Saying Yes To The Dress!

Her door squeaked open.

“How you doing?”

She shot up in bed, pulled the sheet more tightly around herself. “What are you doing here?”

“I knocked. When there was no answer, I thought I’d better check on you. You slept a long time.”

Drew Jordan looked just as he had in the dream—gorgeous. Though in real life there was no expression of tender welcome on his face. It did not look like he was thinking about sweeping her into his big strong arms.

In fact, he slipped into the room, but rested himself against the far wall—as far away from her as possible—those big, strong arms folded firmly across his chest. He was wearing a snowy-white T-shirt that showed off the sun-bronzed color of his arms, and khaki shorts that showed off the long, hard muscle of equally sun-bronzed legs.

“A long time?” She found her cell phone on the bedside table. “It’s only five. That’s not so bad.”

“Um, maybe you should have a look at the date on there.”

She frowned down at her phone. Her mouth fell open. “What? I slept an entire day? But I couldn’t have! That’s impossible.”

She started to throw back the covers, then remembered she had slipped in between the sheets naked. She yanked them up around her chin.

“It was probably the best thing you could do. Your body knows what it needs.”

She looked up at him. Her body, treacherous thing, did indeed know what it needed! And all of it involved him.

“If you would excuse me,” she said, “I really need—”

Now her brain, treacherous thing, silently screamed you.

“Are you okay?”

No! It simply was not okay to be this aware of him, to yearn for his touch and his taste.

“I’m fine. Did your brother come?” she asked, desperate to distract him from her discomfort, and from the possibility of him discerning what was causing it.

“Nope. I can’t seem to reach him on my phone, either.”

“Oh, Drew,” she said softly.

Her tone seemed to annoy him. “You don’t really look fine,” he decided.

“Okay, I’m not fine. I don’t have time to sleep away a whole day. Despite all that rest, I feel as if I’ve been through the spin cycle of a giant washing machine. I hurt everywhere, worse than the worst hangover ever.”

“You’ve had a hangover?” He said this with insulting incredulousness.

“Of course I have. Living in Moose Run isn’t like taking vows to become a nun, you know.”

“You would be wasted as a nun,” he said, and his gaze went to her lips before he looked sharply away.

“Let’s talk about that,” she said.

“About you being wasted as a nun?” he asked, looking back at her, surprised.

“About the fact you think you would know such a thing about me. I don’t normally act like that. I would never, under ordinary circumstances, kiss a person the way I kissed you. Naturally, I’m mortified.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“There was no need to throw myself at you, no matter how grateful and discombobulated I was.”

His lips twitched.

“It’s not funny,” she told him sternly. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not your wanton and very un-nun-like behavior I was smiling about.”

“Wanton?” she squeaked.

“It was the fact you used discombobulated in a sentence. I can’t say as I’ve ever heard that before.”

“Wanton?” she squeaked again.

“Sorry. Wanton is probably overstating it.”

“Probably?”

“We don’t all have your gift for picking exactly the right word,” he said. He lifted a shoulder. “People do weird things when they are in shock. Let’s move past it, okay?”

Actually, she would have preferred to find out exactly what he meant by wanton—it had been a little kiss really, it didn’t even merit the humiliation she was feeling about it—but she didn’t want to look like she was unwilling to move past it.

“Okay,” she said grudgingly. “Though just for the record, I want you to know I don’t like masterful men. At all.”

“No secret longing?”

He was teasing her! There was a residue of weakness in her, because she liked it, but it would be a mistake to let him know her weaknesses.

“As you have pointed out,” Becky said coolly, “I was in shock. I said and did things that were completely alien to my nature. Now, let’s move past it.”

Something smoky happened to his eyes. His gaze stopped on her lips. She had the feeling he would dearly like to prove to her that some things were not as alien to her nature as she wanted them both to believe.

But he fended off the temptation, with apparent ease, pushing himself away from the wall and heading back for the door. “You have one less thing to worry about. I think I have the pavilion figured out.”

“Really?” She would have leaped up and gave him a hug, except she was naked underneath the sheet, he already thought she was wanton enough, and she was not exposing anything to him, least of all not her longing to let other people look after things for a change. And to feel his embrace once more, his hard, hot muscles against her naked flesh.

“You do?” she squeaked, trying to find a place to put her gaze, anywhere but his hard, hot muscles.

“I thought about what you said, about creating an illusion. I started thinking about driving some posts, and suspending fabric from them. Something like a canopy bed.”

She squinted at him. That urge to hold him, to feel him, to touch him, was there again, stronger. It was because he was looking after things, taking on a part of the burden without being asked. It was because he had listened to her.

Becky English, lying there in her bed, naked, with her sheet pulled up around her chin, studied her ceiling, so awfully aware that a woman could fall for a guy like him before she even knew what had happened to her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THANKFULLY FOR BECKY, Drew Jordan had already warned her about guys like him.

“What does a confirmed bachelor know about canopy beds?” she said, keeping her gaze on the ceiling and her tone deliberately light. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know. I think I’m still slightly discombobulated.”

“Admit it.”

She glanced over at him just as he grinned. His teeth were white and straight. He looked way too handsome. She returned her gaze to the ceiling. “I just did. I’m still slightly discombobulated.”

“Not that! Admit it’s brilliant.”

She couldn’t help but smile. And look at him again. “It is. It’s brilliant. It will create that illusion of a room, and possibly provide some protection from the sun if we use fabric as a kind of ceiling. It has the potential to be exceedingly romantic, too. Which is why I’m surprised you came up with it.”

“Hey, nobody is more surprised than me. Sadly, after traipsing all over the island this afternoon, I still haven’t found a good site for the ceremony. But you might as well come see what’s going on with the pavilion.”

She should not appear too eager. But really? Pretending just felt like way too much effort. She would have to chalk it up to her near drowning and the other rattling events of the day. “Absolutely. Give me five minutes.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you on the front stairs.”

Of course, it took Becky longer than five minutes. She had to shower off the remains of her adventure. She had sand in places she did not know sand could go. Her hair was destroyed. Her leg was a mess and she had to rewrap it after she was done. She had faint bruising appearing in the most unlikely places all over her body.

She put on her only pair of long pants—as uninspiring as they were in a lightweight grey tweed—and a long-sleeved shirt in a shade of hot pink that matched some of the flowers that bloomed in such abundance on this island. Her outfit covered the worst of the damage to her poor battered body, but there was nothing she could do about the emotional battering she was receiving. And it wasn’t his fault. Drew Jordan was completely oblivious to the effect he was having on her.

Or accustomed to it!

Becky dabbed on a bit of makeup to try to hide the crescent moons from under her eyes. She looked exhausted. How was that possible after nearly twenty-four hours of sleep? At the last minute, she just touched a bit of gloss to her lips. It wasn’t wrong to want him to look at them, but she hoped she would not be discombobulated enough to offer them to him again anytime in the near future.

“Or any future!” she told herself firmly.

She had pictured Drew waiting impatiently for her, but when she arrived at the front step, he had out a can of spray paint and was marking big X’s on the grassy lawn in front of the castle.

Just when she was trying not to think of kisses anymore. What was this clumsy artwork on the lawn all about? An invitation? A declaration of love? A late Valentine?

“Marking where the posts should go,” he told her, glancing toward her and then looking back at what he was doing. “Can you come stand right here and hold the tape measure?”

So much for a declaration of love! Good grief. She had always harbored this secret and very unrealistic side. She thought Jerry had cured her of her more fantastic romantic notions, but no, some were like little seeds inside her, waiting for the first hint of water and sun to sprout into full-fledged fairy tales. Being rescued from certain death by a very good-looking and extremely competent man who had so willingly put his own life on the line for her had obviously triggered her most fanciful longings.

She just needed to swat herself up the side of the head with the facts. She and Drew Jordan barely knew one another, and before she was swept off the rock they had been destined to butt heads.

She had to amend that: she barely knew Drew Jordan, but he knew her better than he should because she had blurted out her whole life story in a moment of terrible weakness. It was just more evidence that she must have hit her head somewhere in that debacle. Except for the fact she was useful for holding the tape measure, he hardly seemed aware that she was there.

Finally, he rolled up the tape measure. “What do you think?”

His X’s formed a large rectangle. She could picture it already with a silken canopy and the posts swathed in fabric. She could picture the tables and the candles, and music and a beautiful bride and groom.

“I think it’s going to be perfect,” she breathed. And for the first time since she had taken on this job, she felt like maybe it would be.

How much of that had to do with the man who was, however reluctantly, helping her make it happen?

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” he said. “Perfection is harder to achieve than you think. And we still have the evening tropical breezes to contend with. And I haven’t found a ceremony site. It could go sideways yet.”

“Especially if you talk to your brother?”

He rolled his shoulders. “There doesn’t seem to be much chance of that happening. But there are a lot of things that could go sideways before the big day.”

Yes, she had seen in recent history how quickly things could go sideways. In fact, when she looked at him, she was pretty sure Drew Jordan was the kind of man who could make your whole life go sideways with no effort on his part at all.

“Let’s go see if we can find a place for the ceremony.”

She had to go with him. It was her job. But tropical breezes seemed to be the least of her problems at the moment.

“I should be getting danger pay,” she muttered to herself.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be letting you anywhere near any rocks.”

No sense clarifying with him that was not where the danger she was worried about was coming from. Not at all.

They were almost at the edge of the lawn when a voice stopped them.

“Miss Becky. Mr. Drew.”

They turned to see Tandu struggling across the lawn with a huge wicker basket. “So sorry, no good with blood. Take you to place for wedding vow now.”

“Oh, did you tell him we were looking for a new ceremony site?” Becky asked. “That was smart.”

“Naturally, I would like to take credit for being smart, but I didn’t tell him. They must do weddings here all the time. He’s used to this.”

“Follow, follow,” Tandu ordered.

They fell into step behind him, leaving the lawn and entering the deep, vibrant green of the jungle forest. Birds chattered and the breeze lifting huge leaves made a sound, too.

“Actually, the owner of the island told me they had hosted some huge events here, but never a wedding,” Becky told Drew. “He’s the music mogul, Bart Lung. He’s a friend of Allie’s. He’s away on business but he’ll be back for the wedding. He’s very excited about it.”

“Are you excited about meeting him?”

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. We better catch up to Tandu, he’s way ahead of us.”

* * *

Drew contemplated what had just happened with a trace of self-loathing.

Are you excited about meeting him? As bad as asking the question was how much he had liked her answer. She genuinely seemed not to have given a thought to meeting Bart Lung.

But what had motivated Drew to ask such a question? Surely he hadn’t been feeling a bit threatened about Becky meeting the famously single and fabulously wealthy record broker? He couldn’t possibly have felt the faintest little prickle of...jealousy.

He never felt jealous. He’d had women he had dated who had tried to make him jealous, and he’d been annoyed by how juvenile that felt. But at the heart of it, he knew they had wanted him to show what he couldn’t: that he cared.

But he’d known from the moment she had instigated that kiss that Becky English was different from what his brother liked to call the rotating door of women in his life. The chemistry between them had been unexpected, but Drew had had chemistry before. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was about the cheerleader-turned-event-planner that intrigued him, but he knew he had to get away from it.

Which was exactly why he had marched up to her room. He had two reasons, and two reasons only, to interact with her: the pavilion and the ceremony site. He’d promised his brother and Becky his help, and once the planning for his assigned tasks was solidly in place, he could minimize his interactions with her. He was about to get very busy with construction. That would leave much less time for contemplating the lovely Miss English.

“I hate to say it,” he told Becky, looking at Tandu’s back disappearing down a twisting path in front of them, “but I’ve already been over this stretch of the island. There is no—”

“This way, please.” Tandu had stopped and was holding back thick jungle fronds. “Path overgrown a bit. I will tell gardening staff. Important for all to be ready for big day, eh?”

It was just a short walk, and the path opened onto a beautiful crescent of beach. Drew studied it from a construction point of view. He could see the high tide line, and it would be perfect for building a small pavilion and setting up chairs for the two hundred guests. Three large palms grew out of the center of the beach, their huge leathery leaves shading almost the entire area.

Becky, he could see, was looking at it from a far less practical standpoint than he was. She turned to look at him. Her eyes were shiny with delight, and those little plump lips were curved upward in the nicest smile.

Task completed! Drew told himself sternly. Pavilion, check. Wedding location, check. Missing brother...well, that had nothing to do with her. He had to get away from her—and her plump little lips—and stay away from her.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Do you agree?”

She turned those shining eyes to him. “Agree?” she said softly. “Have you ever seen such a magical place in your whole life?”

He looked around with magic in mind rather than construction. He was not much of a magic kind of person, but he supposed he had not seen a place quite like this before. The whole beach was ringed with thick shrubs with dark green foliage. Tucked in amongst the foliage was an abundance of pale yellow and white flowers the size of cantaloupes. The flowers seemed to be emitting a perfume that was sweet and spicy at the same time. Unfortunately, that made him think of her lips again.

He glared at the sand, which was pure white and finer than sugar. They were in a cove of a small bay, and the water was striped in aqua shades of turquoise, all the way out to a reef, where the water turned dark navy blue, and the waves broke, white-capped, over rocks.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll just head back.”

“Do you ever just answer a question?”

“Sit, sit,” Tandu said from behind them.

Drew swung around to look at him. While he had been looking out toward the sea, Tandu had emptied the wicker basket he carried. There was a blanket set up in the sand, and laid out on it was a bottle of wine, beaded with sweat, two wineglasses and two plates. There was a platter of blackened chicken, fresh fruit and golden, steaming croissants.

“What the hell?” Drew asked.

“Sit, sit—amens...amens.”

“I’m not following,” Drew said. He saw that Becky had had no trouble whatsoever plopping herself down on the blanket. Had she forgotten she’d lost a whole day? She had to be seriously behind schedule.

“I make amens,” Tandu said quietly, “for not doing first aid.”

“Oh, amends,” Drew said uncomfortably. “Really, it’s not necessary at all. I have a ton of stuff to do. I’m not very hungry.” This was a complete lie, though he had not realized quite how hungry he was until the food had magically appeared.

Tandu looked dejected that his offer was being refused.

“You very irritated with me,” Tandu said sadly.

Becky caught his eye, lifted her shoulder—come on, be a sport—and patted the blanket. With a resigned shake of his head, Drew lowered himself onto the blanket. He bet if he ate one bite of this food that had been set out the spell would be complete.

“Look, I wasn’t exactly irritated.” This was as much a lie as the one about how he wasn’t hungry, and he had a feeling Tandu was not easily fooled. “I was just a little surprised by a first aid man who doesn’t like blood.”

“Oh, yes,” Tandu said happily. “Sit, sit, I fix.”

“I am sitting. There’s to nothing to fix.” Except that Sainte Simone needed a new first aid attendant—before two hundred people descended on it would be good—but Drew found he did not have the heart to tell Tandu that.

Maybe the place was as magical as it looked, because he found himself unable to resist sitting beside Becky on the picnic blanket, though he told himself he had complied only because he did not want to disappoint Tandu, who had obviously misinterpreted his level of annoyance.

“I am not a first aid man,” Tandu said. “Uh, how you say, medicine man? My family are healers. We see things.”

“See things?” Drew asked. “I’m not following.”

“Like a seer or a shaman?” Becky asked. She sounded thrilled.

Drew shot her a look. Don’t encourage him. She ignored him. “Like what kind of things? Like the future?”

Drew groaned.

“Well, how did he know we needed a wedding site?” she challenged him.

“Because two hundred people are descending on this little piece of paradise for a marriage?”

She actually stuck one of her pointy little elbows in his ribs as if it was rude of him to point out the obvious.

“Yes, yes, like future,” Tandu said, very pleased, missing or ignoring Drew’s skepticism and not seeing Becky’s dig in his ribs. “See things.”

“So what do you see for the wedding?” Becky asked eagerly, leaning forward, as if she was going to put a great deal of stock in the answer.

Tandu looked off into the distance. He suddenly did not look like a smiling servant in a white shirt. Not at all. His expression was intense, and when he turned his gaze back to them, his liquid brown eyes did not seem soft or merry anymore.

“Unexpected things,” he said softly. “Lots of surprises. Very happy, very happy wedding. Everybody happy. Babies. Many, many babies in the future.”

Becky clapped her hands with delight. “Drew, you’re going to be an uncle.”

“How very terrifying,” he said drily. “Since you can see things, Tandu, when is my brother arriving?”

“Not when you expect,” Tandu said, without hesitation.

“Thanks. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Tandu appeared to take that as a challenge. He gazed off into the distance again. Finally he spoke.

“Broken hearts mended,” Tandu said with satisfaction.

“Whose broken hearts?” Becky asked, her eyes wide. “The bride? The groom?”

“For Pete’s sake,” Drew snapped.

Tandu did not look at him, but gazed steadily and silently at Becky.

“Oh,” Becky said, embarrassed. “I don’t have a broken heart.”

Tandu cocked his head, considering. Drew found himself listening with uncomfortable intentness.

“You left your brokenness in the water,” Tandu told Becky. “What you thought was true never was.”

She gasped softly, then turned faintly accusing eyes to Drew. “Did you tell him what I said about Jerry?”

He was amazed how much it stung that she thought he would break her confidence. That accusing look in her eyes should be a good thing—it might cool the sparks that had leaped up between them.

But he couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Of course not,” he said.

“Well, then how did he know?”

“He’s a seer,” Drew reminded her with a certain amount of satisfaction.

Tandu seemed to have not heard one word of this conversation.

“But you need to swim,” he told Becky. “Not be afraid of water. Water here very, very good swimming. Safe. Best swimming beach right here.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” she said, turning her head to look at the inviting water, “but I’m not prepared.”

“Prepared?” Tandu said, surprised. “What to prepare?”

“I don’t have a swimming suit,” Becky told him.

“At all?” Drew asked, despite himself. “Who comes to the Caribbean without a swimming suit?”

“I’m not here to play,” she said with a stern toss of her head.

“God forbid,” he said, but he could not help but feel she was a woman who seemed to take life way too seriously. Which, of course, was not his problem.

“I don’t actually own a swimming suit,” she said. “The nearest pool is a long way from Moose Run. We aren’t close to a lake.”

“Ha. Born with swimming suit,” Tandu told her seriously. “Skin waterproof.”

Drew watched with deep pleasure as the crimson crept up her neck to her cheeks. “Ha-ha,” he said in an undertone, “that’s what you get for encouraging him.”

“You swim,” Tandu told her. “Eat first, then swim. Mr. Drew help you.”

“Naked swimming,” Drew said. “Happy to help when I can. Tandu, do you see skinny-dipping in my future?”

There was that pointy little elbow in his ribs again, quite a bit harder than it had been the last time.

But before he could enjoy Becky’s discomfort too much, suddenly Drew found himself pinned in Tandu’s intense gaze. “The heart that is broken is yours, Mr. Drew?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

DREW JORDAN ORDERED himself to say no. No to magic. No to the light in Becky’s eyes. And especially no to Tandu’s highly invasive question. But instead of saying no, he found he couldn’t speak at all, as if his throat was closing and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“They say a man is not given more than he can take, eh?” Tandu said.

If there was an expression on the face of the earth that Drew hated with his whole heart and soul it was that one, but he still found he could say nothing.

“But you were,” Tandu said softly. “You were given more than you could take. You are a strong man. But not that strong, eh, Mr. Drew?”

His chest felt heavy. His throat felt as if it was closing. There was a weird stinging behind his eyes, as if he was allergic to the overwhelming scent of those flowers.

Without warning, he was back there.

He was seventeen years old. He was standing at the door of his house. It was the middle of the night. His feet and chest were bare and he had on pajama bottoms. He was blinking away sleep, trying to comprehend the stranger at the door of his house. The policeman said, “I’m sorry, son.” And then Drew found out he wasn’t anyone’s son, not anymore.