Читать книгу Small-Town Cinderella - Stacy Connelly, Stacy Connelly - Страница 8

Chapter Two

“Don’t they make such a lovely couple?”

Debbie looked away from the just-married couple in question to meet Vanessa Pirelli’s smiling expression. Nick and Darcy were supposed to be posing for pictures beside the three-tiered wedding cake, but from what Debbie could see, the two of them appeared completely oblivious as they gazed into each other’s eyes. The love between them radiated as brightly as the antique chandelier glowing overhead.

The bride and groom had decided on a small wedding, and friends and family had gathered at Hillcrest House for their reception. The sprawling Victorian with its peaked turrets and dormer windows sat elegantly atop a bluff overlooking the ocean. The upper two floors had been converted into hotel rooms while the first-floor dining room was now a high-class, intimate restaurant. The ballroom had mostly remained untouched, still in use after 125 years. With its intricate mahogany wainscot, hand-carved moldings and coffered ceilings, the location added to the romance of Nick and Darcy’s wedding reception.

Debbie nodded at the older woman’s words. “They do,” she agreed. “It was a beautiful wedding.”

“Mmm-hmm. It’s always a pleasure to see young people in love. Nick and Darcy, Sophia and Jake, Sam and Kara...” The mother of the groom’s gaze turned speculative. “And you and Drew certainly make a good-looking couple.”

Debbie should have seen it coming. This was the second wedding where she and Drew had walked down the aisle together as part of a wedding party. The matchup made perfect sense, as they were both single. What didn’t make as much sense was the rush of heat to her face as she fought to squirm beneath his mother’s speculative gaze. Praying her cheeks weren’t as bright as the burgundy bridesmaid’s dress she wore, Debbie shook her head.

“Mrs. Pirelli—”

“Now, how many times have I asked you to call me Vanessa? You know you’re practically family.”

“You’re exactly right, Vanessa. All of your sons have always been like big brothers to me. There’s never been anything romantic between any of us. Including me and Drew.”

Not even the night of Darcy’s bachelorette party.

In the days since, Debbie convinced herself whatever she thought had happened between her and Drew within the faint glow of her shop windows...hadn’t. Drew had simply been looking out for her, same as always, his parting words a brotherly warning and not a sensual promise.

With that in mind, she’d gone out of her way to treat him the same as always. She’d met his gaze with a big smile and had taken his arm for their walk down the aisle with a friendly tug. She had not noticed the strength of the bicep linked with her own any more than she’d felt a shiver race across her shoulders when that muscled arm brushed against her. And she most certainly did not keep sneaking looks at him out of the corner of her eye to see if he was sneaking looks at her.

Because he wasn’t, and that was that.

Vanessa sighed. “You can’t blame a mother for trying to find the right girl for her son. After all, you’re a beautiful, strong, confident woman.”

Though the trim brunette with sparkling green eyes didn’t have any resemblance to Debbie’s own well-rounded, blond-haired, blue-eyed mother, the warmth and kindness of the words surrounded Debbie like one of her mother’s vanilla-scented hugs. “Thank you, Vanessa. That means a lot to me.”

“And, if I do say so myself, my son is not such a bad catch, either.”

Tipping her head back with a laugh, Debbie couldn’t help but agree, and not just because she was talking to Drew’s mother. “You’re absolutely right. Drew is a good man. One of the best, which makes him a wonderful friend.”

But not the man for her. Drew was as grounded and stable as the houses he built. Not at all the type to rush headlong into adventure and excitement. Worse, Debbie thought as pinpricks of heat stabbed at her, he had known her for her entire life. He’d probably be able to recall every fashion disaster, every bad hair day, every extra pound that haunted her past. She wanted a man who would look at her and see her now, as the strong, confident woman Vanessa described and not as the chubby, awkward girl she’d once been.

Debbie glanced over her shoulder at Drew, knowing right where he was standing even while pretending not to. Her breath caught as their gazes met and held. He wasn’t looking at her like he was remembering her fashion disaster/bad hair days. If she didn’t know better—

A flush started at her painted toes and made a slow, sensual climb. If she didn’t know better she might have thought he was looking at her the same way a dieting man always looked at her buns—her sugar-glazed cinnamon buns, that was—like he wanted to devour her and not stop until they were both satisfied. But that was crazy, wasn’t it?

After all, this was Drew she was thinking about. Even-keel, think-things-through Drew Pirelli. He wasn’t the kind of man to devour desserts. More the type to savor a meal, to take things slow and—

How exactly is this helping? she demanded of herself even as she tore her gaze away.

“Well, it’s not unheard of for friendship to turn to something more,” Vanessa remarked. “If you keep an open heart, you never know what might happen.”

The echo of the words Drew had spoken the other night spurred Debbie into action. This was not happening. After asking Vanessa to excuse her, she grabbed a glass of champagne on her way across the floral-patterned carpet. If she decided to have some kind of reckless affair—and she had to admit, that was way more talk than action on her part so far—she had the right kind of man in mind. That was not Drew Pirelli.

Drew was the kind of man a woman committed to wholeheartedly and for her entire life. Debbie wasn’t ready for that. Just the thought sent a suffocating panic pressing down on her chest. She was ready for fun. So no matter how great of a guy Drew was, and he was the greatest, he was her friend. And the sooner they got back on friendly terms, the...safer she would feel.

And how’s that kind of thinking fit a daring woman out for reckless affair?

Ignoring the mocking voice in her head, Debbie smiled as she reached Drew’s side. It was what she called her Bonnie’s Best smile, the one she’d put on for her mother all those years ago to show Bonnie she could focus entirely on her own health because her daughter was doing just fine. The same smile she’d used to greet neighbors and friends when they asked about her mother’s health and later when they inquired about Debbie in the weeks and months after Bonnie’s death.

Doing just fine! Thanks so much for asking.

The smile had gotten her through much tougher times than a sudden and inappropriate infatuation with Drew Pirelli.

Pointing her champagne flute at him, Debbie spoke before Drew had the chance. “I have a bone to pick with you!” Her smile felt a little less forced as she went on the offensive. The teasing, confrontational tone was just right for their relationship. It was as comfortable and familiar as Drew himself, and only their surroundings at the posh hotel ballroom kept her from giving a lighthearted pop on the shoulder. “You cost me fifty bucks.”

His dark brows rose, and he met her mock anger with a smile. But was there something different there? Something other than his usual, almost patronizing expression? He waited, biding his time, until she reached his side. His breath teased the bare skin of her neck as he leaned close and asked, “How did I do that?”

Debbie fought off a shiver threatening to shake her down to her shoes. “The bet, remember? I thought for sure you would be the next Pirelli to fall and yet Sam’s already engaged. How the heck did that happen?”

He frowned as if seriously weighing her words. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

His espresso eyes challenged her, and Debbie’s confidence started to tremble right along with her suddenly weak knees. Swallowing, she countered, “More like I don’t know Sam. After all, he’s the one who got engaged when I never thought he would.”

“And I’m the one who’s still single. Maybe I’m not as settled as you seem to think.”

If anyone was unsettled, Debbie decided, it was definitely her. She should walk away now, while she still could, while she still had any hope of getting back on equal footing with Drew again. But that was ridiculous because she did know him. She knew him well enough to realize he was messing with her, giving her a hard time, same as always. She was the one who was overreacting thanks to her foolish decision to give voice to her fantasies. She was the one who’d let the crazy thoughts out, and it was going to be up to her to put them back where they belonged.

“Come on, Drew. Tell me you don’t see yourself married with a couple of kids.” A look of admission flashed in his eyes, and Debbie pressed her point. Nodding in Nick and Darcy’s direction, she said, “Tell me you don’t want that.”

He glanced over at the happy couple, who were busy staring into each other’s eyes. “Sure, I do,” he agreed readily enough for Debbie to think she’d been right all along about him playing her. “Someday. But there’s something else I want right now.”

She didn’t realize what Drew meant until he took the slim flute from her, set it aside on a nearby table and pulled her onto the dance floor. Her hand rose automatically to rest on his shoulder and her feet quickly found the rhythm of the slow, romantic ballad. It was hardly the first time she and Drew had danced together, and as he pulled her closer, she caught scent of his cologne. The woody fragrance with its hint of cedar was the same brand he’d worn for years—a yearly Christmas gift from his sister. Sophia knew her brother wouldn’t bother to buy something he’d consider unnecessary. Debbie knew it, too. She knew Drew. He was as comforting and familiar as the smell of his cologne, except—

The trip in her pulse as he spun her beneath the crystal chandelier wasn’t the slow, steady pace of comfort, and she found no familiarity in the tingle of goose bumps chasing across her chest when her breasts brushed the starched front of Drew’s tuxedo shirt. His eyes darkened—whether as a result of the intimate contact or in reaction to her own, Debbie didn’t know, but there was no denying the heat in his gaze.

The rush of unexpected and unwanted desire took Debbie back to her teenage years and her helpless, overwhelming crush on Drew. To the unrequited longing mixed with the heartbreaking knowledge that he would never see her as anything more than his kid sister’s friend. A part of her, that small part that had never lost hope even in the most hopeless of situations, longed to believe everything she was seeing in Drew’s expression, longed to believe that maybe, just maybe, he did view her as more than the girl next door.

A decade-old memory drifted through her thoughts. The door to the bakery had been open, letting in the warm summer air and allowing the scents of fresh-baked breads and muffins to drift out onto the sidewalk, to lure tourists and locals inside. Standing behind the counter, she’d caught sight of Drew through the front window. He’d been away at college, but her pulse had taken that same familiar leap as if he’d never been gone a day. He’d smiled at her as he’d stepped inside and the warmth in his gaze had threatened to reach inside and pull her heart straight from her chest.

She’d cut her hair since she’d seen him last, straightening the life out of the curls she hated and taming the locks into a more sophisticated style. She’d been on yet another diet and had dropped to a smaller size. Was this the day when Drew would finally see her for who she really was? Anticipation hammered through her veins until she’d caught sight of the tall, leggy brunette on Drew’s arm.

Debbie had kept her smile firmly in place as he introduced her to the girlfriend he’d met at school. She asked all the appropriate questions, showed just the right amount of friendly interest until the moment the couple said goodbye. As the two of them walked out of the shop, Debbie had heard the other girl teasingly ask if she was one of Drew’s ex-girlfriends.

Nah, that’s just Debbie.

She could still feel the ache of a broken heart as her dreams of Drew being her boyfriend slipped from her fingers and into the gorgeous brunette’s hands. But she’d wised up after that, too, forcing herself to get over her pointless crush. She didn’t want to be “just Debbie,” and she refused to follow the vain hope that Drew might see her any other way.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze head on. “If this is wedding fever, you should know I’m immune.”

“Wedding fever?”

“You know,” she answered. “Sympathy pains brought on by too much contact with the crazy-in-love bride and groom.”

“I wouldn’t call anything I’m feeling right now pain.”

Debbie stumbled slightly at his words only to have Drew pull her even tighter against his chest. How many times had she dreamed of a moment like this? A moment when Drew would hold her close and finally, finally claim her mouth with his own? If he kissed her now—

Oh, if he did, Debbie had no doubt she’d fall for him all over again, wrapping herself in foolish hopes and dreams that had no place in the real world. Gazing up into his eyes beneath the chandelier’s glittering lights, the promise of the longed for kiss made the risk almost, almost seem worth it....

Fortunately, the song came to an end, giving her the excuse to step back and take a sanity-saving breath. “That’s the fever talking. You’re delirious, but don’t worry, it won’t last.”

“Debbie—”

“I need to check if Darcy needs anything. Bridesmaid’s duty and all.”

Quickly slipping away, Debbie ducked between the guests gathered along the edges of the dance floor, but she didn’t stop to look for the bride amid the crowd. She escaped through the first doorway she found. The sound of music and laughter faded as she stepped out onto a secluded balcony overlooking the historic bed-and-breakfast’s manicured grounds. The cool, ocean-scented night air touched her warm cheeks, and as Debbie gazed up at the night sky, she couldn’t help thinking all the stars she’d wished upon for all those years were laughing down at her now.

As her mother had often warned her... “Be careful what you wish for,” she whispered.

* * *

Drew quickly lost sight of Debbie as she darted out the French doors at the back of the ballroom. Forcing himself to let her go, he headed over to the bar and ordered a beer. He clenched the cold bottle in his hand and took a long swallow of the malty brew. She had every reason to run away from him, and he had no right to go after her until he figured out what the hell was going on.

Was Debbie right? Was he suffering from some kind of wedding fever? The explanation made as much sense as anything he could come up with to justify why he was suddenly tempted to throw caution aside when he was with her. Which was crazy, since reason had always trumped emotion in every hand he’d ever played. His head always ruled his heart. How many times had his last girlfriend, Angie, told him to stop thinking and start feeling whenever the inevitable “where is this relationship going?” talk came up?

He’d tried telling her how he felt—he found her attractive, he enjoyed spending time with her, their common interests made a good foundation for a relationship—but none of those explanations satisfied her. She’d wanted something more...just like Debbie did.

He’d overheard the words from her himself. Debbie wanted adventure, excitement, mystery—not a guy she’d known her whole life.

You’re as grounded as a man can be and still manage to move both feet.

The memory of the accusation she’d made at his sister’s wedding grated on his nerves, and he didn’t even know why. The truth was, he prided himself on making solid decisions, on not rushing into situations without being able to predict the outcome. If he crossed the line from friendship to something more with Debbie, he had no idea where that might lead.

Yet knowing all that hadn’t stopped him from asking her to dance, or from wanting more than a dance....

She was right about one thing. If their names ended up linked by the local grapevine, assumptions would immediately be made.

Drew snorted. With the rate his siblings were getting hitched, his parents would be sending out wedding invitations within a week.

He hadn’t missed the little conversation between his mother and Debbie earlier. He could only hope his mother had been a little more subtle than she’d been after the rehearsal dinner a few nights before. A dinner he’d attended alone. He’d made excuses about work and the custom house he was building keeping him too busy for a relationship, but his mother had quickly called him out on it.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how many family dinners you’ve missed recently?” she’d demanded. And then softer, she questioned, “And do you think I don’t know the real reason why?”

Okay, so maybe he had been feeling like the odd man out, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his mother. “I’ve been busy. That’s the only reason.”

His mother sighed, giving him the look that could still make him feel like he was six years old. “I have to say, I never thought you would be the child I would have to worry about.”

Drew winced in memory.

His mother would love nothing more than to see him settle down.

All the more reason not to follow Debbie out onto the secluded balcony. He almost had himself convinced when he spotted her shawl draped across the back of the chair she’d abandoned. Leaving the half-finished bottle of beer at the bar, he crossed the room to the table that had been reserved for the wedding party. And just as he’d been unable to stop himself from pulling her onto the dance floor, he reached for the softly woven shawl. The scent of her perfume, a mix of spicy and sweet that perfectly captured Debbie’s personality, drifted over him. Pulling him in when he knew he should be walking away.

As he moved toward the balcony doors, he was stopped several times along the way by friends and neighbors. He took their ribbing about being the only unattached Pirelli with good humor even if the phrase “last man standing” was already getting old. He knew it would get worse after Sam’s wedding. Still, he pushed the thought aside. He was a man on a mission, out to find a certain bridesmaid.

She turned as he opened the door, her arms crossed tightly to ward off the night air. For Drew, the chill was a relief after the ballroom’s crowded interior. But it wasn’t exactly a cold shower, and not nearly cold enough to keep his body from heating when he noticed the swell of flesh above her dress’s neckline.

All brides were supposed to be beautiful, and Darcy was undeniably gorgeous. But it was Debbie who had knocked the breath from Drew’s lungs when he’d caught sight of her walking down the aisle.

He should have been better prepared, seeing her now, but maybe he hadn’t recovered from that first blow. Her blond hair was caught to one side, her golden curls tumbling over her shoulder. The bridesmaids’ gowns reflected Darcy’s taste, and Debbie looked amazing in the halter-style burgundy dress. Tiny beads highlighted the bodice, and the rich fabric fell to the tops of her strappy sandals with a slit in the side guaranteed to blow his mind with revealing flashes of her shapely calf and thigh.

Her blue eyes gazed at him warily. “Drew...”

He heard the protest in her voice and held up the shawl. “I thought you might be cold out here.”

“Oh.”

Was it his imagination or did she sound disappointed that he’d followed her for such an innocent reason? “Well, thank you,” she said as she reached for the pink material, “but I can take care of myself.”

Drew didn’t doubt it. Debbie had been on her own since her mother died. Before that, really, with the care Bonnie Mattson had needed during her illness. He’d long admired Debbie’s independence and the way she’d scoffed at the idea of needing a man. But for the first time, that toughness seemed to soften something inside his chest. He held on to the shawl, keeping their hands tangled together in the wispy fabric. “I know you can. But once in a while, it’s nice to have someone take care of you.”

Sliding the shawl from her hands, he draped the material over her shoulders, keeping hold of both ends. “Maybe,” she conceded, though her slightly stiff posture wasn’t giving an inch. “But I don’t need—”

“This isn’t about need,” he interrupted. “It’s about want.”

Debbie swallowed. “Want?”

“It’s like...dessert. Not something you need, but certainly something you crave.”

“And let me guess. You’re craving something sweet.” The sardonic twist on the word told Drew what Debbie thought of that description—one he’d been guilty of using in the past. She’d nailed it when she complained to Darcy and her fellow bridesmaids about the local guys treating her like a little sister or a platonic buddy.

Standing so close to her now, feeling the heat from her body and breathing in the vanilla-and-spice scent of her skin, he wondered how the male population—himself included—could have been so deaf, blind and stupid. He had no doubt Debbie would taste sweet and yet— Suddenly he thought of the sheer temptation of her chocolate-raspberry cake. “I was thinking more along the lines of something rich, decadent, a little sinful even.”

Debbie’s eyes widened, huge and sparkling in the faint light streaming through the French doors. He’d gone too far, he thought. Pushed too hard for something he shouldn’t even let himself want. The smart thing, the logical thing to do was to walk away now while they still could. “Debbie—”

“Seriously, Drew, has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

“Uh—” Before he had a chance to say anything else, she reached up, clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled his head toward hers. At the first touch of her lips, Drew was lost. Walk away? How could he when a single kiss had knocked him off his feet?

He’d been right about the sweetness, but had seriously underestimated just how rich, just how decadent she would taste, with just a hint of champagne and the piña colada wedding cake she’d made flavoring the kiss. The combination was addictive, but it was a taste uniquely her own. His tongue hungrily traced her full upper lip from corner to corner, spending an extra second at the enticing peak in the center. Diving deeper when she made a soft, indistinct sound that still managed to convey the intoxicating blend of demand and desire.

Drew might have smiled at the demand—Debbie had never been shy when it came to speaking her mind—but the desire overrode all else. He pulled her closer, her softness and curves melding against his body in a perfect fit. Blood pounded through his veins, and his hands tightened on her hips. The thin, slippery material of her dress hardly seemed like much of a barrier. With a few deft moves to push it out of the way—

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he froze at the sound of voices drifting over from the parking lot on the other side of the evergreen hedge. The night chill seeped in as Debbie broke the kiss and slipped from his arms.

“You sure about this? Your brother is going to kill you for messing with his ride.”

“I know. Great, isn’t it?”

“You know what they say about payback, and your wedding is less than two months away.”

Drew immediately recognized Sam’s voice along with his friend Billy Cummings’s. The three of them were supposed to decorate Nick’s truck. Even though the newlyweds were spending their first night together at the bed-and-breakfast, their vehicle would proudly announce their just-married status for the trip home. Sam had gathered the appropriate mix of tin cans and shaving cream along with some leashes and dog toys as an homage to Nick’s profession.

It wouldn’t be long before—

“So where is Drew anyway? Are we doing this without him?”

“No way! He has to be part of this so I can tell Nick it was all his idea.” The faint crunch of gravel followed Sam’s words. “You go get the stuff, and I’ll track him down.”

Nick might have been the veterinarian, but Sam could be like a dog with a bone. He wasn’t going to give up until he found Drew.

His looked over at Debbie, who’d already taken a few steps back. Her arms were once again crossed over her chest, but Drew didn’t think this time was because of the cold. “Debbie, I’m sorry. I— That was—”

The awkwardness of the moment grew in rhythm with the silence as he tried to put the kiss and the past few minutes into words. But she clearly had her own ideas about what had taken place. “Wedding fever,” she stated flatly. “But don’t worry. You’ll forget all about it by morning.”

Then she turned and went back into the reception, leaving him alone on the balcony.