Thousand Yard Bride (14 page)

I
was hoping
that wedding dress shopping would be just Lanie and me, but Victoria had other plans. First, she wanted to take me to Haven Oaks Country Club for a “luncheon” with her society friends, and then she said that we would travel into the city to go to an exclusive wedding gown boutique.

I considered protesting, but I knew I would be better off with at least one of Hunter’s parents on my side. So, I went into the SportsFire offices early that morning to work on my ClimbTime pitch. I was almost ready to schedule a presentation with the CEO.

I was trying to focus on work, but I was worried what the afternoon would have in store for me. I wasn't excited about spending it with society folk, but Victoria didn't seem so terrible. Sure, she was stiff and snobby, but she seemed to actually care about Hunter, whereas her husband delighted in pointing out his shortcomings.

At Victoria’s request, I arrived at the club a half hour before the luncheon was scheduled. She greeted me in the foyer, pink and white silks hanging off of her long and elegant dress. Who wore that kind of thing in public? “Come, dear, let’s grab a cup of tea out here on the patio.”

I much preferred the outside of the Club to its stuffy interior. We settled at a silver table beneath the canopy of a dark blue umbrella. “Thanks for inviting me here, Victoria,” I said.

“You’re quite welcome. I’m sure this situation isn't a walk in the park.”

Brushing my stomach, I tried to smile. “Hardly."

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m on your side. I had Hunter Junior when I was a few years younger than you, actually.”

I sucked too hard on my water's straw, choking. “I had no idea." Mrs. Daniels looked young, but I thought it was just good genes or an even better plastic surgeon.

Looking out over the green club grass at the people milling below, her voice was wistful. “I learned how to fit in rather quickly. You will, too.”

I wasn't so sure.

Her eyes closed, like she wanted to see something else besides the perfect and bland socialite landscape. "Honestly," she said, turning back to me, "I never thought I’d get a grandbaby out of Hunter. Don’t tell his father, but the truth is that I am quite pleased with this whole situation.”

"Your secret is safe with me," I said, deciding to take her at her word. I was growing more fond of the situation, too. Especially after Hunter had laid his feelings out openly for me. Maybe having a baby with him and tying the knot might turn out alright.

Our chat was interrupted by a group of older women. They paraded onto the balcony, their outfits as garish—and expensive—as Victoria's.

"Cerene!" she cried, standing to meet the group. "This is Joanne."

I stumbled upwards, banging the chair loudly. "Uh, nice to meet you all." I wanted to dig up my P.R. skills and fake my comfort, but my head was foggy—was I already getting what I'd been told was the dreaded "baby brain?"

They all smiled and shook my hand, some of them doing air kisses that I copied as quickly as I could. Wishing I had a notepad, I worked to remember their names. Besides Cerene—an octogenarian hoot who didn't seem to give a damn about anything, at one point I caught her pinching the waiter’s butt—there was Lorena and Kitty.

I watched the women as they interacted. I was afraid they would be stiff and proper the entire time, but the conversation turned to gossip at the same time the appetizers arrived.

“Did you hear about Courtland, the golf pro?” Cerene asked the table.

“That he’s having an affair with Miranda Kennedy?” Lorena delicately bit into a toasted brioche covered in crème fraiche and caviar.

“He wouldn’t do that, not Courtland,” Kitty said. “I always thought he was flirting with me.”

“Oh, Kitty,” Victoria interjected. “He’s much too old for you.”

“So what?” Kitty asked, laughing. “I like an older man.”

Cerene smirked behind her glass. “You like all men, Kitty.” The entire table laughed; I joined in, easing up with their casual attitude.

Right as I shoved a forkful of Cobb salad into my mouth, Cerene asked me, “So! How did you meet our dear Hunter Junior?”

Ah, shit.
This was a delicate subject. Luckily, I'd been practicing with Lanie. She'd insisted I stay honest, and of course, not expand on the night at the Standard.

Easy.

I chewed as quickly as I could, dabbing my mouth with my fancy cloth napkin and said, “It’s a funny story. We met through work. I’m his public relations representative.”

“Scandal!” Cerene shrieked before clapping her hands together. “I love it. Work romance is always so exciting. Good for you, Jo. Good. For. You.”

I finally relaxed and realized that maybe these society ladies were more normal than I’d thought. At least, Cerene and Victoria were on my side. Kitty might have been giving me weird looks, but that was probably because I was studying her fork usage for my own edification.

After lunch, we traveled in a stretch limo into New York City. We arrived at Gowns on Main and were buzzed into the store by a woman who looked like she was a former model—or maybe a current one.

She greeted everyone with kisses on both cheeks and had her assistant, an eccentrically dressed man in his thirties named Benji, pass out champagne. The ladies sucked it down and had another round.

After Benji shoved me into a dressing room with an armful of gowns he'd picked out for me, I could hear Lorena say, “So, Victoria, do you think that Hunter will be able to restrain himself so that maybe
this
engagement lasts?”

In all the propulsive ruckus, I'd actually forgotten about Hunter's ex, Poppy.
Right, they were engaged before.
My ears strained, eager for details—for a response.

Victoria's voice had a curt edge. “We don't know what happened the last time. Hunter never admitted to cheating on the Van Hausen girl.”

Laughing for far too long, Kitty said, “You don't
know?
Poppy told me everything. She said that he, along with those rapscallion Kings Club boys, had competitions to see how many girls’ numbers they could get.”

Weeks ago, I would have heard it and believed it. Now, my insides contorted from how much I
didn't
want to believe. I put my ear to the fitting room door to listen better.

Cerene scoffed. “Sometimes lads do such things. It’s harmless fun. After all, telephone numbers in one’s Rolodex are not the same as notches on one’s bedpost.”

Cerene was quickly becoming my hero.

“Poppy swore to me that she saw him leave a bar with some skank," Kitty snapped, her voice rising. "She
swore
it to me.”

Cerene made a rude noise, but Victoria was the one who answered. “Poppy was always blowing things out of proportion. She didn't think the ring was big enough to show true love or some nonsense. She made him get a bigger one. She was always trouble, that Van Hausen girl.”

I looked down at the ring on my finger. Out of everything going on, not once had I thought the diamond mattered. It was Hunter's feelings . . . his determination to show me he cared . . . that had me second guessing my wedding fears.

Something scraped over the floor—a chair? Kitty said, “All she wanted was for him to set a date. Instead of that, he screwed a bartender from the Clubhouse.”

I couldn't take much more of this, so I zipped up the dress I was struggling with and threw the door open. “I’ve been going through all the press coverage of Hunter for the last two years, and there is no evidence of him going home with anyone while he was with Poppy, as far as the paparazzi could tell. And you know them, they don't miss much.”

My righteous fury gave me the power to stand there with my dress half-hanging off my chest, one hand squeezing the back of it to keep it in place, while giant fluffy frosting-rolls of lace dwarfed me. Kitty was standing in front of the others, her eyes fixed on mine as she sized me up.

I had the feeling people rarely called her out.

“Poppy is my best friend," she said firmly. "She wouldn't lie. You know what, I need to get some air.” She gave me a nasty look before disappearing past a display of veils. I wasn't sad to get a breather from her.

I knew by now that Hunter was many things—a playboy, a bad boy, a lady’s man, a guy who was really good in bed—but cheater didn't fit his personality. He might have been reckless with his own life, but he wouldn't hurt anyone on purpose.

Victoria was the first to break the icy air. “Jo, I don't know if this is quite the look for you, my dear.”

Cerene added bluntly, “No, it certainly isn’t it. You’re too pretty to look like a puffer fish, dearie.”

I was about to turn and shuffle back inside the safety of my dressing room to peel the dress off. Then I saw her.

Poppy.

She was in a bright yellow sundress with a white cardigan. She was perfectly coiffed, like she’d just stepped out of a magazine. What the hell was she doing
here?
Before I could flee back inside my dressing room, the only safe space I had, Poppy was right there. Right in my space.

Breathing hard, Kitty bounded in view behind the woman. “Poppy! I can’t believe you just
happened
to show up here, what a coincidence! I think Jo needs some help in the dressing room getting that gown unzipped, maybe you should go help her.”

In my over-sized white wedding dress, I eyeballed Hunter's ex nervously. She wore a tight smile, the kind meant for people you didn't like in the slightest. I said, “I’ve got it, no thanks.” I went to pull the door shut, but Poppy slipped in with me.

“No, no, let me help a fellow woman out!" she declared, clicking the door closed. We were pushed together in the tiny closet-sized room, and outside, I could hear the worried mutters of Victoria and the others.

I cringed as Poppy reached for my zipper, blocking her hands. "Don't touch me, I don't even know you."

Acid entered her wide eyes, they looked like they could melt me if she focused hard enough. "Yes, you do. You definitely know who I am, little Miss Future Hunter Daniels."

Eyeing the door over her shoulder, I thought about shouldering my way through. Maybe I could pull off one of Hunter's field moves. "Poppy, right? Yeah. I know
of
you, but—"

"Let me tell you something." Poppy spread her feet, one arm sliding over the doorknob. “I can see that you’re under his spell. It’s those eyes of his and all that confidence. Trust me, I know what it’s like. I fell for him, and it took me forever to find out who he truly is.”

His warm lips and serious words slammed into my brain.
I love this. The ring, the baby, us . . .
And me.

I said, "I know who he is."

“Oh, is that right?” Poppy asked. “Just how long have you two been together?”

The elephant in the room said
She knows they split only six months ago. I can't pretend we dated longer than after their split.
“A few months,” I lied through my teeth. “It was love at first sight.” It was something else at first sight, but I didn't feel the need to tell her that.

Poppy's lip curled. "Oh. Okay, I think I just figured it out. You don’t come from this walk of life, do you? Your parents probably told you to find a guy who could keep you comfy, and here comes Hunter, so you spread your legs and win him over, thinking how great it is you landed a guy like him so you can manipulate your way into the high life and—”

“Stop." I didn't need to shout; there was ice in my voice and Poppy heard it. "You're right. I don't have rich parents who paid for everything. I don’t have parents at all. I got where I am because I worked hard, and I still work hard."

Poppy smiled broadly, the light shining off her perfect teeth. “Whatever, honey. You must have worked
so hard
to get him to fuck you. Or was it him? Did he trick you into bed and now you're too blinded by his cock to see he'll use you and forget you?"

"Quit talking about him like he's so awful," I demanded, letting the dress go—letting it fall to my ankles. I was in my underwear and I didn't care, I'd face this terrible woman down naked if I had to.

Poppy said sweetly, "Maybe you should ask Hunter about what happened in the Bahamas. See what you think of him then.”

I’d had enough. I opened the door and kicked Poppy out; she tripped, and lucky for her, Kitty was there to catch her. The pair of them scowled viciously at me, and all the while, I stood proud in my near-nudity.

I could tell by the look on everyone’s faces that they’d overheard our conversation.

Cerene coughed into her fist, eyeballing me. “Well, I do quite like that minimalist look.”

It took a great effort not to slam the door. I sat down inside, hugging my knees and trying to process everything that Poppy had said. What nerve she had.

Wait. If she came all the way here just to mess with me, it's possible she's not over Hunter. What if she gets nosy enough to keep digging and finds out about the baby, about our hook up?

And what had she meant about the Bahamas?

Why should it even bother me? I'd planned to end the relationship once we were out of the limelight, anyway.
I couldn't be developing feelings for him, not actual feelings.

He said he loved me.

No. He hadn't said that
exactly.
But was it worth splitting hairs?
I never said it back to him. It was hormones, it wasn't . . . real.

I didn't have a clue what my reality was anymore.

F
or the fifth time
, I glared down at my phone and read the message.

Jo: I ran into Poppy today. Or she ran into me, rather.

The device squeaked under the pressure of my fist.
Poppy went too far. What the hell was she thinking?
This Poppy problem had to end.

I hadn't responded to the text. Instead, I'd called Jo and asked her to meet me at my private penthouse for dinner. I actually enjoyed cooking; it relaxed me. But I’d gotten so used to having a personal chef making me meals that fit my training regime, I’d gotten out of the habit.

Just in case I was rusty I decided to make one of my go-to dishes. Tonight, I’d serve Jo Chicken Picatta a la Hunter over a bed of spring risotto. I especially liked the fact that the dish had the word "bed" in it.

I was in the middle of frying capers when the doorbell rang. Wiping my hands on a towel, I shouted, "Coming!" My voice echoed, my sneakers scuffing the floors as I ran to the front door.

When I opened it, Jo flashed me a half-smile that said a million things. I tried to read all of them:
I've picked out a wedding dress for our fake marriage, I had to hang out with your mom and it was awkward, oh, and your ex assaulted me.

It was all awful shit. But faced with Jo wearing a blue button-down and jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places, I could only think of peeling her pants to her ankles and kissing her thighs.

My cock sprang to life; I squeezed the door harder. "Jo, you look great." I'd gotten so used to her suits and dresses that this casual style struck me as amazingly sexy.

"Shush," she laughed, reaching in to hug me awkwardly. "It's just laundry day stuff." I doubted that, but I didn't comment. I was enjoying the warmth and pressure of her body. My gut said there was no way she didn't feel my massive hard-on between us.

Closing my eyes, I hugged her even tighter.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked, breaking out of my arms. The blush on her cheeks and the way she didn't meet my eyes made it clear—she'd definitely felt my eager cock trying to reach her through my jeans.

Grinning, I motioned for her to come in. "I hope you have a reservation, Ma'am."

Jo rolled her eyes, then she hesitated, inhaling to full capacity. “Wow. That smells amazing.”

I flushed with joy. It was almost as good as hugging her.

Most people ogle my home like it's some busty model at a car show. I had a top designer come in and make it look swanky with Scandinavian furniture, custom glass fixtures, and a killer bedroom. I wanted it to look classy and plush, but not like that decadent and outdated monstrosity where my folks lived.

My kitchen was also custom built—big, open, plenty of light and the finest appliances. I’d had entire parties in here and no one felt squished. I’m not sure when exactly I got into cooking, but it was probably when I was little. Kitchens are the perfect place to hide from your parents when they fight. The cook, Matilda, would try to distract me by letting me help her chop vegetables or stir a pot or whatever.

I watched as Jo ran her hands over the butcher block island, caressing it. She then opened my fridge and pulled out a bottle of water for her and a Heineken for me. She impressed me when she opened my beer by using the side of the counter rather than hunting down a bottle opener.

Passing it to me, she winked. “I hope that’s OK, me going through your fridge."

"It's fine," I said, sipping the drink. "I like seeing you making yourself comfortable."

Chewing her lip, she fidgeted in place. "What’s cooking?”

“Italian food. Wanna help?”

“I’m not too bad with a ladle,” she said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

The image of Jo standing there in my kitchen, her long hair finally let loose and draped over her shoulders, was nothing short of really fucking sexy. I thought about making a move on her, but I knew I had to get the Poppy discussion out of the way.

As much as I wanted to lean her over the island and bury my dick into her while her legs shook—and dammit, I really wanted to—I knew I had to resist. So instead of telling her to take her shirt off, I asked her to stir the risotto into the broth. “Nice and slow,” I told her, trying not to give away my true desires with a smile.

I came up behind her and added seasonings. I smelled her hair as I leaned over her shoulder. Then I reminded myself about the reason why she was standing there looking so damn fine in my kitchen anyway. “Listen Jo, I wanted to talk to you about Poppy.”

“What do you mean?” She tried to make her voice light, but I could hear the tension underneath.

Cutting right to it, I looked her in the eye. “I didn't cheat on her. I'm tired of telling everyone that, tired of defending myself." Some of this was my fault. I'd had no desire to drag Poppy’s name through the mud, even if people would believe me. But why would they? I’d made a second career of being a scoundrel. Who would believe the notorious playboy over the innocent looking Poppy Van Hausen? I didn't have the energy for that battle.

Jo's face was steady. “I never thought you did, Hunter.”

“Really?” I blurted.

Her smile came back, big and honest and perfect for kissing. “Yeah. I researched you before I took you on as my client.”

“Oh,” I said, then, “Wait. What do you mean you
researched
me?”

Shrugging upwards, she stirred the risotto. “I mean I just did my job. I read all the stories and tabloids and blog posts about you. There was a lot about you and Poppy."

The way she said that last part really stung, like snooping into my life was completely natural. “That seems really intrusive. You know so much of that crap is made up shit, right?”

Her hand spun, no longer patiently working the risotto. “Of course. Do you think I’m an idiot? It’s my job as your publicist to know everything the media and the public think they know about you. It's the reason I'm here and not hiding away, thinking I've
really
messed up." She looked up at me, not smiling, but imploring me none the less. "I really believe you about Poppy. Okay?"

I was impressed. There hadn’t been a single person who really seemed to believe my side of the story. As I added the chicken to the pan with the capers, taking care not to stand too close to Jo, I asked her, “Want to know the really fucked up part?” She said nothing; I pushed on and ignored the hard bits of glass that always cut me up inside when I thought about this. "Not only did I not cheat on her, but she cheated on me."

Staring into the pan, I didn't see her approach me, I just felt her hand resting on my forearm. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

Releasing the spoon, I moved away, but she followed me until I was leaning on the counter. "You know all this stuff about me, I'm kind of shocked you didn't figure it out."

“Actually . . . I did know."

My eyes flew wide. "What? How?" Was she playing a game with me?

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she looked from me to the floor. "Your mother told me about it."

A spike of ice jammed into my throat. "My
mother?"

"Yeah. She told me all about how she'd gone to see you practicing one day, and stumbled onto Poppy and Benny inside the—"

A firework went off in my brain.
"Benny? Did you just say fucking Benny?"
On the stove, the smell of burning chicken reached me. I ignored it, too busy staring down at Jo and trying to understand what the hell she'd just said.

Covering her mouth, she stepped back. "You mean you don’t know?"

For a moment, I said nothing, just paced across the floor. "My mom saw them and she never told me? I don't—what the hell?" I wanted to throw my beer across the room, but instead I just took a big swig of it.

"She probably wanted to stay out of it," Jo whispered. “Can I ask you a question?”

Downing the last of the beer, I slammed it onto the counter. “Yeah. Ask away,” I responded sharply.

“Why does this bother you so much? Benny is a tool, and I thought you were over Poppy."

I focused for a few minutes before steadying myself and saying, “I am over her. Believe me, I am. What she did to me hurt me deeper than anything I've ever gone through." Hunching down, I grabbed the counter behind me, my arms flexing to their limit. "But to find out that fucking
Benny
of all people did this—did that with her—and that they knew, my mom knew, and they watched me getting torn apart in the news over the rumors and never came clean . . . Jo, how can that
not
bother me? I feel worthless."

I laughed when I said it, my chin nearly touching my chest. I didn't want to see her. I couldn't handle the idea that Jo might see how fragile my ego was, or how close I was to falling apart.

Fingers dug into my cheeks—they hurt, Jo was grabbing me like I was a football and she needed this touchdown to win. "You're not worthless," she said to me. Lingering there, Jo flicked her attention to my gently curving frown.

Her kiss was sweet, nowhere near as painful as her nails had been. My skin was wide awake from her assault. I sank lower, legs bending, my tongue seeking more of her.

I couldn't help but wonder how much of this was raw attraction and how much was emotion. We were connected on more than a few levels now, and I wanted nothing more than to be connected with her in the deepest way possible.

"You really think I'm not worthless?" I asked her. She smelled so damn good.

Jo turned around, hopping up onto the counter so that I was faced by her spread knees. "I don't sleep with worthless people," she said flatly. Her eyes were half shut, plump lips a coy smile.

Jo unbuttoned her pants, sliding them down and off with her shoes. In just the loose top and her plain blue panties, my cock went rock hard. Hissing, I hurried to yank my clothes off. I loved the way she paused, lost in the sight of me. Seeing a woman get turned on just by looking at me was the best aphrodisiac.

Her hips were the perfect height on the counter. "You want me inside you?" I asked, fisting myself through my briefs.

Jo nodded, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. She'd worn it down a lot lately; I liked to think it was because of me. "I do."

"Say it," I growled, pushing my thick, cloth covered shaft against her panties. Her damp spot was obvious. I felt the hard numb of her swollen clit as I rubbed on her.

"I want you inside of me—ah, fuck, that's amazing." Arching her spine, she rolled her eyes back and dry humped me.

I didn't peel her underwear off, I shoved them to the side. Exploring her soaked pussy, I lazily circled her clitoris. Jo panted, looking at me like she was drunk. I smirked sharply. "Keep talking. Tell me what to do."

Swallowing, she gathered herself. "Finger me."

"How many fingers?" I asked sweetly, stroking over her pink lips, spreading them wide.

"One—no, two."

I stared at her, waiting for her to feel the weight of my lack of action. "You're sure that's enough?"

Her blush was addictive. "Do it. I can't handle waiting."

"That's the truth." Breathing out raggedly, I inserted two fingers as slow as I could. They went in easy; she was slippery, eager. Like I was counting the seconds, I moved one finger, then the other, petting deep inside of her.

Lowering my face, I inhaled the scent of her arousal. I'd barely started licking her fat clit when she shook, squeezing me with her insides and her legs as she came. "Ah! That's—fuck, yes!"

"Fast," I muffled against her skin. Standing, I pulled my fingers from her. Jo was glowing, her chest rising rapidly. Looking her dead in the eye, I licked my fingers, moaning around them. "Delicious. Nothing tastes better than my soon to be wife."

She froze, her mouth working—no sound coming out.

My cock bounced into the air with how hard I ripped my briefs down. Jo got one look at it before I stepped up, sinking it into her where she sat on the counter. The picatta burned, I didn't care. Whatever we'd been doing before now had stopped mattering.

Our lovemaking was like a force of nature. It was a storm you ran out into because you wanted to feel the rain on your face rather than waiting it out in the safety of cover. Neither of us was here because we wanted
safety.
This was about animal-action, raw passion. About us letting go and fucking until we had to call the damn fire department because my kitchen was burning down.

If this wasn't love . . .

What the hell was?