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Eric stared at her. “You were going with them?” he asked warily.
“No! I’m supposed to—It’s part of my job …” Her voice trailed off and she waved her hand, then screwed her eyes shut. “I’m supposed to make sure they get off okay.”
“I think they can handle that part themselves. Damn, this wedding planning stuff was beginning to sound kinky.”
She laughed, the sound a little uneven, but it was still a laugh. “You know what I mean. I’m supposed to organize things, make sure the bride doesn’t forget anything—though I guess, of all the weddings Premier has done, this one has gone the least according to schedule, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.”
Delaney swooped up beside them, planted a kiss on her cheek. “They sneaked off,” he said in a comforting tone. “Evelyn didn’t know they were leaving, either, and now she’s pissed at her son all over again. I’m going to get her to dance some more, get her mind on other things. You’ve had a full day, girlfriend; why don’t you go home and get some sleep? One more big deal tomorrow, then this insane marathon is finished.”
That sounded like a good plan to Eric. Before she could come up with any reason why she should stay, he had her walking toward her rental car. “I’ll follow you to the hotel, make sure you aren’t followed.” He thought of that sentence, grinned at her. “By anyone else, that is.”
She gave him a rueful smile in return. Taking her car keys from an inside pocket of her jacket, she retrieved her purse from the trunk. Eric didn’t wait for her to tell him it wasn’t necessary for him to follow her; he was already striding away.
Jaclyn watched the headlights of Eric’s car following her all the way back to Atlanta. She was so distracted that she almost took a wrong turn, heading toward her own town house, but she caught herself just in time and continued on into Atlanta.
She couldn’t seem to collect her thoughts. Nothing about the wedding or the entire day had gone the way she’d planned. The wedding, in all its unconventional, laugh-worthy glory, had turned out to be a lot of unexpected fun. Bishop had revealed a rowdy side of himself she hadn’t known existed, as well as a deep kindness. The wedding guests, many of whom she wouldn’t be surprised to see on wanted posters in the post office, had been remarkably well-behaved. She’d been frightened by a rotten-toothed cretin who looked as if he’d had things on his mind other than dancing. And she’d been rescued by Eric, who could dance as if … as if … okay, as if he’d spent a lot of time in singles bars, picking up women. His dancing wasn’t professional quality, but he was good, good enough that she’d been goaded into showing off for him because she knew she wasn’t half bad herself. Then the band had gone into that slow number, and he’d almost been making love to her right there on the dance floor, not that anyone had noticed. She hoped not, anyway.
But, God, it had been exciting, being in his arms that way, rubbing and swaying against him, feeling his erection prodding her and watching his gaze turn heavy and intent. Every move had heightened her own arousal, until she’d felt as if she’d come if he moved against her just one more time. If the happy couple hadn’t surprised her by sneaking off … who knew what might have happened?
Now, deprived of his body against hers, she throbbed with a frustrated ache that made her press her legs together trying to contain the feeling. She should never have danced with him. She should never have had that beer.
She couldn’t blame it on the beer, though, not just one beer. She should have had two. Then she’d have a viable excuse.
She turned in at the extended-stay hotel, parked in one of the two slots outside the unit he’d booked for her. As she stepped up on the sidewalk he pulled in beside her, got out of the car.
Jaclyn swallowed, tried to make herself say the words that would send him away. Silently he came to her, took the key card from her hand.
They made it inside. At
least they did that. She flipped one of the light switches as they came through the door, and a lamp came on. As soon as the door closed behind them, though, he had his arms around her and his mouth on hers, and he used his big body to crowd her backward toward the separate bedroom—and she let him. She not only let him, she had her arm wound around his neck and one leg hooked around his hips.
His hands were rough on her, pulling at her clothes, tugging so sharply once that she heard a seam rip. She didn’t care. He tipped her across the bed, came down on top of her. A few frantic seconds later he had her skirt up and her underwear off, and one hard muscled thigh between her legs, moving them apart. The thick, hot slide of his penis into her made her scream, then, because she was already coming, the sound choked off as she buried her face against his shoulder. He said her name, his voice guttural, then he hooked her legs in the crooks of his arms and began riding her hard and fast.
He didn’t spend the night this time. She woke a little after midnight, and he was gone.
So, evidently, was her common sense. She lay awake for a while, filled with an aching sadness. Every time he touched her it was like being stroked by lightning, and everyone knew lightning destroyed. It was bright and beautiful, but it left behind nothing but scorched earth.
Chapter Twenty-five
“I DON’T THINK WE SHOULD GO TO THIS WEDDING,” SENATOR Dennison said uneasily as he and Fayre were getting dressed. “I mean, Sean is barely holding himself together, and with the funeral home visitation tonight—”
“Nonsense,” Fayre said briskly. “If either of us had cared for Carrie it would be different, but there’s no pretending, even to Sean, that we did. He knows we were prepared to welcome her for his sake, but that’s all. Even though she’s dead, I’m not going to let her turn me into a hypocrite.”
Fayre’s gaze was clear and unwavering. The senator sighed. Some people muddled through life, but not Fayre. She always knew who she was, what she was, and what she was doing—and apologized for none of it. She wasn’t a cruel person, but neither was she a particularly comfortable one. He was human; he made mistakes; he blundered along, doing the best he could and always aware he fell short of her standards. What was really unnerving was the unspoken thought that she was always aware of that, too.
But what would he do without her? He loved Taite; he really did, because he could relax with her. She wasn’t perfect, so he didn’t have to be perfect with her. With her, he was the one in the driver’s seat. With Fayre, he would always be the husband who rode on her coattails. It was her family money that gave them their social standing, her business sense that kept their income healthy, her connections that made things happen.
The worst part of it was, he loved her, too. Loved her, and feared her, and sometimes he couldn’t tell which emotion was the strongest.
So, because Fayre said they had to go to this wedding, he finished knotting his tie.
Jaclyn was already at the church before she realized that, with all the recent chaos in her life, she could easily and legitimately have excused herself from the Sunday-afternoon wedding. No one at Premier would have batted an eye; they would have banded together and made sure that everything was taken care of. But of the six weddings they’d handled this week, this was the big one. Everyone who worked at Premier had had a hand in today’s wedding and reception, and it was something they could truly be proud of. After all the stress of being investigated and shot at, after days of footballs, mullets, and family feuds, she needed to be involved in a wedding like this one. For her own sanity, she had to be here.
Besides, being at work was easier than being by herself, where she couldn’t escape from her thoughts, and from the unavoidable realization that she was a coward.
No, being here was better. The last of the week’s six weddings was the most traditional and definitely the most spectacular. Both families were big in business—one in music, the other in construction machinery, which was much duller than music but was evidently way more profitable—so money hadn’t been a concern. The bride’s mother was from one of the prominent families in Georgia, which upped the social awareness of the event a hundred times over. By the time you put it all together this was the wedding to attend, and the place to be on this particular Sunday afternoon.
The church was elegantly arrayed in white and pale peach roses, lilies, and so many flickering candles the overheads were almost an afterthought. A trio of violins had provided the music—classical and without flaw—as the guests had arrived, and for the procession. Guests were appropriately dressed and so far had behaved as they should, given the import of the day. Even the flower girl and ring-bearer were both adorable, and both had been well-behaved. There hadn’t been a peep out of either of them: no tears, no temper tantrums, no throwing up in the aisle. She could count that as a definite success.
