The Bride's Curse, page 21
“Shhh.” Kelly placed a finger over his lips. “I know you have a job to do. Let’s take a leaf out of Troy and Mary’s book and just enjoy the time we have.” She planted a kiss filled with longing on his lips, a kiss that he returned eagerly, holding her so close against him they could feel the thud of each other’s hearts.
“Let’s go back to your place,” he whispered huskily in her ear.
“Won’t they be missing us at the reception?”
“Right now, I don’t care, and I doubt if Mary and Troy are aware of anyone but each other … ” He pulled out his phone and hit a button. “I have to make a quick call. Noelia?”
Kelly’s eyebrows shot up. Why was Brett calling her assistant?
“Yes, just as we’d talked about. Could you see to it that the limo is waiting for when Mary and Troy are ready to leave? Give my apologies to Mary and tell her I’ll see them before they leave.
“And is everything else… ? The lights came on as planned? And heaters in the marquee? Yes? Thank you. Perfect. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“I thought you were driving them back to Derry? Is there some kind of conspiracy I’m missing here?”
“You’ll see,” came the very cryptic reply.
“So where is this secret honeymoon destination?”
“You know there’s an old superstition about keeping the honeymoon destination secret?”
Kelly gave a mock shiver and placed her hand on her throat. “I’ve had it up to here with superstitions and curses and all sorts of mysteries.”
“You’re the one who made all this happen, so maybe I can tell you.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, his breath a soft caress on her skin. “They’ve rented a cottage on a private beach in Jamaica. To hear Mary’s glowing description of the place, I think it’s possible they might never come home.”
She laughed out loud. “Really? It sounds absolutely lovely!”
Ten minutes later Brett stopped his vehicle outside Kelly’s little shore side house. She stopped on the path, amazed to see the windows of the house lit up with softly glowing white fairy lights.
“Oh, my goodness, Brett … don’t tell me there’s … ”
He laughed, that deep rolling sound she’d grown so fond of. “No, no restless spirits tonight. Just you and me and … ” He threw open the door to reveal the interior of her home filled with the seductive light of candles. A log fire burned warmly in the small glass fronted wood stove. She gasped as she saw roses everywhere, huge bouquets of deep red roses, their scent filling the space with subtly sexy perfume.
And on the coffee table, a silver bucket with a cooling bottle of champagne.
“What’s going on, Brett? I mean, it’s beautiful… ”
“Don’t be so suspicious. Is there something wrong with my trying to have time with the woman I love?”
The woman he loves. She felt the words flow deeply inside of her to the spot it seemed only Brett could reach.
Brett shut the door firmly behind them, slipped his tuxedo jacket from around her, and led her toward the sofa. She eyed the two champagne glasses with white and pink ribbons tied around them, the chocolate covered strawberries, the scented candles … and light dawned in her own desire fogged brain.
“So, that Noelia Russo helped you set all this up, didn’t she? And she never said a word. Just wait until I see her ... ”
“Noelia’s great at keeping secrets, isn’t she?”
Kelly thought of her suspicions about her assistant being Mimi L’Amour and smiled. “She certainly is.”
“Don’t be mad at her. I asked for her help and … well, you’re going to need her.”
“I do need Noelia, at the store and as my friend, but … ”
“More than that, you’ll need her help in arranging our wedding.”
“Our wedding?” Kelly sank onto the sofa, her heart beating dizzily as she tried to take everything in. She fought a smile as Brett dropped to one knee.
“If you laugh at me, I’ll take away the chocolate covered strawberries,” he threatened.
Kelly sat up straight. “No, whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. And leave the strawberries alone.”
He pulled a blue velvet covered box from his trouser pocket, flipping it open to reveal the ruby and diamond ring nestled there. A ruby-red stone for his Red. “Kelly Andrews, I love you more than I can put into words. Will you be my wife?” He paused, looking stricken. “Why are you crying?”
Kelly sniffed and blew her nose on the blue monogrammed handkerchief he hastily pulled from his pocket. “I’m just so happy,” she sobbed and went into a fresh bout of tears. “Will you ask me again?”
“You just like having me here on my knees, don’t you?” Brett grinned. “Kelly Andrews, you are the love of my life. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
She smiled through the tears and threw her arms around him. He moved up onto the sofa and held her tightly as she whispered, “Yes! Yes, Brett Atwell—I’ll marry you!”
She raised her face to his as their lips met and melded in a kiss that promised forever.
• • •
It was still dark when Kelly awoke. She was far too languid and warm to check the time but guessed it was still the wee small hours. All was quiet in the little house except for the eternal rhythm of ocean waves against the shoreline and the gentle snoring of Sullivan the cat who slept in the chair by the window.
Earlier, they had extinguished all the candles before Brett clasped her hand and led her up the shallow stairs to Kelly’s bedroom with its sand-colored walls and queen-sized bed covered in a soft, fluffy white comforter. Now, the only light in the little cottage came from the waning moon which hung over the bay. It arced through her bedroom window and spilled over the bed in which she and Brett lay.
Kelly rolled onto her side to watch as he slept deeply, admiring the contours of the lean, muscular body that she had so recently explored with such delight. The moon spilling through the white lace curtains turned the pale hairs on his chest to filaments of gold.
She placed her left hand on the hard warmth of his ribcage and smiled as the rise and fall of his breathing caused the beautiful ring on her finger to twinkle and glow in the moonlight. Its weight felt strange and new. So unfamiliar and yet so beautiful.
A promise of a lifetime of love.
The gentle touch of her hand woke him and he smiled up into her face. Sleepily, she luxuriously stretched and sighed and turned toward him again to plant a gentle kiss on his lips, a kiss he captured and returned with mounting heat. Pushing her gently back against the pillows, he raised himself on one elbow.
“I want to wake up every morning, with you, like this, for the rest of our lives,” he told her.
Slowly, he moved down her body, kissing the white scars and moving on to stroke her curves and then returning hungrily to her lips.
“I love you, Red,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Call me Red again, and you know what will happen … ” she warned as his arms went around her.
“Oh, I know what will happen. Let me show you.” His deep voice was filled with laughter and promises.
More from This Author
(From Saving Maggie by Glenys O’Connell)
The woman in the sexy little red convertible looked perky from behind. Her glossy long hair was pulled up in a careless ponytail and swayed from side to side like a cobra charmed by an Indian flute as she bopped to the music from the car radio.
Even at a car’s length away, the driver behind her thought this was the sort of hair a man could run his fingers through and grasp playfully. He wished now he were piloting his own expensive roadster rather than the sedate brown sedan he’d rented especially for this trip. His own car was the sort that would impress the kind of girl who drove a bright red convertible with the top down on a windy spring day.
He imagined himself overtaking her, seeing her look over at him, her eyes widening in admiration as she took in his expensive ride and wealthy, groomed good looks.
Then she’d remember him and smile …
He gunned the accelerator and with a disdainful purr the rental spurted forward, pulling alongside her. He glanced over, hoping to catch her eye. But she stared straight ahead, singing along to some mindless pop music and oblivious to his look of longing.
He didn’t matter to her. She didn’t remember. She didn’t smile.
Irritated now, he jabbed the accelerator and zoomed past her. He knew soon they’d meet again.
Then he’d refresh her memory.
• • •
Maggie Kendall was just leaving Fried Heaven with two cups of the diner’s delicious coffee balanced in her hands, when a tall, dark-haired stranger pushed open the door so suddenly that it caught her, and hot coffee sloshed wetly down the front of her white silk shirt.
“I am so sorry!” His handsome face flushed with embarrassment as he grabbed a wad of paper napkins from a dispenser on the nearest table and began to mop at the spill. His touch on her upper breasts was electric — it sizzled all the way down to her toes, leaving her breathless. Brushing his hands away, she snapped: “You’re making it worse. My office is just across the road and I can clean up there.”
The man snatched back his hand as he realized the inappropriate intimacy of his touch. Blushing, he tossed the damp napkins onto a table and jammed the offending hands into his suit pants pockets. “I … at least let me pay for your dry cleaning,” he stammered, but Maggie was already halfway out the door.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. A second later she was gone.
• • •
Josh Tyler blinked, staring after her as the door slammed behind her. He’d been intent on cleaning up the spilled coffee mess and had acted without thinking. Now his fingers telegraphed the sensation of her warm, soft femininity and his embarrassment deepened. He hadn’t felt this awkward since high school.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” a plump teenager behind the counter said. “That’s Maggie Kendall. She’s from the city.” She made the words sound like an accusation rather than a statement, and Tyler bit back a smile.
“Now, Alicia, Ms. Kendall’s a nice enough woman, and she’s worked wonders with the Gazette since she bought out old Dan Warrington,” an older woman sitting by the electronic till said in a warning voice.
“Yes, but she’s strange. People say she sees things … like, a second sight.”
“Alicia! That’s enough. Now serve the gentleman and then get back into the kitchen and help Sam with the cleanup.”
Tyler wanted to ask more questions but was pretty sure the eagle-eyed cashier would slap him down, so he ordered coffee and a Danish to go, paid and left the store.
Outside on the broad sidewalk, his eye was caught by the large sign on one of the offices across the road: The Woeful Creek Gazette. Maggie Kendall was an attractive woman, if maybe a bit highly strung. But he had no wish to get close to any member of the press and certainly not to someone with a reputation for “seeing things”.
Reporters and psychics were, in his experience, about equal in the charlatan stakes.
• • •
“There was someone in here looking for you, Maggie,” Colleen McKie, Maggie’s secretary and sometimes reporter, told her as she entered the offices of the Woeful Creek Gazette. “City type, nearly killed herself on that patch of ice outside in her high heels.”
Maggie’s sleep had been disturbed by dark dreams the night before, and at Colleen’s words a prickle of unease skittered along her spine. “Did she leave a name?”
“Nope, and I didn’t ask. Told her you’d be in the office by nine and she should try you then. Probably wanting to sell you something.” Colleen grinned, taking the cardboard cup of Fried Heaven coffee that Maggie handed to her.
Her grin faded as she saw the damp, brown stain across Maggie’s shirtfront. “Whatever happened to you? Did you slip, too? I’ll throw some salt on that ice — it’s obviously dangerous.”
Maggie flushed. “Oh, no, some guy pushed the door open a bit sharpish as I was leaving the café — knocked my coffee all over me.”
“You’re blushing, Maggie Kendall! Was he good looking, then?”
Maggie was saved from answering by the sudden ringing of the telephone. “I’m off to change this shirt,” she said.
“Woeful Creek Gazette, Colleen McKie speaking.”
“Hi, there, Colleen, it’s Jeb Carraway.” Maggie could hear the booming voice ten feet away, and began to make frantic signs to Colleen that she was out.
“Hello there, Jeb. What can we do for you today?” Colleen made a cross-eyed grimace at Maggie. “Oh, you want to add some details to your report of the men’s golfing dinner? Uhmm, I have a feeling Maggie has already put that on a page. I know she wanted to be absolutely sure your piece was included this week — she’s not here right now; if there’s still time I’ll get back to you.”
Maggie stepped into her own office, welcoming a moment alone with her thoughts as she changed into a plain white, scoop-necked cotton T-shirt, one of several she kept in her office in case of emergencies just like this. Yes, even over the sting of hot coffee, she’d noticed the guy was good looking. And his touch, however inadvertent, had sent sparks of knowing all the way to her brain — and other parts.
“You’ve been too long without a man in your life, Maggie Kendall,” she whispered to herself.
From the outer office, she could hear Colleen finishing the phone call with a little flirtatious banter and sighed. Had she ever enjoyed such lighthearted banter? If she had, it was a dim and distant memory now. There was no chance she’d ever have a man in her life, or ever let anyone get close to her. It was too dangerous.
She sank into the old leather desk chair, relieved that Colleen had, with her usual diplomacy, saved her from a long and trivial discussion with Jeb. He’d been made redundant when the local paper mill closed and now thought journalism was an exciting new career. He was also long-winded, pedantic, and terrified of making a mistake. His report on the golf club dinner would have filled an entire page if Maggie hadn’t taken the time to tactfully edit it down to four paragraphs.
“You owe me, Maggie,” Colleen called from the other room. “I just slayed the first dragon of the day.”
“Slaying dragons is part of your job description,” Maggie hollered back, picking up the pile of mail Colleen had left on her desk. It was so good to start the day looking forward to your work. I was so lucky to find Woeful Creek, and even luckier to find this little newspaper up for sale, she thought. After the terrible turmoil of the last few years, her life was finally under control and sailing calm waters.
• • •
The little cow bells over the front door tinkled, indicating a customer had come into the office. Maggie, engrossed in sorting the mail and coordinating the office diary, ignored the murmur of voices in the outer office.
Between sips of coffee, she riffled through the selection of bills, letters to the editor, press releases, invitations, and notices of meetings that were the usual mail offering for any small-town newspaper editor — all the stuff that made rural life flow in its steady, unpressured way.
Her breath caught in her throat as she reached the bottom of the stack, snatching her hand away as if a snake lay there rather than an innocuous looking pink envelope with the word Personal messily printed in red crayon above her name. It was the kind of envelope Colleen wouldn’t open — the kind of envelope that might contain a personal greeting card or party invitation. Maggie swallowed hard to stem the panic already swelling in her chest.
Stop it, she ordered herself. STOP IT! It’s over, finished. I paid a high price, but it’s over and I won’t look back … You’ll see — it’s probably an invitation to the Historical Society’s annual tea or some such. She determinedly picked up the envelope again and slid her thumbnail under the flap. A cheap party invitation with a cartoon clown fluttered out. Scrawled in multicolored, crayoned letters were the words: So Happy to Have Found You! Watch Out For A Gift From Me!
Maggie shivered, hugging her arms around herself to try to ward off the sudden cold. But the chill was inside her heart, not the fault of the ancient radiator beside her desk. She’d known this day would come. That he would find her was as inevitable as snow arriving in the Canadian deep winter.
Now that it had finally happened, a numbed calm settled over her. It was almost a relief that the axe had finally fallen on her life.
The only question in her mind was what would she do now?
Would she run — or would she kill him?
Barbaric as it might sound, the thought of ending a monster’s life gave Maggie a warm feeling of being in control. Empowered.
This time she wouldn’t back down, she promised herself. She’d hold onto everything that had become so dear to her — this funny little rural town and the newspaper that served it, the house by the lake, the warm people who’d welcomed her as a stranger and become her friends.
But in the pit of her stomach she recognized the vow for the bravado it was. There was no avoiding her fate except to keep running. Her stomach clenched. He was promising her a gift.
Somebody was going to die.
Maggie squashed down her fear and shuffled the damning envelope underneath the other papers as her secretary knocked on the office door. “There’s someone here to see you, Maggie,” Colleen said, her short, strawberry blonde curls bobbing as she peered through the door at her boss. “She doesn’t have an appointment, but says she has to see you.”
“Did she give a name?” Colleen’s answer was interrupted by the ringing of the front office phone. “Send her in, then, Colleen, and answer that — it might be a major advertiser.”
Colleen grinned at their shared joke and moments later the office door opened again to admit the visitor. Maggie looked up, an automatic welcoming smile dying on her lips as she recognized the woman who entered. A malevolent ghost from her buried past, dressed all in Prada. The room momentarily blurred and faded around her as her small office filled with her visitor’s expensive perfume.
