Читать книгу Wedding Vows: Just Married - Nancy Warren - Страница 10

“WHEN ARE YOU AND MR. Crane planning to be married?” she asked in her most professional tone. She’d taken her place behind her desk and motioned for the happy couple to occupy the two pretty chintz chairs opposite.

A well-bred laugh answered her. A finishing school hah-hah, perfectly-modulated and quiet. “I’m not marrying Dexter. He’s the best man, but my fiancé is out of the country and he asked Dex to come along with me so I don’t get carried away.”

Her gaze rose and connected with Dexter’s. Yep, that was definitely a glimmer of amusement. Bastard. He was enjoying this.

“I see.” In a much lower voice she muttered, “Lucky escape for you.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘It’s a lucky thing you’ve come early in the season.’ Things really book up. Well, what do you have in mind, Ms. Vanderhooven?”

The young woman’s ideas were lifted right out of the current issues of bridal magazines. Clearly, she’d been perusing every one.

“And I thought maybe I should have a non-allergenic bouquet, you know, in case anyone’s allergic.” There was a moment’s pause. Karen took refuge in taking notes so she could think of the questions that might help her discover what this bride really might like, ideas that wouldn’t change every month when a new batch of wedding mags hit the newsstands. Then Sophie said, “But I’m very open to suggestions.”

Dexter said, “I’m not the one getting married here, but I’ve always thought something a little less formal would be nice. A garden wedding, let’s say.”

Her pen slipped, drawing a squiggly line right through the word bride. She realized her hands were sweating, that’s why her pen had slipped.

She and Dex had married among a garden of roses and irises, her favorite flower of all, and lilies, so the perfumes intermingled. Even as he spoke the words she was transported back to that magical day, the day she’d thought would begin her own personal happily-ever-after.

Fool.

“I’m sure Ms. Vanderhooven has the best ideas for her own wedding.”

“Not really,” the bride said. “I’m pretty open to ideas. And Andrew always listens to Dexter, so we thought if he came instead it would be almost as good.”

“Dexter, that’s an unusual name.” Karen frowned. “Makes me think of the serial killer on TV.”

Dexter shot her an “oh, come on,” look and explained that Dexter was his mother’s maiden name, as though she didn’t know it perfectly well. Then he rose. “I think better on my feet. You see, Ms. Petersham, mind if I call you Karen? It was Karen, wasn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, naturally, and continued, “You see, Karen, most people want to feel that a marriage is forever, so you want something that’s going to mean something in fifty years. You want a wedding you’ll look back on with fond memories.”

She felt her color heighten as she locked gazes with him. “Do you?”

KAREN HAD A SPLITTING HEADACHE the rest of the day. She knew it wasn’t only the stress of seeing Dex again, but the added insult to her body of skipping lunch. Of course she knew that depriving herself of a few calories wouldn’t suddenly make her magically thin or grow her half a foot so she could look Ms. Sophie Vanderhooven in the eye—and spit in Dexter’s. She’d skipped lunch anyway, which she knew wasn’t good for her, all the diet books said so, but sometimes she refused to believe their logic.

And ended up with a headache as well as a cranky, empty stomach.

With no further appointments, she settled in to work on her monthly accounts, not that there was much point in it since she couldn’t concentrate. All she could do was relive that moment when Dexter had walked back into her life. Worse, it was clear that he, Sophie and the missing groom had all agreed to appoint him stand-in groom and assistant wedding planner, which had her hauling the large bottle of painkillers out of her emergency drawer and swallowing two of them with the zero calorie water on her desk.

Dee popped her head in the door at a few minutes before five and said, “Is it okay if I head out now?” She grinned. “I’ve got to get home and change for my date tonight.”

Sure, Dee was thin, gorgeous, young and had that British accent going for her, but she seemed to get more than her fair share of dates.

“Where do you meet all these men?”

“Online,” the younger woman said, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “It’s mad fun, you should try it.”

“Online dating? It seems so desperate.”

“It’s not. I do it all the time.” Dee didn’t bother saying she wasn’t desperate. All you had to do was look at her. “Our trouble is that we work in an industry that caters to women, and the only men who come round here are already spoken for. Honestly, you should at least give it a go.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell you what, I’ll set you up a profile tomorrow and show you how to get on. It’s really simple and gives you a chance to screen someone first before you waste your time meeting them.”

“I guess I should be open-minded,” Karen said. Normally she’d have scoffed, but seeing Dexter today was making her feel more than usually single. And vaguely desperate.

“You’ll have fun, I promise.”

A slight woman with multicolored hair that looked as though Edward Scissorhands was her hairdresser drifted in behind Dee. She blinked big eyes and glanced around as though wondering where she was and what she was doing here.

“Hi, Laurel,” Dee said.

“Hello.”

“What do you think about Plenty of Phillys?”

“The online dating site?”

“That’s right.”

Laurel pulled her sketchbook out of her peace-sign-emblazoned bag. “I don’t think about it. Why?”

“Honestly, Laurel, how do you manage in the real world? I don’t mean do you contemplate the site the way you’d meditate on world peace or whatever you do when you sit around cross-legged and chant aum, I mean what do you think about Karen doing the online dating thing?”

“Oh.” The cake decorator turned her huge eyes to Karen. “Do you want to meet men on the Internet?”

“Of course she does, she’s desperate,” Dee announced. “And you should try it, too.” She sent them both a megawatt smile. “Right, then, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Have fun tonight.”

Once Dee had gone, Karen turned to Laurel. “I’m not definitely going to do it, I’m only thinking about it.”

“I think you should do whatever makes you happy.”

And the amazing thing about Laurel was that when she said wacky things like that, she actually meant them. “I know you do. So, what have you got for me?”

Laurel was in the habit of bringing in her cake designs for Karen to approve. Not that she needed to, everything she baked was incredible, but Karen suspected she liked the reassurance of her approval.

But she really wished the woman didn’t bring sketches of the most delectable treats that looked so good even in the sketchbook that Karen’s mouth started to water. Especially not at the end of the day when her willpower was at its lowest ebb.

Once she’d approved half a dozen designs and they’d gone over timing and delivery of the cakes for this weekend, Laurel drifted out of the office and Karen got back to her accounts.

After giving in to her hunger and nuking a Lean Cuisine meal, she continued wrestling with her books for another couple of hours. When the muted chime that announced an after-hours caller rang, she wasn’t surprised. She supposed on some level she’d expected him.

Ignore the bell or go answer him?

It really wasn’t an option. With a sigh, she rose and stepped back into her heels and took her time going to the front door.

In the dim light he looked almost a stranger to her, so tall and elegant and, she reminded herself sternly, no longer hers.

“You look good, Kiki.”

In spite of herself she smiled. “No one’s called me that in years.”

“Good.”

It was cold outside and she shivered.

“Can I come in?”

Only now did she realize they were both standing at the entrance.

She stepped back to usher him in. “Of course.”

Once more he followed her into her office. He glanced around as though he hadn’t been there earlier that very day. “Place looks good. You’ve done well for yourself.”

Not compared to him. After they’d split, he’d become one of the top architects in New York, the go-to guy for bringing faded grandeur back from near death. He was fanatical about reclaiming and modernizing heritage properties and designing new buildings or additions to fit the old neighborhoods. She felt his approval at the way she’d used the best of the old building she occupied while still managing to bring in ultramodern conveniences.

“Do you own the building?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes I do.”

He nodded. “Smart girl.”

“Too smart to be charmed by you.” She sighed. “What do you want, Dex?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched his head and her eyes were drawn to the thick, black hair she remembered so well. “I knew this was your outfit, obviously, but I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

“You certainly did surprise me.” But if almost giving her a heart attack was supposed to be fun, she thought she’d pass.

His gray all-seeing eyes locked on hers. “You didn’t tell Sophie about our past.”

“Didn’t seem very good for business to bring up my divorce when the woman’s here to plan a wedding.” She shot him a glance. “Did you tell her?”

“No.” He picked up her gold Montblanc pen off the desk, ran his thumbnail over the monogram. “I decided to leave it to you.” He’d given her that pen back in happier times, and now she was annoyed with herself for her sentimentality in using the damn thing every day.

“So, we don’t tell the lucky couple that their wedding planner and his best man used to be married?”

“No, I guess not.”

“And that we hate each other?”

He put down the pen, straightened to his full six feet and looked down at her. “I never hated you. That’s your department.”

A moment passed and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying out that she missed him. Instead she said, “Why are you here, Dex? I mean, in the city. You work in New York now.”

“I do. But I’m quoting on a project here in Philadelphia. A grand old structure that’s been a home, a warehouse and a boardinghouse, to name a few.” Enthusiasm lit up his eyes. “She’s a tired old girl, but with amazing bone structure. The best of the original architectural features are intact and the client wants to work with them, while bringing the building up to date. It’s going to be a boutique hotel and retail combination.”

“Sounds amazing, and right up your alley.”

“It is. I really want this one. And if it works out, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“Helping Sophie and Andrew plan their wedding.”

He looked so sincere, so good, so sexy that for a moment she forgot the reason she’d divorced him. The five-foot-ten blonde goddess she’d found half dressed and wrapped around her husband. The saddest aspect of that fiasco was that on some level she’d noted that Dexter and the former model had looked natural together, two tall, glamorous super-people.

“You’re good at planning weddings, not so good at staying faithful once you’re in one.” Her venom seemed to curdle the air.

“Like I said, hate was always your department.”

“Well, I got over it.” With a lot of tearful sessions with her girlfriends and some rather expensive ones with a therapist. “Now I’ve accepted that our marriage was a mistake.”

“You sure didn’t fight for it.”

The old, familiar anger began to surge inside her but she bit her tongue and counted to ten. Then eleven. Finally twelve before she felt calm enough to speak.

“Why would I fight to keep an unfaithful husband?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother, but I am telling you again that I never had sex with that woman. She was drunk and crazy.”

“Didn’t look like you were trying very hard to peel her off you.”

“Believe me, I was, and I could have used your help that night instead of having you turn tail and abandon me.”

Oh, how she wished she could believe him, could have believed him six years ago when it had happened. But she didn’t believe him, and couldn’t imagine living with a man who thought so little of her that he’d betray her like that.

“I guess maybe we were wrong about each other.”

“I guess so.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against her desk, looking ridiculously masculine against the feminine lines of the furniture; it appeared as though the wood might snap from the weight of him leaning on it. But like her, the piece was stronger than it looked. “You’re still the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”

She snorted. “Oh, please.”

“Or maybe it was us together. I miss a lot of things about you, but mostly I miss you in my bed.” He looked at her with such intensity that she felt her blood begin to pound. Of course she remembered. When she wasn’t cursing the man for his faithlessness she spent more time than she should cursing him for giving her the kind of sex that she’d never found before or since. Soul-scorching, sometimes tender, sometimes dirty but always intimate. She was secretly pleased that he hadn’t found that again either. Or so he said. But then maybe that was another line in the player’s handbook. How would she know?

She forced herself to meet his gaze coolly. Took a deep breath and uttered the biggest lie of her life. “I don’t miss you.”

She should have recalled that nothing ignited Dexter’s competitive instincts like a challenge. She saw heat flash in his eyes, anger and lust and a mix of emotions she couldn’t begin to identify.

One second he stood there before her and the next he was pulling her to him, crushing his mouth against hers so fast that she couldn’t have moved away if she’d tried. She uttered a muffled protest, squirmed against him and then as the inevitable tide of heat swamped her, found herself melting into that oh, so familiar embrace.

The initial hardness of his kiss softened and he began to play with her, igniting all her responses until she was crazy with pent-up lust and a need so strong she couldn’t begin to stifle it. She was so weak-kneed she clung to him, responding wildly, mindlessly.

Every part of her ached and burned and throbbed. If he threw her down on the Hepplewhite desk now, or even on the reclaimed hardwood floor, she’d let him take her and both of them knew it.

Then, as suddenly as he’d moved on her, he let go and stepped back. His breathing was faster than normal, his mouth wet from hers. Still, he managed to sound cool when he said, “I don’t think I believe you.”

Then he turned and headed for the door. “Don’t work too late.”