Their Wicked Wedding (11 page)

I almost skip back to the head of the maze. Part of me wants to see Calder right away, to finish what we started this morning, but now I’m thinking that I want to do something extra special.

I make it all the way to the maze exit before the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

I spin around, my stomach tightening—but all I see is a little cottontail rabbit on the path behind me. Apparently I’ve scared it as much as it scared me. It sits completely frozen, staring at me with wide eyes—at least until I burst into laughter. Then it darts beneath the nearest hedge and disappears.

I shake my head as I turn back toward the exit. I’m going crazy after all. This wedding is messing with my brain.

But when I remind myself of the things I want to do to Calder tonight, I think I’m okay with being a little bit crazy.

CHAPTER TEN

CALDER

Joe Osborne is useless.

For as much as he charges for his investigations, I expected better. So far he has only managed to confirm things anyone might have discovered with a thorough internet search: that Patricia Harker is a real person and that she has a son named Taran of about my age. Or at least she did. Apparently she died two months ago.

Taran Harker, he tells me, lives up in Cincinnati, and he worked as an insurance broker up until last fall, when he was fired for unspecified reasons. He’s done nothing remarkable since then. As far as Joe has been able to trace, Taran has been down here for a week, and up until two nights ago, he had a room at a large chain hotel near my office. That fact isn’t particularly surprising to me, but it’s still unsettling. What worries me more, though, is that Joe can’t seem to discover where Mr. Harker is
currently
staying. He learned of Mr. Harker’s stay at the hotel after the man had already checked out; he had no chance to follow him to his next location, and his inquiries at other places around town have turned up nothing. He tells me he suspects Mr. Harker returned home after I refused to speak with him, but I know better. I wouldn’t have called Joe Osborne for an update at all if I hadn’t received another call from Mr. Harker this afternoon. I didn’t pick up, but in spite of my determination to ignore the matter, I couldn’t resist listening to the voicemail he left me.

Mr. Cunningham, I think I’ve been more than patient. I’ve given you every chance to hear me out, but if you insist on ignoring me, then I have no choice but to force you to listen. If I don’t hear from you within the next twenty-four hours, then I’ll be forced to bring the law into this.

The law? Is the bastard serious? The first time I listened to the message, I laughed at the very idea. If anyone should be bringing the police into this matter, it’s me, because if he keeps this up I’m sure I have grounds for a harassment charge. But now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, a different possibility occurs to me.

Is he bringing lawyers into this? Threatening to sue me or force me to acknowledge him as part of the family? Is this some ridiculous attempt to get some part of the inheritance-that-doesn’t-exist?

It’s a bluff—it has to be—but I’ve taken the necessary precautions anyway. I’ve passed on what information I can to my lawyers, just in case Mr. Harker actually does move forward with the matter. This bullshit grows deeper by the day.

One thing remains the same: I still refuse to engage him. I will not give this man a minute more of my time. Still, it’s infuriating to know so little, to sit back and wait for Joe to uncover the truth.

I know the truth
, I remind myself.
That hasn’t changed.
But I can’t help myself from sifting through the new facts Joe has presented to me, nor mulling over the things they suggest. Patricia Harker died two months ago. That seems like the catalyst for Mr. Harker’s sudden appearance in my life—either she waited until she was on her deathbed to discuss his parentage with him, or else her death inspired her son to seek out what remains of his family.

But those assumptions only work if Mr. Harker’s claims are true, which they’re not. So I don’t know why I’m even bothering to entertain such thoughts.

I rub my head. When it comes down to it, if Mr. Harker does bring the law into this, there will probably be some sort of DNA test. Hell, maybe I should go ahead and demand one myself. That will prove the truth and then we can put this whole business to rest.

But anything like that will have to wait. I promised myself again and again that I’d forget all of this until after the wedding. I’ve done a piss-poor job of it so far, but I’m determined to correct that.

In all fairness, though, until I received that call, I was doing very well today. In fact, I spent most of the morning making arrangements for a special surprise for Lily. It’s the least I can do after my behavior this week, and I can’t wait to see the look on her face.

Speaking of…

I check my watch. It’s nearly six o’clock, which means she and Louisa should be long back. I got a text from Lily when they left the spa informing me that they’d be running a few errands, and that my sister would be preparing a special dinner for us—which I am absolutely not allowed to miss, especially after my absence last night—but that was a couple of hours ago. I’m surprised she hasn’t dropped by to tell me hello.

I leave the office and head back up to my room. Maybe after dinner I’ll help Lily move her things in here—unless, of course, she’d prefer I move my things in with her. But since we’ve dispensed with all that nonsense about waiting until the wedding, I see no reason why we shouldn’t share the same bedroom while we’re here.

I slip on a dark button-down shirt and a pair of slacks before heading down the hall and rapping at Lily’s door.

“Just a second!” she calls from inside.

“It’s me,” I say. “May I come in?”

I don’t hear her response, so I open the door slowly. When I enter the room, she’s not there. But the light is on in the closet.

“Lily?” I call to her.

“Just a minute,” I hear from the closet.

I laugh. “Don’t be absurd. I’ve seen you half-naked a hundred times before.” I stride across the room to the closet entrance. “I prefer you fully naked, of course, but I’m not overly particular.”

At the sight of her, my breath catches in my chest. She is in fact half-naked, wearing nothing but some lacy red panties and a matching bra that doesn’t even begin to cover her nipples. She’s absolutely mind-numbingly stunning.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she grabs the nearest bit of clothing and tries to cover herself.

“Get out of here,” she says, shooing me with her hand. “Go wait in the room. This was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It is a surprise,” I say. “A very, very good surprise. Is that new?” I can still see part of her around the coat she’s trying to use as a curtain. Somehow, just seeing that strip of red lace across her otherwise bare shoulder is enough to have me at attention. My eyes drift down to where the tiniest bit of her naked hip peeks out from behind the coat, and then well below that, her calves and bare feet. I’ve seen far more of her many, many times before, but the picture she presents right now is especially enticing.

“I was going to save it for after the wedding,” she says. “But I thought—well, you weren’t supposed to see it until later tonight. Now get out.”

I laugh again, and the sound is deeper than before. “I don’t intend on going anywhere, little minx.” I take a step toward her, and before she can protest, I grab her by the waist and pull her toward me. The coat is crushed between us, but I don’t care. I take her mouth, and my hands slide across her back, seeking the edges of her intoxicating new lingerie.

For a moment, she melts under my touch. But then she pushes away.

“I need to finish getting ready for dinner,” she says. “Lou will kill us if we’re late.”

“Louisa can wait.”

“You don’t want her to come looking for us, do you?”

It’s probably the only thing she could have said to curb my hunger for her right now. Begrudgingly, I step back, though I still keep my hands on her waist.

“Fine,” I say. “You win this one. But tonight—”

“Tonight, I’m yours.”

The look in her eyes makes my pulse quicken, but I manage to restrain myself. “Tonight, then.”

She stands up on her toes and kisses me, and I know that if I’m not careful, I’m going to have trouble caring that Louisa might walk in on us again. I pull my mouth away from hers but keep her pressed against my body. For the first time, I get a good look behind her, where I see a large white dress.

“Is that—?”

“Oh! Don’t look!”

She springs away from me, and the coat falls, forgotten, as she throws herself in front of her wedding dress.

“You’re not supposed to see it before the wedding,” she says.

“I thought that only mattered if you were wearing it.”

“It matters either way.” She spreads herself wide, trying to cover the garment with her scantily-clad body. It’s amusing and arousing all at once, but one look in her eyes and I don’t dare take a step forward.

With a sigh, I turn around so I’m facing the other direction. “Fine.”

She laughs. “You make it sound like I’m being unreasonable. Since when did you care this much about a dress?”

“It’s your wedding dress.”

“And I thought only the bride ever really got excited about this sort of thing. Isn’t the groom supposed to complain about how much she’s spending on something she’s only going to wear once? Or remind her that
he
is more excited about taking it off of her at the end of the night?”

That statement surprises me so much that I turn halfway around before remembering myself.

“Of course I care,” I say. “Fuck, Lily, why wouldn’t I care about your dress? It’s what you’ll be wearing on the most important day of our lives. That dress means more to me than anything else you’ll ever wear.”

Behind me, she gives a little gasp.

“It’s just a dress, I know,” I continue. “If you wanted to marry me in a potato sack, it wouldn’t change a thing. And yeah, maybe I’d have a few thoughts if you spent half of our savings on the damned thing. But you chose that dress for our wedding. You want to make memories in that dress. You want to celebrate our love in that dress. And in my eyes, that makes it the most important damn dress you’ll ever own.”

She’s silent for so long I start to get worried. But when I move to turn toward her, she says, “Don’t.”

There’s the slightest quaver in her voice, but before I can ask her if she’s all right, I hear her footsteps behind me, and then her arms come around my waist. She presses her cheek against my back.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I close my hands over hers. “I love you, too.”

“You can see the dress if you want,” she says softly. “But I thought it might be nice to keep
some
traditions, seeing as we’ve decided to forgo the whole ‘hold off until we’re married’ thing.”

I squeeze her fingers. “Then we will. The first time I see that dress will be when you’re walking down the aisle toward me.”

She presses her lips against my back, kissing me through the fabric of my shirt. We stand like that for a long moment, with her arms around me and her face buried against my back. I can feel the warmth of her breasts against me, and between them, the quick beating of her heart. If I don’t leave here soon, I’ll lose what little control I have left.

“I should let you finish getting dressed,” I say finally, though I’m sure it’s obvious from my tone that I’d rather do anything than walk away from her right now.

“You should,” she whispers in return. “We can’t be late to dinner. But tonight…”

“Tonight, you’re mine.”

She gives a little laugh and unwinds her arms from around me.

“I won’t be long,” she says. “If you want to head on down, I’ll meet you there.”

It’s probably a good idea. I can still think of little else but throwing her down on the bed and exploring the way her new lingerie hugs her body.

I clear my throat. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

I’ve managed to calm myself slightly by the time I get downstairs, but it’s difficult. I can still smell her on me. I can still feel her arms around me, right where they belong.

The scent of food distracts me, though. The closer I get to the kitchen, the stronger it gets, and I have to admit, it makes my mouth water. Neither Louisa nor I learned much in the way of cooking, growing up as we did, but she seems to have taken to it recently, and I find myself looking forward to the meal ahead.

Until I get to the kitchen, at least. I was so caught up in thoughts of Lily—and in anticipation of the night that awaits us—that I nearly forgot that this will be the first time I’ve seen Louisa since the awkwardness of this morning. I freeze right at the doorway to the kitchen, suddenly unsure of what I should do.

My sister, at least, hasn’t seemed to notice me yet. She’s bending over a pot—or trying to, since her belly makes such a thing difficult—tasting one of her dishes with a spoon. After a moment of consideration, she picks up the salt and adds a couple of shakes to the brew.

What am I supposed to say to her after what happened this morning? Should I apologize? Assure her that there’s no reason for things to be uncomfortable between us? Or is it better not to mention it at all and hope she follows my lead? I should have asked Lily if she said anything to my sister when they went to the spa. Maybe they’ve discussed it already, and I can go back to pretending the entire incident never happened.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of avoiding the subject altogether. But I’m the first one down here, and if I walk into the kitchen right now it will be much harder to escape an awkward conversation. I’ll go back to my office and return here in ten minutes or so.

I turn to go, but luck isn’t on my side today. The minute I round the corner, I find myself face-to-face with Ward. Like me, he dressed up for tonight’s meal, trading his usual grubby T-shirt for a tie and pressed button-down. He doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but I suppose I should be grateful he’s at least attempting to dress appropriately for once.