A Wedding Worth Waiting For (13 page)

“I could have listened better. I should have let you explain, rather than thinking everything would be okay.”

“I didn't want to explain. I guess maybe I was hoping you were right and that he'd just be happy to see me, the way your parents were happy to see you.” She swiped at her face, but he'd already seen the tear tracks. “So I can't blame you. You didn't know what you were getting into, but I should have.”

He wanted to take her in his arms, to show her how much she meant to him, but his gut told him this wasn't the time. Even if she let him, he'd be taking advantage of her fragile state. As desperate as he was becoming, even he wouldn't stoop that low. Instead, he unlocked the door and held it open for her and then Toby, who hopped right up into her lap. Might as well let him stay there; if Sam couldn't allow herself to accept comfort from Dylan, the dog was the next best thing.

As they drove, a light rain started to fall, blurring the scenery and erasing the outside world. Inside the car, Sam's breathing was regular—she'd stopped crying at least. But the hurt was still there, under the surface, the way it probably always had been. If this was the kind of treatment she'd grown up with, no wonder she was so hesitant to trust other people. He'd worked with orphaned and abused animals enough to know that emotional trauma could cause more damage than any physical injury.

The one man she should have been able to rely on had utterly failed her. Her mother's death must have been crushing, but at least she hadn't left her daughter on purpose. It would have been a terrible loss, but not a rejection. Her father's treatment, on the other hand, had to feel personal. It was obvious she'd never be able to live up to whatever warped standards he held for her. And equally obvious that until tonight she'd carried that burden as her due.

“You know he's wrong, don't you?” Hearing her father cut her down was bad, but her believing it—that would be unbearable.

“About what?” Her voice was void of emotion, as if she'd emptied herself out there in the cabin and had no reserves to carry her home.

“About everything. About you. You're amazing, and not just at your job. You're an incredible person, and if he can't see that, it's his problem, not yours.”

She didn't say anything, just buried her head in the dog's soft fur.

“Hell, even those good old boys at the shooting range admired you. And you've got all the volunteers at the rehab center eating out of your hand. Not to mention the animals. You're caring, and smart, and brave as hell.”

“And yet I was too chicken to face my father. If you hadn't insisted we go, I don't know when I would have gotten up the nerve to head over there.”

“For good reason.” Dylan fisted his hands on the steering wheel. He hated that he was the one that had pushed her into this, but he was also damn proud of how she'd handled herself. “But you did go. And when he got out of line you stood up for yourself, and let him know he was out of line. That took guts.”

“Then how come I'm still shaking?” She held out a trembling hand and a piece of his heart cracked.

Checking his mirrors, he pulled the truck to the side of the road and flicked on the emergency lights before unbuckling her seat belt and pulling her into his arms, dog and all.

“Because you had to be stronger than you knew you could be, and your body isn't happy about it. But you did it, you faced him. You said what you've probably been wanting to say for a long time, and you left with your head held high. I'm sorry you had to go through it, but I'm glad you didn't have to do it alone.”

If he had his way, she'd never be alone again, not in the way she had been since her mother died. Stroking her hair, he forced his hands to stay gentle, to give comfort rather than take it. This wasn't about his needs; it was about her. And yet, he couldn't just ignore how he felt.

“I'm going to be here for you, in whatever way you'll let me.”

She stiffened in his arms, pulling back so they were face to face. “Dylan, I can't—”

He laid a finger on her lips, quieting her. “I know. You haven't had a lot of good experiences with love or with people being there for you. So I'm not going to push.”

She nodded, and he moved his finger off her mouth, stroking the silken softness of her cheek. “But I'm not going to let you down, and I'm not going away. When you're ready, I'll be here.”

She blinked once, and then slowly moved back to her own seat, untangling her limbs from his. Sighing, she shifted Toby in her lap and refastened her seat belt. Obviously the moment was over.

“I mean it, Sam. I'm not going away. I care for you, and I think that if you let yourself, you could care, too. I'm not your father, damn it. You can trust me.”

“Maybe. But I can't think about that now. Let's just stick to the initial agreement.”

Frustration ate a hole in his gut. “In other words, we're back to pretending we're dating when we're in public, and when we're in private, pretending we don't have feelings for each other at all.” This whole situation was getting more insane by the minute. Why had he ever agreed to this?

“No, I'm saying we shouldn't see each other in private at all.”

Chapter Thirteen

D
ylan hefted the picnic basket with one hand and shaded his eyes with the other, scoping out the scenic park. Children were playing on the playground while their mothers chatted in the shade. Exercisers of all ages and speeds looped around on the jogging path that circled the park, and on the far side an enthusiastic crowd cheered on a local Little League team. Sam had wanted public, and this was about as public as you could get, short of putting up an ad in the weekly gazette.

He'd just retrieved a folded quilt from the backseat when Sam pulled into the parking spot next to him. Locking up, a habit he hadn't kicked since his time in Boston, he waited for her. She was in a pair of jeans that molded to her body like a second skin and a red T-shirt that had his libido surging like a renegade bull charging a matador's crimson cape. He wanted to scoop her up, put her in his truck and take her somewhere private. Very private.

But this was what she'd insisted on, somewhere they could be seen together, where he could introduce her to more of the community in a casual way. It was the perfect plan. And the exact opposite of what he wanted.

“This looks perfect. Great choice.”

“Yeah.” He tried to sound enthusiastic and failed utterly.

“Anything wrong?”

Other than him being half in love with a woman who wanted nothing but a businesslike relationship? “Nothing. Let me get Toby and we'll find a place to put our stuff.”

At the sound of his name, Toby started up his beagle bellow, making sure Sam and everyone else in the park knew he was there.

“I'm coming, you crazy creature. Just a second.” Except, with the picnic basket in one hand and the queen-size quilt in the other, he didn't have a hand left for the leash.

“I'll get him.” Sam stepped around to open the passenger door and was greeted by twenty pounds of licking, panting and wagging beagle. “Well, he's certainly happy to see me,” she managed between doggy kisses.

“He's not the only one,” Dylan muttered. Great, now he was jealous of his dog.

“What was that?” Sam had Toby's leash wrapped around her hand in an attempt to control the eager animal.

“Nothing. I probably shouldn't have brought him, but he started whining, and—”

“And you're a big softy and couldn't leave him behind.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

She led the way toward the middle of an open field, her athletic stride a perfect match for his. “I don't blame you. Poor Toby's had a rough time, and he deserves a picnic just as much as we do. I'm glad you brought him.”

He sent a mental thank-you to Toby for earning him a few brownie points with Sam.

“Is this spot okay?”

She'd stopped in the dead center of the park, in full view of anyone and everyone. “As good as anywhere.” He set the picnic basket down and unfolded the old quilt, flapping it open and letting it settle to the ground. “I almost forgot, I've got a tie-out stake in the truck for Toby, I'll run get it. Feel free to dig in to the food if you want.”

It only took him a few minutes to retrieve the hardware, but by the time he returned Sam was already tossing Toby one of the treats he'd packed. He watched as Toby scarfed it down, then stopped in disbelief when the dog rolled over at Sam's command. “How did you get him to do that?”

She shrugged and tossed the dog another treat. “I didn't, really. I'd already had him sit and lie down, so I thought I'd try it. His previous owner must have trained him to do it. I wonder if he knows any other tricks.”

“Well, I can tell you he knows how to get into a closed trash can, and how to open the pantry door to get to his treats.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. I had to buy a different trash can, and the pantry now has a lock on it. I'd always heard beagles would eat anything, and he pretty much proves it.”

“Speaking of food, I'm starving. Think he'll settle down and let us eat?”

“I packed him one of his chew bones, so we should be fine.”

“Ah, Toby gets his own picnic.” She gave his arm a squeeze, a friendly gesture that had him feeling decidedly more than friendly. “You really are a nice guy.”

He'd get the darn dog a crateful of bones if it would help. “Why don't you unpack the food while I deal with the dog?”

“Deal.”

The tie-out stake he'd purchased online was like a giant corkscrew, and it worked in a similar manner. Once he'd twisted it into the ground to anchor it, he clipped Toby's leash into the attached carabiner and then gave it a pull. Only when he was sure it would hold did he let go of the leash, leaving the dog to happily gnaw on the rawhide Sam had pulled from the basket.

Sam was kneeling on the blanket, where she'd set out a plate for each of them. “I see sandwiches, potato salad, fruit salad and brownies. Are you more domestic than I thought, or did you pick this up from somewhere?”

“A little of both.” He snagged a sandwich and offered her half. “I made the brownies—from scratch. One of the few things I know how to make. The rest I picked up at the diner.”

“Points for honesty, and bonus points for baking the brownies. I would not have expected that.”

“My mom taught all us kids to cook at various times, but living on my own I've forgotten a lot of it. It's not much fun cooking for one. But brownies, those are a necessity.”

“A man after my own heart.”

* * *

Where did that come from? Other than the obvious—he really was the ideal man. But no matter how much she liked him, and the more she was around him the more she liked him, she needed to remember that their relationship was nothing but an illusion, a bit of misdirection to help smooth her entry into Paradise's inner circle. Of course, when she'd suggested the idea, she hadn't known how hard it was going to be to keep her own emotions in check. Thankfully, he seemed to take the quip as a lighthearted compliment, not a confession of her growing feelings for him.

Grabbing a sandwich and some fruit, she forced herself to think of something other than Dylan and the conflicted feelings that surfaced whenever they were together. Instead, she turned her attention to the beauty of their surroundings, letting the tension in her body melt under the heat of the fall sunshine. The sky was almost achingly blue, with a single white cloud, and the temperature was perfect—warm but not hot, with enough of a breeze for them to smell the salt off the ocean. Overhead a hawk circled slowly while squirrels chattered in the trees. It really was a perfect day for a romantic picnic; too bad the romance was all in her head.

Part of her wanted to just confess her confusion and see if he was even still interested in dating for real. But even if he was interested, the timing was all wrong. She couldn't afford any more distractions, and as much as being around him now messed with her head, a relationship would be more than she could handle. Maybe after she had secured her job and proven herself, she could afford to have something more than a fake boyfriend. But by then he'd probably be ready to move on. Men like Dylan weren't the settle-down types and she wouldn't settle for a fling.

Even if it did sound pretty appealing right now. Of course that was her hormones talking, not her heart. And make no mistake, Dylan was more than capable of breaking her heart. But only if she let him. Which was why she had to keep things like they were: all pretense and no chance of getting hurt.

“Is the food okay? I thought about getting something fancier, but I didn't want it to look staged.”

“It's fine.” She glanced around. “Do you think it's working?”

“Are you kidding? See that group of women over there?” He pointed to a cluster of tracksuit-clad seniors near the water fountain. “They were walking on the trail, but stopped after they saw us. They've been standing there, watching, ever since.”

“Seriously?”

He forked a second helping of potato salad onto his plate and nodded. “Cross my heart. They're the matrons of the Paradise gossip brigade. That's Mrs. Rosenberg there in the pink, leopard-print jacket. She makes it her business to know everything worth knowing. She won't share anything malicious—she's too kindhearted for that—but a lover's tryst? That would get top billing.”

Sam managed to finish her suddenly tasteless sandwich out of a sense of politeness, but her appetite was gone. She never should have suggested such a public venue. Yes, she wanted to make sure their so-called relationship became public knowledge, but she'd anticipated something a bit more subtle. Maybe a T-ball mom noticing and then casually mentioning it to her hairdresser, not a passel of self-appointed town criers circling like sharks on a chum line.

Dylan's appetite, however, seemed unaffected. He wolfed down two sandwiches, both kinds of salad and a brownie. Part of her wanted to be annoyed. How could he be so calm when their privacy was being so blatantly invaded? But of course, that was the whole point. Why should he be bothered by the exact thing they'd set out to create?

Either way, she wasn't going to be able to keep eating as if nothing was going on; the little bit she'd had felt like a lead anchor in her stomach. Laying down on the blanket, she propped herself on one arm and tried to at least pretend she was enjoying herself. “At least it's a pretty day.”

“Hmm?” Dylan swallowed the last of what she was pretty sure was his third brownie. How men could eat so much and not gain weight was a mystery. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing, really. Just commenting on the weather.”

He arched an eyebrow, looking down at her with feigned offense. “Wow. Has it really come to that, small talk about the weather?”

She bristled. “Hey, at least I'm trying to make conversation, not just stuffing my face.”

“Whoa, slow down. I was just teasing. And the last time I checked, eating was considered a socially acceptable activity for a picnic.” As if to emphasize his point, he grabbed a strawberry off her plate and plopped it into his mouth whole, his eyes daring her to say more.

“Sorry. You're right.” Which was seriously annoying. “I'm just a bit on edge, I guess.”

“Because of me?” He lowered himself down, propping his head on one hand in the mirror image of her position.

He was too close, so close she could smell the crisp scent of his soap, so close she could feel the whisper of his breath on her skin. Unable to speak, she shook her head, willing him to understand.

“Because of our audience?” His free hand brushed a strand of hair from her face, lingering at the nape of her neck.

She managed the barest of nods, unable to look away as he leaned in closer.

“Then let's make sure they get their money's worth.”

And then his lips were on hers, as gentle as the brush of butterfly wings. A chaste, strawberry-flavored kiss, one that hinted rather than demanded. A whimper of frustration slipped out—she wanted, no, she
needed
more. Tentatively, she brushed the seam of his lips with her tongue, and then he was kissing her for real, and she couldn't think of a single reason to stop him.

* * *

Dylan had only intended an innocent peck, something to cement their status in the minds of the public. He'd half expected Sam to push him away, or to roll her eyes in frustration. Instead, she'd deepened the kiss, teasing him with her tongue. But it had been her whimper that had broken him, and he'd taken her mouth the way he'd wanted to since their very first meeting in the woods. Never had a kiss felt so right, or his body reacted so quickly. Shifting his weight, he braced himself over her, changing the angle to better explore the sweetness of her mouth. Urging him on, she gripped his shoulders, pulling him more fully against her.

He was so intent on Sam he barely registered the shadow that suddenly blocked out the warm sun. But there was no ignoring the wet tongue on the back of his neck. “Toby! Get!” He reached up to push the beagle away, but Sam was already squirming out from underneath him. Sitting up, she smoothed her shirt and darted a glance toward their audience. He followed her gaze to where Mrs. Rosenberg was giving them a thumbs-up. So much for subtlety.

“I guess we impressed them.” That he could speak at all after such a rush of hormones and emotion was a credit.

“You shouldn't have done that,” she hissed under her breath, flashing the old ladies a tight smile. “We had an agreement. Nothing physical. Kissing wasn't part of the deal.”

“Whoa, slow down there. Don't pin this all on me. You kissed me right back. You wanted that every bit as much as I did. You're just too damn scared to admit it.”

“I'm not scared, I'm angry!”

“At me, or yourself?” She glared, and started packing up the food, shoving things into baskets with hard, jerking motions. He'd hit a nerve, even if she wouldn't admit it. “You can't keep pretending you don't have feelings for me just because you're afraid of being hurt.”

“Who says I'm pretending? Did it ever occur to you that I'm just honestly not interested in you that way?”

“That kiss says you are.”

“You can't make decisions based on a kiss. That's just lust talking.”

“No, it isn't.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yes, I'm attracted to you, but it's more than that. The truth is, I'm head over heels in love with you. Do you know what that means?”

“That you're delusional? That you've let your imagination run away with you, so that what was supposed to be a fake relationship somehow feels real?

“No. It means you have all the power here.”

Her hands stilled, the half-folded blanket hanging limp. At least now he had her attention.

“Don't you see that you're so afraid of being rejected that you're willing to walk away from something wonderful? If you do that, if you deny yourself the chance to see what this could be, you'll be the one doing the same thing you've been so angry with your father for.”