Truly Madly Deeply Boxed Set (29 page)

“What I don’t get is the
why
. You’re marrying him. Seems to me you ought to want him, too.”

She twisted uncomfortably in her seat. Not from the topic of conversation, because she and Juliette could talk about anything, but because of the deadly accuracy of her friend’s point. She cared about Peter, but she didn’t much care that they hadn’t consummated their relationship. The desire wasn’t all-consuming and strong... which was a large part of the reason she wanted to marry him. He was safe. Safe from passion, safe from her family’s past. And she loved him for that.

“There’s time, Juliette.”

Her friend leaned forward. “Not if you’re marrying for the wrong reasons. Then you’ll find out too late that you made a mistake.”

“Are you saying my marriage to Peter is wrong?” Carly tensed, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Of course not. Only you would know that. I just worry about you.”

“Well, don’t, because there’s no problem.” A knock on the door prevented Carly from following up on that statement. A good thing, since she didn’t feel as secure as she sounded. After Juliette’s assistant left the tea and two bone-china cups on a table, Juliette poured, then slid Carly’s cup across the glass table.

“Chamomile?” Carly asked, glancing at the light amber-colored liquid.

“This week’s blend is lavender and patchouli. It will soothe your nerves, and some believe it acts as an aphrodisiac. But only you will know whether that is true.”

She eyed Juliette doubtfully.

The older woman shrugged. “What do you have to lose? Drink up and maybe you’ll be the one surprised tonight.”

“Anything is possible,” Carly murmured. She lifted the cup and took a hefty sip.

* * *

Feeling light-headed and giddy, Carly packed the dinner she had ordered from Peter’s favorite gourmet restaurant. She stopped at the liquor store across the street from his office. On a whim she splurged and bought the most expensive brand of champagne the small shop carried. Maybe Juliette was right and tonight would be a special one for her and Peter.

Clutching the bottle under her arm, she waved at the same rotund security guard who’d held the night shift since she was in her teens. He’d seen her grow up and no longer required her to sign in or call after hours.

At eight P.M. the reception area was empty, and Carly wound her way back to the large conference room at the end of a long hall. Hushed voices and a feminine laugh rang out in the quiet office. She rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway. She’d expected to find Peter and one or more of his colleagues hard at work preparing for an important closing in the morning.

Instead she found Peter and a very feminine, very young associate sharing a laugh over a large pizza. The woman appeared relaxed, her stockinged feet perched on a chair beside Peter’s. And Carly’s meticulously neat fiancé had loosened his tie and tucked the end inside his shirt, presumably to avoid stains. He’d rolled up his sleeves and leaned back, feet propped, in a comfortable-looking chair. Unopened legal-size folders sat in a stack on the conference table. From the look of things, they’d remain unopened for a while.

Though she’d had second thoughts about stopping by unannounced, Carly was suddenly glad she had. Their relationship could obviously benefit from added spice and her surprise would be a great start.

“Excuse me.” Carly cleared her throat “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Startled, Peter’s feet hit the floor with a thud. “Carly.”

“Last time I looked.”

He shot her a curious glance. The casual banter that came so naturally around Mike fell flat with Peter.

“This is a surprise,” he said.

“Good or bad?”

His eyebrows creased in confusion. “Neither. It just is.”

Carly forced herself to remain composed. Not an easy task while standing in the doorway holding a picnic basket in one hand and a bottle of bubbly in the other, spouting bad jokes and feeling ridiculously out of place.

Peter hadn’t yet noticed her packages.

“Is this your fiancée?” The petite brunette rose from her seat, turning to face Carly.

“Yes. Roger’s daughter.” He gestured between the two women. “Carly Wexler, Regina Grey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Carly said.

“Same here. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I wish I could say the same
. “All good, I hope.”

“All fathers have nothing but wonderful things to say about their daughters.” Regina smiled and took a long sip of bottled water. “And of course,” she continued, “Peter speaks highly of you as well.”

“Of course.” Away from the office Peter was preoccupied with work. At the office he was preoccupied with Carly. Yeah, right. This pint-sized barracuda certainly didn’t need any courtroom training in how to go for the jugular.

Peter wrapped one arm around Carly’s shoulders. “You know I enjoy seeing you, but two surprises in one week?”

“Shocking, I know. Next time I’ll call.” She could no longer keep the hurt out of her voice.

“That’s not what I meant, but this is unexpected. What are you doing here?”

The compulsion to share her news with Peter had evaporated as quickly as it had come. “Nothing important. I thought I’d bring dinner.” She raised her arms to show him her bag of goodies.

“Oh. Well. Uh, we’ve already...” He stammered and flushed a deep crimson.

“Eaten. I can see that. Don’t worry. You two are busy, so I’ll be going.”

Peter brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “After the florist on Saturday we’ll do wedding bands. How’s that?”

She plastered a smile on her face. “Sounds great.” But for some reason this didn’t feel like a compromise she’d won. In fact, his gesture seemed out of place, like that of a man who’d bought his wife flowers to assuage his guilt over an affair. She ought to know. She’d seen her father exhibit those signs often enough, growing up.

With his hand on the small of her back, Peter guided her out and toward the bank of elevators. Not five minutes after she’d arrived, Carly took the same elevator down with the same full picnic basket and expensive bottle of champagne in her hands. Some surprises backfired, she thought. And this had been one of them.

W
ith mellow jazz music playing on the stereo, Carly settled herself on a plush pillow in front of her cocktail table. She unpacked the gourmet meal and uncorked the bottle of champagne.

She poured champagne into a wineglass and lifted it in the air. “Congratulations,” she muttered and downed the bubbly wine. She poured some more and enjoyed the bubbles as they tickled their way down her throat. No matter how lousy she felt, at least the expensive champagne wouldn’t go to waste.

When the doorbell rang the first time, she ignored the sound. The second chime was a more prolonged spurt. “Go away. This isn’t an open party.”

At the sound of the third ring, she picked up a drumstick and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. She peered through the peephole and cursed the heavens. How could she possibly forget about this man if he showed up on her doorstep uninvited?

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door. “Did you smell the chicken all the way uptown?” she asked.

“Cute.”

That crooked grin did funny things to her heart.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.

She bowed and waved Mike into her small apartment. The haven where she was safe from everyone and everything. Including her own feelings.
But no more.

She shut the door behind him and followed him inside. He glanced around the living room and frowned. “You shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

“I’m not, I’m celebrating.”

“By yourself?”

“It doesn’t take two to celebrate, Mike.”

He grinned. “No, but it’s a heck of a lot more fun.”

At his deliberate innuendo, she felt the heat rise to her face.

“You made a deal with the publishers?” The genuine excitement in his voice brought her earlier rush of adrenaline back full force.

She nodded, pleased with herself, proud of what she’d accomplished and suddenly not ashamed to show it. “Yup. A good deal, too.”

“Hey!” Before she knew what hit her, he’d swept her into his arms and twirled her around the floor. His body felt warm and hard against her breasts.

“That’s great.”

As he lowered her to the floor, the slight bulge in his pants caused a quickening in her stomach. Apparently Juliette’s aphrodisiac worked all right... with the wrong brother. Carly stepped back to avoid further contact.

“How about another glass so I can share the celebration?”

Using the time to catch her breath, Carly walked into the kitchen and returned with a second wineglass. She grinned. “Only the finest.”

“I’m used to drinking out of bottles and cans. Anything else is paradise.”

“Peter said something about you being a photo-journalist?”

“I was,” Mike said.

“And now you’re...?”

“On vacation,” he said smoothly. He glanced around the room and chose a reclining chair in the corner. It rocked slightly under his weight and he laughed. “I love these things.”

She smiled. “Me, too.”

“So much more comfortable than that hard leather thing Pete calls a couch.”

Carly’s smile faded and he regretted whatever he’d said to cause the change.

“I see. Talking about work is off-limits?” She pushed the topic away from herself and back to him.

“Not if there’s something you really want to know.”

“What subjects have you covered recently?”

“This and that,” he said, unwilling to delve deeper into his most current assignment. Even for Carly.

“Can’t you be more specific?”

I’d prefer not to
. “I cover hard news. I don’t dig around in celebrity trash cans.” He forced a grin.

She smiled in understanding. Her brown eyes met his. A man could drown in the compassion he saw there. “I’d like to see your work sometime,” she said.

“My pleasure.” That he wanted to share his private photos with Carly gave him some indication of his level of involvement. More than was prudent he knew. For a man who avoided emotional entanglements, the revelation stunned him.

He forced himself to think of his brother and suppressed a groan. “After you left this afternoon I spoke with Pete.”

“And?”

“Since he’ll be busy training a new associate, I’m at your disposal for any wedding-related things you need.”
Or anything else, for that matter
.

“Training. Is that what they call it these days?”

“What?”

“See this?” Her arm swept the table loaded with food that smelled amazing. Between the canned food he’d eaten overseas and the takeout he’d feasted on since his return, Carly’s table looked like manna from heaven.

So did she. A silky lemon yellow pajama set—pants and a long-sleeved top—draped across her soft curves and smooth skin. The material rustled as she crossed the room.

“Chicken, gourmet salads, caviar and assorted desserts. All your brother’s favorites.”

He glanced from the food to her stricken expression. “He stood you up?” That thought was as sickening to him as the thought of Carly greeting his brother dressed for bed.

“No, that would have hurt,” she admitted. “He wasn’t at fault; I was. I broke the ultimate taboo.”

Her cheeks burned with color and a range of emotion flared in her eyes. She was, Mike decided, either angry or on her way toward drunk. He couldn’t determine which. He glanced at the bottle, but the deep green obscured the level of the liquid inside.

He turned back to Carly. “And what was that?” he asked.

“I showed up unexpectedly, dinner in hand for my overworked fiancé.”

“He ignored you for
work
?”
The selfish bastard
. Mike stood, crossing the room until he was close enough to breathe the intoxicating scent of vanilla. Who needed champagne when a man could get drunk on this?

“Nope. Guess again.”

He rubbed his forehead, wondering what his moron brother, who cared about but didn’t love Carly, had done now. “Was he angry you surprised him?”

“Nope. Guess again.” A smile quirked around the edges of her mouth. “Three strikes and you’re out.”

Mike tossed his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat. “I give up. What happened?” If his brother had hurt her, Mike would ring his stuffy neck.

“He was already eating.” She paced the floor. Her hips swayed beneath the opaque material.

He already knew he could span her waist with his bare hands. “And?”

“And laughing.” She whirled around to face him. “Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Peter was laughing with that associate
in training
—who, by the way, needs as much training as Flipper.”

Mike walked up beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Was he doing anything... wrong?”

She shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Anything... unethical maybe?”

Again, she shook her head. “But he laughed.” She leaned against a pink marbleized wall and sighed. “He never laughs with me.”

The admission cost her, Mike could tell. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “And I can’t remember the last time I laughed with him.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”
I could have told you that
.

He placed a hand around her waist, ignoring how easily she fit her body to his, how soft and right she felt in his arms, and led her to the oversized pillow on the floor.

Seating himself next to her, Mike took her hand in his. “If you think you’re making a mistake, now’s the time...”

“No!” Carly jerked her hand back and rubbed it against the silk pants. “I didn’t say that. It’s just that with planning the wedding, things have been tense. His work, my work... you know how it is.”

Oh, yeah. He knew. And he had a strange feeling she did, too. So why push so hard for something that wasn’t right? That would only make her unhappy for the next fifty or so years? And why didn’t his intelligent brother, who’d attended college and law school on scholarships, see the truth?

Mike sighed, reminding himself that he’d be back touring the world in no time and Carly’s pain would be a distant memory. Or would it?