Читать книгу His Forbidden Kiss - Jessica Lemmon, Джессика Леммон - Страница 11

Heartbeat pounding in her ears, heels of her designer shoes clacking on the marble flooring, Taylor Thompson ran as fast as she dared in the heavy, beaded, floor-length Versace gown. She’d chosen it specifically for the River Grove Valentine’s Day gala, extravagant even for the high-end affair, but until the tapered skirt was strangling her ankles with each quickening step she hadn’t imagined it’d be inhibiting her escape.

She tugged the hemline as high as her calves, steered clear of the ladies’ room—no doubt teeming with primped, classy women who were also attending the gala—and ducked into the coatroom.

At least she’d thought it was a coat “room.”

Now that she’d shut the door behind her, the tight, dark space felt more like a coat cracker box.

No matter. She just needed thirty seconds to herself, away from onlookers. Without having to pretend she didn’t know she was about to be proposed to.

God. A proposal.

She’d attended the gala every year save one—the year she traveled to Miami during a college vacation with her friends—so she never thought much of going. She’d never thought of not going. It was what the kids of River Grove did.

Here, being wealthy wasn’t an option, it was a requirement.

Her family had helped build this town—along with her date’s, Brannon Knox’s, family. The Thompsons and Knoxes were known for founding one of the biggest tech companies in the nation. The ThomKnox Group was started by her late father, Charles, and Brannon’s father, Jack, some twenty-six years ago, when Taylor was two years old.

It seemed that tonight Brannon was attempting a merger of a different style.

“Brannon Knox, what were you thinking?”

To be fair, she should ask herself exactly the same question. When he’d asked her to come as his date tonight, she should have said no. Instead, she’d chickened out, agreeing to one last event before having the discussion she should have had with him three weeks ago. The one where she said something to the effect of, “This isn’t working. Let’s be friends.”

Aware she couldn’t finish out the party in the closet, Taylor considered her options. She couldn’t dart into the ladies’ room and face Mrs. Mueller or Patsy Sheffield. They were sweet, and had been nothing but lovely after her father died last fall, but they were also...involved. She didn’t need the entire town gossiping about her hiding from her date—and Patsy and Mrs. Mueller would happily start that rumor.

Was it considered a rumor if it was true?

If it hadn’t been for her father losing his battle with cancer not so long ago, she probably never would’ve dated Brannon. They’d known each other a lifetime, but the attraction simply hadn’t been there.

Explaining that to him was never going to be fun. Sorry, Bran. I only dated you because I was sad and in some way hoped it’d please my father from beyond the grave. Now with an engagement on the line, explaining to Bran that she should’ve said no—before tonight—would be more agonizing.

“Dammit!” Fists balled, she stomped one high heel into the floor in frustration. It was hot in here and the room was closing in on her.

Deciding to find a bigger space in which to gather her thoughts, she reached for the doorknob. Wiggling it once, then twice, didn’t help. The third time wasn’t the charm—the antique knob had an antique lock fixture that had engaged.

“Crap.” Sweat beaded on her brow as she jiggled harder, and she suddenly wished she’d carried her clutch in with her instead of leaving it on the table in Addison’s care. At least then she would’ve had the light from her phone.

She wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but the options of suffocating in a coat closet or passing out from panic weren’t good ones.

The instant she’d observed Brannon admiring the ring nestled in the Tiffany & Co. blue box backstage, she should have handled the situation. Where was a time machine when she needed one?

She strained to hear music or voices. Not a single sound infiltrated her insulated new home. Giving up on the doorknob, she backed up to throw her shoulder into the panel and bust herself out, when the door swung open, easy as you please.

Silhouetted in the frame was a pair of imposing shoulders in a black tuxedo jacket, long legs in matching trousers, and above that shadowed, sharp jaw she could easily imagine a frown.

Brannon’s older brother.

“Taylor? What the hell are you doing in here?” Curiosity lined Royce Knox’s voice. Even though he wasn’t yelling at her, and even though he scared her about as much as a passing butterfly, her building anxiety pushed forth a gusty breath.

“Royce, thank God.” She gripped his forearms. Over the material of his jacket she could make out the corded muscle, the sinew that made up those damned attractive arms. Once, years ago, she’d stumbled on her way to the limo and he’d been there to catch her. She was sixteen years old when she gripped his arms then. They weren’t as muscular or thick as they were now, but the fluttery feeling in her belly was the same. When it came to Royce, there was never any question if she was attracted to him. She totally was.

She hadn’t missed her father’s scolding glower at that party afterward. He’d told her under no uncertain terms to stay away from the older Knox brother. “He’s too old for you.”

Her father hadn’t wanted the older, more serious Knox brother for Taylor. He’d dreamed of a union between her and the younger, more eager one. Brannon.

She yanked her hands from Royce’s forearms, unsure if she was more troubled by inadvertently obeying her father’s wishes and dating Brannon, or feeling an attraction for Royce she still couldn’t deny. It was there, though—pounding in her bloodstream.

“I thought I was going to die in here,” she mumbled into the tight, dark space.

A short grunt came from Royce’s throat. “Highly unlikely. Bran’s looking for you.”

“I know.” She pictured the engagement ring and her stomach did another somersault. “This was our last date.”

“What?” Royce’s alarmed question was interrupted by another voice. Bran’s coming from down the corridor.

“Has anyone seen Taylor?”

Since the closet she’d sprinted into was around a corner, Bran hadn’t seen her or his brother yet. Nor would he. She wasn’t ready.

Taylor yanked Royce into the small space and pulled the door shut behind him, lock be damned. Suffocating in here might be better than facing the man who was about to go down on bended knee.

“Hey!” Royce protested as the door clicked. She clapped her hand over his mouth, feeling the barest hint of stubble pushing past a sharp, clean shave—his preference. He reached for her wrist but froze when she gently shushed him. Together, they listened. Her to her erratic pulse sloshing in her ears and just under that, Brannon’s receding voice as he continued his search.

She let out the breath she’d held and became aware of two things. Royce’s long, blunt fingers covering the pulse point at her wrist and the feel of his warm exhalations on her hand that still covered his mouth.

“This is where my parents were engaged.” Taylor’s voice was soft with reminiscence. Royce couldn’t make out her expression in the dim light but he could hear the sadness. “At the Valentine’s Day gala. Mom said it was the most romantic night of her life.”

His heart ached for Taylor and her mother. Losing Charles had been hard on all of them. The Knoxes and Thompsons had practically been family since Royce was in grade school.

“That’s probably why he did it,” she tacked on glumly. Before Royce could wonder if she’d found out about the surprise, she confirmed with, “Brannon.”

Gently, he pulled her hand away from his mouth, the soft scent of her perfume tickling his nose. She smelled good—she always had whenever he’d been this close to her, which was a rare occasion. Charles had seen to that.

“You know,” he said. “About the proposal.”

“Not until very recently, but yes.”

And she didn’t sound the least bit happy about it. He couldn’t dredge up surprise at hearing that. She’d been dating his younger brother for what? On and off for three weeks? When Brannon came to show him the ring, Royce’s reaction had been immediate and it hadn’t been favorable. Brannon led with his heart and Royce was more of a numbers guy, so he’d stuck to what he knew and told his brother the truth. Seems soon in the time line for that, Bran.

“It’s too soon,” Taylor echoed now and Royce could swear the feeling in his chest was akin to relief. Bran’s plan to propose was a mistake. Anyone should date longer than three weeks before stepping into engagement territory.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. Who blew it?”

“I saw Bran admiring the ring.”

“She’s a beauty,” Royce said of the diamond solitaire that was God only knew how many carats.

“He showed you?” She sounded almost anguished.

He released her wrist and felt for a light switch, which he found after a few failed attempts and moving Taylor one step left and then right. Once the light clicked on he could see three things: empty hangers, plastic bins containing, according to the labels, holiday Decorations, and Taylor’s expression: simultaneously distraught and beautiful. The beauty he was used to; distraught was a new look for her.

Shoulder-length dark blond hair swept up for the event, her lips painted a shade of pink darker than her usual. Taylor fit into the world of class and wealth as well as any of them. They were accustomed to attending events like this one—to being trussed and preening for the elders in their midst. Royce had grown used to the game over the decades. He’d been groomed on how to behave—in life, at work. It came as second nature to him now. He supposed Taylor could say the same.

Even her sparkling gown couldn’t hide the ribbon of seriousness strung through her, the ambition she couldn’t mask with glitz and glam. That, in part, was why Bran’s suggestion to marry her had taken Royce by such surprise. They’d seemed an odd fit from the start. Taylor was like an unofficial sister, a little older than their actual sister, Gia.

But then, he hadn’t had a chance to think of Taylor any differently before her father declared her off-limits.

When Bran was insistent about continuing with the proposal, Royce accepted that he might not know Bran or Taylor as well as he’d thought. That maybe they were in love after all.

Until right now. Taylor didn’t seem like a woman in love. Not with her breathing approaching fast to erratic and that note of worry in her voice. Royce wasn’t the only one who believed an engagement was a bad idea.

“It’s hot in here. Try the knob.” She didn’t wait for him, shoving him aside and twisting the knob back and forth. When that didn’t work, she slapped the door, letting out a growl when it didn’t magically swing open.

He put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to quell her anxiety, which was due to more than being trapped in a closet. “It’s a country club teeming with people, Taylor. Someone will come around in a few minutes. Take a deep breath.”

“I can’t. I’m wearing Spanx.”

Whatever those were. She thrust her bottom lip out and he fought a smile. She’d be fine as soon as she started breathing.

“Do your best. We’ve got this. Watch me.” He bent to meet her eyes but didn’t have to bend much. She was a good eight inches shorter than his six foot four, but today her high-heeled shoes added some height—her lips almost came to his chin.

Her hazel eyes met his, and in the dim light of the closet he could see that she wasn’t calm yet.

“Breathe with me,” he told her in his gentlest voice.

She let out a shaky breath and took in another, making a soft O shape with her mouth as she blew it out. She did it once more but on her exhale a tear streaked down her cheek.

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings, Royce.” She gripped his tux’s lapels.

“I know.” He didn’t know, but felt it best to agree.

“It’s Dad’s fault I said yes to a first date.” She tugged harder on his jacket. “I never should’ve let things go this far. Bran is nice and well suited but...” She shook her head. “I was going to end things this weekend. I only agreed to come tonight to be polite.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

A frown bisected her eyebrows when she repeated, “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Taylor.” When her eyes tracked to his he saw guilt reflected back at him. “You don’t have to say yes to a marriage proposal to be polite.” He hooked a thumb under her chin and tilted her face toward his, needing her to understand. “No matter what your father wanted.”

She nodded, a small one, her hands still clutching his tuxedo coat. He should’ve stepped away but instead he lingered, content to have her full attention. Something he couldn’t remember having before now.

“It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.” He’d been on the brink of offering a few more generic platitudes, but whatever else was poised on the tip of his tongue never made it out of his mouth.

Not when Taylor put her lips on his and kissed him for all she was worth.

Hell, maybe for all he was worth.