Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) (22 page)

"Is that why?" He couldn't take his gaze off her, couldn't stop from sliding his hand over the soft flesh of her bare shoulder as she straightened up, so close to him that he could have kissed her without even bending over.

"Maybe." She slid her arm around his waist. "Put your arm around me."

"It's about time you gave me that order," he grunted as he locked his arm around her shoulders, tucking her up against him. Her body fit perfectly, and he had a sudden, beautiful memory of exactly how well they fit together.

Then the starting bell went off. They took one step, and immediately went down in a pile of tangled limbs. Instantly, all thoughts of sex were swallowed up by the sight of Emma laughing so hard that she had to hold her sides.

He was riveted by the sheer joy shining on her face. He'd never seen her so happy, so relaxed, so
beautiful.

"Come on," she laughed, as she tugged at his arm. "Get up, you big oaf."

He became aware of people hooting their names, urging them to keep going. He surged to his feet, making sure to take his weight on his good leg, and then pulled Emma up. A gray-haired couple who were in their seventies was already ten feet ahead. "Come on, babe, we're not getting beaten by them." He locked her against him, took a step, and they both face-planted back into the grass again.

Laughter roared around them, and Emma was cracking up. This time, even he had to laugh as he tried to untangle himself from his wife. As it turned out, the mere act of standing up when one of his legs was firmly attached to Emma's wasn't that easy.

"You have to time your steps with mine," she ordered him, still laughing as they fought to stand up again. "We'll never have a successful marriage if you don't learn to notice me."

Enduring a chorus of friendly jeers from the crowd, Harlan and Emma managed to right themselves this time. Even Harlan was chuckling as Emma held up her fingers. "On three," she said, "take a step with your right leg! One, two, three!"

This time, he followed her orders, and they hobbled along after the others, gaining speed, catching up to the old couple. They were almost there, almost in the lead. Yeah, they were going to win!

"Slow down," Emma shouted, pinching his waist. "I can't keep up—"

Harlan slowed instantly, too fast, and then they were down again, in a tangled heap on the grass as the gray-haired speedsters shot across the finish line to resounding applause. Emma was giggling as Harlan flopped beside her, propping himself up on his elbow. Her hair was spread over the grass, the smile on her face riveting as she laughed. He realized he was laughing as hard as she was.

Shit. Who the hell knew that being married was so much damned fun?

"So, why the rush?" Eppie asked, as they were sitting around one of the tables an hour later. The band had started, the dance floor was open, and the Christmas lights had been turned on so they cast a cheerful light on the sheets of plywood that Link had donated from his hardware store for the dance floor.

Emma was sitting in one of the end chairs leaning against Harlan, and the table was full. Astrid and Jason, Griffin and Clare, plus Astrid's stepfather, who everyone was pretty sure was having a fling with Eppie, and some of the others from the town.

"What rush?" Emma said as she yawned. It had been an amazing evening. She'd always loved the opening night of the festival, but it was a completely different experience enjoying it with Harlan. It was amazing to have someone to laugh with, to partner with, and to root for. Someone who was there only for her. She knew that the night had been a gift she would remember for a long time.

"On the marriage. You could have waited until at least daybreak." Eppie raised her brows. "You aren't going to convince me it was for the sex, because the morals at this table don't ride that high."

Emma grinned, too tired to be horrified by Eppie's sex comments, or the fact the rest of the table had gone quiet to hear her answer. "Mattie," she said sleepily, sagging wearily into Harlan's side as he put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Mattie Williams."

"Mattie? Who's Mattie?" Eppie asked, raising her voice to be heard over the music, while Clare smiled knowingly.

Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She flipped to a picture of Mattie, the one that showed her with her beautiful brown skin, pink ribbons on her braids, and her big smile. "I teach her. She lost her parents, and I want to adopt her—"

"
We
," Harlan interrupted. "We want to adopt her." He took the phone from Emma and looked at it. His brow furrowed, and his face grew serious as he studied it.

Emma realized that she'd never shown him a picture of Mattie before. Suddenly, uncertainty rippled through her. What would he think of her? Would he change his mind? Would he—

Then a smile softened his face, a genuine smile, and he brushed his index finger over the screen of her phone. "Mattie Williams," he said softly. "She needs a family."

Emma's heart tightened as he handed the phone to Eppie, grinning as he answered the sudden barrage of questions about this little girl. As he talked about Mattie, repeating the things she'd told him, he leaned forward. His voice was urgent, and he was making eye contact with everyone. Emma realized that he cared about this little girl he'd never met, and he was making sure that everyone knew it. She could see his genuine concern in every line of his body, in the tone of his voice, in the way his gaze kept flipping to the picture still on her phone.

Tears filled her eyes, and she bit her lip as true understanding filled her.

She wasn't alone anymore.

Harlan was her partner in this, and he would see it through to the end. She looked across the table and saw Astrid watching her. Quickly, she wiped away the tears, but it was too late. Silently, Astrid handed her a tissue. "Harlan," she said. "I think Emma needs to dance."

Harlan glanced down at her, then his arm tightened around her shoulder. "Dance with me?" he whispered. Without waiting for an answer, he stood up, took her hand, and led her onto the dance floor.

The music wasn't slow, but he took her right into his arms, pulling her close as he moved them across the floor. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face in his chest, trying to regain her composure.

"Em?" Harlan's whisper tickled her neck. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she muttered into his chest.

"Emma." He lightly bit the side of her neck, tickling her. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine."

He feathered a kiss over her earlobe, making her shiver. "I know that we don't have a real marriage," he said quietly, "but I thought that the one thing we had was honesty. You're not fine. Talk to me."

She couldn't help the small smile as she finally lifted her face to look at him. "Aren't husbands supposed to be insensitive boors who never notice when their wives are upset?"

He grinned. "I think I made it pretty clear I wasn't going to be a good husband." He flattened his hand on her lower back and pulled her closer, until her breasts were flat against his chest. "So, talk to me, wench."

She laughed then. "I wasn't upset. I was actually happy. I—" She hesitated. "You seemed to really care what happens to Mattie, and..." She shrugged apologetically. "I'm a girl. I get weepy at things like that."

Harlan spun her around in time to the music. "Of course I care. I told you that."

"I know, but I could see it." She touched his face. "You're a good man, Harlan."

Something flickered in his eyes, something dark that seemed to take the lightness out of his expression. "No, Emma, I'm not. Don't let today fool you. I can play the game very well, just like my father could."

The ominous tone in his voice was like a cold wind on the back of her neck, and suddenly she didn't want to have that conversation. Not tonight. Tonight had been too perfect. She wanted to pretend right now that this night was going to last forever. "You look like you're mad at me," she managed to tease. "I think you better kiss me or people are going to think we're heading for divorce already."

Harlan didn't look away from her, but his eyes seemed to gleam with sudden heat. "I don't think I should kiss you," he said.

She couldn't fight the stab of disappointment. "Why not?"

His grip tightened on her. "Because I've spent all day kissing you and holding you. The night's almost over. It's dark. We're going to be home in a few minutes where your bed is. If I kiss you now, I'm going to unleash something that isn't going to stop when we get home."

Her heart started to pound, and excitement leapt through her. "Then you shouldn't kiss me," she said.

"I know." But his hand slid up her spine, a slow, decadent caress that seemed to curl right into her belly. His fingers cupped the back of her neck in that little move she was beginning to recognize as his trademark when he wanted to really kiss her. "But I think I'm going to do it anyway."

She swallowed. "Okay," she whispered.

"Okay?" He bent his head until his mouth was hovering over hers, like a great promise.

Her throat too tight to speak, she could manage only a nod, but that was apparently enough. His lips closed on hers instantly, a kiss of ownership, a kiss that was pure seduction and desperate need, the explosion of tension that had been building for hours.

She clung to him, kissing him back, losing herself in the very essence of who he was, in the strength of his body, the scent of soap and man, and the taste of his kisses. She knew him, this man, his kisses, his touch, and he seemed to ignite a fire within her.

There was no fear lurking within her, no anxiety, and no worry, just an unreserved need for Harlan and for what he gave her. The kiss grew more intense, more dangerous, more—

"Okay," Griffin's hands came down on both their shoulders. "I think you two are excused for the night."

Harlan broke the kiss, but didn't release his grip on Emma. He simply grinned at Griffin, the highly satisfied gleam of a man who liked what he had in his arms. "Yeah, I think you're right. Emma? You ready?"

She knew she should be embarrassed to leave early after such a searing kiss, but she didn't care. To the world, they were newly married, so what else would they want to do but be alone? "Let me just grab my purse."

She hurried over to the table, which was empty now. There were lots of summer folk still roaming around, but most people were on the dance floor. Her purse was on the floor by her chair, and she bent down to pick it up. As her fingers closed around it, a polished dress shoe appeared next to her foot, and a hand settled on her shoulder. "Emma?"

She went ice cold at the familiar voice, and her breath seemed to clog in her throat. She couldn't move. Couldn't stand. Couldn't tear her gaze away from the white wingtip next to her sandal.

"Emma? Did you hear me?" The hand tightened on her shoulder, and Emma stumbled to her feet, twisting out of his reach as she stood.

His hand fell from her shoulder, but there he was, as glitteringly handsome as he always was. The man she'd given her heart to. Preston Edward Jones, the third. Her ex-husband of barely one month.

Emma's throat went dry and her heart was hammering so hard it was like a drum thundering in her head. Instinctively, she took a step back. Her foot caught on a chair rung and she tripped.

Preston reached out to catch her—

"No," she hissed, twisting out of his reach again, only to wrench her ankle violently, where it was still caught on the chair. She yelped in pain and sat down hard on the floor, grabbing her ankle.

Preston crouched in front of her, his eyes gleaming as they roamed over her. "I thought I might see you here," he said.

Emma felt exposed and raw with him staring at her like that. Pain was spiraling through her leg, and she pressed her palm to her injury, biting back a sob. "You don't belong here," she snapped. "Go back to Florida." She glanced toward Harlan, and was horrified to discover that the table was blocking her view of the dance floor. She couldn't see Harlan, and he wouldn't be able to see her. With both her and Preston on the floor, no one would see they were there.

Frantic, she grabbed the chair seat to pull herself up, but Preston blocked her hand, leaning in closer. "We need to talk."

"What is wrong with you? We're divorced. It's over. You can go be with all your other women—"

"I don't want them." He leaned closer. "See, here's the thing, Emma. Once I lost you, I realized that it had all been a mistake. I want you back. I want to marry you and give you all the things I didn't give you before."

She closed her eyes against the promise that she'd heard so many times. Each time she'd tried to leave him, he'd talked her into giving it another try by promising the things she craved so deeply in her heart. Promises that she had believed every time because she'd wanted so desperately to believe someone could love her like that, to matter. "Stop it," she hissed. "Just stop it."

"No, I won't stop it. I love you." His hands were on either side of her hips now, crowding her. "I won't give up. I made a mistake when I let you go, and I won't stop until I fix it."

She stared at him, into those blue eyes that had once made her believe in love, the ones that had once made her believe in fairytales and prince charming. Those same blue eyes that had once made her heart heal. Those same blue eyes that she had trusted so completely.

God, she was such an idiot. Even now, when she knew what a bastard he was, a little part of her still responded to him, wishing that he meant what he said, that there really was a chance for her to be treasured the way she so desperately craved. As she tried to shield herself against her stupid yearnings for his words to be true, for the first time in her life, true hopelessness spiraled through her, a realization that she simply could not,
ever
, trust her judgment when it came to men, not if she was actually sitting there, her instincts searching for a chance that he might actually mean it this time. "Get away from me."