Читать книгу Carried Away - Donna Kauffman - Страница 12

CHRISTY TRIED to doze, but she couldn’t get those blue eyes out of her mind. Why did he have to go and touch her like that anyway? Despite what her hormones thought, she was really fully prepared to not like the guy. After what he’d put her through, how hard should that be?

She squirmed and shifted her weight what little she could without tipping over. This dress was a pain to be sure, but the heels were instruments of torture that would make the Marquis de Sade weep with pleasure. She, on the other hand, just wanted to weep. She wished now she’d agreed to let—She realized she didn’t even know his name!

The organ came to life again, making her wince. But it was only when the chapel doors were pushed wide to allow the newly married couple to emerge that she thought about exactly what would happen next. The bridesmaids and groomsmen would follow…and then every single person in the church would come out behind them. Right past her. In this dress.

She looked frantically around for some sort of camouflage, but knew one step would send her sprawling. Why hadn’t she thought this through before letting whatever his name was leave her here, propped against the wall like some party favor blow-up doll? Maybe he’d realize it and as soon as he came through the door with the maid of honor—Except there was no maid of honor. So she had no idea where he was in the ensemble at this point.

Kate and Mike emerged through the doors just then in a cloud of white chiffon and flowers. They only had eyes for each other, and even as Christy did her best to become one with the wall, she couldn’t ignore the lump that rose in her throat. She was happy for them, just as she’d been happy for Vivian three years before.

And look where that had ended up, her inner voice mocked. She only hoped Mike had the fortitude to put up with Kate. God, did she sound like a cynical old maid or what? She wasn’t that bad, was she? She was only twenty-eight for heaven’s sake. Hardly over the hill. How can you ever marry if you never date? Her mother’s oft-repeated words echoed inside her head. She’d never paid attention to them, knowing her mother would only go from wanting weddings to wanting grandbabies, and she was in no hurry to do either.

But she was twenty-eight. With thirty on the horizon. And no prospects. The bridesmaids started out the door and Christy shrank even farther back, knowing the assembled guests were next, praying they’d keep their eyes straight ahead. She didn’t want prospects, she told herself. She had a demanding job she loved and if someone came along who demanded her attention in the same way, fine. But that hadn’t happened. So what if logic dictated she had to actually be looking in order to meet someone? She certainly wasn’t going to hunt down a guy just because all her friends were getting married.

They were also getting divorced, she reminded herself. Well, Vivian had anyway. And if there had ever been a couple who seemed meant for one another, it was those two. And yet, there they were, miserable and alone. Why should she be in any hurry to become another statistic?

She was actually doing the wise thing, focusing on her own life, her career and not searching for love. If love wanted her attention, it would just have to find her.

“You ready to go?”

His deep voice vibrated just behind her ear, so low and sexy it sent shivers of awareness throughout her entire, shrink-wrapped body. Okay, so she wasn’t looking for love, but an afternoon of mindless sex was sure sounding pretty good at the moment. And oh, did he sound good. Better than good. He sounded like—

Horrified at the sudden direction of her thoughts, she stiffened, which immediately lost her the support of the wall…and pitched her directly into the support of his lean, hard body.

He immediately folded her against him, steadying them both, but rather than stand her back upright, he scooped her into his arms.

“No!” she rasped, looking frantically about, certain they were drawing stares. But the crowd was pushing as one out the front doors, and before she could protest further, she was being whisked away, down the side hallway, mercifully out of sight. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, if a bit breathlessly. That last part was due to the dress cutting off her air supply, not because of the feel of his body pressed against her. She was certain of it.

He put her down near the door to the rear parking lot of the church. “Wait here.”

He was so close, his body felt so nice and hard against hers…she all but swooned against him.

“Steady,” was all he said, then carefully propped her in a corner and disappeared behind a white paneled door without another glance.

Well, she thought, scowling at the now-vacant spot beside her. Apparently she was the only one suffering from hormone shock. She definitely had to forget those blue eyes looking into hers while he told her he wished they’d met under different circumstances. They hadn’t. And even if she was willing to forgive him—and she wasn’t saying she was—the rental car made it clear he was not a permanent fixture around here, or anywhere if the uniform meant anything. She let her eyes slide shut. And Lord, he was a man meant to wear a uniform. Protecting lives and making the world a safer place. A bubble of laughter pushed up her throat. Unless of course you were a bridesmaid ditching your pal’s wedding. Then he was a dangerous man.

She thought about the way he’d taken her out of the house. Yes, he might be charming and polite when he wanted to be, but there was no doubt that he was a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted it.

The door popped open again and he was back, taking up way too much of her personal space and invading her emotional comfort zone just as effortlessly. She, on the other hand, apparently hadn’t made the least little dent in his. He handed her what looked like a long white gown.

“Choir robe,” he said. “I thought you might want to get out of that dress before we left.”

Visions of him doing just that came right into her mind without even asking permission. She shoved them aside and hugged the robe to her chest. “Thank you.” Then she realized she hadn’t completed her descent into Bridesmaid Hell. “Um…apparently I’m going to need some help getting this thing off.”

Where other men might have drooled openly at the opportunity to help any woman out of her clothes, he actually looked uncomfortable. She could almost like him for that.

“You didn’t seem to have the least compunction in carrying me out of my house in my underwear,” she reminded him, even as her little voice told her it wasn’t wise to goad the man. What did her little voice know anyway? It hadn’t kept her out of this mess in the first place, now had it?

“Is there a…zipper or something?” he asked, looking her over as if her dress was some sort of secret military weapon.

If she hadn’t been so tired and uncomfortable, she might have enjoyed making him sweat a little. It was the least he deserved. “I rolled it on basically.”

He just stared at her. Now it was her turn to feel a bit uncomfortable. Okay, more than a little. Having his hands on her, pulling this dress off—You’re in a church, for heaven’s sake, she reminded herself. She cleared her throat. “We should probably hurry up. Don’t you have to be in the pictures or something?”

“They’re taking the group photos at the country club.”

“Well, then let’s get this over with so you can drop me off and be on your way.”

He knelt in front of her, lifted his hands to the hem that was still scrunched up around her knees, then dropped them again. “I’m, uh, not sure where to begin.”

She carefully held her arms out and delivered her best smile. Maybe making him sweat was going to be more fun than she thought. “I think the Band-Aid approach is best. Just yank.”

He looked up at her then and she felt her stomach drop and her heart begin to pound. Here she was, standing in a church, in a fancy dress, with a gorgeous man on one knee in front of her. Scowling. She couldn’t get anything right.

“Hold on to my shoulders,” he directed. “If I can roll this up a bit, maybe then you can, you know, take it from there.”

His hands, with those long fingers…all up and down her thighs. Jesus, she’d never survive it without disgracing herself. But then, that wasn’t much of a stretch at the moment, was it? “Okay, okay.” She took a deep breath, or as deep a one as the dress would allow. “But close your eyes.”

He grabbed hold of the hem and shoved upward, but the fabric stopped just below crotch level, bound tightly around her hips. She wobbled and came dangerously close to pitching forward, which would have pressed his face…well, right where no man should have his face when inside a church. “Stop, stop,” she said breathlessly. “Get me out of these shoes.” She should have done that first anyway.

He did, all warm fingertips brushing at her skin, sending a tingling sensation all the way up to…well, where his face had almost been moments ago. Who knew ankles were erogenous zones?

She came dangerously close to moaning when she felt his warm breath on her skin as his fingers slid around her ankle to unbuckle one shoe, then the other. As it was, she had to sink her nails more deeply into his uniformed shoulders just to remain upright.

“Hold on, one more buckle. Got it.” He stood carefully, apparently oblivious to the near orgasm he’d just given her.

She really did need to get to bed. Alone, she quickly amended as she stepped gingerly and oh-so-very thankfully out of the instruments of death. She’d never been so glad to feel the ground so firm and cold beneath her toes. “Okay, here’s the plan,” she said, trying hard to focus on just getting out of the shrink-wrap with as little touching on his part as possible. “I’m going to put the robe on and pull the shoulder straps off and roll the dress down to my waist. Then I’ll push and you pull and the whole thing should drop off, right?”

He looked dubious.

“It’s that or cut the damn thing off. I’d rather not do that to Viv’s dress. Who knows, maybe she can get a refund or…or something. Let’s just try, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Great. And stop ma’aming me. Makes me feel like an old granny or something.”

He grinned then, just before dropping the robe over her head. “Trust me,” he said, his voice muffled by the voluminous folds of white cotton. “You’re nothing like any grandmother I’ve ever seen. It’s just habit. Military.”

She wisely said nothing as she squirmed out of the dress straps, keeping her arms inside the robe. She’d shrugged out of her tank top straps when she’d put this monstrosity on, and tucked them inside the dress. But she couldn’t untuck them now. Why should that surprise her? She tried to tug the top part down, but while the front part was willing—her boobs were thrilled to finally be free—the sides and back were all hung up with the cotton of her undershirt.

“Should I tug now?”

“Just a minute.” She tugged a scrap of tank top from the front and held on tight to it. “Close your eyes.”

She felt his fingertips brush her thighs again. “Eyes closed,” he said.

She realized hers were, too. “On three. One, two—now!”

She gripped, he yanked…and the dress gave way and fell to the floor. Right along with her panties.

“Just, uh, just turn around, okay? I can take it from here.”

She opened her eyes as he stood, gulping a little when he seemed suddenly so much taller than before. The heels, she realized. She was not a small woman and it was odd to feel so…petite. Well, not that she’d ever be described as petite, but maybe it was all relative.

“You okay? You look a little flushed.”

“Oxygen deprivation,” she quipped, not bothering to tell him that he, and not the dress, was more to blame for that little problem. She shifted and stood over the pool of sequins…and her panties. “I…um…” Damn, but his eyes were piercing. “Could you…turn around?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

She made a face at his back. It was that or smile. And was that uniform padded, or were his shoulders really that broad? They filled her entire line of vision. But she’d had her hands on those shoulders. They were all his.

She hastily pulled on her panties and scooped up the pile of sequins and silk, along with the strappy heels. Clutching the billowy robe against her, she said, “I’m ready.” He turned to face her and all she could think was, Boy, am I ever. Sleep. She desperately needed sleep.

He held out an arm, all spit and polish and blazing baby blues. “I had someone bring my car around back. It’s right outside the door here. I’ll take you directly home.”

She wasn’t sure she should touch any part of him. She wanted to, though. So much so that she gestured in front of them instead. “Lead on.”

He moved to open her door, but she scooted in front of him, climbed in and all but lunged for the seat belt. “I got it.” She reached for the door handle and yanked the door shut in his face. She didn’t even care if it seemed rude. Lord knows he deserved worse, she told herself, no matter how charming and polite he was being now. But no way was he going to touch her again. Sleep. That was what she was going to focus on.

She let her head drop on the back of the seat and closed her eyes, pretending she didn’t know he’d climbed in beside her, all big and warm, with those long fingers wrapped around that steering wheel.

“Listen, I really do want to apologize.”

“Just get me in bed and all is forgiven.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how they sounded. Her eyes popped open and she sat up straight. “I mean—”

He glanced at her and smiled. “I know what you meant.”

She opened her mouth, realized saying anything right now would just make it worse, and let her head drop back again.

He remained mercifully silent on the short ride back to Vivian’s. She was drifting off to sleep when he pulled into the driveway.

“Christy?”

She stifled a yawn and blinked her eyes open. “Here already?” She was so tired she wasn’t sure she’d make it to the bed. Of course, no way was she letting him know that.

“You did want to come back here, right?”

She nodded. “I’m having the floors redone at my place and they didn’t get the sanding done on time, so they were still staining and sealing them when I got home…whatever day it was. I’ve lost track. Vivian let me bunk here.”

“You’re obviously beat and it’s my fault I’ve kept you from catching up on your sleep. I am sincerely sorry.”

She smiled to herself. She was daydreaming about him carrying her off in his arms…and he was telling her she looked about as delectable as day-old bread. Ah, reality. “I know Kate can make even the sanest person go a little nuts when she gets a plan in her head. She should be the one apologizing. To all of us.”

“Let me help you inside.”

“No!” At his surprised look, she calmed down and smiled. “I can take it from here.” She put her hand on the door. “Just how did you get in anyway? Or is that just part of military training?”

“Back door was unlocked. You’d better tell your friend Viv to be more careful about that.”

“She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when she cut out of here.” She sighed then. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Can’t you call her and tell her the coast is clear?”

“She’s up at her parent’s lake house. She’s planning on staying the weekend and it’s probably just as well. If Eric flew in for the reception then he’s likely staying through tomorrow anyway.”

Just then there was a light tap on a horn and they both turned in time to see a car pull into the drive behind them.

“Oh, great. And here I thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

“Who is that?”

A tall, blond man climbed out from the car. Dressed in an impeccably cut suit, his hair just as impeccably trimmed. He went directly toward the house, a sense of purpose clear on his handsome face.

Trevor was already opening his door. Christy swore and leaped out of the car first. “Eric, wait.”