Runaway Vegas Bride (13 page)

Jane glared at Gladdy for a moment. She’d still been thinking of time and how she didn’t waste it, and here was Gladdy quizzing her about her love life. It just seemed wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. To talk like this with Leo soon to take his last breath and not fifty feet away.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s what Leo wanted,” Gladdy claimed.

“What Leo wanted?”

“You and Wyatt. He was so happy about it.”

“How could Leo be happy about it? I thought Leo Gray was insane. I nearly assaulted the man at the retirement park—”

“Oh, he didn’t mind that. He said Wyatt needed a woman with fire and spirit inside her.”

Jane blinked to clear her vision, thinking she must not have understood. “Leo Gray wanted me to get together with Wyatt?”

“Of course. So you have nothing to feel guilty about. Or…I mean, I’m hoping you did something, but you don’t have to feel guilty about it. Now tell me. Right now. We don’t know how much time Kathleen and I have to look out for you, Jane. None of us ever really knows. You have to let us help you now while we can.”

And then Jane just wanted to cry.

She’d been thinking the very same thing since she had heard about Leo and saw how devastated Wyatt was at the idea of losing him, how shocking it was to him. She felt the exact same way about Gram and Gladdy. She simply could not imagine being without them.

“Tell me,” Gladdy prompted. “Tell me the good stuff. I need to hear good things today.”

So Jane told her. “Yes, he liked the nightgown, although you could have bought him some pajamas. I mean, that was a pretty obvious omission.”

“I’m too old to be subtle. Tell me.”

“We…we spent the night together—”

“Jane, please. No subtleties, remember. You made love to that gorgeous man?”

“Yes. He was so sad, and I just…couldn’t stand the idea of him being so sad or so alone, so lost, and…I wanted to take care of him. I had to. Have you ever wanted to take care of a man, Gladdy? Felt like you couldn’t stand the idea of him being in pain or alone, and that you’d do anything you could to stop him from feeling like that?”

A huge smile spread across Gladdy’s face. “Oh, Jane, darling!”

“What?”

“You love him,” she whispered.

“No!” Jane insisted. “I didn’t say anything about love. I don’t want to love any man, and he certainly doesn’t want a woman to love him. Not on anything other than a temporary basis. I mean, this is Leo Gray’s nephew we’re talking about. I bet he’s had as many women chasing after him as Leo, and he always will. No sane woman could love a man like that! She’d just be begging to get hurt. I know that.”

Gladdy shook her head. “Forget that. Tell me more about wanting to take care of him.”

“I just…I had to. Given the situation and…” Jane frowned. A little uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that had been there most of the night was steadily getting worse.

“Jane, have you ever wanted to take care of a man before?”

“Well…no,” she admitted.

“And I’m betting you’ve never made love to a man because you were worried about him or in an effort to take care of him?”

“Of course not.”

Gladdy just smiled and patted Jane’s hand. “So, how was it, dear?”

Jane’s cheeks positively burned. Sex, to her, more than anything else, had been an awkward thing, a this-is-what-the-big-fuss-is-about kind of thing. She always felt as if she tried so hard, as if it was work, almost, to try to have what other people claimed to have in bed, and should it really be work-like? In the end—what she’d had—certainly hadn’t been anything to write home about, nothing to make her blush so furiously, until now.

Wyatt on the plane had been a revelation, a stunner, an absolute delight, and she’d been nervous about how things would actually go, alone in a bedroom with him. About whether the awkwardness that had always plagued her would return or whether she might disappoint him in any way. Although honestly, when they’d stepped off that plane, she’d been ready and eager to do anything he wanted and to let him do anything he wanted to her.

But what it had been, later, after they found out about Leo, was just…

She couldn’t really say what it had been, didn’t know exactly how, but it had changed things. Maybe everything. It was nothing about finesse or performance or awkwardness or anything sex had ever been for her before.

She simply had to have him in her arms, inside her, holding nothing back, giving him everything she had to give, him as vulnerable as he could be and her feeling just as vulnerable, but unable to put up the barest hint of defenses against him, against what she was feeling.

Jane had cried softly in his arms afterward, and felt as if there was no place else in the world she’d ever been that was as important as being with him last night.

What in the world did that mean?

She had no idea.

“Wow,” Gladdy said. “That good?”

The next twenty-four hours were a blur to Wyatt. He’d prepared himself to sign the release for the hospital to discontinue Leo’s life support, but Jane’s grandmother stepped in, insisting gently that she, as his wife, be allowed to do it, to spare him, he was sure. The doctors were fine with that, as long as they were all in agreement about what had to be done, and Wyatt surprised himself by letting her sign.

She and Gladdy stood on either side of Wyatt by Leo’s bedside as he slipped away quietly and peacefully, and then the Carlton women set to work once more, arranging to have the body flown home with the four of them the next day, arranging for the funeral home in Maryland to be ready to meet their plane when it landed. Jane even called all the ex-wives and listened as one by one, they fell apart and proclaimed their undying devotion and love for Leo.

Soon, Wyatt was back on a plane, this time heading home, Jane once again by his side, her grandmother and Gladdy in the row of seats in front of them. He looked down at the armrest between him and Jane, his arm stretched out along it, Jane’s small, soft hand resting in his. There’d hardly been a moment since they’d first heard about Leo that he hadn’t had Jane’s hand tucked into his.

It was a connection that completely baffled him.

Just a hand, just a touch that meant she was by his side, often not saying anything at all, just being there and taking care of things, so he didn’t have to.

And both nights they’d been in Vegas, she’d slept in his bed, in his arms. He’d held her. He’d kissed her. He’d made love to her in an act that spoke more of desperation and need than any he’d ever committed before. He simply hadn’t been able to help himself or do any better by her, for her. And what had she done? Opened up her arms and welcomed him into her body, as accepting and kind as a woman could be.

Wyatt was baffled by the whole thing.

All he knew was that he was glad she was there, with him, still holding his hand. That it felt as if she understood, that she hurt when he hurt, and that she cared, that she wouldn’t leave him.

But all women left, in the end. No one ever really stayed. Wyatt learned that young. His mother walked out on him and his father when he was six, and his father had remarried not long afterward, to a woman who hadn’t really wanted Wyatt around all that much. So he’d gone to live with Leo, but even Leo had left now.

Jane would leave, too.

They were headed back to their real lives. They would
put Leo in the ground, and life would go on. This whole thing, this trip, this time out of time, wasn’t real. Wyatt knew that. This thing between him and Jane, unsettling as it was, wasn’t real.

She didn’t believe a man and woman could build a life together that lasted any more than Wyatt did. It had been one of the first things he’d enjoyed about her—that she understood, that they were in absolute agreement on that point.

And here he was, her hand in his, thinking of how different things had been just forty-eight hours ago, the two of them on another plane, him thinking of nothing else but what he planned to do with her once he got her alone in a bed.

Life was so strange sometimes, he thought.

They’d never gotten that time together, not the way he’d wanted it. He’d wanted to dazzle her, shock her, push her to the very limits she’d allow, and then…of course, eventually, it would all turn out to be like any other relationship he’d ever had. He’d leave her or she’d leave him. That was what was supposed to happen.

Not all this baffling loss and sad, needy sex and him feeling as if she simply belonged here, holding his hand. It was wrong. All wrong. And he had to get things back to the way they were supposed to be, to the life he’d always lived. Normal life, just with Leo gone.

He looked down at Jane, in another of those pretty, flirty, silk-print dresses her relatives had provided for her, that stopped halfway up her thigh and showed off her neck and just a hint of her pretty breasts.

“Nice dress,” he said.

“You know who to thank for that.”

She smiled, sweetly and sadly at the same time, but he
couldn’t have any of that. No more sad. No more her taking care of him. It had to end. Then she put her hand on the side of his face, pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him, more sweetness and sadness and need there.

How could that be such a potent combination?

Need?

He’d needed women before. Dozens of them. But never like this. He felt that choking sensation again.
Dammit
. When was that going to go away?

Jane shifted in her seat, turning her back to him, then almost to face him. She pushed the armrest between them out of the way, and wrapped her arms around him, snuggling against his chest like a woman with a perfect right to be there. Jane, warm and soft and nearly in the same position she’d slept in the night before, practically on top of him.

He’d stayed awake long into the night, despite being exhausted, and had held her, had stroked a hand through her hair, down her back, across that delicious curve of her hips. He had constantly reassured himself that she was there and loved the sensation of all that bare skin of hers beneath his hands.

“Wyatt?” she whispered, her head tucked beneath his chin. “Let it go.”

“Let what go?”

“Everything that’s running through your head. Just let it go. Let it be. You don’t have to figure anything out right now. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

How did she know, he wondered? It was as if she saw inside him. Saw everything? How had that happened? How could he stop it? How could he shove back down all these feelings?

And then she kissed him again.

There was no heat to it, no fire.

Her kiss said,
I’m sorry. I’m here. Let me make it better now.

W
yatt wanted the funeral over with, so they’d scheduled it for one o’clock, the day after they got back from Vegas. They’d left his car at the airport, and Wyatt had driven Kathleen and Gladdy back to Remington Park, then found himself alone with Jane, who’d simply turned to him and asked, “My place or yours?”

He’d hesitated just a beat, then said, “Mine.”

That was it. She’d come home with him, been naked in his bed, warm and willing once again, and been up long before him the next morning. He found her wearing what had to be another dress supplied by Kathleen and Gladdy, hair up, pen and pad of paper in hand, looking efficient and hardworking as could be.

Except, she was in his apartment, having made herself at home at least enough to make a pot of coffee and have what looked like the remains of an English muffin and
peanut butter. Probably hadn’t been much to choose from here, Wyatt knew, thinking it didn’t sound half-bad.

He had coffee, put a muffin in the toaster for himself and found the peanut butter. He ate standing in the kitchen, looking at her legs as she finished her phone call, came to kiss him good-morning and tell him she needed to go by her apartment before the funeral to put on her black suit.

Wyatt frowned.

Had he missed something? Was this her taking care of him some more, or had there been some agreement he’d completely forgotten about on her moving in here?

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he claimed.

“I checked with the funeral home. Everything’s in order. Still no word from your father—”

“I really didn’t expect him to make it, Jane.”

“Okay. All four ex-wives are coming.”

“Great.” Wyatt could just imagine fights breaking out over the seating arrangements among the wives.

“I wouldn’t normally mention anything to do with the will right now, but Lucy’s afraid you might get questions about it at the service. Apparently, some of the exes are quite anxious about…I guess, Leo had been very generous to them and some of their children over the years—”

Wyatt shook his head and laughed. “Yes, he was a very generous man. I’m sure they’re all hoping for the same in his will. Honestly, I can’t remember exactly what he did in his most recent will, even though I drew it up for him. He changed it a lot.”

“Well, I thought I should warn you, that you might want to dodge them today.”

“I have a feeling they will not be delayed on any ques
tions about money. God, they want everything they can get from him, right to the end.”

“I could do my best to run interference, once I figure out who’s who,” she offered.

“You’re going to protect me from the money-grubbing ex-wives?” He loved that she wanted to try, but she looked like a pixie next to most adult women.

She frowned. “I can do it. I’m not afraid of anybody. Plus, they take one look at me and expect me to be a pushover, so I have the advantage going in. I’m much tougher than I look.”

He wanted to come right back with,
Jane, women do not protect me
. But clearly, she thought she needed to, and it was kind of sweet, once he’d gotten used to the idea and as long as it was temporary. Say, until they got Leo in the ground, he supposed.

And since Jane’s particular brand of comfort included her sweet, generous, willing body in his bed, was he really going to object? Even if the whole Jane-moving-in feeling left him…uneasy. Grateful, at the moment, but uneasy.

“Okay, tough girl,” he said. “Let’s see what you can do against the four of them.”

He drove her to her townhouse, not surprised to find it neat, efficient, comfortable and without a single thing out of place. This was definitely Jane.

“A great investment,” she told him, as they walked in the door.

“I never doubted it for a second,” he said, standing in the living room, looking around while she got dressed in the back bedroom.

The walls were a cheery yellow, the old, hardwood floors gleaming, a brick fireplace dominating the room.
And the whole place smelled like her. He wished he could just stay here all day instead of having to face the funeral.

Jane returned a few minutes later in one of her signature power suits, this time in black, but with what he thought might be another camisole underneath it instead of the usual prim, white blouse. This one was a silky-looking, light grayish-blue thing that left her throat and a bit of her chest bare.

“Stepping out of your comfort zone once again?” he teased, because teasing her sounded like a good idea, like a good thing to help him get through the day.

She was so cute when she was being teased, particularly about her clothing. “I just thought, maybe I’ve been in a rut lately. You don’t think it’s inappropriate, do you?”

“Not at all. In fact, women have always looked their best for Leo. I’m thinking we’re in for something akin to a fashion show in funeral apparel.”

“Really? Maybe I should change.”

“No. Trust me. This is perfect.”

He’d gotten to her side by then, seen that it was indeed a silk camisole, slipped the jacket off one shoulder and seen the tiny little straps that held the camisole up and all that delicious skin of hers underneath. With the jacket on, she looked perfectly professional and even somewhat modest. Perfect for Jane. But underneath was all that skin, and he’d be the only one who knew.

They drove to Remington Park to pick up Kathleen and Gladdy, who were waiting at the curb for them as they arrived.

“Look at them,” Jane said. “They look like they’ve been at the salon all morning. Their hair just so, their best jewelry on, great shoes. Are those gloves? Wyatt, they’re
wearing gloves. I’m feeling intimidated by the fashion choices of two eighty-something-year-olds.”

“You come from a family of good-looking women, Jane. You’re going to be gorgeous when you’re eighty.”

He got out of the car, kissed each of them on the cheek, telling them they looked fabulous and that Leo definitely would have approved. They beamed up at him as he helped them into the car, then, almost in unison, pulled out white lace hankies and dabbed delicately at the corners of their eyes, the perfect vision of class, high fashion and bereavement.

They arrived at the funeral home to find a mob scene, though they were there a full forty-five minutes early. The funeral director met them at the door. Kathleen stepped up and identified herself as the widow, obviously expecting the great respect due to her, even if she and Leo had only been married for a few hours.

Wyatt wondered how that would go over with the four ex-wives.

The director apologized for the lack of space to accommodate the crowd and promised his staff was opening another room and setting up more chairs as they spoke.

“It appears your husband was an extremely well-known and well-loved man, Mrs. Gray,” the director told Gram.

“Oh, he was,” she said, she and Gladdy clinging to each other, hankies out and at the ready.

Inside, they walked past a large room overflowing with women, just as Wyatt expected. He saw more of the gloves that had so surprised Jane, more white hankies, a few hats here and there, and an abundance of jewelry, especially diamonds.

Jane stopped in her tracks. “There must be five hundred women in there.”

“You expected less?” Wyatt asked.

“And you’re right. It looks like a funeral-wear fashion show. Like somebody put out a casting call for over-fifty models. I didn’t know there were this many gorgeous women of a certain age in this city.”

“The Gray men have always been blessed with a gift for finding attractive women,” he said.

Speaking of which, he thought he saw more than one ex-girlfriend of his own in the crowd. Just what he needed today. He eased closer to Jane and put a proprietary hand low on her waist, just a touch above her bottom. She all but melted under his touch, easing into his side as if she belonged there. It just felt so good to have her close.

“Look out. Money-grubbing ex-wives ahead,” he said, seeing two of them, maybe even three. It had been a long time since he’d seen Number Three and wasn’t absolutely sure he’d recognize her anymore.

“Which ones?” she began, then stopped once again at the sight of them, sitting prominently in the front row in the little room reserved for immediate family. “Fur? They’re wearing fur? In May?”

“Fashion faux pas?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It just seems a bit much.”

Both women got up and approached him, each trying to edge out the other to be the first to reach Wyatt.

He was amused to see that Jane took her protective duties seriously. She planted herself firmly in their path, sticking out a hand and introducing herself, then asking if they’d met Leo’s widow.

Faces fell at the word
widow
, concerned looks came out, and both women stood a little straighter, shoulders back, chests out, as if they were getting ready for inspection or
as if there might soon be an all-out battle for the former affections of Leo Gray.

Kathleen bore their scrutiny with good grace and a hint of steeliness Wyatt couldn’t help but admire, launching into an account of her love and devotion to the man.

“Good move, Jane,” Wyatt said admiringly, as she came back to his side and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“That should stall them for a while. Gram and Gladdy can hold their own against anyone, particularly in things concerning a man.”

Another ex-wife walked into the room, obviously recognizing Wyatt and making a beeline for him.

“Number Three,” Wyatt warned. “She looks like she might step right over you, if you try to get in her way, Jane. Number Three always was kind of mean.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jane said, taking Wyatt by the arm and leading him away.

He went willingly, following her down the hall and through a door marked Private that turned out to be a walk-in closet with cleaning supplies and paper products. Jane shut the door behind them, plunging the small, windowless space in total darkness. Wyatt felt her reach for him, her hand landing on his arm, then his chest.

His arms closed around her, fitting her body to his, tucking the back of her head against his shoulder, his other hand wandering down until it rested low on her waist. “Distract me, Jane,” he whispered, nuzzling her delicious neck.

“In a funeral home?”

“You could do it,” he told her, pressing her up against the wall, telling himself he could kiss her here, just for a
minute or two. “Leo wouldn’t mind a bit. And I don’t see any reason to go back out there just yet.”

He endured the funeral, mostly by thinking of those few stolen moments in the closet with Jane, kissing her, his hands wandering, her complaining that he’d left her all mussed up.

Just the way he liked her.

Even with the distraction, it was still nearly too much to fathom, being in the same room for the last time with Leo’s body, with all these people who knew and loved him, all these women who wanted him and his money, and then Wyatt imagining a world without him.

He did get a kick out of the pretty women there, just the effort they’d obviously made to look their best for Leo one last time, and the over-the-top, downright theatrical mourning. The place was filled with sobs and delicate tears and hankies.

Wyatt held on to Jane’s hand and tried to block out the tributes Leo’s friends made to him, to his love of life, his energy, his exuberance, the sheer joy with which he approached each and every day.

Someone had insisted on a reception in Leo’s honor afterward at Remington Park, something else which Wyatt endured, keeping Jane close to him, allowing her to act as a buffer between him and the rest of the world.

Thankfully, by early evening, he was once again back in his own apartment, alone with Jane. He hadn’t asked if she’d wanted to or planned to come back here with him. He’d just brought her and kept her, because that’s what he’d wanted.

And now she was standing there, just inside the door, in her little black suit with the pretty gray-blue camisole, looking up at him as if she was ready once again to give
him anything he wanted, anything he might need to get through the day.

What kind of man argued with that?

He’d have to be crazy.

“Jane?” he asked, in a warm, sexy tone that had her heartbeat kicking up a notch as he closed the door behind them once they got into his apartment.

“Yes?” she answered, thinking if he had some sort of distraction in mind, if that’s what he needed, she was certainly willing.

He claimed her, that big, glorious body of his crowding her until her back was pressed against the wall, and his body settled against hers. She brought her hands up instinctively, not pushing him away, but resting against his chest, on his shoulders, then winding around his neck.

“Seeing you in that little suit reminds me of you on the plane to Vegas.”

She grinned. “I liked our plane ride to Vegas.”

“Me too.”

As he said it, his hands skimmed over her, inside her jacket, down over the curves of her breasts, his mouth dipping into that spot on her neck that made her just crazy. She felt the heat of him seeping into her body, her blood pounding, her breasts heavy and aching, wanting his attention, his hands, his mouth.

He took his hand and palmed her hips through her clothes, pulling her up and to his body, until she could feel he was aroused, as well, a little thrill shooting through her that she had done this to him. Her. Mousy little Jane. The Queen of Awkward Sex Jane.

She’d never felt the least bit awkward with him.

He took her in a flurry of eagerness and need, hands flying over her, taking the time to do nothing but push her camisole up, so he could get his mouth on her breasts, and pulling off her panties and throwing them on the floor behind him.

His hot hands took her hips and lifted them, lifted her, holding her against the wall with his body as he unzipped his pants and down they went, along with his briefs. He started thrusting, teasingly, against the opening of her body, right there without actually being there, sliding along the mouth of that slick opening, sliding in, just a hint, then gone again.