Bride Quartet Collection (40 page)

“Biggest blast-out party of the year.”

“A Grant family tradition. Talk about cooking. Let me check my book and all of that, and we’ll figure it out.”

She sat back with her wine. “It’s almost May. That’s the best month.”

“For weddings?”

“Well, it’s a big one for that, but I’m thinking in general. Azaleas, peonies, lilacs, wisteria. Everything starts budding and blooming. And I can start planting some annuals. Mrs. G will put in her little kitchen garden. Everything starts over or comes back. What’s your favorite?”

“July. A weekend at the beach—sun, sand, surf. Baseball’s cruising. Long days, grills smoking.”

“Mmm, all good, too. All very good. The smell of the grass right after you mow it.”

“I don’t have grass to mow.”

“City boy,” she said, pointing at him.

“My lot in life.”

As they both toyed with the pasta, she leaned in. The conversations humming around them barely registered. “Did you ever consider living in New York?”

“Considered. But I like it here. For living, and for the work. And I’m close enough to go in and catch the Yankees, the Knicks, the Giants, the Rangers.”

“I’ve heard rumors about ballet, opera, theater there, too.”

“Really?” He sent her an exaggerated look of puzzlement. “That’s weird.”

“You, Jack, are such a guy.”

“Guilty.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked you, why architecture?”

“My mother claims I started building duplexes when I was two. I guess it stuck. I like figuring out how to use space, or change an existing structure. How can you use it better? Are you going to live in it, work in it, play in it? What’s around the space, what’s the purpose? What are the best and most interesting or practical materials? Who’s the client and what are they really after? Not all that different, in some way, than what you do.”

“Only yours last longer.”

“I have to admit I’d have a hard time seeing my work fade and die off. It doesn’t bother you?”

She pinched off a knuckle-sized piece of bread. “There’s something about the transience, you could say. The fact that it’s only temporary that makes it more immediate, more personal. A flower blooms and you think, oh, pretty. Or you design and create a bouquet, and think, oh, stunning. I’m not sure the impact and emotion would be the same if you didn’t know it was only temporary. A building needs to last; its gardens need to cycle.”

“What about landscape design. Ever consider it?”

“Probably more briefly than you did New York. I like working in the garden, out in the air, the sun, seeing what I put in come back the next year, or bloom all through the spring and summer. But every time I get a delivery from my wholesaler it’s like being handed a whole new box of toys.”

Her face went dreamy. “And every time I hand a bride her bouquet, see her reaction, or watch wedding guests look at the arrangements, I get to think: I did that. And even if I’ve made the same arrangement before, it’s never exactly the same. So it’s new, every time.”

“And new never gets boring. Before I met you, I figured florists mostly stuck flowers in vases.”

“Before I met you, I figured architects mostly sat at drawing boards. Look what we learn.”

“A few weeks ago, I never imagined we’d be sitting here like this.” He put his hand over hers, fingers lightly skimming while his eyes looked into hers. “And that I’d know before the night was over I’d be finding out what’s under that really amazing dress.”

“A few weeks ago . . .” Under the table, she slid her foot slowly up his leg. “I never imagined I’d be putting on this dress for the express purpose of you getting me out of it. Which is why . . .”

She leaned closer so the candlelight danced gold in her eyes, so her lips nearly brushed his. “There’s nothing under it.”

He continued to stare at her, into the warmth and the wicked. Then shot up his free hand. “Check!”

H
E HAD TO CONCENTRATE ON HIS DRIVING, PARTICULARLY SINCE he attempted to break the land speed records. She drove him crazy, the way she cocked her seat back, crossed those gorgeous bare legs so that the dress slithered enticingly up her thighs.

She leaned forward—oh yes, deliberately, he knew—so that in the second he dared take his eyes off the road he had a delectable view of her breasts rising against that sexy red.

She fiddled with the radio, cocked her head long enough to send him a feline, female smile, then leaned back again. Re-crossed her legs. The dress snuck up another half inch.

He worried he might drool.

Whatever she’d put on the radio came to him only in bass. Pumping, throbbing bass. The rest was white noise, static in the brain.

“You’re risking lives here,” he told her, and only made her laugh.

“I could make it more dangerous. I could tell you what I want you to do to me. How I want you to take me. I’m in the mood to be taken. To be used.” She trailed a finger up and down the center of her body. “A few weeks ago, or longer than that, did you ever imagine taking me, Jack? Using me?”

“Yes. The first time was after that morning I saw you on the beach. Only, when I imagined it, it was night, and I walked down and pulled you into the water, into surf. I could taste your skin and the salt. I had your breasts in my hands, in my mouth, while the water beat over us. I took you on the wet sand while the waves crashed, until all you could say was my name.”

“That’s a long time ago.” Her voice went thick. “A long time to imagine. I know one thing. We really need to go back to the beach.”

The laugh should’ve eased some of the ache, but only increased it. Another first, Jack concluded: A woman who could make him laugh and burn at the same time.

He whipped the car off the road and onto the long drive of the Brown Estate.

There were lights glowing on the third floor, both wings of the main house, and the glimmer of them in Mac’s studio. And there, thank God, the shine of Emma’s porch light, and the lamp she’d left on low inside.

He hit the release for his seat belt even as he hit the brakes. Before she could do the same, he managed to shift toward her, grab hold of her and let his mouth ravish hers.

He molded her breasts, gave himself the pleasure of riding his hands up those legs, under that seductive red.

She closed her teeth over his tongue, a quick, erotic trap, and struggled with his fly.

He managed to yank down one shoulder of her dress before he rammed his knee into the gear shift.

“Ouch,” she said on a breathless laugh. “We’ll have to add knee pads to the elbow pads.”

“Damn car’s too small. We’d better get inside before we hurt ourselves.”

Her hands gripped his jacket, yanked to bring him back for one more wild kiss. “Hurry.”

They shoved out of opposite sides of the car, then bolted for each other. Another breathless laugh, a desperate moan, sounded in the silence. They stumbled, grappled, and groped as their mouths clashed.

She yanked and tugged his jacket away as they circled up the walk like a pair of mad dancers. When they reached the door she simply shoved him back against it. Her mouth warred with his, breaking only so she could drag his sweater up, nails scraping flesh before she tossed it aside.

The heels and the angle brought her mouth level with his jaw. She bit it as she whipped the belt out of his pants, and tossed that aside as well.

Jack fumbled behind him for the doorknob, and they both lurched inside. Now he pushed her back to the door, yanked her arms over her head and handcuffed her wrists with his hand. Keeping her trapped, he shoved her skirt up and found her. Just her, already hot for him, already wet. And her gasp ended on a cry when he drove her hard and fast to climax.

“How much can you take?” he demanded.

Breath ragged, body still erupting, she met his eyes. “All you’ve got.”

He drove her up again, beyond moans and cries, storming her system with his hands, with his mouth. Heat sheathed her, slicked her skin as he dragged the dress down to free her breasts, to feed on them. Everything she wanted, more than she could imagine, rough and urgent, he used and exploited her body.

Owned her, she thought. Did he know? Could he know?

Want was enough, to want like this, be wanted like this. She would make it enough. And wanting him, craving him, she braced against the door and wrapped a leg around his waist.

“Give me more.”

She consumed him, in that moment before he plunged inside her, the look, the feel, the taste of her consumed him. Then with a new kind of madness, he took her against the door, battering them both while her hair tumbled out of its pins, while she said his name over and over.

Release was both brutal and glorious.

He wasn’t entirely sure he was still standing, or that his heart would ever beat normally again. It continued to jackhammer in his chest, making the basic act of breathing a challenge.

“Are we still alive?” he managed.

“I . . . I don’t think I could feel like this if I wasn’t. But I do think my life passed before my eyes at one point.”

“Was I there?”

“In every scene.”

He gave himself another minute, then eased back. He was indeed still standing, he noted. And so was she—flushed and glowing, and naked but for a pair of sky-high sexy heels.

“God, Emma, you’re . . . There are no words.” He had to touch again, but this time almost reverently. “We’re not going to make it upstairs yet.”

“Okay.” When he gripped her hips, lifted, she boosted up to wrap both legs around his waist. “Can you make it as far as the couch?”

“I’m going to give it a try.” He carried her there where they could fall in a tangled heap.

T
WO HOURS LATER, WHEN THEY FINALLY MADE IT UPSTAIRS, they slept.

She dreamed, and in the dream they danced in the garden, in the moonlight. The air was soft with spring and scented by roses. Moon and stars silvered the flowers that bloomed everywhere. Her fingers twined with his as they glided and turned. Then he brought hers to his lips to kiss.

When she looked up, when she smiled, she saw the words in his eyes even before he spoke them.

“I love you, Emma.”

In the dream her heart bloomed like the flowers.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
N PREPARATION FOR THE SEAMAN MEETING, EMMA FILLED THE entrance urns with her big pots of hydrangeas. The intense blue created such a strong statement, she thought, dramatic, romantic, and eye-catching. Since the bride’s colors were blue and peach she hoped the hydrangeas would fit the bill for the initial impact.

Humming, she went back to her van to unload the pots of white tulips—the bride’s favorite—that would line the steps. A sweeter image than the hot blue, softer, more delicate. A nice mix, to her mind, of texture, shape, and style.

A taste, she thought, of things to come.

“Em!”

Bent over between the urns, her arms full of tulips, Emma turned her head. And Mac snapped her camera. “Looking good.”

“The flowers are. I hope to look better before the consult. Our biggest client to date requires careful grooming.” She placed the pots. “All around.”

In a suit as boldly green as her eyes, Mac stood, legs spread, feet planted. “Not much time left to beautify.”

“Nearly done. This is the last.” With her system bursting with flowers and scents, Emma took a deep breath. “God! What a gorgeous day.”

“You’re pretty chirpy.”

“I had a really good date last night.” After stepping back to examine the portico, she hooked an arm with Mac’s. “It had everything. Comedy, drama, conversation, sex. I feel . . . energized.”

“And look starry-eyed.”

“Maybe.” Briefly, she dipped her head to Mac’s shoulder. “I know it’s too soon, and we’re not even talking about—or anywhere near—the serious L. But . . . Mac, you know how I always had this fantasy about the moonlit night, the stars—”

“Dancing in the garden.” Instinctively, Mac slid an arm around Emma’s waist. “Sure, since we were kids.”

“I dreamed it last night, and it was Jack. I was dancing with Jack. It’s the first time I ever had the dream, or imagined it where I knew who I danced with. Don’t you think that means something?”

“You’re in love with him.”

“That’s what Parker said last night before I went out, and of course, I’m all no, no, I’m not. And, of course, as usual, she’s right. Am I crazy?”

“Who said love was sane? You’ve sort of been there before.”

“Sort of been,” Emma agreed. “Wanted to be, hoped to be. But now that I am, it’s more than I imagined. And I imagined a lot.” Emma sidestepped, pivoted, pirouetted. “It makes me happy.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“God, no. He’d freak. You know Jack.”

“Yes,” Mac said carefully, “I know Jack.”

“It makes me happy,” Emma repeated as she laid a hand on her heart. “I can stay there for now. He has feelings for me. You know when a man has feelings for you.”

“True enough.”

“So I’m going to be happy and believe he’ll fall in love with me.”

“Emma, solid truth? I don’t know how he could resist you. You’re good together, that’s easy to see. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

But Emma knew Mac’s tones, her expressions, her heart. “You’re worried I’ll get hurt. I can hear it in your voice. Because, well, we know Jack. Mac, you didn’t want to fall in love with Carter.”

“You’ve got me there.” Mac’s lips curved as she danced her fingers at the ends of Emma’s hair. “I didn’t, but I did, so I should stop being so cynical.”

“Good. Now I’ve got to stop standing around and go transform into a professional. Tell Parker I’m done, will you, and I’ll be back in twenty.”

“Will do.” And with concern showing now, Mac watched her friend rush off.

A
N HOUR LATER, DRESSED IN A TRIM SUIT AND LOW HEELS, Emma took the lead in escorting the future bride, her eagle-eyed mother, and the mother’s fascinated sister around the gardens.

“You can see what we’ll have blooming next spring, and I realize the gardens aren’t as flush as you need or want.”

“They just can’t wait until May or June,” Kathryn Seaman muttered.

“Mom, let’s not go there again.”

“It is, however, prime time for tulips—which I know you favor,” Emma said to Jessica. “We’ll plant more this fall, white tulips, and peach tulips—you’ll have a flood of them, and blue hyacinths. We’ll also fill in with white containers of peach roses, delphinium, snapdragons, stock, the hydrangeas. All in your colors, popped out by the white. I plan to back this area here with a screen covered with roses.”

She turned her smile on Kathryn. “I promise you, it’ll be like a fantasy garden, and as full and lush and romantic as anything you could wish for your daughter’s wedding.”

“Well, I’ve seen your work so I’m going to take your word.” Kathryn nodded to Mac. “The engagement photos were everything you said they’d be.”

“It helps to have two gorgeous people wildly in love.”

“We had so much fun, too.” Jessica beamed at Mac. “Plus, I felt like a storybook princess.”

“You looked like one,” her mother said. “All right, let’s talk about the terraces.”

“If you remember from the sketches at the proposal,” Emma began, and led the way.

“I’ve seen your work as well.” Adele, the bride’s aunt, scanned the terraces. “I’ve been to three weddings here, and all were beautifully done.”

“Thank you.” Parker added a polite smile to the acknowledgment.

“Actually, what you’ve done here, built here, has inspired me to look into plans for doing something similar. We live part of the year in Jamaica. A destination wedding spot. And a perfect place for a good, upscale, all-inclusive wedding company.”

“You’re serious about that?” Kathryn asked her.

“I’ve been looking into it, and getting more serious. My husband’s going to retire,” Adele told Parker. “And we plan to spend even more time in our winter home there. It would be an excellent investment, I think, and something fun.”

She gave Emma a twinkling smile and a wink. “Now, if I could lure you away with the promise of unlimited tropical flowers and balmy island breezes, I’d have my first real building block.”

“Tempting,” Emma said in the same light tone, “but Centerpiece of Vows keeps me busy. If you move forward with your plans, I’m sure any of us will be happy to answer any questions you might have. Now, for this area . . .”

A
FTER THE MEETING ALL FOUR WOMEN COLLAPSED IN THE parlor.

“God.” Laurel stretched out her legs. “That woman sure knows how to put you through your paces. I feel like we had the event instead of just talking it through. Again.”

“Unless there are any objections, I’d like to black out the Friday and Sunday around the event. The size and scope of this wedding will more than make up for that lost revenue, plus the publicity and the word of mouth will bring in more.” Parker toed off her shoes. “That would give us the full week to focus exclusively on this.”

“Thank God.” Emma heaved a long, relieved sigh. “The amount of flowers and landscaping, the type of bouquets and arrangements, centerpieces, swags, garlands, ornamental trees? I’d have to hire more designers to get it done. But with that full week on the single event, I think I can stick with the usual team. I can add someone else if need be for the actual dressing, but I’d really prefer to do as much of this as I can personally, and with the people I know.”

“I’m right there with Emma,” Laurel said. “The cakes, the dessert bar, the personalized chocolates, they’re all on the elaborate and labor-intensive side. If I had the full week on nothing else, I’d actually get a couple hours’ sleep.”

“Make it three for three.” Mac raised a hand. “They want full photo documentation of the rehearsal, and the rehearsal dinner, so if we had another event on Friday, I’d have to assign a photographer to that as I’d have to cover the Seamans. As it is I’m putting two more on the event itself, plus two videogra phers. Keeping Sunday black means we don’t have to kill ourselves and our subs breaking down, and redressing.”

“Which doesn’t even begin to address what they expect of you,” Emma said to Parker.

“So we’re agreed. And,” Parker added, “I’ll let the MOB know we’re clearing our decks for wedding week so we can give her daughter’s wedding all our time, attention, and skill. She’ll like that.”

“She likes us,” Emma pointed out. “The concept of a company founded and run by four women appeals to her.”

“And her sister. Who else did the sneaky Adele try to lure to Jamaica?” Laurel asked.

All four women raised hands.

“And she didn’t even realize it was rude,” Parker added. “
Our
business. It’s not like we’re employees. We own it.”

“Rude, yes, but I don’t think she meant any harm.” Emma shrugged. “I elect to be flattered. She considers my flowers fabulous, Laurel’s cakes and pastries superb, Parker’s coordinating unmatched. Added to that, Mac blew it out of the park with the engagement photos.”

“I did,” Mac agreed. “I really did.”

“Let’s all take a moment to congratulate ourselves on our brilliance and talent.” Parker offered a toast with her bottle of water. “Then get back to work.”

“If we’re taking a moment, I’d like to thank Emma for last night’s entertainment.”

Emma sent Laurel a blank look. “Sorry?”

“I happened to be taking a little air on my terrace last night before settling in for the night, and noticed a car barreling down the drive. For a minute I thought, uh-oh, something happened. But no, not quite yet.”

“Oh my God.” Emma slapped her hands over her eyes. “Oh my God.”

“When no one immediately jumped out gushing blood, or jumped out at all, I actually considered running down, prepared to do triage. But momentarily both car doors flew open. Emma out of one, Jack out of the other.”

“You
watched
?”

Laurel snorted. “Duh.”

“More,” Mac demanded. “We must have more.”

“And more you will have. They fell on each other like animals.”

“Oh, we did . . . too,” Emma recalled.

“Then it’s the classic back against the door.”

“Oh, it’s been so long since I had the back against the door,” Parker said with a delicate shiver for emphasis. “Too long.”

“From my view, Jack’s got the move down cold. Or hot, I should say. But our girl holds her own. Or was it his?”

“Jesus, Laurel!”

“She wrestles his jacket off, tosses it. Rips his sweater off, heaves it away.”

“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” Mac said.

“But the gold medal move was the belt. She whips that belt off—” Laurel flicked an arm through the air to demonstrate. “Then lets it fly.”

“I think I need another bottle of water.”

“Unfortunately, Parker, they took it inside.”

“Killjoys,” Mac muttered.

“The rest was left to my very . . . fluid imagination. So I want to thank our own Emmaline for the view from my balcony seat. Sister, stand up and take a bow.”

To enthusiastic applause, Emma did just that. “Now I’ll leave you and Peeping Thomasina to your salacious thoughts. I’m going to work.”

“Back against the door,” Parker murmured. “I’m small enough to be jealous.”

“If I were small enough, I’d be jealous of her having her back against anything. But it’s okay, because I’ve declared myself in a sex moratorium.”

“A sex moratorium?” Mac repeated, turning to Laurel.

“That’s right. I’m in a sex moratorium so I can be in a dating moratorium, because for the last couple of months dating’s just been irritating.” Laurel lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Why do something that irritates me?”

“For the sex?” Mac suggested.

Eyes slitted, Laurel shot a finger at her friend. “You’re only saying that because you’re getting laid regularly.”

“Yes.” Mac considered, nodded. “Yes, I am getting laid regularly.”

“It’s rude to brag to those of us who are not,” Parker pointed out.

“But I’m getting laid with love.” Mac drew out the final word so Laurel laughed.

“Now you’re just getting sickening.”

“I’m not the only one, at least on one side. Emma said you were right, Parks. She’s in love with Jack.”

“Of course she’s in love with Jack,” Laurel interrupted. “She wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise.”

“Um, I hate to disillusion you, Bright Eyes, but Emma’s had sex with men she wasn’t in love with. And,” Mac added, “has gently refused to have sex with more men than the three of us combined have scored.”

“My point exactly. What happens when the four of us go to a club, for instance? Four very hot chicks? We get some hits, naturally. But Emma? They swarm like wasps.”

“I don’t see—”

“I do.” Parker nodded. “She doesn’t have to sleep with someone just because she’s attracted. She can and does pick and choose. And she’s picky and choosy rather than promiscuous. If it were just lust, she could and would answer that call elsewhere, because to answer it with Jack is complicated, and risky.”

“Which is the reason she waited so long to act on it,” Mac pointed out. “I don’t see . . . Yes, I do,” she corrected. “Damn it, I hate when I don’t have a chance to be right before you’re right.”

“Now that she’s realized what I could’ve told her weeks ago, I wonder what she’ll do.”

“She had her dancing in the garden dream,” Mac told them, “and it was with Jack.”

“Okay that’s serious. Not just in love,” Laurel said, “but
in love
.”