Bride Quartet Collection (34 page)

“It isn’t, because I’m going to have the same.”

“Well.” She glanced back as she headed for the door. “You started it.”

I
N THE MORNING, AFTER THE PREDICTED MISERABLE NIGHT, Emma wanted the comfort of pals and Mrs. Grady’s pancakes. She bargained with herself. She could have the pals, no question, but she could only have the pancakes if she first faced the dreaded home gym.

She dragged on her gear and began the resented, caffeine-deprived trudge to the main house. On the way, she veered toward Mac’s studio. She could see no good reason why her friend shouldn’t suffer along with her.

Without thinking she walked right in, angled toward the kitchen. There was Mac, in cotton boxers and a tank, leaning against the counter with a wide grin and a cup of coffee. And Carter opposite her, mirroring the pose and the grin, in his tweed jacket.

She should’ve knocked, Emma thought instantly. She had to remember to start knocking now that Carter lived here, too.

Mac glanced her way, lifted her cup in casual greeting. “Hey.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you out of coffee again?”

“No, I—”

“There’s plenty,” Carter told her. “I made a full pot.”

Emma gave him a sorrowful look. “I don’t know why you have to marry her instead of me.”

The tips of his ears went a little pink, but he shrugged. “Well, maybe if things don’t work out . . .”

“He thinks he’s cute,” Mac said dryly. “And damn it, he’s right.” She stepped over, gave his tie a tug.

The kiss was light and sweet, to Emma’s eye. The kind of morning kiss between lovers who knew there would be time, lots of time, for deeper, hotter kisses.

She envied the light and sweet outrageously.

“Go to school, Professor. Enlighten young minds.”

“That’s the plan.” He picked up his briefcase, brushed his hand over Mac’s bright hair. “See you tonight. Bye, Emma.”

“Bye.”

He opened the door, glanced back, and rapped his elbow on the jamb. “Damn it,” he muttered, and closed the door behind him.

“He does that about every third time he . . . What’s with you?” Mac demanded. “You went all blushy.”

“Nothing.” But she caught herself rubbing her own elbow and remembering. “Nothing. I just stopped by on my way over to the torture chamber. I plan on begging Mrs. G for pancakes after I’ve suffered.”

“Give me two minutes to change.”

While Mac dashed upstairs, Emma paced. There had to be a simple, subtle, sensible way to explain to Mac what had happened with Jack. What was happening with Jack. To ask her for dispensation from the no-sleeping-with-friends’-exes rule.

Mac and Jack were friends, so that had to be a point. And more, bigger, huge, was the fact that Mac was madly and totally in love with Carter. She was getting married, for God’s sake. What kind of friend would hold another friend to the no-exes rule when she was getting married to Mr. Adorable?

It was just selfish and narrow-minded and mean.

“Let’s go before I change my mind.” With a hoodie flopping open over a sports bra and bike pants, Mac jogged into the kitchen. “I can feel my bis and tris beefing up. Killer arms, you are mine!”

“Why do you have to be that way?” Emma demanded.

“Way? What?”

“We’ve been friends since we were
babies
. I don’t know why you’d be so hard-assed about this when you don’t want him.”

“Who? Carter? Yes, I do. You didn’t have any coffee this morning, did you?”

“If I have coffee, my brain wakes up enough to find reasons not to work out. And that’s not the point.”

“Okay. Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. You’re the one who’s mad at me.”

“Then say you’re sorry and all’s forgiven.” Mac opened the door and sailed out.

“Why should I be sorry? I stopped.” Emma slammed the door behind them.

“Stopped what?”

“Stopped . . .” Groaning, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “It’s caffeine deprivation. My mind’s blurring. I’m starting in the middle. Or maybe the end.”

“I demand to know why I’m mad at you so I can put some effort into it. You bitch.”

Emma sucked in a breath, held it. “I kissed Jack. Or he kissed me. He started it. And then he poofed, so I went over there to give him a piece of my mind, and he did it again. Then I did it again. Then we were rolling around on the floor and clothes were coming off until I rapped my elbow. Really hard. And it brought me back to my senses. So I stopped and you’ve got no reason to be mad.”

Mac, who’d been gaping at Emma since the first sentence, just kept gaping. “What? What?” She banged her palm on one ear, shook her head as if to shake out water.
“What?”

“I’m not saying it all again. The point is I stopped, and I said I’m sorry.”

“To Jack?”

“No—well, yes—but to you. I’m telling you I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For God’s sake, Mac, the
rule
.”

“Okay.” Mac stopped, fisted her hands on her hips and stared off into space. “No, I’m still confused. So let’s try this.” She made exaggerated wiping gestures with both hands. “There’s the board, and it’s all cleaned off. Let’s start fresh. You and Jack—wow—one minute to absorb . . . Done. You and Jack shared a big sloppy.”

“It wasn’t sloppy. He’s an excellent kisser, as you very well know.”

“I do?”

“And I’m not sorry for that one. Not really, because it was completely out of the blue. All right, not completely, since I got the vibes when we were under the hood.”

“Hood? What . . . Oh, the car. God, only someone who’s known you forever could interpret half of what you’re saying.”

“But I wasn’t expecting him to bring me a glass of wine while I was taking a quick break, just sitting on the back stairs, minding my own business.”

“Wine, back stairs,” Mac mumbled. “MBB. The wedding.”

“Then he gave me a shoulder rub, so I
should’ve
known, but I was going. I was going back to the reception and then we were standing there and he kissed me. Then Parker beeped me, and I had to go, and I realized what I’d done. It’s not really a betrayal, not really. You have Carter.”

“What do
I
have to do with this?”

“But I didn’t sleep with him, and that’s the fine point of it.”

A bird winged by, singing like a mad thing. Without sparing it a glance, Emma slapped her hands on her hips and scowled. “The kissing came as a surprise, both times. And the rolling around was just in the heat of the moment. I stopped, so I didn’t—technically—break the rule, but I’m apologizing anyway.”

“I’ll happily accept your apology if you’ll just tell me what the hell I have to do with this!”

“The ex rule.”

“The . . . Oh, the
EX
rule. Still confused as to my . . . Wait. You think Jack and I were . . . You think I had sex with Jack? Jack Cooke?”

“Of course, Jack Cooke.”

“I never had sex with Jack.”

Emma poked her. “Yes, you did.”

Mac poked her back. “No, I didn’t, and I ought to know who I did or didn’t have sex with, and Jack and I never did the deed. We never even got close to doing the deed. I have not rolled around on the floor removing clothes with Jack.”

“But . . .” Baffled, almost weak with it, Emma dropped her arms to her side. “But when he first started coming home with Del, for vacations and holidays during college, the two of you . . .”

“Flirted. Period. Start and stop. We never hit the sheets, or the floor, or the wall, or any other surface together in any way approaching nakedness. Clear?”

“I always thought . . .”

Mac quirked her eyebrows. “You could’ve asked.”

“No, because,
damn
it, I wanted to flirt with him, and you already were, so I couldn’t, and I thought what I thought. And then when it was obvious you were just friends again, the rule went into effect. I thought.”

“You’ve had a thing for Jack, all this time?”

“On and off. I channeled it into other areas, or restrained it, due to the rule. But recently it’s gotten more problematic, the channeling and the restraining. God.” Emma slapped her hands over her face. “I’m an idiot.”

“You slut.” Face stern, Mac folded her arms over her chest. “You almost had sex with a man I never had sex with. What kind of friend are you?”

Emma hung her head as her lips twitched. “I said I was sorry.”

“I may forgive you, but only after you tell me all—coherently and in minute detail.” Grabbing Emma’s arm, Mac jogged the rest of the way to the house. “Which means after coffee, which means after workout.”

“We could skip the workout and go straight to coffee.”

“No, I’m pumped to pump.” Mac led the way through the side door of the main house and toward the stairs. When they reached the third floor, Laurel and Parker came out of the gym. “Em kissed Jack and they almost had sex.”

“What?” Two voices spoke in unison.

“I can’t talk about it now. I haven’t had coffee. I can’t talk about it until I do, and unless there are pancakes.” Snarling with dislike, Emma stalked to the elliptical.

“Pancakes. I’ll tell Mrs. G.” Laurel dashed away.

“Jack? Jack Cooke?” Parker said.

Mac flexed her arms and headed to the Bowflex. “That’s what I said.”

W
HEN THEY SAT IN THE BREAKFAST NOOK, AND EMMA CLUTCHED her first cup of coffee, Mac raised a hand. “Let me tell the first part, because it’ll be faster and you’ll still have your normal complement of brain cells at the end. So, Emma had the hots for Jack, but thought Jack and I had a thing, including sex, in the way back, so sticking to the No-Ex Rule, she suffered in silence.”

“I didn’t suffer.”

“I’m telling this part. Then during the MBB’s reception, Jack did the ‘oh, you’re so stressed, let me rub your shoulders,’ then laid a big wet one on her. Then Parker beeped her.”

“That’s what was wrong with you. Thanks, Mrs. G.” Parker smiled at Mrs. Grady and took one of the pancakes from the platter the housekeeper set on the table.

“So last night, after waiting over a week, she went by his place to give him the what-for. One thing led to another, and they ended up rolling around on the floor naked.”

“Half. It wasn’t even half naked. It was maybe a quarter naked,” Emma calculated. “At the most.”

“This morning she apologized to me for nearly having sex with my imaginary ex.”

“As well she should,” Mrs. Grady put in. “No friend poaches another friend’s man, even if she’s kicked him to the curb.”

“It just sort of happened,” Emma began and hunched under Mrs. Grady’s cool stare. “I said I was sorry, and I stopped before we actually . . .”

“That’s because you’re a good girl with an honest heart. Eat some of that fruit now. It’s fresh. Sex is better when you’re eating healthy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Emma stabbed a little chunk of pineapple.

“I don’t get why you ever thought Mac had been sleeping with Jack in the first place.” Laurel dumped syrup on her pancakes. “If she had, she’d have bragged about it and talked about it until we all wanted her dead.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“In the way back you would have.”

Mac considered. “Yes, that’s true. In the way back I would have. I’ve evolved.”

“How hot are the hots?” Parker wanted to know.

“Extremely. He hit high prior to the back stairs. After, he set a record.”

Nodding, Parker ate. “He’s an exceptional kisser.”

“He really is. He . . . How do you know?” When Parker just smiled, Emma’s jaw dropped. “
You?
You and Jack? When? How?”

“I think it’s disgusting,” Mac muttered. “Yet another best pal moving on my imaginary ex.”

“Two kisses, my first year at Yale, after we ran into each other at a party and he walked me back to the dorm. It was nice. Very nice. But as exceptional a kisser as he is, it was too much like kissing my brother. And as exceptional a kisser as I am, I believe he felt it was too much like kissing his sister. And that’s how we left it. I gather that wasn’t an issue for you and Jack.”

“We’re nowhere in the vicinity of brother- or sisterhood. Why didn’t you ever tell us you kissed Jack?”

“I didn’t realize we were supposed to report on every man we’ve ever kissed. But I could make a list.”

Emma laughed. “I bet you could. Laurel? Any Jack incidents to report?”

“I’m feeling very annoyed and deprived that I have none. Even imaginary. It seems like he could’ve hit on me at least once in all this time. The bastard. How about you, Mrs. G?”

“A very nice one under the mistletoe a few Christmases back. But being the love them and leave them type, I let him off easy so as not to break his heart.”

“I’d say Em plans to take him down, and take him down hard.” Mac arched her eyebrows. “And that he doesn’t have a prayer against the awesome power of Emmaline.”

“I don’t know. I need to think. It’s complicated. He’s a friend. Our friend. And he’s Del’s best friend. Del’s your brother,” she said to Parker, “and the next thing to a brother to the rest of us. And we’re all friends,
and
business partners. Del’s our lawyer, and Jack helps out when we need him. Plus he’s designing the remodeling. We have all these connections, and they’re all tangled up.”

“And nothing tangles up the tangles like sex,” Mac put in.

“Exactly. What if we end up having this thing, then the thing goes south. Then we’re awkward with each other, and that makes the rest of us awkward with the rest of us. We have a kind of balance, don’t we? Sex isn’t worth upsetting the balance.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it right then,” Mrs. Grady commented, and shook her head. “Youth thinks too damn much. I’m going to start the wash.”

Emma sulked over her pancakes. “She thinks I’m being an idiot, but I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Then set the ground rules going in. What you each expect from each other, and how you’ll handle any complications.”

“What kind of ground rules?”

Parker shrugged. “That’s for you to decide, Em.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

A
T HER WORKTABLE WITH A SOOTHING NEW AGE MIX IN THE background, Emma processed a delivery. For the midweek, off-site bridal shower, she’d opted for fun and female. The gerbera daisies were just the ticket.

Visualizing the finished arrangement, she cut the lower inch of the stems under water. Fresh and pretty, she thought as she transferred the daisies to her solution of water, flower food, and preservatives.

She carried the first batch to the cooler for rehydrating. As she started on the next batch, she heard Parker call out to her.

“Back here!”

Parker came in, took a look at the flowers, foliage, buckets, tools. “McNickey bridal shower?”

“Yes. Just look at the color of these gerberas. From soft to vibrant. They’re going to be perfect.”

“What are you doing with them?”

“For the centerpiece, a trio of topiaries in pots I’m covering with lemon leaf. I’ll work in some waxflower and acacia, add some sheer ribbon. The client wants a couple others, a more elaborate arrangement for her entry table, another with candles to put in her fireplace, and something delicate, fragrant, and pretty for the powder room. I need to get them all processed before my eleven o’clock consult. It’s moving along.”

“Festive and female.” Parker scanned the work space. “I know you’ve got a pretty full slate. Can you squeeze another off-site event in?”

“When?”

“Next Thursday. I know,” she said as Emma slid over a cool stare. “The potential client called the main number, and since I knew you were elbow deep in a delivery I didn’t transfer it. She was at the Folk-Harrigan wedding. Tells me she just couldn’t get over the flowers—which is another score for us over MBB.”

“You’re using that to seduce me.”

“Yes, I am. She’d planned to just go buy some cut flowers and do some vases, but now that she’s seen your work, she’s obsessed. She can’t get over how beautiful they were.”

“Stop it.”

“How gorgeous and creative and perfect.”

“Damn you, Parker.”

“She can’t sleep or eat or function in any normal fashion now that she’s seen what can be done with flowers.”

“I hate you. What kind of event, and how much is she after?”

Parker’s smile managed to be both smug and sympathetic. Emma considered it a major skill.

“A baby shower, and it sounds similar to what you’re doing here. Except for the fireplace arrangement. Very girly—the baby’s a girl—so she’s looking for a lot of pink. But told me she’d trust your judgment.”

“It’s cutting it close. I have to see what my wholesaler can do. And I’d have to take a look at next week.”

“I already did. Your Monday’s solid, but you have a block Tuesday afternoon. You start designing Wednesday for Friday’s event, Thursday for Saturday’s. You’ve got Tink coming in to help those two days, so is it realistic the two of you could add this in? It’s her daughter-in-law,” Parker added. “And her first grandchild.”

Emma sighed. “You knew that would do it.”

“Yes, I did.” She patted Emma’s shoulder, unrepentant. “If you need it, you can call in Tiffany or Beach.”

“Tink and I can handle it.” Emma carried the next batch to the cooler, then came back to finish. “I’ll call the client as soon as I’m done here, make sure we understand what she’s after. Then I’ll make sure I can get it.”

“I put her name and number on your desk.”

“Of course you did. It’s going to cost you.”

“What’s your price?”

“The garage called. My car’s finished, but I can’t get in to pick it up today. And tomorrow’s nearly as full.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Knew you would.” Looking at what crowded her plate, Emma rubbed the back of her neck. “The hour you save me can go toward the expectant grandma.”

“I’ll get back to her, take her off her tenterhooks, and let her know you’ll be in touch. And speaking of touch, have you talked to Jack?”

“No. I’m in the mulling and musing stage. If I talked to him I’d start thinking how much I’d like to jump him or be jumped by him. Which, of course, since I brought it up, I’m thinking about right now.”

“Should I give you a moment of privacy?”

“Very funny. I told him we needed to stop and think, so I’m stopping and thinking.” Her brow creased and she made her voice prim. “Sex isn’t everything.”

“Since you have more of it—and offers for more of it—than I do, I’ll bow to your superior knowledge.”

“That’s because I’m not intimidating.” She flicked Parker a glance. “I didn’t mean that as an insult.”

“I don’t mind being intimidating. It saves time. Which,” she added with a look at her watch, “I have to consider now. I’m meeting a bride in town. Mac’s got a delivery to make. I’ll run and catch her before she goes, have her drop me off at the garage. I should be back by four. Don’t forget we have an evening consult tonight. Six thirty.”

“I’ve got it on my appointment book.”

“I’ll see you then. Thanks, Emma. Really,” Parker added as she hurried out again.

Alone, Emma cleaned off her work area before reaching for the Neosporin she used like other women used hand cream. With her latest nicks and scratches tended, she set up for her consult.

Satisfied with the selection of arrangements, photo albums, and magazines, she called the number Parker had left her—and made a grandmother-to-be very happy. As they spoke she took notes, made calculations on the number of baby roses, mini calla lilies. Pink for the roses, white for the callas. More calculations as she designed the larger arrangement in her head. Eggplant callas, Bianca roses, pink spray roses.

Sweet, female, but with elegant touches—if she read the client correctly. She added to her notes, jotted down the time and place for delivery, and promised the client an e-mail contract and itemization by midafternoon.

Gauging the time, she put in a hurried call to her wholesaler, then popped up to peel off her work clothes and suit up.

While she freshened her makeup, she wondered if Jack was musing and mulling.

On impulse, she dashed to her computer to send him an e-mail.

I’m still thinking. Are you?

She hit Send before she could change her mind.

I
N HIS OFFICE, JACK CHECKED THE CHANGES HIS ASSOCIATE had done. The new construction project continued to be tweaked as the clients waffled. They wanted stately, he thought, and they’d gotten it. They’d also wanted six fireplaces. Until they’d decided they needed nine. And an elevator.

The latest change involved enclosing the projected swimming pool for year-round use and attaching it to the house via a breezeway.

Nice job, Chip, he thought even as he made a couple of small changes. He studied the result, then the drawings submitted by the structural engineer.

Good, he decided. Very, very good. The dignity of Georgian Colonial wasn’t compromised. And the client could do laps in January.

Everybody’s happy.

He started to send an e-mail clearing the drawings for submission to the client, and noticed the mail from Emma.

He clicked it open, read the single line.

Was she kidding?

Every thought that didn’t revolve around her—particularly a naked her—was a struggle. Everything he’d done that morning had taken twice as long as it should have
because
he was thinking.

No point in telling her that, he decided. So just how did he answer? He angled his head, and smiled as he hit Reply.

I’m thinking you should come over tonight wearing nothing but a trench coat and elbow pads.

After he clicked Send, he sat back and imagined—very well—what Emma might look like in a trench coat. And maybe really high heels, he thought. Red ones. And once he’d loosened the belt of the coat, he’d—

“Got the go to come on back.”

With his mind still opening a trench coat—short, black—Jack stared at Del.

“So hey, where the hell are you?”

“Ah . . . just work. Drawings.” Shit. Casually, he hoped, he brought up his screen saver. “No work for you?”

“I’m on my way to the courthouse, and you have better coffee.”

Del strolled over to the setup on the counter, and helped himself. “Ready to lose?”

“Lose what?”

“It’s Poker Night, pal, and I’m feeling lucky.”

“Poker Night.”

Eyebrows lifting, Del studied him. “What the hell are you working on? You look like you’ve just shifted dimensions.”

“It just shows my uncanny ability to focus on the job at hand. Which I’ll be doing with poker tonight. You’ll have to do a lot more than feel lucky to win.”

“Side bet. A hundred.”

“Done.”

Del toasted him, drank. “How’s it going on the additions for the Quartet?”

“I’ve got something I like for Mac and Carter. I just want to refine it a little more.”

“Good. Are you working on Emma?”

“What? Am I what?”

“Emma. The second cooler?”

“Not yet. It . . . shouldn’t be complicated.” Then why was it? Jack wondered. Why did he feel like he was lying to his closest friend?

“Simple works. I’ve got to go be a lawyer.” Del set the mug down, started to the door. “See you tonight. Oh, and try not to cry when you pay me the hundred. It’s embarrassing.”

Jack shot up a middle finger, so Del walked away laughing.

Jack waited ten full seconds, ear cocked for any sound of return before bringing up his e-mail again.

No reply, yet, from Emma.

How could he have forgotten it was Poker Night? That sort of thing was engraved on his brain. Pizza, beer, cigars, cards. Men only. A tradition, maybe even a ritual, that he and Del had established when they’d still been in college.

Poker Night was sacred.

What if she said she’d be there? That she’d be knocking on his door tonight?

He thought of Emma in a black trench coat and red high heels.

He thought of good friends, cold beer, and a hot deck of cards.

Of course, he thought, there was only one answer. If she got back to him and said she’d come by, he’d simply explain.

He’d tell Del he’d come down with a violent case of stomach flu.

No man living or dead would blame him.

M
AC GLANCED OVER AT PARKER AS SHE DROVE TOWARD GREENWICH. “Okay, it’s just you and me. What do you really think of Emma and Jack?”

“They’re both adults, single, healthy.”

“Uh-huh. What do you really think of Emma and Jack?”

Parker let out a sigh that ended on a reluctant laugh. “That I never saw it coming, and I thought I was good at that kind of thing. And if it feels this weird to me, it must feel a lot weirder for them.”

“Weird bad?”

“No. No. Just odd. There’s the four of us, and the two of them—Jack and Del. Together it’s the six of us. Well, seven with Carter, but this is all rooted in pre-Carter. We’ve been in and out of each other’s lives and business for years. Forever for the four of us and Del, and for what, a dozen years with Jack? When you think of a man as a brother, it’s an adjustment to realize not everyone in that same network feels the same. It’s almost as strange as it would be if one of us really disliked him.”

“That’s what’s hanging Em up.”

“I got that.”

“They get all sexy, and that’s good, but then the heat backs off. Maybe it backs off for one of them before the other. That’s awkward.” Mac checked her mirrors before changing lanes. “Does the one who’s still warmed up get their feelings hurt, or feel sort of betrayed?”

“Feelings are feelings. I don’t understand why people blame other people for what they feel.”

“Maybe not, but they do. And Emma is the softest of soft touches. She’s a whiz at handling men—I bow in awe—but she really
feels
for them if she doesn’t . . . feel for them. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Because they approached the garage, Parked slipped back into the shoes she’d slipped off when she’d gotten in the car. “She’ll end up going out with a guy a second, third, fourth time even when she figured out from the first date she wasn’t interested. She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Still, she dates more than the three of us put together. Pre-Carter,” Mac added. “And she nearly always manages to shake a man off without denting his ego. I tell you, she’s skilled.”

“The trouble is, she’s closer to Jack. She loves him.”

“You think—”

“We
all
love him,” Parker finished.

“Oh, that way. True.”

“It has to be hard to break off a relationship with someone you really care about. And being Emma, she’s trying to work that part of it out before they up the relationship. Hurting him isn’t an option for her.”

Mac considered as she waited at a light. “Sometimes I wish I was as genuinely nice as Emma. But not very often. It’s too much work.”

“You have your moments. Me? I’m intimidating.”

Mac snorted. “Oh yeah, you scare the shit out of me, Parks.” She eased through the light. “But you are pretty scary when you put the Parker Brown of the Connecticut Browns cloak on. And if you give it that little swirl, many fall dead.”

“Not dead. Temporarily stunned perhaps.”

“You knocked Linda cold,” Mac commented, speaking of her mother.