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God, it seemed, had other plans.
The family lingered over coffee and sherry as the clock in the front hallway of the old brick house chimed eight.
“Don’t you have a nine-thirty flight?” Frances asked, startled as she counted the chimes. They were over an hour away from the airport.
Philip glanced at his watch. “It is getting late. We’d better get a move on, Dad.” He looked across the table. “You wouldn’t mind giving Tiffany a lift home, would you, James?”
Tiffany froze. The thought of being alone with J.D.—truly alone—was terrifying. “I thought you were going to drop me off,” she said, trying to pretend that she didn’t really care one way or the other.
“Change of plan. We’re running late, so you’ll need a ride.” Philip winked at her, and for the first time, Tiffany wondered if he was being a bit condescending.
“But—” She looked across the table at J.D. and caught the amusement in his gaze.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be good,” he said. “Trust me.”
Her words caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, but couldn’t risk making a scene in front of Philip’s parents. They already had reservations about her, and she couldn’t let them think she was a spoiled, insecure little girl. “Fine,” she agreed with a smile that felt as phony as it probably looked. She’d foreseen something like this happening with Philip’s schedule so tight, and she’d offered to drive herself to his father’s house, but Philip had been adamant about their arriving together.
Now, it seemed, she was stuck with J.D.
She had no option but to make the best of a very bad situation. Philip and his father left, Tiffany offered to help with the dishes, but her prospective mother-in-law waved off her attempts and told her the servants would take care of the mess. Within half an hour she was riding on the bench seat of J.D.’s pickup, clutching the strap of her purse as if her life depended on it and trying to make small talk. He was, after all, going to be her brother-in-law. It was ridiculous for her to be on edge every time she was near him.
“Tell me,” he said as they drove along the narrow country road cutting through the hills surrounding Portland, “what is it you see in Philip?”
“Excuse me?” What did he care? Storm clouds brewed in the night sky, obliterating the moon and hiding the stars. Fat drops of rain began to splatter on to the windshield.
“I mean, let’s face it. He’s nearly twice your age.”
She bristled. “So I’ve heard.”
“I’ll bet.” Shifting down, he took a corner a little too fast. The storm began in earnest. Rain peppered the windshield, drizzling down the dusty glass.
“Are you going to try and talk me out of it?”
“Could I?” He slid a glance in her direction, and her pulse jumped.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
Headlights from an oncoming car illuminated the inside of the pickup with harsh, white light, instantly casting J.D.’s face in relief. Tiffany looked away from his strong profile. His hard, thin lips, tense jaw, eyes squinting as he drove, were far too sensual, far too male. The oncoming car passed them, and the interior was dark again.
He poked the lighter. “Well, I guess it’s your funeral.”
“Wedding. You mean it’s my wedding.”
“Whatever.” The lights of Portland came into view, and Tiffany felt a sense of relief as J.D. lit a cigarette from the pack on the dash. She just needed to get out of the truck and away from Philip’s disdainful brother. What did it matter what he thought or what anyone thought? All that was important was the one simple fact that she and Philip loved each other.
“You know, you could just try and accept the situation,” she said finally as he cracked a window. The smell of fresh rain mingled with smoke. “You don’t have to be antagonistic.”
“Is that what I am?”
“At least.”
“You’d rather I be what? Friendlier?” He snorted, smoke shooting from his nostrils.
“That would be a start.”
“Would it?” He let out a huff of derision as he cranked the wheel around a corner. “How much friendlier would you like?”
