Читать книгу Just Say Yes! - Leanna Wilson - Страница 9

“YOU SAW HIM?” Annie Baxter worried her bottom lip. “You’re sure? Positive? No mistake?” She knew she sounded paranoid, but she’d earned the right.

“All tuxed out and ready to marry you.” Aunt Maudie grinned, revealing a smear of hot-pink lipstick across her front tooth. She stuck one final bobby pin into Annie’s blond hair to secure her veil then stepped back with a “Voila!”

Surveying the effects of the cascading veil, Annie felt a pinch in her chest. Would it really happen this time? Without a hitch? Maybe today she’d finally wed and be off to her new life.

Aunt Maudie fingered the satin trim along the veil and read Annie’s expression in the mirror. “You don’t like what I did with your hair?”

“No, no.” She touched her wispy bangs and smoothed a lock behind her ear. She’d worn her hair in a pixie cut for years. There wasn’t much that you could do to mess it up. Taking a tissue, she erased the lipstick off her aunt’s enamel. “My hair’s fine. This is simply…unbelievable.” She took a steadying breath. “I can’t believe it’s really happening this time.”

“Of course it’s happening. Now quit your worrying. You need to stop listening to those old windbags in town. You should know it’s only idle gossip.”

But their words had prickly points that jabbed and wounded. She’d been the headliner for the past three years.

Unfortunately, she’d given her nosy neighbors grist for their rumor mills. After all, she’d been jilted twice. Folks called her jinxed, and she’d been on the verge of believing them—until today.

Her groom was here. Griffin Thomas Stevens had arrived, ready and willing to marry her, to take her away from this dull town and insipid life!

It was her turn to have the last laugh. And she would, as she and her new husband peeled out of town on their way to their fabulous honeymoon in some romantic city—hopefully Paris or Rome. She wouldn’t look in the rearview mirror at her hometown or the sad and humiliating memories that had trapped her here for too long.

“You are not the jinxed bride-to-be that everyone says.” Maudie gave a curt nod, making her dyed platinum-blond hair bob around her flamboyant earrings. “That’s pure nonsense.”

Annie sank onto a velveteen chair in the corner of the bridal room at the Second Baptist Church of Lockett. She crossed her arms over the Hawaiian-print shirt she’d worn while her hair was being coiffed. She had a nightmare vision of living here the rest of her life in her parents’ house as an old-maid schoolteacher. Kids would ask their folks why Miss Baxter was so tart, so irritable. “It’s because she couldn’t catch herself a husband,” they’d say with a mixture of pity and sympathy.

Well, just watch!

One month ago when Griff had popped the question, she’d only half believed this day would arrive with church bells ringing and the organ playing the wedding march. The rock of a ring he’d given her hadn’t convinced her of his intentions at first. She’d guarded her heart, protected herself from what she considered the inevitable—a man who’d get ice-cold feet. When he’d insisted they shop for her trousseau and pick out a china pattern, she’d begun to realize he was serious. With trepidation, she’d pulled her wedding dress out of storage.

Now here she was half dressed for the big event. Only an hour to go and she’d be Mrs. Griffin Stevens. It had only taken her thirty years and three grooms to get to this moment.

“Now,” Aunt Maudie said, eyeing her gaudy watch that had more fake diamonds than a pawnshop, “let’s get you into that fancy wedding gown.”

Annie’s stomach fluttered with sudden nerves and her mind spun with questions and doubts. She shoved them away. This was what she wanted; Griffin was the man for her. Wasn’t he? How could a woman be sure?

No, no, no. She shook loose those thoughts. I’m sure. I’m positive. I’m confident this is the right thing to do.

She grabbed her aunt’s hand. “What if something happens between now and the wedding?”

“What could happen?”

Annie laughed. “Anything! An earthquake could hit.”

“In Texas?”

“There could be a flood.”

“We’re in the middle of a drought, sugar.”

“Lightning could strike Griffin and kill him.”

Maudie glanced out the window. “The sky’s as blue as your eyes today.”

“He could trip and get a concussion and forget all about me.”

“Not likely.”

Her real fear surfaced. “He could change his mind.”

“You know what you need?” Aunt Maudie gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze.

“What?”

“French fries.”

She laughed. “Now?”

“Not a better time. I’ll run to the D-Q Palace and be right back. Nothing better than comfort food to get your mind off your worries. Then we’ll get you all trussed up in that fancy gown.”

Annie caught her aunt’s mischievous grin. “That does sound tempting.”

“It’ll settle your stomach and calm your nerves.” She scooped up her purse that resembled a city slicker’s saddle and headed for the door. “This will be your last chance for the D-Q’s finest greasiest fries. Nothing better.”

“There are fast-food places in Dallas.” In fact, the thought of one on every street corner made her almost giddy with excitement.

“Not the same.” Aunt Maudie skimmed her hand down her curvaceous figure. “When you get to Dallas, you better be careful of eating too much fast food. Keep your figure, sugar. Men like a good bod.”

“I’ll remember that.” Annie grinned, feeling lighthearted now and more optimistic that her wedding might actually take place.

“Remember, sugar, when you get a man, you have to keep him happy.” She gave a lascivious wink. “Know what I mean?”

Boy, did she! That’s why she hadn’t given in and had sex with Griffin before now. Her mother had always said, “Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free?” Convinced that having sex too early had been her mistake with her first two fiancés, Annie had tried a new tactic with Griffin. Now, tonight, she’d release all those natural urges and knock Griff’s socks—and the rest of his clothes—off. It would be one heckuva night that would keep him grinning for weeks.

“I’ll get into that fancy underwear you gave me while you’re gone.”

“It’s called a garter and silk stockings, sugar.” Her aunt gave a wink. “And trust me, men love ’em. Especially husbands!”

Aunt Maudie should know. She’d had six of her own. And reportedly a few that weren’t hers in between.

But Annie planned to marry only once, for all eternity.

“WHO’S GOING to tell the bride the bad news?” Grant Stevens studied the other three groomsmen with slow deliberation, hoping one of them would be man enough to step forward.

Each of them wore the prescribed black tuxes for the supposedly joyous occasion, but from their deepening frowns they might as well have been at a funeral. All of them avoided Grant’s hard stare. Beads of sweat dotted their foreheads. Grant’s bow tie suddenly felt like a hangman’s noose chafing his Adam’s apple.

He’d been in the same situation twice before and it didn’t get any easier. If there was one positive thing about his parents being out of the country, it was that they weren’t witnessing another Griffin debacle.

Thank God being a best man wasn’t like acting as a second in a duel. He didn’t have to step in and take the groom’s place. No, dammit, he’d just get to shatter another bride’s dream.

It was enough to reinforce Grant’s determination to stay single. Hadn’t he given the bad news to his brother’s first fiancée and received a soggy, mascara-stained shirt in return? Then he’d delivered the blow to Griffin’s second fiancée and received a broken nose for his trouble. Now his brother had jilted number three and Grant wanted to wipe his hands clean of the whole matrimonial farce. What was wrong with being a bachelor, with playing the field? It was his preference.

Like a pipe organ’s chords silence resonated in the foyer of the church as Grant waited for a volunteer. The heat of the west Texas sun filtered through the stained-glass windows. Red, blue and green sunspots dotted the marble floor like confetti. Eager guests were filing into the chapel. Grant had called the three groomsmen over to a secluded corner for a huddle. A decision had to be made. Soon, before the wedding march began.

John Cummings shuffled his feet and scratched his receding hairline. “I wouldn’t know what the hell to say.”

Peter Rawlins ducked his head and mumbled, “Me, neither.”

Eric Simmons crossed his arms over his chest. “The groom’s your brother, Grant. Don’t you think you should handle it?”

“Diplomatically, of course,” John offered, nodding his agreement.

“Cut right to the point and get it over with quick.” Peter clapped Grant on the shoulder.

“Remind her she can keep the ring. That should alleviate some of the pain—” Eric cleared his throat “—and humiliation.”

That had never worked before. Maybe Eric’s perm had fried his brain. Grant clearly remembered the scar Griffin’s last fiancée had pinned on the bridge of his nose with the engagement ring she’d kept.

He ground his teeth in anger. He wanted to wring his brother’s neck for running out on his bride-to-be…again. Part of him understood. He had the same affliction—ice-cold feet—when it came to saying I do. But why did Griffin have to get himself in this predicament? Why couldn’t he tell a woman on the first date that he wasn’t interested in marriage?

“What are you? Chicken?” he asked the three groomsmen.

“Hell, yes,” they responded in unison.

“You haven’t met the bride.” Peter’s gaze cut toward the door at the end of the hallway. “She’s a knockout, but a…a…”

John combed his fingers through the memory of his hair as if searching for the right description of the bride. “A real pistol.”

Eric nodded. “She’s something to look at, all right. But I wouldn’t want to set her off.”

Grant’s forehead creased. Maybe that’s why Griffin had run back to Dallas like a bull was chasing him.

Squaring his shoulders, Grant prepared to burst the bride’s blissful bubble. He would simply handle her the way he dealt with clients whose investments had plummeted on Wall Street. He’d say it straight out. No beating around the bush. If that didn’t work then he’d treat her the way he once handled green fillies on his folks’ Oklahoma ranch—very carefully. Rotating his neck from side to side, he felt the bow tie tighten its hold on him.

“You’ll do fine.” John gave a fingertip salute.

“Better than Griffin could.” Peter flashed a relieved grin. “He’d probably end up with a black eye or worse.”

“You’re more diplomatic.” Eric rubbed the nape of his neck, as if removing the burden of being the deliverer of bad news. Slowly, he shook his head. “Doesn’t seem possible, you and Griffin being brothers. Even though you two look identical, you’re like night and day.”

“We don’t look like each other,” Grant growled, but his protest fell on deaf ears.

All of his thirty-five years others had confused him with his twin. And he was damn tired of it. They weren’t alike—in looks or deeds. That’s why he’d settled down in New York, established a career, built something with his life, and Griffin traveled the countryside selling fertilizer, playing footloose and single, then skipping from woman to woman, fiancée to fiancée, wedding to wedding and town to town. Once again, Grant would prove the difference by cleaning up another one of Griffin’s messes.

He walked swiftly to the bride’s room. No need to postpone the inevitable. Not when there was only half an hour until the wedding was scheduled to begin. The pristine white-painted wooden door, however, put a halt to his determination. The glistening crystal knob unnerved him. He imagined the room decorated for bridal fantasies. Didn’t all women daydream about their weddings? Griffin’s fiancée probably stood beyond the entrance donning her veil, smiling into a mirror with tears of joy sparkling in her eyes. God help me.

He wondered what kind of a woman Annie Baxter was. A real looker? Of course. Griffin wouldn’t have agreed to marry someone who looked like a farm animal on one of the nearby ranches. A pistol, eh? Grant rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Maybe that was the kind of woman his irresponsible brother needed. Griffin liked his women to be seen and not heard. Again, that’s where he and his brother differed. Grant preferred a woman with spunk. If he was looking. Which he wasn’t. Then he wondered if Annie had a hard right hook.

Cursing under his breath he gave a swift rap on the door and waited until he heard a muffled, “Come on in.”

With a deep breath he turned the crystal knob and entered the room. A slight gasp stopped him cold.

An older woman who looked as if she was trying her best to hold back time with a truckload of makeup wagged her finger at him. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Wearing a hot-pink dress, she looked like a tidal wave of Pepto-Bismol coming toward him. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck for you to see the bride?”

Hell, the bride’s luck couldn’t get much worse. Grant scowled at her. “I need to talk to Annie. Give us a few minutes alone.”

“You’ll have plenty of time after the wedding.”

“Thank God.” Another voice drew his attention. “You were right, Aunt Maudie. He’s here.” Excitement lilted the husky voice to a fever pitch.

The bride-not-to-be sat on a velveteen chair, her silk-covered legs propped on a table. His gaze traveled up those long, shapely legs to an equally shapely, scantily clad body that had his mouth watering as though he was a teenager gawking at his first centerfold. A lacy garter embraced her hips and thighs like an intimate caress. A matching bra covered her pert breasts. Barely.

Heaven help me!

“It’s okay.” The half-naked bride waved to her aunt. “Give us a few minutes alone.” Her seductive drawl had Grant wishing the older woman would stay and chaperone.

With a huff, Aunt Maudie clomped in her high heels around Grant and ducked out the door while muttering, “You’re just asking for trouble.”

He barely heard the click of the door as it closed behind him. He couldn’t concentrate on anything or anyone but Annie.

She lazily swirled a French fry through a ketchup puddle. The hunger in her eyes as she stared at him stirred an automatic, inappropriate response inside him. Slowly, erotically, she tilted back her head and wrapped the French fry around the tip of her tongue. With a half smile, her gaze still holding his, she licked a dollop of ketchup off her bottom lip. With deliberate, self-assured confidence, she uncrossed her legs and stood. He heard the whisper of her stockings as if they were calling to him, inviting him closer.

“I was starving.” Her mouth curved into a saucy smile. “Want a bite?”

Grant felt the air sucked out of his lungs. He doubted she was offering her fries. His insides pulled tight with desire and cut off the circulation to his brain. Good God! He was in trouble. He wanted to taste every inch of her delectable body, starting with that tempting swanlike neck, lingering along her curves and planes then working his way down to her petite toes. Trying to shake loose the cloud filling his head with wild ideas, he wondered why Griffin would run hell-bent away from this woman.

She was a pistol all right—with enough gunpowder to blow away a man’s good sense. And he felt his senses scattering with each prolonged second.

As she moved, her long legs gliding toward him with a whispering temptation of sex and sin, the only part of her that reminded him of his purpose was the veil crowning her sassy blond tresses. She was his brother’s fiancée! Ex-fiancée, he reminded himself.

And he had to break the news to her. Now.

“Annie.” He took an unsure step backward trying to cork his steam-heated reaction to her.

He had a job to do. He wished he’d prepared what he was going to say before he’d entered the room. At least then he could recite it and not have to rely on his coherent thoughts, which were no longer so coherent.

“I’m—”

“Oh, Griff! I’m so glad you’re here.”

Before he could blink, protest or correct her mistake, she wrapped her arms around him and planted a kiss on his mouth. Her lips were warm, moist and open. Irresistible. Stunned, he did what came naturally—he kissed her back.

His nerve endings exploded. Her warm, seductive body aligned with his and tilted his stable world precariously.

Push her away, you jerk! he admonished himself. But damn if he could find the strength or the desire. Her hot kiss had somehow debilitated him.

Suddenly, he knew exactly how Griffin had gotten himself backed into this matrimonial corner. Irritated at his own weakness, he placed his hands firmly on her narrow waist and set her away from him. But she locked her arms securely around his neck and drew her leg slowly up along his. Powerful explosions went off in his head and ricocheted through his body, silencing the alarm bells warning him this was a mistake.

She gave a husky sigh that made his insides clench with raw need. He tried to draw a breath, to regain his equilibrium but he failed, miserably.

She started nibbling on his ear and his brain turned to mush. Slanting him a seductive glance, she said, “So, darlin’, where are we going on our honeymoon? Which suitcase should I take? The cold- or warm-weather one? Or should we just forget about clothes altogether?”

He swallowed hard.

“Paris? The Swiss Alps? Or did you book a Caribbean cruise?”

Stop this insanity!

Her hand inched downward and cupped his backside. He choked and grabbed her wrist. Her tiny bones felt as fragile as winter twigs. Would his news snap her in two? “Annie—”

“I know. You want it to be a surprise.” Raising on tiptoe, she nuzzled his neck and sent shock waves along his spine. “Boy, do I have some surprises in store for you!”

Dammit! I’ve got a whopper for you, too, lady. Now, get yourself under control, Stevens! She’s a woman, just like any other. But why was telling this bride proving to be so much more difficult than the last two?

“I’m anxious for us to be there, for us to finally make love. This waiting is about to kill me.” She pressed her breasts against his chest, which somehow suddenly made the room as hot as a Fourth of July firecracker.

His mind spun with the news that his brother had never made love to this bride. Maybe she’d insisted they wait. Maybe that’s why Griffin had been so eager to get to the altar.

Gazing up at him, her eyelids drooped lazily…seductively. “Want to start now? The wedding can’t start without us.”

“Whoa, lady!” Grant cleared his throat, choking on his desire, his deception. “Ah, Annie, I—I’m not who you think I am.”

“None of us are.” She gave him a smile that scrambled his thoughts like fresh eggs.

How the hell had Griffin ever managed to propose with her gabbing and grabbing? Grant couldn’t get a word in edgewise or keep his thoughts straight, much less tell her he wasn’t Griffin—and that her groom wasn’t coming to the wedding! He moved his hands away from her warm, satiny-smooth waist and up to her shoulders. “Annie—”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said in a voice as smooth as warm honey. “This is all so sudden. We didn’t date long. We hardly know each other. I think it’s sweet that you want to make sure I’m making the right decision.” Her hand caressed his jaw. She drew a sensual line from his ear to his chin with her thumb, making his knees as weak as a newborn colt’s. “You simply swept me off my feet. What choice did I have but to agree to marry you?”

“Uh…” Disentangling himself from her arms, he stepped away and was finally able to draw a more coherent thought and deeper breath. “I’m Grant.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Grant Stevens.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Griff’s…” He shook his head, clearing out the confusion in his own mind. “Griffin’s brother.”

Her gaze swept over him, narrowing with confusion and disbelief. “Aunt Maudie said…she saw you…that Griff’s here.” Her hands clenched. “He is here.”

“No, she must have seen me. You got me confused with Griffin, too.”

“But you look just like—”

“We’re twins.” He bit the words out. “We do not look alike. His eyes are hazel. Mine are gray.”

She leaned toward him, resting her hand on his chest as she stood on tiptoe to gaze into his eyes. This time he couldn’t avoid her blue hypnotic gaze. “They look the same to me.”

Her warm exotic fragrance wrapped around him as seductively and possessively as her arms had earlier. His gaze was drawn to her parted, moist lips. He tightened his hold on his overblown response to her. An urgent need to prove to her that he was different from his brother rolled over him. “Griffin has freckles across his nose. And I have this scar.” He pointed to the bridge of his nose where bride number two had punched him, clipping him with the one-carat diamond Griffin had bought for her with a maxed-out credit card. “See? If you can’t tell us apart, then you obviously don’t know my brother well enough to marry him.”

Her feathery eyebrows slanted down into a frown. She started to touch his scar then their gazes collided. Awareness sparked between them, rekindling the desire deep inside him. She pulled away at the same moment he stepped back. Her eyes widened with dismay. “You kissed me!”

“You kissed me,” he countered.

“Maybe at first, but I thought you were Griff and I distinctly remember—”

“Griffin’s not coming,” he cut her off, not wanting his mistake thrown back into his face. He was well aware of the way he’d kissed her. He could still taste her sweetness on his lips, feel her softness and his hardness.

“What? Why?” As quickly as she’d challenged him about the kiss, her expression switched to horror. “What’s happened? Is he hurt?”

“Not yet.” But when Grant got hold of him…

One of her finely arched eyebrows lifted. “If you’re trying to be funny, Gri…Gr…” She gave a slight shake of her head, making the veil caress her bare shoulders. “Uh…Mr. Stevens, it’s not working.”

“Grant.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Grant.”

“Where is Griff?”

“I can’t say.” That didn’t sound right so he tried again. “I don’t know.”

Her shoulders relaxed and she reached for him. “I don’t like this practical joke, Griff.”

“I’m Grant.”

She withdrew as if he’d slapped her.

He gestured toward a nearby blue velveteen chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“I don’t believe you…any of this.” She crossed her arms over her middle, pushing her breasts higher, straining the edges of her lacy bra.

He averted his gaze and tried to remain a gentleman when he’d already failed. “Do you have a…a…”

He spotted a robe flung across the back of a suitcase and retrieved it. He held it out for her to take but she simply stared at him, as if she’d lost all sense.

“Griffin has—” He broke off. The stark pain in her vivid blue eyes reached right into his chest and twisted his heart in a cinch knot. Damn his brother. “Ah, hell, he’s backed out of the wedding, Annie. I’m sorry. Sorry he didn’t tell you himself.” Sorry he’s my lousy brother.

He watched her carefully, ready to wrap his arms around her if she needed support and just as ready to duck if she threw something at him. Her silence divided his loyalties like a stock split. He searched for something, anything, to say. How could he help her understand? How could he make it easier? Drawing on what she’d told him earlier, he said, “Griffin decided it was too soon…that…uh, you didn’t know what you were getting into…marrying him.” Yeah, that’s it! “He was trying to protect you.”

Her features contorted and she bent forward.

Damn, she was going to faint. He stepped forward. “Annie?”

Her shoulders started to shake.

Wanting to take away the pain she must be feeling, he reached for her, but the sound of her sobs suddenly became clear. She wasn’t crying or wailing with anger or grief. She was laughing! Doubled over with laughter!

He jerked his hand back. “What the hell?”

She laughed until her face turned red. At least his tux wouldn’t end up damp from a teary bride. Maybe this time he wouldn’t land in the emergency room with a broken nose. Or maybe he should call for reinforcements. Maybe she’d gone off the deep end. Feeling as awkward as Jed Clampett visiting Tiffany’s he let out a confused chuckle, then gave in to relief.

“So you’re not upset?” He sat on the velveteen chair, tension having zapped his strength. “I can’t tell you what a relief—”

She took a deep breath then started to choke. Once she had control of herself, she wasn’t laughing anymore. “Oh, God. I can’t believe this is happening again!”