Bride Quartet Collection (18 page)

“If you must.” In a lazy morning caress, he ran his hands down her torso, over her hips. “You even look beautiful when you wake up.”

“I have bed hair, but the part of you that wakes up first doesn’t notice.” She crossed her arms, gripped the hem of her T-shirt. Pulled it up, off, tossed it. “Now that part doesn’t know if I even have hair.”

“It’s like the sun set on fire.”

“You’ve got a way, Carter.” She leaned down, caught his bottom lip with her teeth. “Now, I’m going to have my way.”

“Okay.” As she leaned back, he sat up. “But do you mind if I . . .” And closed his mouth on her breast.

“No.” Her belly clutched in response. “I don’t mind a bit. God, you’re good at this.”

“Anything worth doing.”

Soft, firm, warm, smooth. She was all those things. He could feast on her, break his fast with the enticing, alluring flavors of her. She pressed him closer, urging him to take more while her hips rocked him into heat.

She bowed over him, back from him, wriggling out of the flannel pants. She pushed him back, rose up, her body lean and pale, dappled by the thin light that eked through the windows. She took him in, surrounding.

She arched, trapped in her own web of pleasure, and moved to the beat of her own blood. Slow and thick and deep, gliding silk to silk, steel to velvet. In that morning hush, there were only sighs, a tremble of breath, a whispered name.

And the beat quickened while pleasure tipped toward ache. She watched him watch her, watched what she was fill his eyes as that ache spread, swelled. The beat pounded—urgent now, faster now. She rode him, rode them both until the ache peaked, tore, and shattered.

When she went limp, he drew her down and held her close as he had in the night.

Floating, she thought, it was like floating down a long, quiet river where the water was warm and clear. And even if you sank, he’d be there, to hold on to you.

Why couldn’t she have this, just enjoy this, without creating obstacles, digging up problems, worrying about mistakes, about tomorrows? Why let the maybes, the ifs, the probablies spoil something so lovely?

“I’d like to stay right here,” she said quietly. “Just like this. All day.”

“Okay.”

Her lips curved. “Are you ever lazy? Do the serious sloth?”

“Being with you isn’t lazy. We could consider it an experiment. How long can we stay in this bed, without food or drink or outside activities? How many times can we make love on a Sunday?”

“I wish I could find out, but I have to work. We have another event today.”

“What time?”

“Mmm, three o’clock, which means I have to be over there by one. And I have to upload the shots from yesterday.”

“You need me out of the way.”

“No, I was thinking shower and coffee for two. I might even scramble some eggs instead of offering you my usual Pop-Tart.”

“I like Pop-Tarts.”

“I bet you eat the grown-up breakfast.”

“I rely heavily on Toaster Strudels.”

She lifted her head. “Those are great. If I can provide hot water, coffee, Pop-Tarts with a side of eggs, would you consider hanging out for today’s event?”

“I would—if a toothbrush and a razor get tossed in. I don’t suppose you have a spare pair of shoes.”

“I have many shoes, but I assume you’re talking about manly ones.”

“That would be best. High heels make my toes cramp.”

“Funny guy. Actually, we may be able to help you out. Parker keeps a supply of dress shoes for events. Standard black dress for men, black heels for women.”

“That’s . . . efficient.”

“It’s compulsive, but we’ve actually dipped into them several times. What size?”

“Fourteen.”

This time her head shot up. “Fourteen?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“That’s like aircraft carrier size.” She tossed off the covers to study his feet. “You have battleship feet.”

“Which is why I trip over them so much. I don’t think Parker’s compulsive enough to carry fourteens.”

“No, not even Parker. Sorry, but I can provide the toothbrush and razor.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“I think we should start with the shower. We need to get hot and wet and all kinds of slippery.” She glanced down at him and grinned. “Hey, look who’s awake again!” Laughing, she rolled out of bed, raced for the shower.

B
Y THE TIME MAC WRAPPED HERSELF IN A TOWEL, SHE’D DECIDED Carter was as creative vertically as he was horizontally. Wonderfully loose, she dug out a spare toothbrush, a disposable razor, and a travel-sized can of shaving cream.

“There you go.” She turned as he rapped his elbow getting out of the shower. “I have a question. How come you’re not clumsy when you’re having sex?”

“I guess I pay better attention.” Frowning, he rubbed his elbow. “Plus you distracted me in your towel.”

“Since you’re going to shave, I’m going down to start the coffee. That way I won’t distract you into cutting your face to ribbons.”

She gave his face a pat, ended up yanked against him and thoroughly distracted. When she managed to wiggle away, she tossed him her towel. “You take it since it’s a problem.”

She grabbed her robe off the back of the door, and sauntered out naked.

When she disappeared, Carter picked up the razor, studied it dubiously before eyeing the nasty sunset of bruising on his jaw. “Okay, let’s see if we can do this without any facial scarring.”

Downstairs, Mac hummed as she measured out beans. She didn’t really need coffee to jump-start her day, she thought. Carter had taken care of that. He took care, she thought with a sigh, so she felt tended and appreciated, challenged and excited.

When was the last time she had a man bring out all those things in her? Let’s see . . . Absolutely never. And above all those things? She felt happy.

She opened the fridge, counted four eggs. That ought to do it. She got out a bowl, a whisk, a skillet. She wanted to fix him breakfast, she realized—such as it was. Wanted to put a little meal together for him. To tend, she supposed, as he tended.

It must be—

Her thoughts scattered as she heard the door open. “Em? If you’ve come to mooch coffee, you’d better be carrying one of my mugs you’ve walked off with.”

She turned, expecting to see her friend, and watched her mother walk into the kitchen.

“Mom.” Mac’s face went numb. “What are you doing here?”

“Dropping by to see my daughter.” Beaming smiles, Linda tossed open her arms as she rushed across the kitchen to grab Mac in a hard hug. “Oh, you’re so thin! You should’ve been a model instead of the one taking pictures. Coffee, wonderful. Have you got any skim milk?”

“No. Mom, I’m sorry, this isn’t a good time.”

“Oh, why do you want to hurt my feelings?” On Linda, a pout was both pretty and effective—and she knew it. Her baby blue eyes radiated hurt, her soft, pink mouth projected defenselessness—with the slightest of quivers.

“I don’t mean to. It’s just . . . we have an event today and—”

“You
always
have an event.” Linda waved it off. “You can spare five minutes for your mother.” As she spoke, Linda tossed her coat over a stool. “I came all the way over here to thank you for the spa. And to apologize.” Those blue eyes took on a sheen of emotion and unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have been so cranky with you, and after you were so sweet to me. I’m so sorry.”

She meant it, Mac knew. For as long as it lasted.

Rather than acknowledge sentiments that would be fleeting, Mac got out a mug. Give her coffee, get her gone, she thought. “Great outfit. You’re awfully suited up for a drop-by.”

“Oh, this?” Linda did a runway turn in the sharp red suit that set off her curves and burned against her fall of blond hair. “It’s fabulous, isn’t it?” She threw back her head and laughed, until Mac had to smile.

“It is. Especially on you.”

“What do you think, the pearls are good with it, aren’t they? Not too matron lady?”

“Nothing could look matronly on you.” Mac offered the mug.

“Oh, honey, don’t you have a decent cup and saucer?”

“No. Where are you taking the outfit?”

“I’m having brunch in the city, at Elmo. With Ari.”

“Who?”

“Ari. I met him at the spa. I told you. He lives in the city. He owns olive groves and vineyards—and, well, I’m not sure exactly, but it doesn’t matter. His son runs most of the businesses now. He’s a widower.”

“Ah.”

“He may be the one.” Forgoing the coffee, Linda pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, Mac, we had such a meeting of the minds and spirits, such an instant connection. It must’ve been fate that sent me to the spa at the same time he was there.”

My three thousand sent you to the spa, Mac thought.

“He’s very handsome, in a distinguished kind of way. He travels
everywhere
. He has a second home on Corfu, a pied-à-terre in London, and a summer home in the Hamptons. I’d barely gotten in the door from the spa when he called to ask me to brunch today.”

“Have a good time. You should get started, it’s a long drive into the city.”

“It really is, and my car made a funny noise yesterday. I need to borrow yours.”

“I can’t lend you my car. I need it.”

“Well, you’ll have mine.”

With the funny noise, Mac thought. “Your two-seater convertible won’t work for me. I have client meetings tomorrow, and an outside shoot, which means equipment. I need my own car.”

“I’ll have it back tonight. God, Mackensie.”

“That’s what you said the last time I let you borrow it, and I didn’t see it or you for three days.”

“That was a spontaneous long weekend. Your trouble is you never do anything spontaneous. Everything has to be scheduled and regimented. Do you want me to have a breakdown on the side of the road? Or an accident? Can’t you think of anyone but yourself ?”

“Excuse me.” Carter stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry to interrupt. Hello, you must be Mackensie’s mother.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HEY COULDN’T HAVE LOOKED MORE DISSIMILAR TO CARTER’S eyes, the petite, curvy blonde in the tailored red suit and the willow-stem redhead in a plaid robe.

Still, both of them froze, and both shot him stares of mingled horror and embarrassment. Then even that connection shattered as Mac’s eyes shifted to misery, and Linda’s to sly calculation.

“Well, well. Mackensie didn’t mention she had company. And such handsome company, too. Mackensie, where are your manners? You’d think she’d been raised in a barn. I’m Linda Barrington, Mackensie’s mother.” She stayed where she was, but held out a hand. “And I’m delighted to meet you.”

“Carter Maguire.” He crossed to her, took her hand. When he would have shaken it, she sandwiched his between hers.

“Good morning, Carter. Where did Mac happen to find you?”

“I like to think I found her.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” With a light laugh, she tossed her hair. “Are you from Greenwich, Carter?”

“Yes. My family’s here.”

“Maguire, Maguire. I wonder if I know them. Mackensie, for heaven’s sake, get the man some coffee. Sit down, Carter.” She patted the seat of a stool in invitation. “And tell me everything.”

“I wish there was time, but Mackensie and I have to get ready for an event.”

“Oh? Are you a photographer, too?”

“No, just helping out.”

She let her gaze sweep over him, quick and flirtatious. “You certainly look helpful. At least keep me company while I have my coffee and Mac goes up to dress. Mac, go up and put yourself together. You look like a ragamuffin.”

“I was just thinking how pretty you look,” Carter said to Mac. “So Sunday morning.”

Linda let out a light laugh. “I said you were a charmer. I can always spot them. Watch your step, Mackensie. Someone might steal this one. Now, Carter, sit right down here and tell me all about yourself. I insist.”

“Take the car.” Mac grabbed her keys out of the basket on the counter. “Take the car and go.”

“Really, Mackensie, there’s no need to be rude.” But Linda took the keys.

“You want the car, you’ve got the keys. Offer holds for exactly thirty seconds.”

Chin lifted, Linda picked up her coat. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior, Carter.”

“No need. No need at all.”

“Better hope this one’s tolerant, or you’ll end up alone. Again.” With a last glance at Mac, Linda sailed out.

“Well. That was bracing. I wish you hadn’t given her the keys,” he began and started toward her.

Mac threw up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Please don’t. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of that, but please don’t.”

“Please don’t what?”

“Anything.” She lifted her hand a little higher as she took a step back. “I don’t know what I was thinking. God knows what I was thinking. I told myself it was a mistake. I knew I should stop it, just stop it before it got this complicated. But I got caught up. It’s my fault.”

“I take it you’re not talking about your mother anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Carter. This? This you and me thing? It can’t go anywhere. It can’t go where you want it to. It’s not you, it’s—”

“Don’t.” He cut her off. “Don’t make it a cliché. You’re better than that. We’re better than that.”

“It
is
me.” Because her voice wanted to break, she sharpened it. “I’m not equipped for this. I’m not the long-haul girl. I’m the one who panics and runs out of your house because it got a little too comfortable.”

“Ah. That explains that.”

“That’s
me
. Do you get it? I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“You can tell me what you want, Mackensie, but not what I want.”

“Of course I can. You’re . . . infatuated enough to imagine we’ve got a future. To want one. You’re traditional to your bones, Carter, and it won’t take long for you to want a solid commitment, marriage, family, the house, and the three-legged cat. It’s how you’re wired, and I’m telling you the wires got crossed with me.”

She tossed the whisk she’d yet to use in the sink. “You don’t even know me. This has been a flirtation, a sexual buzz, a reflection of something old. A crush that intrigued you and flattered me, and we’ve let it go too far too fast. We’re rushing along here to nowhere because the road’s been smooth. But there are potholes and bumps. God, we haven’t even had a fight, so how can we think—”

“That’s all right,” he interrupted. “We’re about to. I’m not sure who you think less of at this moment, yourself or me. Do I want commitment, marriage, family, the house, and the damn cat—which I already have, thanks. I do, eventually. That doesn’t make me an idiot.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Potholes and bumps? Welcome to the world. Every road has them. They’re there to be navigated, avoided, driven over or through to the other side. Your problem is you keep driving straight into the pothole that is your mother, and letting that wreck the rest of the trip. She’s not to blame for your poor navigation skills. You are.”

“I know very well . . . Wait a minute. Poor navigation skills?” The first hints of temper flushed her cheeks. “I know where I’m going, and how to get there. I just took a detour. Stop talking in metaphors.”

He cocked his brow. “I believe you took that one and ran with it. Detour my ass. We have something together. It may be something neither of us anticipated, but it’s real.”

“I have feelings for you, Carter. Of course I do. Obviously I do. And that’s why I’m telling you we need to step back. We need to reevaluate.”

“Why do you let her run your life?”

“What? I don’t.”

“She’s a selfish, self-involved woman who strips you emotionally because you allow it. You give in, give her what she wants rather than standing up to her.”

“That’s ridiculous and unfair!” The anger in her tone contrasted with the calm in his, and made her feel foolish. “I lent her the damn car to get her out of here. And that doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Then I’d say you need to reevaluate that apparently unhealthy relationship.”

“That’s my business.”

“Yes, it is.”

She took a breath, then another. “I don’t want to fight with you. I can’t fight with you right now even if I wanted to. I have to work and prep for the event, and . . . God.”

“Understood. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Carter, I don’t want us to be mad at each other.” She dragged a hand through her hair as he picked up his coat. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to feel like you, like all of this doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“That’s a lot of don’ts, Mackensie.” Studying her, he put on his coat. “You might turn that coin and take a look at what you do want.” He walked to the door. “And a correction? I’m not infatuated with you. I’m in love with you. That’s something we’ll both have to deal with.”

He went out, closed the door quietly.

S
HE GOT THROUGH IT. WHATEVER WENT ON IN HER HEART, IN her gut, couldn’t be allowed in her head during an event. Crop it out, she ordered herself, because the day wasn’t about her any more than the day before had been about the idiot brother of the groom.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Emma asked her as they circled the dance floor.

“No. It doesn’t belong here.”

“I saw your mother’s car outside your studio. I didn’t see yours.”

“Not now, Em.”

“This is winding down. I’ll talk to you after.”

“I don’t want to talk. I don’t have time for cookies and soul-searching. I’m working.”

As if, Emma thought, and hunted down Parker. “Something’s wrong with Mac.”

“Yes, I know.” Parker stood by the long entry table supervising the transfer of gifts to the limo outside. “We’ll deal with it after.”

“She’s going to try to evade.” Like Parker, Emma kept an easy smile on her face. “I’m worried because she’s not mad. Usually dealing with her mother makes her mad. It can bring her down, but the mad’s there.”

“Nothing to do until we can do it. Last dance is coming up,” Parker calculated after a glance at her watch. “She’ll want to take the departure shots outside. If she’s in serious brood mode, she’ll go home directly from there. So, we’ll head her off, gauge the ground.”

If she’d been using her head, Mac would have known they were laying for her. But the sheer relief of having it over, of knowing she’d done her job and done it well blocked out the rest.

She lowered her camera as the limo glided down the drive.

“Quick meeting when we’re clear,” Parker announced.

“Listen, I’m behind at the studio. I’ll copy your notes.”

“It won’t take long. We need to make sure everything’s as it should be for the presentation tomorrow. Good evening. Drive safely.” Parker smiled at a group of departing guests. “I think that’s about the last of them. Let’s do the sweep. Take the second floor, will you?”

Annoyed, Mac stomped upstairs. She wanted to go home, damn it. She wanted to be alone, to work. And she wanted to work until her eyes blurred. Then she wanted to go to bed and sleep off this misery.

But no, everything had to be in place first. It was Parker-law.

The subs had set the bride’s and groom’s suites to rights again, but she checked the bathrooms, just in case. They’d once found a wedding guest curled up asleep in the clawfoot tub in the bride’s space—the morning
after
an event.

While she finished the security check, she considered ducking out one of the side doors to avoid the meeting. But that would just piss the rest of them off, and they’d come after her.

She didn’t want another confrontation, another emotional scene. Over my quota already, she thought. So she’d be a good girl, do the postevent roundup, get through the briefing for tomorrow’s proposal.

Better anyway, she decided. Less time to think. Thinking was far down the list of activities she wanted to pursue.

It didn’t surprise her to see Laurel setting up tea and finger sandwiches. Vows meetings traditionally included food and beverage of some sort.

“Nice event,” Laurel said casually. “Nobody punched anybody in the face. No booting in the shrubbery, and as far as we know, no one used any of the facilities for inappropriate sex.”

“Sunday events tend to be tame.” Emma slipped out of her shoes and stretched.

“You forget the Greenburg-Fogelman wedding.”

“Oh, yeah. That had all of the above, and more.”

Unable to sit, to settle, Mac wandered to the window. “It’s starting to snow. At least it waited until we were clear.”

“Which we are,” Parker said as she came in. “Cleaning crew’s starting on the Ballroom. Mrs. Seaman may want another look around tomorrow, so we need to shine. Laurel, menu?”

“An assortment of mini pastries, coffee, tea, fresh orange juice. To be followed during my presentation—which is the final—with the cake tasting. We’ll also have an assortment of chocolate with the B and G’s names or monogram in gold. I’ve used various styles. I’ve got both photographs and sketches of cakes—wedding and groom’s as well as some suggestions should they want to do guest cakes—the same with options for the dessert bar. I have gift boxes of the chocolate to give to the bride and her mother, and a couple extra in case someone else comes along. I’m covered.”

“Okay. Emma?”

“The bride likes tulips, and indicated she wanted them as her signature flower for the event. I’m going garden wedding, since it’s an April affair. I’ll have masses of tulips—clear glass vases, varying shapes and sizes in here. And roses, of course. I’m putting together arrangements—spring colors, scents. Plus boutonnieres. White tulip with a little sprig of lavender to set it off. I’ve done three silk bouquets, designed specifically for her. And I’ll have one that pushes on her tulips. Because that’s the one I think she’ll go with. If she goes, that is.”

She paused to rub her left foot while she worked down her list. “I’ve also done a few varieties for attendants—spring colors again as she hasn’t settled on her colors. I’ve got photos in addition to the samples I made. She’s already seen my space and a lot of my samples and displays, but I’ve changed some up and tailored them to her.

“Laurel helped me sketch out a couple ideas for the pergola area. I had this idea for dogwoods. Young dogwood trees in white urns as a backdrop. We can string them with lights. I want to suggest tussie-mussies instead of corsages for the mothers. I’ve made a few up to show her. I’ll pack arrangements for each of them to take home.”

“We’ve got plenty of photos of all the spaces dressed for spring weddings.” Parker glanced toward Mac.

“I’ve culled out what I feel are the best examples for this client. And ones that I’ve taken on details. As we already discussed, April’s iffy weather and they’ll want tents.”

“Silk tents.”

Mac nodded at Parker. “I’ve read your proposal. And seen Laurel’s sketches. We don’t have photographs of that specific layout, but we have a few that are close. I’ve put together a really strong portfolio of portraits—engagement and wedding, and a separate one with photographs we’ve had in magazines. They skimmed over the albums when they came through—and you indicated Mom’s eyes lit up at the idea of doing an art book. I’m bringing a sample of one. I’m going to take a portrait of the mother and daughter here, during the presentation. I’ll go print it out, frame it, box it, and give it to Mom.”