Читать книгу Two Weddings And A Bride - Anne Eames, Anne Eames - Страница 11

“Mommm…” Catherine rolled her eyes at Jake, who was leaning against the wall next to the airport pay phone, grinning. “Please stop crying. I’m okay. Really.” She looked down at her feet, feeling guilty for her mother’s pain.

“I know how humiliating it must have been for you and Daddy, but…” She wanted to say It was no picnic for me, either, but she let her mother prattle on, not wanting to say anything that would prolong the conversation. After listening to a long litany of who said what to whom following her hasty departure, she finally interrupted. “I need to speak with Daddy…yes, Mom. I love you, too.”

Catherine extracted the wadded paper from her purse and began smoothing out the wrinkles until she heard her father’s worried voice. She tolerated a few more platitudes, then heaved a sigh and asked her question. “I know this is a terrible imposition, but could you call your lawyer and ask him something for me?” Quickly she explained the unsigned marriage license in her hand and agreed to call him back in a couple of days for the answer.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He began again in what sounded like a long lecture and Catherine shot Jake another exasperated look.

“Sorry, Daddy, they’re boarding my plane…have to run. We’ll have a nice long talk when I get back.” A moment later she hung up the phone and exhaled a loud sigh.

Jake hadn’t moved. His arms were folded and he had that same silly grin plastered on his face.

“Now what’s so funny?”

He pushed off the wall. “Nothing at all. This kind of thing happens to me all the time. How ‘bout you?”

Catherine couldn’t help but smile. “I guess this is a little bizarre,” she said, picking up her carryon and walking toward the gate. “I wonder how many brides have gone on their honeymoon with someone besides the groom?”

Jake walked close behind her and whispered discreetly over her shoulder. “Probably the same number as men who went with brides that weren’t their own.”

Catherine swallowed a chuckle, suddenly feeling wicked and, much to her surprise, a little excited. Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, she mused. Besides, there was a good chance she wasn’t anybody’s “bride,” that she was actually a free woman. As long as Jake remembered this was a platonic vacation, maybe Jamaica could be more than a convenient escape. Maybe it could actually be fun.

An hour and a half after takeoff Catherine picked at her second breakfast of the morning, still feeling queasy, when the practical side of her took over. Using the most businesslike tone she could muster, she began laying out the ground rules to her traveling companion. They’d come and go as they pleased without checking with each other, taking meals together as the mood moved them, but with no obligations. Strictly a business arrangement. No hanky-panky.

“There’s a master bedroom and a parlor with a hide-abed.” She nibbled at her dry toast and thought about offering Jake the bed, but reconsidered. After all, she’d paid for this whole trip, thanks to her offer to pay for everything by credit card and get reimbursed from TJ later. The least she could do for herself now was take the bed. Besides, as nice as Jake had been so far, he was still a man, and men were on her lower-than-slime list today.

When she fell silent Jake took the lead. “I’ll use the hide-a-bed. You can have the bed.” He’d polished off his eggs and sausage with ease. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and returned the no-nonsense look she’d been giving him for the last ten minutes. “I have no problem with your conditions, but I have one of my own.”

She waited, curious what it might be.

“I insist on paying half of all expenses.”

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Even a bartender had his pride. It wasn’t her problem how he’d come up with the money. She held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

Jake clasped it and shook it firmly just as the flight attendant retrieved their trays. He released his grip in time to salvage his coffee. “I’d like more when you get a chance.” He smiled up at the pretty redhead whose eyes betrayed a more than passing interest. The woman lingered in the aisle making small talk.

Catherine felt a twinge of something resembling jealousy. Quickly she shook herself and found a paperback in her bag. Before she finished the first paragraph of her new Janet Dailey novel, the flight attendant was back refilling Jake’s cup.

After she left, Catherine watched Jake from the corner of her eye. He slurped from his steaming cup, then reached for the Wall Street Journal tucked in the seat pocket in front of him. Catherine bit her top lip to keep from laughing. Who was he kidding? She’d bet her grandmother’s pearls that he didn’t know the difference between junk bonds and junk mail. This trip was going to be fun.

Three hours into the flight, when they ran into turbulence, Catherine’s stomach lurched and any idea of fun vanished.

God! How she’d be glad when this ride was over. Motion sickness had never been a problem before. But then she’d never had so much alcohol before, either. Another thing she could thank TJ for—if she ever spoke to him again.

TJ. She’d refused to dwell on him since leaving the reception, but now her mind drifted in that direction, the book on her lap long forgotten. She leaned back in the seat and felt the cool air on her face, not ready to deal with the past, but unable to put it out of her head.

They’d grown up together, their families having been close since before they were born. It was natural for everyone to push them together. They were both intelligent, educated, ambitious and—probably too important to both families—well-heeled. Money would never have been an issue between them. They each brought their share to the table.

TJ’s philandering was no secret to her. In high school and college she was the one he had told his secrets to, sparing no details of his outrageous behavior. But when their friendship had turned to romance, she thought all that had changed, that he would never cheat on her. Especially on their wedding night!

So, she asked herself, how did she really feel about all this? The first word that came to mind was stupid. TJ had made a fool of her, embarrassed her in such grand fashion that she wondered how she could ever face all those people who witnessed her humiliation. Of course, she reminded herself, they never would’ve known what he’d done if she hadn’t stood there in front of God and everyone and told them. But she had to. She wanted everyone to know it was TJ’s fault the marriage had ended before it began. She wanted him to pay the price for his inexcusable behavior. A slow smile spread across her lips. If only she could have seen what happened when he returned to the banquet room. There probably wasn’t a soul there who had a kind word for him. Even his experience as a smooth-talking lawyer couldn’t have bailed him out of that mess.

A half hour later Catherine was still picturing TJ and Mary Beth trying to cover their tracks, letting her imagination run wild, when she felt the plane touch down in Montego Bay. She looked to her right and saw Jake dozing, his seat upright and belt fastened. And for the first time she wondered what kind of man would drop everything and fly off this way. As if looking for a clue she studied his relaxed face. It was handsome in a rugged kind of way—tanned, with white squint lines at the corners of his eyes. His nose was a little large, but it seemed to fit his long, angular face. His sandy hair was a little long, too, brushing the collar of his blue chambray shirt. She let her gaze drift south to his jeans. Flat stomach, nice…

“See anything you like?”

Startled, Catherine shifted in her seat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She looked into his mocking brown eyes, then quickly away. “I was just looking at what you were wearing. I knew you changed clothes when you stopped by your place, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”

“Don’t you mean you were out cold when I got back to the Jeep?”

She could feel his stare, but she refused to look him in the eye. “I was catching a little catnap, that’s all,” she insisted, thinking she sounded a tad too defensive.

“Right.” The plane rolled to a stop and Jake stood into the aisle. He retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment, handing Catherine hers and positioning his duffel over one shoulder.

Catherine followed him down the portable steps, the hot wind billowing her pant legs, a length of hair blowing across her eyes. Before they reached the terminal she felt the moisture on her skin and the humidity curling the hair on her neck. They passed through immigration uneventfully and, having no baggage to claim, went directly to the row of shuttle buses.

The tags on their carryons identified their point of destination and a driver waved them in his direction.

“This is your lucky day,” he said in his lilting Jamaican patois as they boarded. “You are my only two passengers this morning…so we con go right away.” He settled into the driver’s seat, then looked back at them. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Miller, am I correct?”

Catherine didn’t want to see the expression on Jake’s face. She despised being called Mrs. Miller. Today of all days. She could imagine how Jake felt about being called Mr. Miller. “You have the right couple,” she said to the friendly driver, forcing a smile.

Satisfied, he started the van and made his way around haggard-looking travelers and a maze of buses and other vehicles until finally he pulled onto the narrow two-lane road heading west for Negril, their home for the next seven days.

And seven nights.

Nearly two hours later, when they inched their way around a last stray cow and turned into the circular driveway, the thought of sharing a room with this virtual stranger became more of a reality. Catherine eyed the entrance to their resort. A large flower-engulfed ceramic sign spelled out its name.

Decadence II.

What kind of place was called Decadence II? she thought as she stepped from the van. And what happened to Decadence I? She shook her legs and stretched, glad to be on solid ground again, though still reticent about her surroundings.

She’d let TJ make all the arrangements once they’d agreed on Jamaica. All she’d done was pick up the tickets. Now she wished she’d been less involved with her job and paid more attention to this trip. She paused under the large, open archway, then followed Jake inside.

They went through the business of registration, tolerating the “Mr. and Mrs. Miller” routine one more time, then wandered down the tropical, plant-lined path to their room. Catherine noticed scantily clad guests roaming the grounds and was instantly relieved. At least they were clothed. This wasn’t a nudist camp.

What started as a lark last night, felt more like a trip to the dentist chair by the time the porter deposited their bags inside the suite and left them alone, staring at the king-size bed. Her woozy stomach did another flip-flop. What on earth was she doing at a place like this with a man she barely knew? Maybe he really was Jake the Ripper. How did she know?

Catherine busied herself with her carryon, hoping to take her mind off the bed. It didn’t take long to unpack since she only had a swimsuit, sandals, one shorts set and toiletries. On the walk to the room she remembered passing a couple of boutiques. She debated whether now was a good time to go shopping. Truthfully she’d rather take a nap, but not with this man lurking around. Restless, she grabbed her shorts, went into the bathroom and locked the door.

When she emerged a few minutes later, hair pulled back and feeling cooler, she looked toward the open door wall. Jake was standing in the same spot, thumbs hooked in his back jeans pockets, studying the scenery. She decided to see what was so enthralling and moved beyond him, out onto the shaded patio.

A gentle breeze stirred coconut palms, the sound reminding her at once that she was truly on vacation. There was nothing as peaceful and soothing to a midwesterner, she thought, as the sights and sounds of palm trees. She let them work their magic, lifting her cheeks to the warm rays that peeked through overhead branches. Smiling, she gazed down the sprawling, sandy beach to the majestic Caribbean beyond. Colorful sails of vivid red, blue, orange and yellow tilted gently with the wind on the blue-green horizon. A few small whitecaps tumbled lazily toward shore and she could feel the tension starting to ebb with each new wave. Maybe she was being silly to worry. This Jake person seemed harmless enough.

Her vision narrowed as she watched a swimmer emerge from the water. His tanned, oil-slick body was young and firm and…naked. She gasped and turned away quickly, feeling a rush of heat on her face when she passed Jake. She ignored his devilish grin and went back inside, willing to bet anything he wouldn’t let the moment pass without some smart aleck remark. And she was right.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Never seen one of those before?”

She wanted to say “One of what?” but she knew exactly what he meant and wouldn’t dignify his question with an answer. Instead she turned and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Have fun playing voyeur. I’m going shopping.” She grabbed a key off the dresser and left the room.

A nude beach. Just what she needed. If TJ were here, she’d ring his selfish neck. She adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse and headed for the Logo Shop, determined not to let it get to her. When it was time for the beach, she’d wear her bikini and ignore the exhibitionists, that’s all.

Jake watched Catherine stride down the path, her ponytail swinging behind her, and the uneasiness he felt last night returned. What was it about this woman that unnerved him so? He’d been with his share of beautiful women, so it wasn’t just her good looks. There was something more. That damnable little voice inside kept saying crazy things such as This is the one. Whose voice was that, anyway? Certainly not Jake Alley’s. He was far too cynical to believe in…in what? Love at first sight? He harrumphed and turned away from the door wall.

Why on earth was he here? What had possessed him to take off with a woman he didn’t even know? It wasn’t his job to protect her. Still, someone had to. She was bound and determined to come down here. After what she’d been through, he couldn’t let her take off to some faraway island by herself. Could he?

He pulled swim trunks out of his duffel and changed into them. It had been years since he’d had a real vacation and he’d certainly earned one, but the timing couldn’t be worse—what with Sally and her pin-striped lawyer leaning on him.

No, damn it. He wouldn’t let those vultures ruin a few days in the sun. The problem would just have to wait.

He turned and left the room. A good swim in the ocean would cool him off, in more ways than one.

A towel slung over his shoulder, he trotted barefoot down to the hot sand and found an empty chaise. One quick look around and he made his decision. He peeled off his trunks, walked several yards beyond the breakers and then dived into the tepid salt water, taking several long pulls before coming to the surface for air.

An hour later, Catherine flung her packages across the bed and kicked her sandals off, looking anxiously around the two rooms. He was nowhere in sight. Good. She shed her shorts and tank top and darted for the shower.

She rinsed quickly, toweled dry and returned to the bedroom, impatient for the feel of cool sheets against her warm skin. She removed her purchases from the bed thinking she’d put them away later, when suddenly the door opened behind her.

She swung around and glared at the familiar figure. “Next time, knock first,” she snapped, tugging at her skimpy towel.

“Next time, dress in the bathroom.” Jake sauntered in, also wrapped in a towel, and headed for the adjacent room, smiling broadly as he passed. That’s when she noticed he held his swim trunks in his left hand. It only took a second to figure out what he’d been up to. She stared at the parlor door after it closed between them.

Who was this man? And what had she gotten herself into now?

From behind the door, he called out to her. “The bartender at the beach said orientation is poolside at six. I’m going to catch a few zees till then.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “You can let go of your towel now…I’ll knock before I come out.”

Catherine looked down at the towel and her clenched fist and wished she could punch him with it. He seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment way too much—first, her disastrous wedding, then a bout of vomiting, now her nakedness, save for this scrap of terry cloth. Not to mention her hair was a mess and not a stitch of makeup remained. She glanced in the bureau mirror and grimaced.

Wait a minute. Why did she care what she looked like? He was only Jake the wanna-be cowboy. Jake whom she would never see again once they returned to Detroit.

Yes, sir. When she got home, things were going to be different. No man, especially the likes of Jake Alley, was ever going to get between her and her goals.

She turned and frowned. What goals? Before Saturday night she thought she knew exactly where she was headedmarried to a successful lawyer with political aspirations. How often she’d pictured herself at his side, fashionable, friendly and a dynamo at fund-raising. With TJ’s intelligence and charisma and her genuine interest in people and their plights, his rise could have been meteoric. Her shoulders sagged. Now it all seemed frivolous. Even her job. Buying trips to Paris, London and New York may have sounded glamorous and looked good on her resume, but in truth she hated it.

She eyed the connecting door, feeling frustrated and weary. Then she threw the towel to the floor, found a new knee-length T-shirt in one of the bags, pulled it over her head and jumped between the sheets. A little sleep and she’d feel much better. Then she’d start working on a plan for the future—one where her dreams and needs came first, not one where she was merely a fixture on some man’s arm.

But as much as her body was ready for rest, her mind wasn’t. Her lids were no sooner shut than she remembered TJ smiling down at her at the altar. TJ mouthing his lies of till death do us part. TJ with Mary Beth in the back seat of his Lincoln. How could he do such a thing? If he wasn’t ready to settle down, why did he go through with the wedding? And Mary Beth. They weren’t the closest of friends but they did work together well. She had seemed so eager to help when Catherine’s cousin became pregnant and bowed out of the bridal party. If there hadn’t been a substitution, would any of this have happened?

A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. TJ wasn’t worth her tears. Besides, who was she kidding? If it hadn’t happened last night, it would have later—maybe after children. She couldn’t wait to talk with her father and find out if she was really married to the jerk. She rolled over and punched the pillow and tried thinking of something else. Anything.

The first thing that came to mind was Alley Cat and a small chuckle released the tension in her throat. She thought of Sarge. Such a nice man. And Charlie…two-stepping, laughing. Had she actually had a good time at a place like that?

Then there was Jake. She felt her limbs start to mold to the mattress as she hummed a nameless country ballad. She was nestled against his chest, feeling light…and safe. .and cared for…

Jake woke with a start not certain where he was. Through a slit in the drapes a palm branch swayed. Then he remembered. He lay there a moment and thought about the impulsive decision he’d made at the restaurant this morning. Yesterday at this time he didn’t even know this woman named Catherine…Catherine…

He laughed aloud at his own folly. He didn’t even know her last name. If it wasn’t Miller, then what was it?

He threw his legs over the side of the hide-a-bed and arched his back. A week of this mattress and he’d be crawling to the beach. He’d have to check with the front desk and see about a room of his own, one with a real bed. He’d better call Alley Cat, too, and let them know he’d be gone all week.

He pushed off the bed and strolled to the window, parting the heavily lined drapes and letting the late-afternoon sun spill into the room. Regardless of how he ended up here he was long overdue for a vacation. And this was as good a place as any. Probably better than most he might have chosen. If he was going to spend the week watching over Catherine what’s-her-name, the least he could do was relax and enjoy himself.

A schooner, anchored a few hundred yards out, caught his eye and he wished he was on it. Eager to get a closer look, he found his binoculars in the duffel, donned a pair of cutoffs and a Detroit Tigers tank top, then rapped softly on the connecting door. No answer. He put an ear to it and listened. Nothing. He knocked again louder. Finally, assuming she had gone out, he turned the handle and strode in.

Catherine was curled on her side, covers kicked to the foot of the bed, her long legs golden brown against the stark white sheet. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, giving her an innocent, vulnerable look, a face no less appealing than the model-perfect one he’d first seen coming down the aisle. In fact, he thought he liked this one better. He was studying her long black lashes when they fluttered, then opened to the size of quarters. She sprang up, her shirt riding higher on her thighs. Jake couldn’t help but look.

“What are you doing in here?” She scrambled to the foot of the bed and pulled the top sheet to her chest.

“I knocked and you didn’t answer,” Jake said, meeting her angry glare.

“I bet,” she snapped back. “With what—the pad of your little finger?”

“Look, I’m going down to the beach.” He glanced at his watch and stifled a smile. “Orientation is in half an hour. Maybe I’ll see you there.” He started for the door when she stopped him with another of her barbs.

“Be sure you get a good look.”

At first he didn’t catch on, but then he followed her gaze to the binoculars in his left hand and realized what she was thinking. He thought about offering an explanation, but he knew she was in no mood to accept it. “Oh, don’t worry. I will.” He winked at her and left the room.

All the way down to the beach he imagined her slamming things around the room, lumping all men in one ugly cesspool of angry words. It was just as well, he thought. Let her blow off a little steam. After what Studly had done to her, she was entitled. In the meantime, though, he’d give her wide berth.

As six o’clock grew near, empty chaise lounges around the pool grew scarce. Jake waited patiently for the show to begin, idly watching the tall, lean Jamaican reviewing his notes. The binoculars lay on the adjacent seat, saving it in case Catherine decided to show.

“Is this for me?”

Jake shielded his eyes with the side of his hand and looked up. He removed the binoculars and motioned for Catherine to sit just as the social director began.

For the next forty minutes, the fresh crop of mostly pale bodies listened to the long list of amenities—tennis, volleyball, snorkeling, windsurfing, sailing, horseback riding. There was a disco and a piano bar with Karaoke. Then there were special events, such as a toga party, a pajama party, a catamaran cruise and a fifties dance contest. Everything, including meals and cocktails, were included in the package. No tipping and no need to carry money—unless you wanted to pay for something at one of the five shops. Even then you could charge it to your room.

Before it was over, Jake wondered where he would go to relax after this so-called vacation. Finally the director said there was one more thing they needed to know. There were two beaches.

The nude. And the prude.

Out of the corner of his eye Jake saw Catherine fold her arms across her chest and heave a sigh, leaving no doubt where she stood on the subject.

Someone from the crowd asked, “Where exactly is the nude beach?”

The smiling Jamaican said, “You’ll know when you get there,” which Jake noticed brought a laugh from everyone except his companion.

Great, he thought and rolled his eyes. If there had to be just one finishing school graduate in this place, why did she have to be with him? He reminded himself she wasn’t really with him. With a sigh he pushed out of his chair and offered her a hand.

“The dining room’s open. Ready for dinner?” She stared at his outstretched arm a moment, looking as though she was weighing the possibility of contamination if she touched him, but then she gave in and honored him with her hand. Ignoring her mood, he bent her arm in the crook of his and pulled her closer as they strolled inside the main hall.

Dinner consisted of a variety of buffet tables, artistically presented with ice sculptures, animal-shaped breads and an abundance of tropical flowers. There was more than enough food to feed the troops. Jake guessed the size of the crowd at about four hundred or so. Guests sat at cloth-covered tables on three different levels surrounding a dance floor. On both sides of the raised bandstand were wide, wall-free spaces, allowing diners a panoramic view of the pool, beach and tropical gardens. Since there were no bugs, there was no need for doors or screens and everyone walked in and out freely throughout the evening. In spite of lively chatter from an inattentive audience, a local vocalist was singing her heart out on the bandstand as if hoping someone would notice she was the next Whitney Houston.

Jake took it all in, surprised he didn’t miss the hustle and bustle of Detroit. He’d made the call home and covered things at work. Now, after polishing off a generous plate of standing rib roast and potato salad, he sat back and watched Catherine pick at her salad and nibble daintily on a bread stick. He couldn’t believe he was still hungry. It had to be all the fresh air. The dessert table caught his eye.

“Want anything while I’m up?” Jake asked, pushing out his chair. Catherine wrinkled her nose and waved him on. When he returned with a raspberry-covered wedge of chocolate torte, he thought she showed a little more interest, but she averted her gaze and sipped demurely on her tea.

“Sure you don’t want a bite?” Jake raised a forkful in her direction.

“Positive.” She kept her eyes lowered and drank more tea. Jake realized she’d been sick earlier, but he wondered if the whole week was going to be this way. He didn’t consider himself a conversationalist, but this was ridiculous. By the cold shoulder he was getting, you’d think he was the one who’d cheated on her. He turned his chair to get a better view of the singer and took another bite of torte, trying not to let her get to him.

After the third consecutive love song Catherine said, “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

No kidding, Jake thought, feeling a little restless himself. When she stood to leave, so did he, making one more stab at bridging the ever-widening gap between them. “I was thinking about taking a stroll around, check out the place. Wanna come along?” He tried to appear as if he couldn’t care less whether she joined him, but in truth, he wished she would. She cocked her head, weighing the idea, then graced him with a small smile.

“Okay…for a while.” She turned and led the way out. They passed the pool and made their way down a long, winding path. Jake watched her almost black hair. Combed free of its tie it swayed behind her with each long stride. Just as at the wedding he had an overwhelming desire to reach out and stroke it, to feel its silkiness between his fingers. Controlling himself, he looked beyond her.

The last rays of sunset mirrored the surface of the sea beckoning them to the water’s edge. Without a word they removed their sandals and padded lazily across the wide stretch of smooth sand, foamy waves lapping at their toes.

Suddenly Catherine stopped. Jake took a few more steps then paused, waiting and watching. She gazed into the dusky sky, a gentle breeze brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes closed and Jake wondered where she was. Was she thinking about that dreadful reception? Or had she dealt with it at all. They’d barely been apart since it happened and he’d yet to see her cry. He was about to broach the subject when she turned and walked on, kicking a breaking wave in front of her.

Jake hated chatterbox women, but he wished she’d say something. Anything. But she didn’t. He followed her from the shore to the trail leading toward their room. When they reached the door he stepped ahead of her and used his key. She passed in front of him without making eye contact, then went to the far door wall and peered out.

Her back still to him, she spoke. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first. I’ll wait until you’re settled in the other room.”

Jake stared at her rounded shoulders a moment, not ready to call it a night, but not knowing what else to say or do. Slapping his hands on his thighs, he sighed and said, “Okay, fine,” and headed for his duffel in the next room.

A few seconds later, armed with toothbrush and paste, he returned and went about his nightly ritual in record time. He paused at the connecting door when he’d finished. She still hadn’t moved.

“Well…good night then,” he said and shut the door behind him.