Here Comes the Groom (12 page)

“Damn you,” she said then kissed him without reservations.

“We need to talk about how this is going to work,” she managed when they broke apart.

“Later.” Tugging her into the house, he pushed open the door to his bedroom. “First I owe you a night.”

J
O GRABBED THE DOORJAMB.
“Dan, I'm not ready.”

“You'll never be ready.” Shifting his hold, he gently pried her hand free and turned on the light. “And the longer we leave this, the harder it will be for you.”

Anger threaded through her panic. “You asshole, I need you to be sensitive about this.”

He sat on the bed, holding her easily on his lap. “Tell me this,” he said, “if I had testicular cancer and lost one of my balls would it make a difference in your wanting me?”

“No, but this is different.”

“Why, because a breast is bigger? Okay, what if I'd lost an arm or a leg…. I'm trying to figure out, Jo, which missing body part would make me unlovable.”

She laughed, half in despair. “It's not about love, it's about desire. You've always been a breast man.” She'd postponed reconstructive surgery in favor of making the quickest recovery possible. At the time she hadn't seen sex in her immediate future, let alone falling for her best friend.

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “One will do.”

“I can't believe you're trying to make a joke out of this.” She scrambled off his lap. “You know this is difficult.”

“Yeah, but we're not going to make it tragic.” He held out his hand. “Nothing could stop you being the sexiest woman on the planet to me, Jo,” he said. “Nothing.”

Her heart was so high in her throat she could hardly breathe but she took his hand. He was right. Sooner or later they had to deal with this. Lightly, he drew her down beside him. “Show me.”

Jo hesitated, then, fingers trembling, she undid her shirt and shrugged it off. Reaching for the snap, her courage deserted her. It had taken her a long time to make peace with her lopsided chest, to look in the mirror without flinching. “I can't…please. At least let our first time be with the bra on.”

Instantly, she was engulfed in his comforting arms. “If that's you want.”

What she wanted was her breast back. Even if it didn't matter to Dan, it mattered to her.
Deal with it.

Feeling ugly, unsexy and sad, Jo tried to relax into Dan's embrace. She nestled against his body, hard with muscle. He was so beautiful, this man…perfect.

And though she was no longer perfect, she let the hot, insistent pressure of his mouth cloud her mind with lust until she could pretend they were back in her Auckland hotel room.

There was no doubt he wanted her, the denim straining over his erection proved that. His rippled abdomen tightened when she unzipped his jeans, slid her hand lower. His cock was hard, and hot and smooth.

He hauled her closer, his lower body trapping her hand, and began his own exploration, unzipping her trousers, caressing her through her panties. “How many months I've wanted to do this,” he rasped between long
slow kisses while Jo moved restlessly under his skillful fingers. Yes, she wanted this, wanted him. But she would set the ground rules.

Jo rolled free. “Take off your clothes.”

He chuckled. “If you do, too.”

They kicked off their pants together and she helped him remove his shirt, comfortable in her prosthesis bra. It was full cupped with a pocket for a silicon insert, complete with nipple. He would never know the difference even by touching—except perhaps by comparing the warmth to her real flesh?

Jo stalled.

Dan slid down the bed, gently pressing her knees apart, shocking her into paying attention. Was he…?

She gasped as he licked her inner thigh, then moved higher, sending her arching off the bed, all nerve endings and sensation. And, as with everything he did, he was so wickedly competent she climaxed within minutes.

Slowly, Dan kissed his way up her body. She opened her mouth to protest weakly and he cut her off, his tongue demanding and passionate.

She had to take charge of this while she still could. Threading her hands through his thick hair, Jo tugged to make him shift his weight. Rolling him onto his back, she straddled him, pressing his fingers to her remaining breast, needing his touch.

Because she was a breast person, too.

Instinctively his other hand went to the prosthesis cup and she intercepted it, lacing their fingers together and hiding her sadness under lowered lashes. Then she smiled, because his erection was hard and hot against her.

Delaying the moment, she slid against him, tormenting
them both. “Patience,” she teased and he growled. She kissed that fierce mouth, nipping his lower lip, before sitting back. His fingers tightened on her breast. Every time she became aware of the covering bra, Jo remembered she was disfigured. This time Dan saw her frustration.

“Take the bra off, Jo.”

“No.” It shouldn't matter to her and yet it did. Angry, she climbed off him.
He's not the one repulsed, you

are.
“Let's wait until I've had reconstructive surgery.” Months, that meant months of sexual frustration. Why was she punishing herself? Punishing them?

He was watching her carefully. “Okay.”

God, she hated sympathy. “Don't worry,” she snapped. “I can give you blow jobs in the meantime.”

He had her on her back so quickly she didn't have time to do more than give a startled yelp. “Yeah, because that's all this is about.”

“You should have accepted my offer in Auckland—” her voice broke “—when I was perfect.”

“I didn't love that Jo,” he said gently, “I love
this
one. And I don't care about perfect. I just care that you're here.” She pressed her palms against his chest, and he moved to let her sit up. Without giving herself time to think, Jo unfastened her bra and pulled it off. Fighting the urge to close her eyes, she watched as Dan's gaze went to her scar, a ten-centimeter line across where her left breast should have been.

Just over a year after surgery, it was still a welt of angry red, in and of itself nothing to shock the squeamish. It was the position that unsettled Jo. Instead of a curve there was flatness, no nipple. Beside it, the lush-
ness of her right breast only seemed to highlight the oddness, the sense of something missing.

Dan's chest expanded in a silent, careful breath and Jo died inside. Impossible not to notice his erection had subsided, not fully enough to make her feel…ugly. Rejected.

“I should have been there for you,” he said, his voice ragged.

She'd never thought that he might feel excluded. Jo pulled him close and buried her face in his neck. The muscles were corded, tense. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, pressing her lips against them. “Dan, I'm sorry. I did what I thought was best at the time.”

Grabbing her shoulders, he forced her back. “Don't you ever shut me out again, you hear me?” He was crying. She had never seen him cry.

Shocked, Jo shook her head.

“Promise me!”

“I promise.”

He dropped his hands. One cupped her right breast, the other traced the scar. The pad of his thumb moved gently over the puckered flesh.

Because tears rolled down his cheeks, Jo suffered the touch. But when he lowered his head to kiss her there she pushed him away. Dan caught her hands and laid his lips to her surgical scar. “Don't you know war wounds are a badge of pride?” he said gruffly. “Besides, this one's a baby.”

Of course, he'd seen worse. There was no shock. Still, she was horrified, watching him touch it. On a practical level she might have made peace with her physical
loss but not her loss of sensuality. What was a woman's femininity without her breasts?

“What do you feel when I do this?” he asked. Only traces of tears remained on his lean cheeks.

“I'm still numb.”
Inside and out.

“Will you feel more with reconstruction?”

“No.” Her throat hurt. “All the benefits are psychological.”

He stroked the scar again. “You know what
I
feel?”

“Horror?” She couldn't quite make that a joke. “Compassion?” Almost worse.

He spread his fingers wide over the scar, over her heart. “Gratitude. If it wasn't for this, you might not be here.”

“See,” she said, blinking hard. “You're being kind. But kind isn't sexy, is it?”

“You want sexy, Jo?” His voice grew husky, and she noticed he'd become hard again. Lifting her gaze to his, her stomach dropped. Naked, Dan rose from the bed and went to the closet, his movements strong and graceful. Tanned everywhere but his buttocks. He opened the wardrobe door wide and she saw a reflection of the bed, then her surprised face.

“God bless Mom's vanity,” he said. “Full-length mirrors everywhere.” He sat on the edge of the bed and positioned her between his legs so they were both facing the mirror. Jo stared at the scar cutting across the right side of her chest and her excitement dissipated. She focused on Dan instead.

His body was a warm wall behind her, his erection solid against the small of her back. Strong male legs, bracketed her smooth, pale ones; his shoulders and
biceps dwarfed hers. In comparison she looked fragile, pale and utterly feminine.

Except for that scar.

He trailed her neck with lazy nibbles and the woman in the mirror grew heavy-lidded. Her remaining breast with its peaked nipple lifted as she tangled her fingers in his tawny hair and tilted her head to give him better access.

Dan lifted his head; over her shoulder his eyes burned. She remembered that intent look from when he'd come to her house with the lillies…like she was prey and he was a hunter. Jo swallowed and gripped his iron-hard thighs.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath sending a shiver down her spine. “I knew you'd be beautiful naked.”

One callused hand cupped her pale breast, the thumb circling and sensitizing the pink nipple. The other moved delicately over the scar, fanning out to cover her heart. The contrast in sensations made her squirm.

“You like that?”

“What else you got?” she panted.

With a chuckle, Dan spread her legs with those strong hands.

“Oh,” Jo said weakly.

“Like you said up by the trough,” he teased, starting another conversation with his fingers, “I'm more than capable.” Minutes passed. In a darker tone, he said, “Feeling sexy yet?”

Jo watched herself writhe in the mirror. “That woman is a total slut,” she managed. With an effort of will, she turned in his arms and pushed him down on the
bed. “You're not going to have this all your own way, mister.”

Dan spread his arms wide in surrender. His voice was as smoky as his eyes. “Don't you know I'm all yours yet?”

Her vision blurred and she blinked. She wanted every second of this to be sharp and clear. She eased herself onto him.

For an infinite moment they paused like that, gazes locked, bodies joined. Outside a defiant warbler trilled a rising crescendo of notes…the sound like joy skipping and tripping over itself.

Then one of them moved, and every sound faded.

And Jo discovered some things could be perfect after all.

D
EEPLY ASLEEP, JO
rolled onto her side, taking the blankets with her. It wasn't the first time. Smiling, Dan tugged at the blankets until she rolled back with a murmured protest, settling against his chest like she belonged there.

It felt good. It felt right.

All his life Dan had resisted the passionate, lifelong kind of love because his parents made it look like hard labor. Maybe that's why he'd been blind to Jo as more than a friend. Still, his bride needed some serious training in sharing a bed. He figured fifty years should do it.

Cupping his hand over her hair, Dan steeled himself to consider the implications of her cancer. He still couldn't deal with the fact that she'd kept him out of her treatment, so he pushed it aside. Jo could still die. The thought didn't evoke any kind of visceral reaction. Why?

Because I don't believe it.

And it wasn't just because she lay soft and warm in his arms and he felt more optimistic than he had for the first time in months. Whether the cancer came back or not, Jo was a fighter. And to his last breath, Dan would fight alongside her.

“Your heartbeat has sped up,” Jo said softly. “It woke me up.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“What were you thinking about?”

She knew. He could tell by the way her body had tensed.

“That we've just given this memory foam mattress something to remember.”

He felt her smile against his heart. “I don't think that's how they work.”

“You're right, it probably takes a few times to imprint.” She gave a cry of surprise as he flipped her off him and rolled on top. “Better get onto that….”

 

T
HE PHONE RINGING DRAGGED
Dan to consciousness. For a moment he blinked in the late-morning light. What the hell was he doing in bed so late? Then he remembered.

Over the sound of the phone, he could hear the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. Smiling, he rolled over the indent from her body to reach for the phone. “Isn't life wonderful?” he greeted his caller.

“Dan…hi,” said his cousin's widow.

Pulling up the sheet, Dan swung his feet to the floor. “Claire.” He cursed himself for his insensitivity. “I've been meaning to phone and check on you and Lewis.”

“Hey, I can just as easily phone you.” Except she never did. “Anyway, I'm RSVPing to your wedding invitation.”

“Look, I understand if you don't want to come—”

“Don't be silly, we wouldn't miss it for the world.” Her tone rang too bright. “Steve and I always thought
you and Jo belonged together…but you guys could never see it.”

He scratched his head. “Why didn't you ever say anything?”

“Because you both would have run a mile.”

Dan chuckled. “It'll be good to see you,” he said gruffly.

“I'm looking forward to catching up with everyone.” She hesitated. “So who's the best man, Ross or Nate?”

The familiar band of grief tightened around Dan's chest. They both knew who it should have been. “Ross. Nate can't make it back.”

“You're kidding, right?”

Dan understood Claire's shock. A former foster kid, Nate had adopted his SAS brothers as his own. He was the one who organized social get-togethers and remembered birthdays. Hell, he even made them celebrate the anniversary of their first deployment as a troop. This year it had come and gone unmarked.

“I guess we just have to give him some time,” she said.

If time could really heal. Nate had been the last man standing, fighting alone to defend his wounded and dead comrades. Dan's jaw ached; he unclenched his teeth. He had no right to suffer like this—not compared to Nate or Ross, not compared to Claire and Lewis or Lee's bereaved family and fiancée, Julia.

“So I talked to Jules yesterday.” Claire seemed to read his mind. “She didn't know about the wedding.”

“Until yesterday I wasn't sure if Jo would have me.” He tried not to sound defensive. “Jules and Lee were
supposed to be getting married last month…would she even want an invitation?”

“She'd want to be asked. Even if she doesn't feel up to coming. And sometimes it can help being around other people who love and miss—” Her voice wobbled. “Hang on a second?”

Dan had been hungry when he'd woken up, ravenous after a night's lovemaking. Now his stomach knotted. Claire had once been his roommate; he'd introduced her and Steve. Yet he had to fight the urge to hang up on her because there was nothing he could do to take her pain away.
I should have been there.

“Sorry,” she said, coming back on the line. “False alarm. I thought someone was at the door.”

He didn't challenge the lie. “Is Lewis okay? Mom said you've been having a few problems.”

“We're working through it.”

“If there's anything you need—”

“You'll be the first person I call. Listen, I've gotta go. Give Jo my love and see you both soon.” The forced cheerfulness was back in her voice. Dan knew with a sinking feeling that when she hung up she'd cry.

“Claire, wait…. Come a few days early. It's duck-shooting season. I promised Lewis I'd take him out this year.” They'd both promised, he and Steve.

“He'd like that,” she said awkwardly. “Thanks, Dan.”

It's the least I can do.
He said goodbye, hung up and stared at the pile of clothes on the chair.

With a groan, he buried his face in his hands. “Dammit, I should have been there!”

He felt a touch on his bare shoulder. “Dan?”

Turning, he pulled Jo onto the bed, and kissed her like his life depended on it.

“Wow,” she said when they broke apart. She'd dressed in the jeans and sweater she'd worn yesterday, dark red hair, still damp from the shower, feathered her forehead. “If I didn't have a date with Nan, I'd demand an encore.” Though she was smiling, she searched his face. “Are you okay? I heard—”

“That was Claire.” Dan rolled to his feet, then pulled Jo up. “She and Lewis can make the wedding.” Naked, he padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Jo followed. “What wedding?”

“Very funny. You. Me. Twelve days' time…ring any wedding bells?” He adjusted the water temperature. “Ouch, maybe we should both lay off the morning jokes.”

Stepping into the shower, he lifted his face to the spray.

Jo reached in and turned off the water. “You said you'd cancel.”

Baffled, Dan reached for a towel, wiped his face dry, then draped it around his waist and got out. “Didn't we clear this up last night? I love you, you love me. We're back in business.”

“You talked me into a relationship, Dan, not marriage.”

He stared at her. “We agreed you wouldn't shut me out again.”

“And I'm not. If I'm cancer-free in another two years, if my fertility's unaffected and if you're still in love with me—” she smiled at him “—then we'll definitely talk about it.”

She turned on the shower again. Dan turned it off. “And if there's a recurrence or your fertility has been compromised, then what? You'll cut me loose?”

“I don't know what I'll do,” she said candidly. “I only know I love you too much to let you burn any bridges now.”

Her admission of love eased him. “Idiot.” On a wave of tenderness Dan lifted her into a bear hug, the wool of her sweater soft against his wet chest. “What kind of man would I be to wait until you can offer me some kind of guarantee?”

Her arms went around his neck in a mock strangle-hold. “What kind of woman would I be if I dragged you along on the scariest part of the ride?”

He gave her a little shake. “Trust us…trust
me.
”

She shook her head. “It's not a question of trust—”

“You love me but you're not going to rely on me?” Dan put her down and folded his arms. “It sure as hell feels like a trust issue to me.”

Jo glared back at him. “It's plain common sense.”

“Postponing our lives out of lack of courage isn't how either of us has lived and we're not starting now. The wedding stands.”

Her jaw set. “Call me later—when you can talk sense about this.”

“Talking solves nothing, only action.” Calmly, he went back in the shower, turned it on. “We're getting married.”

Jo said nothing, but shoved the dial to cold.

“Temper, temper.” Reaching for the soap, Dan began washing.

“If you won't protect yourself, I will.” Through the
shower curtain he watched her leave, her exasperated flounce accentuating the swing of her hips.

The water was still cold. Slowly he turned it back to hot, feeling the sting of it on his chilled skin. But the heat didn't penetrate deeply.

He should have been there when she faced surgery and Nan's health started failing.

And he wasn't.

Dan had to get her to the altar because he couldn't let that happen again.

 

J
O DROVE TO
P
INEHILL
high on love and simultaneously itching to wring the object of her affection's neck.

Dan was going to be stubborn about this. He'd had what she called his Terminator face on—calm but lethally focused. Last night she'd thought they'd reached an understanding. If she could go back to the moment by her car, that fatal hesitation, then…

Honesty compelled her to admit she wouldn't have done it any differently. It was damned inconvenient and the worst timing ever but she loved Dan and all she could do now was try to minimize the damage. Maybe she couldn't safeguard her own future, but she could safeguard his.

Reaching for her cell, she rang Anton at the bar but he only repeated what he'd told her the first time she tried to cancel the reception. “My contract's with Dan, Jo, not you. He said if it's not a wedding, it's a wake… Incidentally he rang a few minutes ago with a message.”

Of course Dan knew she'd do this. “What is it?”

“He loves you.”

Damn him, damn him, damn him. “Thanks, Anton.”

Next she phoned Father O'Malley, who'd known them both since childhood. He listened with characteristic sympathy. “Obviously I've made it very clear that I won't perform the service if you're unwilling but he said he'd take that risk. You know Dan.”

Oh, yes, she knew Dan.

“He left a message for you.”

“I know,” Jo said grimly. “He loves me.”

“No, keep dinner free. He wants to take you dancing…good at it, apparently.”

She hung up and tossed the cell onto the passenger seat. Why couldn't Dan understand her need to protect him? Getting married required the kind of faith she'd lost when she'd woken up without a breast. When her odds of survival improved, when she'd got better at living with the possibility of recurrence,
then
they could discuss commitment.

At Pinehill, she found Nan in the dining room clearing breakfast plates to vociferous complaints from those residents still eating. “It's past eight,” Rosemary protested. “We need to get crops planted to feed our brave boys.”

She was obviously back in her WWII land girl years.

“Very true, Rosemary,” said the nurse. “But rest your arm first. You need to be fighting fit, too.”

“Yes, I'd better sit down a minute. Perhaps you'd like to take over.” She caught sight of Jo, who waited patiently while she shifted gears. “Jocelyn, you're not a land girl.”

“No, love. I'm here to take you to the garden center.” Nan wasn't the only resident bemoaning the lack of a vegetable garden, and yesterday Jo had offered to buy plants for a small strip of bare earth outside the kitchen window.

“I don't know…” Nan was obviously torn. “I'm needed here.”

The nurse returning plates to the diners said amiably, “We'll manage for an hour and you'll find the best deals.”

“That's true.” All business, Nan turned back to Jo. “Where's my purse?” They went to Nan's room and collected it, along with her coat. “Do you know,” she confided on the way to the car, “what the secret is to setting jam?”

“No, tell me.”

“Methylated spirit.” Nan chuckled.

“You're kidding!”

“The pips are full of pectin. If you soak them overnight you can use the water next day as a setting agent.” Nan burbled on and Jo devoted herself to showing her grandmother a good time, buying twice the number of plants they needed once they reached the nursery.

An hour later, she'd settled Nan in the car and was loading plants into the trunk when a middle-aged blonde came out of the hairdressers' opposite and hailed her. For a moment Jo didn't recognize her.

“Pat?”

“Yes, it's me.” Dan's mother crossed the parking lot, flicking her platinum bob out of her eyes. “I've just had it colored.” She struck a pose. “What do you think?”

“Very chic,” Jo reassured her.

“I talked to Dan this morning, he mentioned you stayed over last night.”

Jo had a sudden vivid recollection of how they'd employed Pat's old mirror and blushed. The older woman eyed the color in her cheeks. “Does this mean you've changed your mind about marrying him?”

“No, it's too soon to be thinking about commitment.”

“I'm glad,” said Pat, then added hastily, “only because we can't be sure whether grief is still influencing his actions.”

Jo remembered his anguish after Claire's phone call—
I should have been there
—and the desperation in his kiss. Feeling sick, she looked at Pat. “Maybe it's also influencing his feelings for me?”

“No.” Pat shook her head. “Dan is like his father, a one-woman man.” Jo couldn't hide her relief or her surprise, and Pat smiled. “There are worse things than having you as a daughter-in-law.” She sounded wistful.