The Wedding Secret

He nodded toward her mug. “You finish up that coffee, all right?”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You’ll come back?”

He wanted to say no, but the beseeching way his damsel in distress looked at him got under his skin, made him feel things he hadn’t felt in too many years. “Yeah, I’ll come back.”

If only to help her out to a cab, or to make sure she was safe somewhere for the night, he told himself. That would be the extent of his involvement with this lost, complex bride.

“Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?” Garrett gaped at Harlan as he absorbed the bartender’s absurd suggestion. “I can’t take her home with me!”

“Come on, Garrett,” Harlan said, giving him a what’s-the-big-deal kind of look. “I’m sure she’ll be in a better frame of mind in the morning, and she’ll realize her mistake and go back to wherever she came from. One night, Blackwell, not a lifetime.”

One night was one night too many in Garrett’s mind—not when this runaway bride affected his libido and emotions so strongly. “Find someone else to be your scapegoat, Harlan.”

The bartender’s gaze swept the rowdy room of patrons, and returned to Garrett on a serious note. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

A vein in Garrett’s temple throbbed with frustration, and he rubbed the offending spot with his fingers. “I don’t do strays,” he bit out in a last-ditch effort to convince Harlan that he was the wrong man to take care of Jenna Phillips. The only women he ever wanted to feel any obligation toward were his daughter, his mother, and his sister, Lisa.

Harlan swiped his towel over the gleaming mahogany surface of the bar, and sighed in resignation. “Then I guess I’ll just have to call the sheriff to come and pick her up, and she’ll have to spend the night down at the station in a holding cell.”

Harlan moved away to fill a drink order, leaving Garrett with a restless unease tightening his belly. He glanced toward Jenna, who looked so bewildered and lost, and imagined this beautiful, soft-skinned, city-bred bride waking up in the morning on a narrow cot, disoriented and fearful, and without a shred of that respectability and dignity she’d wished for earlier.

Indecision warred within Garrett, and he struggled with those more gallant tendencies his mother had instilled in him. He didn’t need the responsibility of taking care of this confused female, he argued with his conscience. He didn’t need the complication of embroiling himself in her problems, he thought irritably. And he sure didn’t need the distraction of her sleeping in his house, even for a night.

During Garrett’s silent brooding, Beau Harding, a drifter who worked at the lumber mill in town, sidled up to the bar. Garrett nodded toward the other man in polite acknowledgment, but there was something about Harding Garrett didn’t like, or trust. The young man was too arrogant for his own good. A month ago he’d come by Garrett’s company, Blackwell Engineering, looking for work for the summer. Though Garrett had been considering adding on an extra man to his crew, he’d gone with his gut instinct and turned him away.

Beau cast a leer over his shoulder toward Jenna, then grinned wolfishly at Harlan as the bartender returned to their end of the bar. “Hey, Harlan, what’s up with that lovely bride over in the corner?”

“We’re just trying to figure out what to do with her,” Harlan replied, very reluctantly.

Beau’s pale gray eyes glimmered with interest. “You need someone to take her to a motel for the night?”

The innuendo in Beau’s voice was unmistakable. The mere thought of this man touching Jenna, or possibly taking advantage of her current state, made Garrett feel unexpectedly territorial.

“No,” he snapped before Harlan could respond. “She already has a place to stay.”

Harlan’s brows rose in surprise, considering how adamantly Garrett had refused any involvement with the bride only moments ago.

Beau’s insolent gaze slid to Garrett. “Just thought I’d offer my assistance,” he drawled, then sauntered away.

Garrett just bet Beau would like to assist Jenna. His temper flared like wildfire in his blood, startling him with the level of possessiveness she inspired. The last time he’d experienced such an overwhelming reaction had been over another woman. Chelsea’s mother, to be exact.

And that encounter had led to nothing but grief, heartache, and a lingering bitterness over being used and betrayed.

“I’ll go get her suitcase from the storeroom,” Harlan offered, then quickly disappeared to retrieve Jenna’s luggage, as if he feared Garrett might change his mind if he didn’t hurry.

Garrett drew a deep, calming breath. One night, he told himself, and then this bundle of trouble would be gone, out of his life and back to St. Louis where she belonged.

It could be no other way.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR the first time in six years, Garrett was taking a woman home. He found it more than ironic that the woman in question had been someone else’s intended bride, and was currently passed out on the front bench seat of his truck, her frothy, satiny wedding gown enveloping her like a shimmering cloud.

Minutes after he’d pulled out of Leisure Pointe’s parking lot, without compunction or any serious thought to what she was doing, she’d stretched out, rested her head in his lap, and promptly fell asleep. Obviously, the long day she’d had, and the Amaretto she’d consumed had finally caught up to her.

That she trusted him to take care of her unsettled him. He was a complete stranger, after all. Though he’d never take advantage of a woman, he was sure if Jenna Phillips was sober and thinking clearly she never would have left Leisure Pointe with him so willingly. But considering the way she’d chosen to drown her sorrows, she’d had little choice. And as Harlan well knew, Jenna was safer with him than Beau, or even at the local motel.

The ten-minute drive to Garrett’s place seemed to take thirty, and every inch of the way he tried not to think about the woman with her cheek pressed intimately against his tense thigh, but discovered he could think about little else. Her slender hand was curled just above his knee, and with every deep breath she exhaled his skin heated through the heavy denim of his jeans, electrifying his nerves. And then there was all that wild, curly hair spilling all over his lap like rich, luscious honey.

Unable to resist the temptation, he touched one of those golden strands, rubbed it between his fingers, not at all surprised to find it silky-soft, and warm as sunshine. The impulse to sink his fingers deeper into all that warmth was strong, but he didn’t dare take that liberty.

Finally arriving at his two-story house, he turned into the drive and parked his truck near the front porch. A hush fell over the cab, except for Jenna’s deep, even breathing. Hating to disturb her, but knowing she’d be far more comfortable once he had her in a bed, he lightly touched her bare shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.

“Jenna?” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to startle her. “C’mon, you need to get up.”

Murmuring something about princes in her sleep, she rubbed her cheek against his thigh, snuggled closer to him, and sighed contentedly. He gritted his teeth as his body responded to her cuddling, ruthlessly reminding him that he’d been too long without a woman.

More determined to awaken this sleeping beauty, he gave her a firm jostling she couldn’t ignore. “Wake up, Jenna.”

With a groan, her lashes fluttered open, and she slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. Brushing her hair from her face, she blinked to clear her vision, then glanced from him, to the darkened house in front of them.

She frowned in confusion. “Where are we?” she asked, her voice sleep-husky, and incredibly sexy to Garrett’s ears.

Taking advantage of the reprieve, he opened his door and stepped out into the moonlit night. “We’re home,” he said, retrieving her one paisley-print suitcase from the bed of the truck.

He offered his hand to help her out of the vehicle, but she didn’t move. Instead, she shook her head, her expression heartbreakingly bereft and desolate. “I don’t have a home anymore,” she whispered.

Surely she was kidding, or being extremely emotional—the latter of which made the most sense. Even if she hadn’t married her fiancé, she had to live somewhere, have friends and family who would miss her, and a life she needed to return to soon.

“Since you can’t think of anyone we can call to pick you up, you can stay here for the night. We can sort everything out in the morning, when you’re feeling better.” He had the sudden thought that she might be a bit apprehensive about staying at his house with him. “Are you okay with that?”

Nodding, she drew a shuddering breath and secured her hand in his, allowing him to assist her, and that mile-long train of her wedding dress out of the truck. She wobbled when both satiny shoes hit the pavement, and he automatically wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, then ushered her toward the porch.

He helped her into his house, thankful that Chelsea had stayed at his sister’s place, and that his brother had most likely found other accommodations for the night, as well. Both would be home early in the morning though, and he’d explain their extra guest then. With luck, she’d be gone before Sunday’s sun set over the horizon.

He flicked on the living room lamp, giving him the illumination he needed to guide them up the stairs. Even before they arrived on the second landing, he was debating where to put her. After a quick grappling with his conscience, he decided on the most logical choice—his master bedroom, which had an adjoining bathroom just in case her stomach decided to rebel during the night. As for him, he’d sleep in Chelsea’s bed next door.

Thanks to Chelsea, his bed was neatly made, and the clothes he normally tossed over the chair in the corner had been dropped into the hamper, giving his room a semblance of order. His little imp of a daughter was only eight, but took her chores seriously since she’d dubbed herself the “woman” of the house, though that didn’t stop her from reminding him that he needed a wife, and she wanted a mom.

Unfortunately, he had no intention of marrying again. One wife had been more than enough for him and taught him a lesson he wouldn’t be repeating with any woman, including this one, as enticing as she may be. As for a mom, his sister, Lisa, was a fine substitute for that maternal influence Chelsea needed.

Jenna’s gaze took in his masculine furnishings without a hint of worry over whose room she might be occupying. Once she was seated on the four-poster with her wedding dress pouffed around her, he put her suitcase next to the dresser, figuring she could handle everything else on her own.

“The bathroom is right through that door,” he said, dragging his fingers through the thick, dark strands of his hair. “And if you need anything, just call for me. I’ll be in the room right next to this one.” He turned to go.

“Garrett?” she called softly, halting him before he could make a quick escape.

He exhaled heavily and glanced back at her, instantly steeling himself against that lost look in her eyes. “Yeah?”

Her satiny pumps hit the floor as she toed them off one at a time. “I…I can’t undo the buttons on my dress by myself.”

She slid back to her feet, turned around, and gathered her luxurious hair over her shoulder, presenting him with a row of at least two dozen pearl buttons that started between her shoulder blades and marched all the way down to the curve of her bottom.

He stood there, paralyzed by the thought of helping her to undress. His first instinct was to tell her to sleep in the gown, but knew that suggestion was ridiculous. She had to be extremely uncomfortable, and she had to get out of the gown sooner or later.

Resigned to the inevitable, he came up behind her. With hands that were none too steady, he fumbled with the small, slippery buttons, unable to ignore the ever-widening expanse of smooth, pale skin he revealed. As the material loosened, she crossed her arms over her chest, holding it in place. She wore what looked like a white, satin corset, and he unhooked that, too, knowing she’d never be able to do it on her own.

Finally, he completed the intimate task just as the lacy band of her panties came into view. He stepped back, wanting to bolt from the room, from his tempting reaction to this woman, but realized that she seemed unsure of what to do next, or how to step out of the bulk of her wedding dress without getting tangled up in the yards of heavy material.

She looked to him for help—and the next step was getting her into something she could sleep in for the night.

He stifled a groan. Not wanting to take the time to sort through the garments in her suitcase and possibly end up with something flimsy and more befitting a honeymoon night, he grabbed one of his chambray shirts from his closets and thrust it toward her. Gratitude filled her eyes, and as soon as her fingers curled around the soft material, he turned around, giving her privacy to change.

A minute later she said softly, “I’m done.”

He turned to face her again, relieved to find all the important, voluptuous parts of her decently covered—though he couldn’t help but appreciate how well she filled out his large shirt. Her unbound breasts were full and high, grazing the soft, faded cotton. The hem flirted around her slender thighs, drawing his gaze to those long, graceful legs of hers covered in ivory stockings, prompting fantasies he had no business imagining.

Awareness rumbled through him, settling in his belly like hot coals. Needing the distraction, he helped her from the crumpled dress, then pulled down the covers and gave the firm mattress a pat.

“In you go,” he said lightly, the words echoing his nightly routine with his daughter.

The very grown-up woman with centerfold curves sat on his bed, but before he could yank the covers up to her chin, she glanced down at her legs dangling over the side of the mattress. “My stockings and garter,” she murmured, a perplexed frown creasing her brow. “I can’t sleep with them on. I want them off.”

Garrett’s jaw clenched with restraint. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice her stockings, and he was willing to bet that as soon as her head hit the pillow she’d be out like a light and nothing would disturb her, not even that extra lingerie. But there was a sudden stubborn glint in her eye that told him his torment wasn’t over. He stepped back to let her do the deed, and crossed his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t be tempted to help. Without modesty, she hiked up the hem of his shirt and reached down, swaying off balance. She managed to catch herself, just barely, before she toppled over.

Her tenacity would have amused him if she didn’t arouse him so much.

For a sober woman, the task should have been a simple one, and possibly even a provocative striptease. For a woman who was all thumbs and couldn’t get those thumbs tucked beneath the band of her stockings, the deed was a monumental one. Her frustration mounted as her fingers slipped, and a choked sound escaped her. When she glanced up at him, hopeless tears brimmed in her eyes, turning them to a velvet shade of blue.

She bit her trembling bottom lip in a valiant attempt to hold her emotions at bay. “I can’t do anything right today.”

If she hadn’t looked so beaten, he might have been able to resist the silent plea in her gaze. This was no calculated attempt to seduce him as he’d come to expect from most women, but a raw, honest need for his assistance.

Breaking his vow not to touch her, he brushed her hands away and hooked his fingers into the lacy band of her stocking with as much indifference as he could muster. His mind managed to remain detached from the situation, but when the calloused pads of his fingers accidently stroked her silky, delicate skin on the way down her leg, his body burned with a long denied hunger.

Irritated with his response to this woman, he finished the intimate task quickly. “Lie down and get some sleep,” he ordered in a gruff tone, anxious to get out of his bedroom.

She eased back on the pillows, her hair floating around her head like a halo of gold. Her expression softened as she blinked up at him slumberously. Glancing away, he lifted the covers beneath her arms and tucked her in. Just when he would have straightened and turned to go, she grabbed his shirt, holding him inches above her.

Heart pounding, he waited to see what she intended to do.

A multitude of emotions shifted across her face, too many to pinpoint just one. “Garrett,” she said, the drowsiness stealing over her making her voice husky and warm. “Thank you.”

Her lips were inches away, inviting and lush, and that sexy beauty mark beckoned to him. Had he ever wanted something so badly as to settle his mouth over Jenna’s and taste her?

He swallowed, hard. “For what?” he managed, his voice low and raspy.

“For taking care of me.” An achingly tender smile curved her mouth. “It’s been so long since anyone has been so kind to me, so caring.”

Garrett tried to straighten to break the physical and mental hold she’d seemed to cast over him, but couldn’t move. He felt himself being inexorably pulled toward her, not by the strength of her hands fisted in his shirt, but by his own damnable weakness, and the lure of what her soft, parted lips might offer.

Sweetness. Surrender. And a passion he suddenly craved more than his next breath.

He never meant for the kiss to happen. Never meant to allow himself to get caught up in needs and desires he’d buried long ago. But when she slowly slid one hand up around the back of his neck and into the hair curling over the collar of his shirt, then brought his mouth to hers, his senses spun. Her lashes fluttered closed, and resisting her became a distant thought. A Herculean effort he didn’t have the strength to battle.

The gesture itself was chaste enough, an expression of gratitude, he knew, but the way her lips molded so perfectly to his made the embrace seem more sensual than an overtly provocative kiss. Her mouth was warm and incredibly plush beneath his, so giving and sweet.

So full of the kind of promises he stopped believing in long ago.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back. She made a token sound of protest as their lips drew apart, but her hands fell away and her eyes never opened. Giving in to the exhaustion he knew she’d been fighting, she settled back into his pillow. With a soft, dreamy sigh she drifted off to sleep, leaving Garrett to wonder if she’d remember any of this in the morning.

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

With a groan that seemed to reverberate through Jenna’s aching head, she rolled to her side and pried her eyes open against the sunlight filtering into the room…and stared into the face of a pretty little girl with long, straight blond hair Jenna instantly envied, inquisitive green eyes, and a contemplative expression. The girl was on her knees at the side of the bed, elbows propped on the mattress, and her chin bracketed between her palms, as if she’d been there for a while, waiting for Jenna to wake up.

“Why are you sleeping in my daddy’s bed?” she asked, more curious than accusing.

Not recognizing the girl and startled by her question, Jenna’s heart leapt in her chest as she frantically searched her disoriented, foggy memory, trying to remember where she was, and how she’d gotten in this strange room and this large bed that seemed to envelop her in a subtle, masculine scent she recognized as belonging to the prince who’d rescued her last night.

Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. Last night, and the devastating events that led to her fleeing to a town where no one knew her flooded her memory like a tidal wave. She’d been so overwhelmed by shame that she’d leapt into the limousine waiting to take her and Sheldon to the country club for their reception, and hysterically ordered the chauffeur to Just drive! She hadn’t cared to where, just so long as she put as many miles as she could between her and the disgraceful past she couldn’t seem to escape. A past that would forever haunt her. A past that marred her chances of ever being respected, or respectable. What made her believe she could fit in to Sheldon’s affluent life and be the wife to a prominent surgeon? She’d tried to conform, but she couldn’t erase the mistake she’d made. His well-to-do family and their elite circle of friends weren’t willing to dismiss what she’d done, either.

An hour outside of St. Louis, in the small town of Danby, the annoyed limo driver had pulled into the parking lot of Leisure Pointe and informed her that he hadn’t been paid to take her on a trek across Missouri. Knowing there was nothing left for her in St. Louis, she’d climbed out of the limousine, entered the rowdy establishment, and sank despondently into a booth in a far corner—feeling more heavy-hearted and isolated than ever.

She remembered faceless men sending Amaretto her way. She remembered the bartender keeping those same hounds at bay when it was obvious she wanted to be left alone. She remembered Garrett, with his deep, dark blue eyes, and the way he’d made her feel safe and secure when she’d believed she’d never feel safe and secure again.

Her hand fluttered to her lips, and her belly tumbled, not from the aftereffects of consuming too much Amaretto, but from something far more pleasant, and far more frightening. Most of all, she remembered kissing her gorgeous, raven-haired prince and the sweet, tender acceptance that had filled her in that fleeting moment.

And then she remembered nothing as deep sleep consumed her. Jenna felt a gentle tug on her hair, prompting her to leave her private thoughts behind and lift her lashes to deal with her unexpected visitor. The little girl had a strand of Jenna’s hair corkscrewed around her finger, seemingly fascinated with the way it clung so naturally.

“How come you’re sleeping in my daddy’s bed?” she asked again, more insistent this time.

Still absorbing the surprise of finding a pixie watching over her, she chose her answer carefully. “Well, I needed a place to sleep for the night, and your daddy let me use his bed.” That much she remembered.

“Oh.” Her little nose scrunched up as she thought about that. “And you’re wearing his shirt, too.”

She glanced down, confirming that the nightshirt she wore wasn’t the silky chemise she’d packed for her honeymoon. More memories tumbled through her foggy mind, of Garrett helping her to undress, and the intensity in his deep blue eyes…

The little imp tilted her head to the side. “What’s your name?”

“Jenna.” She offered a small smile. “What’s yours?”

“Chelsea Blackwell.” Pushing away from the bed, she strolled over to the froth of satin draped over the chair in the corner of the room and stroked her hand over the shimmery material. “This is like a fairy princess dress,” she said in awe.

Too bad her dreams hadn’t come true like they did in fairy tales, Jenna thought, unable to fend off the sharp sting of disappointment she experienced. “It’s a wedding dress,” she said in a tight, achy voice.

“Did my daddy marry you?” Chelsea glanced back at Jenna, her green, guileless eyes round with hope. “Are you my new mom?”

Jenna immediately shook her head to ward off the child’s line of questioning. “No, your dad didn’t marry me, honey, and I’m not your new mom.” Gingerly sitting up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and waited for her head to stop spinning. She hated bursting the little girl’s bubble of excitement, and offered the only consolation that came to mind. “But I’d like to be your friend.”

“Okay.” Seemingly satisfied with that compromise, Chelsea grinned, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. “Does that mean you’re staying here?”

Jenna honestly didn’t know what she was going to do, and hoped over the next few weeks she’d be able to figure out which direction her life would now take. No matter her decision, she doubted it encompassed staying in this house with Garrett and this adorable little girl.