?”

She smiled. “Yes. Very.”

She gathered her clothes and slid into them, then moved through the cozy area to the bathroom. She noticed a niche with a couple dozen alarm clocks in all shapes and colors. “You collect these?”

“Yeah. I'm fascinated with the old windups. Don't ask me why. I have no idea.”

“I like them. They have character.”

“They do.” His eyes went dark. “So do you.”

Face warm, she ducked into the bath.

After she freshened up, she walked slowly through his space. Over the kitchen island, he'd hung old aluminum washtubs converted into lights. She loved the rustic blended with the new.

The glass-paned kitchen cabinets were a nice fresh white. Splashes of aqua complemented the unexpected blue floor tiles.

Vintage produce crates hung over his desk for storage. In them? Books, a model car, an antique globe, and her brother's basketball trophy from his senior year.

Cole came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Your mom gave me that.”

“I'm glad.”

They stood quietly, each filled with memories of Wes.

“Whoops. I smell the bread.” He dropped a light kiss on the back of her neck and headed to the kitchen.

She continued her perusal of his space, amazed at what he'd created. This was a man who knew himself. Knew who he was. A battered door with chunky legs and remnants of red paint served as a coffee table. He'd left the knob and hinges. A metal trough had been adapted as his bathroom vanity.

Everywhere she looked she saw touches of Cole and his uniqueness. Saw his love for salvage.

This, his home, held pieces so different from the things he'd brought to her for her renovation. Different tastes, different needs, and she was certain every home he'd a hand in fit its owner.

Cole Bryson surprised her. So much more complex than she'd ever have guessed. And somewhere along the journey of discovery she'd gone from in lust with him to in love with him.

That, though, was a secret she didn't dare share. It would only cause more self-reproach when he left. And he would leave her. Even after their lovemaking tonight, she understood that.

Bound to spell disaster and heartache, she couldn't avoid it. Couldn't deny it. It simply was, as were the consequences that would follow.

But she wouldn't think about that right now. Instead, she'd enjoy the moment. Enjoy him. Life could be very short.

She walked up behind him as he stood at the stove and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Your home is exactly you, Cole. I adore it.”

“Does that mean you adore me, too?” He turned and hugged her to his chest.

She felt the rumble of his voice. “You fishing?”

“Maybe.”

“Think I'll hold off on the verdict till I've had my dinner.”

“Fair enough, and I'd be sweatin' it out, but, thing is, my mom's cookin' is top-notch. Nothin' to worry about there.”

She felt freer and lighter than she had in the last year and a half. “What do you want me to carry out?”

He handed her the salad. “Here you go.”

She should feel betrayed—by herself. After all the warnings she'd issued, after all the ups and downs, she'd caved. And she'd never been happier.

Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.

The animals joined them for dinner.

“Do you mind?” he asked. “I can shut them inside.”

“Don't even think about it.”

Once they sat down, Roscoe, the family beagle, curled at Cole's feet, hoping for a dropped scrap or a sneaked bite. Jenni Beth smiled when Precious, the gray and white cat, sauntered over and dropped right beside him. The old cat rested his head on the dog and fell fast asleep.

Shadow Dancer, a sleek, all-black beauty, decided she'd play diva. Sprawled on the stone patio, a good arm's length away from the table, the cat eyed them condescendingly, her tail switching back and forth. Even Hinzer, the family's newest feline addition, couldn't get Shadow Dancer to play with him. The tiny ball of orange fur finally amused himself by chasing after a leaf that blew across the patio.

“Hinzer's a strange name for a kitten.”

“I named him after a really great friend,” Cole said.

“Okay. That works.” She tossed Roscoe a piece of cheese. “Why'd it take us so long to reach this point?”

“Here's the deal from my point of view.” Cole sipped his wine. “Even when you were a pain in the ass, tagging along with us, you were always more than Wes's little sister. It got complicated, though,
because
of the sister thing.” He shrugged.

“I'll buy that. For now, anyway. So why doesn't this little pain in the ass run inside and fetch our dessert?”

“Works for me.” He smiled as she sashayed through the door and into his home, Roscoe on her heels. That was a sight a man could get used to.

* * *

Replete, Cole pushed aside his dessert plate. Danged if his first attempt at a cake hadn't turned out well. He'd have to thank his mom tomorrow. Maybe he'd call Pia whatever-her-name-was and have flowers delivered to her. The bonus? Jenni Beth had settled down nicely. The real dessert had come before dinner. God, she'd felt so good in his arms, beneath him. There couldn't be a sexier woman on the planet. And if there was? He hoped to God he never met her because his heart couldn't stand it.

All his fantasies about the two of them fell short of reality. She moved him. Every taste, every touch, increased his need rather than diminished it. But they still had some old business to put to bed, and it made him nervous as hell.

Tempted to put it off again, he squared his shoulders and jumped in.

“I did you a huge wrong in Savannah.”

“I don't want to talk about that.”

“Sorry, but I do. We need to air what happened.” His throat constricted. He'd always kept it light with women, and now he was about to step off the cliff into unfamiliar territory. This plagued him, though. Kept him awake at night. Shit!