Married One Night

“I don’t believe that’s always the case,” Gerald said thoughtfully.

She raised one brow. “Are you always this idealistic when it comes to relationships?” she asked.

He reached up again to brush a hand back through her hair, lowering his face close to hers so the green of his eyes all but swallowed her. “I prefer to think of it as faith.”

She frowned. “Were your parents blissfully happy or something?”

“No. Their marriage was a rudding disaster and a bitter one at that.”

Olivia lifted her shoulders, disbelieving. “I was wrong, then. You’re not idealistic. You’re just plain crazy.”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” he said. Before she could stop him, he bent down and touched his lips briefly to hers.

Off balance, she staggered, her mouth suddenly very dry and her heart dancing on twinkle toes.

Backing away toward the shore, he grinned at her stunned expression. “Tonight at the tavern. I’d like to see you again in your element. You can fix me a drink, and I might steal a dance.” Winking, he turned away and left her standing under the shade of the arbor.

As she watched him stroll away, all confident strides and whistling a jaunty tune, Olivia caught herself lifting her hand to her lips.

Hell. She had to pull it together.

CHAPTER FOUR

“LIV, I THINK you’ve gone and married Jude Law,” Roxie said in a whispered hush as she all but crawled onto the kitchen counter to better see the man strolling around Briar’s garden beyond the windows.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I can’t catch a break with this guy.”

“You know—” Adrian pitched in, lifting her mug to her lips and tilting her head to better admire Gerald from the back as he turned to inspect a row of azaleas “—I think he’s more Colin Firth.”

“You would,” Olivia snapped. “And you’re no help, by the way.”

“Sorry,” Adrian replied. “Couldn’t resist ribbing you a little. It’s nice for a change.”

“He’s out of my league,” Olivia said matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t think anyone was out of your league,” Roxie claimed. “You could have anyone.”

Adrian snorted. “You have had anyone.”

“Jerk,” Olivia said, but without much heat. It was the truth. She wasn’t picky when it came to the men she invited into her bed...so long as they were agreeable to leaving it the following morning. “This is Gerald’s type we’re talking about, not mine. Audrey Hepburn is more his speed. Not Marlene Dietrich.”

“Don’t knock Marlene,” Cole, standing close by, advised.

“There’s nothing wrong with Marlene or you,” Roxie helpfully intoned. “Not that that matters because Gerald is so taken with you. When he looks at you, he just lights up.”

“Roxie,” Adrian said with a smirk, “you’re such a romantic.”

“Damn right I am.” Roxie beamed. “And as far as types go, I’ll warn you—it’s those we don’t expect to sweep us off our feet who we fall for the hardest.”

Nobody would be doing any falling, Olivia determined. Least of all her. When something inside her niggled doubtfully, she frowned and turned her attention quickly to Cole. “So what’s up with you and Briar?”

He frowned at her, switching Harmony’s weight from one arm to the other. The baby whined, wriggled, then settled after grabbing a fistful of the dark hair at the nape of Cole’s neck. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“Don’t give me that.” Olivia elbowed him. “You looked at her over breakfast like you wanted to slather her on your toast.”

“Yeah, but you couldn’t because she wasn’t on the menu,” Adrian added.

Cole frowned at their knowing faces. “Did she say something to you?”

“No, we’re just intuitive,” Olivia reminded him. “All except for Roxie here, bless her heart. She’s blinded by soon-to-be marital bliss.”

“Shouldn’t you be blinded by marital bliss, too, Liv?” he returned with a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Touché,” Adrian intoned, then cleared her throat when Olivia glanced askance at her. “Despite all appearances, Cole, we are known to be helpful on occasion. You should know that better than anyone.”

Cole sighed, glancing the way Briar had gone. “I don’t know what you could do in this case. It’s been a few months since Harmony came.”

“Two,” Olivia said handily.

“Not that I’m counting,” Cole retorted.

“And you two haven’t messed around since?” Olivia guessed.

He shifted uncomfortably under their expectant looks. “Things have been busy. There’s the baby. There’s taking care of the inn, the new advertising initiative to bring in more guests.... There hasn’t been time for messing around.”

“There’s always time,” Olivia said.

When Cole turned stoic again, Roxie clasped a hand to her heart. “Aw. You’re waiting for Briar to make the first move because you don’t want to rush her. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?”

“She hasn’t shot me down,” Cole added quickly in defense of his wife. “We just don’t talk about it.”

“Who needs to talk?” Adrian asked.

“Excellent point.” Olivia faced Cole, setting her mug aside so she could level with him. “Look, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Briar when you first came to Hanna’s. Get over yourself and jump her damn bones.”

Cole choked on the second cup of coffee he’d only just finished. Looking around, he made sure that Kyle was still eating, safely out of earshot. “Christ.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Olivia challenged. “It’s what you both needed then, and it’s what you need now. Do it. We’ll all be happier for it.”

A frown tugged at Cole’s mouth. “And here I thought it wasn’t any of your damn business.”

Roxie’s cornflower-blue eyes gleamed as they found Gerald through the window again. “You know, all this talk about Briar and Cole getting together...it gives me an idea....” She looked at Olivia. “You’re usually the matchmaker, of all of us. I think it’s time we return the favor.”

Olivia didn’t like where this was going. “Huh?”

Roxie smiled. “I like Gerald. I think he might be good for you. Even if that doesn’t mean staying married to him, I think you should give whatever he believes you two have a chance. And, I’ll be honest, if over the next three weeks I discover a way to help him convince you to do this, then I’m going to take it.”

“I like this plan,” Cole piped up. He slung an arm around Roxie’s shoulders and squeezed companionably. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to give our cousin here a taste of her own medicine.” He winked at Olivia. “Yeah. I like this plan a lot.”

“You want revenge,” Olivia told him. “It’s enough having to deal with Cupid,” she added, nodding toward Roxie. “I don’t need Machiavelli working against me, too.”

“Machiavelli is no stranger to your matchmaking ways,” Adrian informed her.

“Whose side are you on?” Olivia demanded.

“Hey, I’m Switzerland,” Adrian said, raising her hands. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun watching you deal with Gerald and the rest of them.” She swept her arm out to encompass both Cole and Roxie, who already had their heads together.

Olivia gave up trying to reason with any of them. “I’m gonna get out of here before Pinky and the Brain get too far into their plotting. I have a tavern to clean.”

Before Olivia escaped through the swinging door, Briar swung it open first from the other side. “Not so fast,” Briar said. “I think I’ll have a word with you now.”

“I’d love to stay and chat,” Olivia lied, pivoting toward the screen door, “but the bar opens early on Fridays, remember, and, frankly, I don’t need a lecture.”

“That’s too bad.” Unfazed, Briar gripped Olivia’s wrist and pulled her into the privacy of the sunroom. “If it were up to you, we’d never find the time and place for me to lecture you.”

Olivia held up her hands in defense as Briar whirled on her, stemming the torrent of words that her cousin had no doubt been waiting all morning to say. “Wait. Before we do this, let me ask you something. Why aren’t you sexing Cole up?”

Briar balked, went pale. “What?”

“We just talked to him,” Olivia said, lowering her voice to a discreet level. “He said you’re not putting out.”

“He said that?” Briar asked, horrified.

“Not those exact words, but that’s the gist of it, isn’t it?”

Briar flustered for a moment, then scrubbed nervous hands over her thighs, looking anywhere other than at Olivia as her face reddened. “There hasn’t been time—”

“Yeah, he tried to give us that line of bull, too. What’s going on, Briar? Really?”

She threw her hands up. “Nothing. Nothing’s going on, Liv. It’s just... I was hoping that maybe he’d say something...or do something.”

“Like what exactly?”

“Like...say that he wants me,” Briar said with a consternated expression. “I know it sounds silly, but—”

“It’s not silly,” Olivia muttered. “Unless you consider the fact that he’s also been waiting for you to say or do something, too.” At Briar’s helpless look, Olivia sighed. “Look, I’m begging you to put an end to it. Don’t even talk about it. Just do it. Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Briar said, breathing out and looking dazed.

“That’s all I have to say,” Olivia said quickly.

“Wait a minute!” Briar recovered, gripping Olivia’s elbow to stop her from retreating. “We need to talk about Gerald.”

“I’m talked out as far as he’s concerned,” Olivia informed her.

“He’s a nice guy,” Briar said, managing a stern brow for Olivia and a small smile for Gerald all at once. “In fact...” Her eyes softened and went dreamy. “Liv, he’s a wonderful man.”

“Cole’s right. Maybe he should be jealous.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” Briar said firmly. “Listen, I know better than anyone that you like having your own space and your own set of rules when it comes to men. But...Gerald’s different. You know that, right?”

“I know that for all his charm, brains and good looks, he needs his head examined for thinking even for a second that this has the tiniest chance of working out,” Olivia said.

“I’m not worried about what he’s thinking,” Briar explained. “What I’m trying to figure out is why my cousin, who’s never had a problem flirting with a man, can’t even entertain the idea of this one sticking around for three weeks for what seems like a perfectly harmless wager.”

Olivia pursed her lips but said nothing, just kept her arms locked tight over her chest. When a shape passed the glass windows on her right, her gaze snagged on it and her heart rapped when she saw it was Gerald, talking on the phone and laughing as he paced absently across the inn’s lawn.

She didn’t owe Briar an explanation. Neither was she going to change her views on marriage and commitment. She’d made her mind up long ago on both. Or it’d been made up for her when the last man who had proposed marriage to her left her with nothing but broken dreams and an even more broken heart.

Yes, Gerald was a perfectly good man. He might be the perfect man. But that didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him in. Even if it was just for fun.

Briar patted her arm, drawing Olivia’s gaze away from the man walking around outside and back to the sunroom and their conversation. “Just promise me you won’t do anything drastic to chase him away. Give him the three weeks, even if you think he can’t change the outcome.”

“He can’t,” Olivia said firmly. “But a bet’s a bet and I plan on keeping my word and letting him stay here.”

“Good,” Briar said, relief shining into her honey-brown eyes. “I’ve got to go clean up the kitchen and nurse Harmony before today’s guests arrive.”

“Let Cole do the cleaning,” Olivia told her. “He’ll make it shine just as much as you would. And then the both of you should try to get some rest and take some time for yourselves. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need a babysitter.”

“Thanks for that,” Briar said with a smile. Her eyes widened. “Wow. If you’d have told me we’d be trading marital advice a few weeks ago, I would’ve pulled a Rochester and locked you in the attic.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get too used to it. Gerald will be gone in three weeks.” And for her, that moment could not come soon enough.

* * *

GERALD STUFFED HIS hands in the pockets of his slacks as he roamed the shoreline. Though a stiff breeze blew off the choppy bay, the sun was warm and he lifted his face to it. Where before the water had risen high on crashing, angry waves, the morning after the storm it moved in on lightly whooshing crests that rolled into the sandy shore in front of Olivia’s tavern and the inn. The water sluiced around the thick, wooden pillars underneath the inn’s dock. He was surprised to hear the cry of seagulls and the honk of geese coming from the parks that lined the neighboring bluff.

Apparently the calm came after a storm here. It was almost like a religion, this kind of serenity. Though the main road wasn’t far behind Hanna’s and Tavern of the Graces and its adjoining shops, the whish and roar of vehicles didn’t penetrate the quiet October morning.

Gerald’s shoulders relaxed, any lingering tension left over from his journey here sliding away slowly but surely.

His instincts were right about this place. He was sure of it—as sure as he was about the woman he had married.

The morning after their alcohol-fueled romp around Las Vegas, Gerald hadn’t been lying when he’d told Olivia that he had been staying there for business. In fact, he had been there for two straight weeks meeting with the motion picture studio that wanted to make his Rex Flynn book series into a film franchise.

The negotiations had been far more stressful than he’d anticipated. After two weeks of trying to hash things out with screenwriters, movie producers and potential directors, there were still too many decisions to be made, compromises to mete out.... Was it any wonder he’d been having trouble writing lately? All the noise created by the business side of his successful writing career was drowning out the quiet voice of his muse.

At the end of those two weeks in Nevada, sitting at the bar that fateful night in the club downing his Scotch like water, Gerald had wondered how the idea of making his Rex Flynn books into a movie franchise had ever seemed like a good one. The character belonged on paper where Gerald—or, rather, his muse—called the shots.

Gerald watched as two pelicans winged lackadaisically overhead, the prehistoric-looking birds in no hurry to be out on the water for their morning catch. They seemed to gaze on the quiet shore and the lone man walking it with jaundiced eyes.

His irritation with the negotiations had been compounded by the fact that he had a book due soon. Very soon, and he’d barely begun writing it. Plus, he’d scrapped most of what he’d written so far. Fears he hadn’t felt since he first began to write were plaguing him. What if it didn’t come as naturally as it had before? What if everything he put on the page was complete shite? He hadn’t been able to connect with Rex. He’d hardly been able to envision where this next saga of Rex Flynn’s story would take him.

That was...until he met Olivia. She’d been dancing so joyfully out there on the parquet floor of that frenzied dance club. Gerald had watched her dance, hardly seeing her friends or the crush of other dancers packed shoulder to shoulder with her on the floor. Scotch forgotten, motivated by a driving force that felt a lot like that exhilarating, creative freefall he’d somehow lost touch with over the past six months, Gerald had made a beeline for the blonde siren.

Though he hadn’t remembered much from that point on the following morning, Gerald’s mind had slowly filled in the blanks after Olivia’s departure. Dancing. Drinking. More dancing. More drinking. Talking. Riding in the limo. Kissing there. Watching the fountain in front of the Bellagio rise into the night. Holding each other there. More talking. More kissing.

From there they went back to the casino. A bit of gambling. A bit more drinking. Another limo ride to the little white chapel, where he had only vague impressions of gold walls, red carpet, an organ and an Elvis Presley to officiate. He’d meant his vows. It didn’t matter to him that his intoxication level had been as high as it had ever been. More than anything else he remembered about that wild Vegas night was looking into the eyes of his bride and speaking promises meant only for her.

More dancing from there. Maybe at the club. Maybe there in the chapel, for all he knew. But from the chapel, they had taken a final limo ride back to the casino, apparently rented the honeymoon penthouse suite for the night and then...well, the marriage consummation, of course, which he was fairly certain had started in the casino elevator.

From the moment he’d woken next to her in the big, plush bed strewn with rose petals and what remained of the clothes they’d in essence torn off each other hours earlier, Gerald had known despite the headache and sore muscles from the eventful evening that he didn’t have any regrets. Speaking to Olivia in the morning had only reaffirmed that conviction. And after the blonde siren left him to find her friends and fly back to her stretch of sandy shore on the coast, he’d hardly finished breakfast before he’d gone back to his business suite to write.

He’d written for hours, until the light from the window began to lower, harden, then dim. All the while, the face of the woman he could now credit as his unexpected muse had stayed at the forefront of his mind. That night, as he’d made arrangements to travel back to his home in New York, he’d known that the first thing on his agenda when he got there would be tracking down the mysterious Olivia.

Gerald hadn’t expected the place she called home to be as spectacular as she was. But when he’d checked into the bay view suite of Hanna’s Inn the night before, he had immediately set up his notebook computer on the room’s antique secretary in anticipation. He had a book due in three weeks. When he wasn’t wooing Olivia or grabbing small snatches of inspiration from the Eastern Shore, he’d go back to the desk and see what the muse had to offer him.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. Gerald knew who was calling before he pulled the smartphone out to answer. When he saw it was indeed his editor back in New York, he lifted his thumb and pressed the answer key.

He had avoided this conversation for weeks. Now, though, he had answers. “Dwight,” Gerald greeted, putting the phone to his ear. “It’s good to hear from you, old boy.”

“Then why have you been dodging my calls?”

Gerald reached back to rub his neck as he walked onto the inn’s dock, his footsteps loud on the hollow, wooden planks. He and Dwight had been working together for years on the Rex Flynn series, along with a few spin-off titles. He’d come to know Dwight as a friend as well as a professional. “I wasn’t dodging. Just waiting for the right moment.”

“To tell me what—that the book isn’t finished? Tell me something I don’t know.”

“How do you know the book isn’t already done?” Gerald ventured.

“Because this is the first book in eight years you haven’t turned in two months ahead of schedule,” Dwight told him. “And when the writing’s going well, you’re not afraid to call and chat about it. Usually, I can’t get you to shut up. You haven’t so much as shot me an email in a month’s time in this case, which tells me you’re cowering in a hole somewhere hoping I’ve forgotten about you.”

Gerald pursed his lips and scuffed the bottom of his shoe against a dry patch of earth. “You know I was in Las Vegas dealing with film negotiations.”

“Yeah, and before that you visited your family in Yorkshire. Before that, you were, what, betting on the ponies in Jersey?”

“Are you spying on me now, Dwight?” Gerald asked.

“When you’re a well-known author, people notice when you go places you shouldn’t. Like Belmont.”

“For the record,” Gerald explained, “I was not betting on the ponies. A friend of mine breeds horses. He named one of the Thoroughbreds after Rex. I was simply making an appearance. And that could technically be lumped into the working category, you know...”

“Fine, but then your sister wrote to tell me what a good time you’d had together and thanked me for letting you fly off to England when you had a book due. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I knew nothing about the trip.”

“It was my niece’s birthday,” Gerald reasoned.

“Vegas might be forgivable at least,” Dwight went on. “But let me ask you this, my friend, where are you now?”

Gerald gazed across the water toward Mobile. “I can’t claim to be at the writing desk....”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Gerald—”

“Hear me out, mate,” Gerald said. “I won’t deny I’ve been blocked. I won’t lie to you and say I’ve not struggled with this one. In truth, piecing this story together has been like trying to carve a diamond. But that’s all about to change.”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.”

“I’ve found inspiration,” Gerald said. “The characters are talking to me again, and I’m starting to see the pictures, the easy flow of scenes. I’ve also found a quiet place, one where the rush and bustle of business and city life is far enough away that I’m no longer bound to it. The words will come. And when they do, they’ll come fast and hard. You’ll have the book on schedule, Dwight. You can count on it.”

“You’re giving me your word?” Dwight asked, surprised. He knew as well as anyone that when Gerald pledged something, he meant it wholeheartedly and would rather see his soul shattered than his word broken.

“Consider it a promise,” Gerald said, glancing back toward the tavern and the woman he knew dwelled within. “You won’t be disappointed, my friend.”

“I rarely am.” Dwight sighed. “All right. If you’re so sure...I’ll expect the completed manuscript in three weeks.”

Gerald grinned. “Give it two. Goodbye, Dwight.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE EAGLES’ “WITCHY WOMAN” rumbled through Tavern of the Graces as Gerald entered it later in the evening. The establishment was packed with men mostly, he noticed. Glancing around, he admired the remarkable woodwork highlighted by tray lights on the walls. The carvings seemed to follow the history of Mobile Bay. The room was warm, battling the chill that had settled over the shoreline as the afternoon wore thin.

Appreciating the vintage rock music and more than willing to sit back, relax and enjoy the atmosphere, Gerald spied an empty table and veered toward it.

It wasn’t long before the waitress manning the tables with a flirtatious smile and a finesse only experience could teach spotted him and made her way over. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”

He returned her smile of greeting. “What would you suggest?”

She raised a dark, impossibly thin brow. “Well, if you haven’t already heard, we’ve got the finest margaritas east of The Big Easy.”

“How fine is that?”

She smirked, red lips bowing and chocolate-hued eyes drinking him in. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.” Gerald laughed. “London originally, but I’m afraid that might be a bit obvious.”

“Love the accent,” she purred and set a basket of tortilla chips on the table in front of him. “If you’re not brave enough to try the margarita, I’d suggest something on tap.”

“The house margarita is fine,” he told her. “But tell your bartender to go easy on the tequila, if she knows what’s good for her. And if I could, I’d like a moment of her time.”

The waitress smiled warmly. “Oh, Liv’s always got time for a good-lookin’ guy like you. Right now you’ll find her over at the pool tables. Clint Harbuck challenged her to a game.”

Gerald turned in interest toward the billiards. When he saw his wife leaning over a cue stick, about to sink the black eight ball into a corner pocket, he beamed. “Who’s winning?”

“Oh, Liv—by a mile.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He chuckled, then gave the waitress a warm smile, lifting a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change, love. And bring us all a round of draft beer.” Shrugging off his sports jacket, he hooked it over the back of the chair and walked across the room to better entertain himself with the game and its two opponents.