Bridesmaid for Hire Read online

  He remained silent and so she continued.

  “As strange as it sounds, I think that working for the Baileys is the best thing that could've happened. If you're angry, I'm sorry." She dragged in another breath. “And that is way more than I meant to say. You made me nervous and so I babbled.” She cringed inwardly about the incredible-man-inside thing. She thought she’d sounded like a school guidance counselor, or his priest, and completely unlike the hot woman she wanted him to see her as.

  For a moment there was silence between them. Silence so thick she thought she needed a jackhammer to break through it. After what seemed like forever, he said, “I don't think anyone ever cared enough about me to make me clean up my own messes. The Van Hoffendams are all about image, and they would rather have their son get away with murder than be humiliated by thinking of him working some menial job.” He sounded more sad than angry.

  She stared at him. “You don't sound very mad.”

  "I’ll probably be plenty mad at you around four o'clock Monday afternoon when my arms are killing me and I know my buddies are at the beach having a beer. But I also know you did the right thing for the right reasons.” He pulled over in front of her place. She hadn’t even realized they were close, that’s how intensely she’d been focused on the conversation. “Do you really think there’s an incredible man inside me?”

  Okay, so maybe he wanted a guidance counselor more than he needed another hot woman in his life. At least she could give him that. “Yes. I do.”

  He gazed at her so intently her heart began to pound. Then he leaned towards her. "Tell me the truth, do I have a chance with you?"

  Her heart was so full she simply said, “Oh, Eric,” and threw her arms around him.

  He kissed her and she felt that wonderful moment, that rush of excitement when she realized that she was not just someone he could talk to but a woman he genuinely cared about. Whatever happened between them, she was through with holding herself back. Maybe she was a fool and she ought to be guided by her To-Do list and her vision boards, but the truth was that while Eric might be exactly the opposite of all her sensible vision board choices, he drew her and excited her as no one ever had. She didn't feel like being sensible.

  When he finally pulled away they were both breathing heavily. He asked, "Do you think I could help you carry your bags up to your apartment?"

  She nodded, almost too breathless to speak. He kissed her again, one more time, swiftly, as though he didn't want to be separated from her for more than a moment, and then he let himself out of the car and sprinted around so that he was there to open her door for her. It was such an old-fashioned gesture. He reached out his hand and she put hers into it. And then he actually helped her out of the car as if she were a heroine out of a Jane Austen novel being handed down from a carriage. He flipped open the trunk and removed her case as though it weighed no more than a feather. Then he took her hand and they walked together to the door of her apartment.

  He never let go of her hand, until they were inside her suite and then she didn't feel like a Jane Austen heroine anymore. The second the door closed behind them he lunged at her, or maybe it was she who lunged at him, or they lunged together. She heard her case drop to the ground and then both his arms were around her as he pulled her in close. His hands and mouth were everywhere. She felt that he was greedy for her, but he couldn't get to enough of her fast enough, and his obvious need fired her own.

  She was panting, hardly able to suck in breath fast enough. His hands traced her body not in a light, teasing way that she would have expected from him, but like a starving man desperate to eat.

  She kicked off her heels so she had more stability. He dealt with her sudden loss of height by simply lowering his head, never breaking contact with her mouth. His hands were at her back searching and finding the zipper and slowly pulling it down. He was so warm. Even through layers of his clothing she could feel the heat coming off his body. And she wanted it. She wanted to see it and touch it and feel it. She loosened his tie, and he shucked his coat off and let it drop to the floor. His eyes were already heavy lidded and intense in their focus.

  If she didn't do something, and soon, they were going to have sex on her living room floor. And, as lust-hazed as she felt, she was fairly certain that not only was her bed going to be a lot more comfortable, but she had an unopened box of condoms in her bedside table.

  But now her dress was slipping down her body. He’d dealt with that zipper so smoothly she barely even noticed the slide until the fabric brushed her legs and fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and all the rib pinching in the world was worth it as Eric's gaze focused on her body clad in the lacy corset that the bride had insisted they all wear. He put his lips to where her breasts emerged above the top and a moan of pure pleasure slipped through her lips. She took his hand, and pulled him towards the bedroom.

  Once inside, she crossed the room and flipped on one of the bedside lamps so it cast a soft, romantic glow. He followed her, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, running his hands down her torso, teasing her through the silk and lace.

  She turned and attacked his dress shirt. He helped her, and between them they had it off in no time and one more item of clothing went sailing to the floor. Shirtless, and in nothing but a pair of dress pants, Eric was one of the nicest-looking men she had ever seen. A natural athlete, he had hardened his muscles from the physical labor and she liked the added toughness. She knew that his six-pack abs did not come from a gym workout, but from scrubbing pools, lifting rocks, digging flowerbeds and trimming the Baileys’ trees.

  She loved the roughness of his callused fingers and the leathery slide of his palms against her smooth skin. An impressive bulge nudged her belly and because she needed to see and know all of him, she went for his belt with shaking fingers.

  Once more he helped her and the last of his gentleman's wardrobe fell to the floor. Now, nothing was between them, but a pair of Navy boxer shorts, a satin and lace corset, a pair of silk panties and thigh-high stockings.

  She glanced up, and Ashley's wedding dress shone softly in the lamplight like the ghost of runaway brides past. Her hands stilled. "Are you sure about this?" He'd been engaged three months ago. To another woman.

  His hands were hot as they caressed her. "Are you kidding me? I want you so badly it hurts."

  She’d been confused about his feelings for weeks. Even as she tipped back her head so he could kiss his way down her throat, she said, "When did you first know?"

  "When did I first know I wanted you?" Words rumbled and vibrated against the sensitive skin of her throat.

  "Yes."

  He paused at her collarbone. "I think it was when you stood up for me in front of the judge. I already thought you were a great-looking girl, but when you took on the judge, there was something about you. You were passionate about a cause that even my parents had given up on. It impressed the hell out of me, and I could see the way the judge looked at you with respect. And I thought, wow, that is a woman I want to know better."

  "Such a good answer."

  He pushed her gently back on the bed and began slowly unhooking the front of her corset. "How about you?"

  Well, she had opened up the subject, she supposed she should give him back as much honesty as he’d given her. "I'm almost embarrassed to tell you this, but when Ashley Carnarvon climbed out the window and left me holding her abandoned wedding dress, among all the feelings of panic and horror, was a moment of pure joy that you were still free.” She sighed as she accepted the truth. “I had a crush on you when we were kids. I don't think it ever went away.”

  He eased the sides of her corset open, revealing all of her upper body. "That's some crush."

  She put an arm over her eyes. "I know. It's so embarrassing I shouldn't have told you."

  To her surprise he picked up her arm and softly kissed her inner wrist. "Are you kidding? That's the best thing I've ever heard."

  "Eric, I've seen the way wom
en look at you. It must happen all the time."

  "I've never wanted anyone to care about me as much as I want you to."

  For the second time that evening, the only response that seemed right was, "Oh, Eric," and then she pulled him until he toppled over her and they were side-by-side on the bed. He began toying with the edge of her lacy panties and she could feel her excitement rising to the point that she knew she wouldn't have a coherent thought in her head in about two minutes. She put a hand on his wrist, "Condoms, bedside drawer."

  "Cool."

  But he didn't reach for one right away, instead, he slipped his hand inside her panties to where she was so very hot, and all of a sudden his hand froze. Even through her last haze she could feel something was wrong. She opened her eyes and found him staring at that wedding dress hanging on the wall. "I don't like to do this with that dress looking down at us."

  Her hand flew to her mouth. "I am so sorry. I never thought. That dress must bring back such awful memories."

  "No. It just feels weird having it here." He kissed her softly. "One day you will have your own wedding dress, and it won’t be that one."

  She gazed up at that dress, and everything it had embodied for her, and in that moment she knew he was right. It was a beautiful dress. A symbol, a fantasy of something that she thought she wanted. But what she really wanted was right here. And it wasn't a fantasy. It was a real man, with all his flaws. She was in love with Eric Van Hoffendam and whatever happened probably wouldn't follow her vision board, but she didn't care.

  "Let's move it into the living room." She jumped up, and so did he, each of them wearing nothing but a skimpy piece of underwear. He took the dress down and they carried it into the living room. She laid the dress carefully over the back of her couch, knowing there was someone out there that this dress was destined for, but it wasn't her.

  Once the dress was settled, he turned to her and hoisted her into his arms. She giggled as he carried her, in a style that was a little bit Tarzan and a little bit Rhett Butler, across the threshold into her bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind them, and she felt as though they were both letting go of some part of their past. He set her back down on the bed and said, "Now, where were we?"

  Chapter 11

  Eric was happy by nature, but on this particular Monday morning he felt on top of the world. He’d spent most of the weekend with Tasmine and if they weren’t in bed, he was scheming on how to get them there. Now, he was working on the garden he’d designed and it was coming together nicely.

  Something dropped to the ground beside him. He pulled the earbuds from his ears and turned to find José standing with a belligerent expression on his face. The thing he’d dropped was a chunk of green plant with a few yellow flowers. “What is that?”

  “Night-blooming jasmine. It comes from Mexico. My wife grows it and I was cutting it back. It would look good here.”

  He glanced up at José, squinting against the sun. He’d never get an apology for the way the head gardener had treated him but this, he thought, was a kind of peace offering. He nodded, slowly, “I can find room for it.”

  “And move that cactus. It’s too close to the lavender,” José ordered.

  Eric waited until he’d stomped away to let the smile out. He found a nice spot for the jasmine and planted it with care.

  On his drives home he’d taken to choosing different routes, driving through neighborhoods checking out landscaping and searching out designs that worked. Sometimes he’d snap a photo.

  When a property was badly landscaped, or not done at all, he felt his fingers itch to sketch a design. On one of his convoluted drives, he passed a neglected old cottage on a fairly large property with a rundown orchard and grass that had given up trying to make anything of itself long ago. A For Sale sign was planted out front.

  He felt enthusiasm bubble up inside him, something he hadn't felt for a long time. What if? What if he bought this property and turned it around? He knew he could bring the garden back to fabulous. For a guy who'd never had to wield a hammer in his life, he was also beginning to realize that he was handy by nature. He liked figuring out how things worked and how to fix them. He suspected that he could fix up the rundown cottage. He already had a vision for how it could look.

  He was beginning to realize that he’d found his passion, what he wanted to do with his life. It wasn’t selling stocks or spending his life behind a desk. He wanted to be outside working with dirt and plants, making outdoor spaces both beautiful and functional. Landscape design. That’s what excited him.

  On impulse, he called the Realtor whose name was on the sign. When he heard the price, his enthusiasm dimmed a fair bit, but he decided to mention the place and his ideas for his future to his parents anyway. They had money. They were always telling him to do something with his life. When he got home, filthy and exhausted as usual, instead of going to his part of the house and showering, he tracked down his mom and dad. As was their usual custom on a summer evening, when his father got home from work, they were relaxing on the veranda. His mom sipped a glass of white wine and his father a scotch.

  “Hey, Mom, Dad," he said as he leapt up the four shallow stone steps to join them.

  His mother looked him up and down with something approaching disdain. "Goodness me, you look like one of our groundskeepers. Please go and shower and change into something respectable."

  His parents never, ever referred to the fact that he worked for Judge and Mrs. Bailey. It was as though he simply disappeared for the bulk of his day and on the odd occasion when he joined them for dinner in the evening, they spoke of any other subjects but their son’s disgrace. He'd been so busy with his job and so exhausted when he returned home, that he hadn't realized the extent to which they were simply in denial. He glanced down at himself. "Sorry, Mom. But I really want to talk to you both."

  "We want to talk to you, too, son." His father settled himself more deeply into the expensive lounge chair. "But your mother's right. Shower and change into something decent."

  For a second he wondered if they were worried that he would make a mess of their brand-new patio furniture.

  "Okay. Sorry."

  He ran to his own part of the house, showered in record time, and then dressed in clothes he knew his parents would approve of. Slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. He even put on socks and loafers. Now he was in the summer uniform of his father and brother.

  When he got back to the veranda his parents were in pretty much exactly the same position as when he’d left them. They seemed a lot happier to see him now that he was clean and tidy. "What can I get you to drink, son?"

  "Oh, just a soda. I'll probably go out again later tonight."

  His parents exchanged a glance. His father went to the drinks trolley and poured him a soda with ice and lime and passed it to him.

  "Thanks." He sipped the cool liquid and placed the glass on the table in front of him. He was about to launch into this project that he felt so excited about when his mother said, "We didn't see much of you this weekend." She said the words with her eyebrows partly raised in a question.

  He came and went as he pleased and most of the time nothing was said about his movements. But he’d gone off Saturday morning and never returned until late Sunday night. He suspected she was gently probing to find out who he was seeing. He said, "I've been hanging out with Tasmine."

  His mother's face grew sharper. "Tasmine Ford?" She said the words as if there was something unpleasant about them.

  "Yes, that Tasmine." Because they knew so many women of that name.

  Once more that strange exchange of glances.

  "Eric, honey, I'm sure she's a very nice girl, but she's not our sort of people."

  What the hell? "What do you mean she's not our kind of people? You are the one who hired her to be Ashley's bridesmaid. You seemed to like her fine when she was pretty much running the wedding."

  His mother gave him a small smile as though she had won her point. "Exactly. I hired her
to do a job. She's a very competent, organized young woman. But, darling, she’s simply not one of us."

  He felt anger begin to rise. He was an easygoing guy, but when he heard his parents talk like this he wondered if they were a couple of centuries out of date. "What do you mean, exactly? She's not rich? Because she sure as hell shares some of our DNA. She’s some kind of cousin, isn't she?"

  "One has a number of people who claim relationship. It doesn't make them our kind of people."

  He shook his head. "Wow. I don't even know what to say."

  His father spoke up. "While you were young and simply sewing your wild oats, there was a certain leeway. But, Eric, you are getting to the age where the choices you make now will affect the rest of your life. You want a wife who moves in the same social circles, who has a similar socioeconomic background, a woman who can entertain everyone from royalty to international business people. Do you really think Tasmine is that kind of woman?"

  "Dad, do you really think I'm that kind of guy?” For a second he felt grateful that Ashley had been spared. She was about as good at entertaining royalty as he was, but she was a Carnarvon. Between his mother and her aunt, they’d have tried to groom her to be exactly like they were. And he’d been so close to going along with their plans to turn him into a suit.

  "Soon you will be back on course to take your stockbroker's license. You know that with our contacts you'll get a good position."

  He sucked in a breath and straightened his spine. "Mom, Dad, I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I don't want to be a stockbroker. I hate sitting still, I hate wearing a tie."

  "Nonsense." His father stretched his legs out. "Do you think I enjoy wearing a tie? Or spending hours in traffic? Or that I like deferring to people who are half as educated as I am?" He shook his head. "Of course I don't. But we all have to do things in life that we don't particularly want to."