Bargaining with the Bride (7 page)

"
S
o
, what is it we have to do?" Garret buckled in beside her, staring at her like a puppy on his way to the park, and she let out a deep breath.

What had she gotten herself into here?

"Are you sure you want to go? This is going to be really, painfully boring."

"I'm game. Just tell me what I need to do."

"All right, then." She backed out of the driveway, doing a mental run-down of all the things that were still piled up on her wedding to-do list. She'd gotten her dress a month ago, so at least he wouldn't be along for any of that. The venue and caterers had also been selected a while back. Which, she guessed, just left...

Everything else.

"We should probably get a dress for the bridesmaids."

Garret nodded thoughtfully, and she tapped her hands on the steering wheel.

"We also need, um, a tux for you. And a cake. And flowers."

"You still have to do all of that with only a month to go?"

She gave him a warning glare, "I would have gotten it done earlier, but my boss is a slave driver."

"I've heard that. But isn't he also stunningly handsome?" He raised his eyebrows, but she ignored him.

Luckily, the tiny dress boutique was only a couple of blocks from her house, so the time she was required to explain herself to Garret was blissfully short. Or, at least she thought it would be.

"Who exactly is coming to this wedding?" He held the door open for her and something chimed as she crossed the shop's threshold.

"Who knows? My mother... Ugh, it was such a disaster."

She made her way to a rack of frilly pink dresses. This was what her mother would want. Traditional, classic. Boring. She fingered one with disgust, wondering if it was in her sister's size.

"What do you mean?" He glanced at a dress that was so loud she could hardly hear what he'd said.

"When I told my mother I was going to elope, she said that people would think I was pregnant."

"So?"

"So, she said she couldn't bare to have a shame marriage in her family and I simply had to have a wedding."

"Okay."

"She paid for everything and invited all the people she wanted, but she'd done most of it without telling me."

"Oh..." he frowned.

"Yeah. I talked Lance into it, but..." She shook her head, pulling another peach pipe bomb from the rack. "Well, you can't always get what you want."

"I guess not. Still—"

She cut him off. She'd given herself enough pity without him adding to it. "Let's not talk about it, okay? Let's talk about these hideous dresses." She held up what looked like a prom gown left over from the eighties and he laughed.

"You're not seriously going to have someone wear that?"

"It's what my mother would want. Probably because that's what she would have had her bridesmaids wear when she got married a hundred years ago."

"So? Don't you think she's gotten enough of what she wants? If she's going to make you have a wedding, why don't you at least make it the wedding you want to have?"

"You clear have never met my mother."

"No, but I know I'm the groom and my job is to take care of my bride."

"You're the fake groom."

"I have a job to do none the less, don't I?"

She laughed, and though their morning had been beyond bizarre, something warm flooded through her. Like...gratitude, "Maybe you're right."

"I'll never get sick of hearing that," he grinned.

"What would you pick?"

"Something purple."

"Purple?"

"Isn't that your favorite color?"

She eyed him wearily, but he only shrugged, "You wear purple at least once a week. It's not like you're the only one who gets to be observant."

"No, I guess not." She smiled, and then moved through the store with him, occasionally pausing to look at one dress or another. He was right, though. Every dress that caught her eye was purple.

Not just purple. A pretty, flowy lavender that made her think of spring. It was the exact kind of color she'd always pictured for her wedding, but she knew her mother would balk at the color.

Still, when she reached the back of the store, her gaze lighted on one dress she couldn't resist.

It was as untraditional a dress as possible. The same beautiful lavender as the others, but with off-the shoulder sleeves that would make her sister and Natalie look like fairy princesses. It was gorgeous. It was elegant.

It was on sale.

"This is beautiful."

"It looks like you," Garret smiled.

"My mother will hate it."

"All the more reason to ring it up."

That soothing warmth spread over her chest again, and though she knew she should say no, she couldn't bring herself to walk away.

"All right. Let's do it."

G
arret set
the bags from the dress shop in the back of the car, and then settled into the passenger's side again.

"Where to next?" He asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

"You need a tux."

"I have a tux."

"Who just has a tux laying around?"

"I am the co-owner of a multi-million dollar company."

"Hm, I guess you are." It was funny how easy it was for her to forget that sometimes. To her, he was just Garret. Funny and smart and, apparently, a dog lover.

Sure, she'd seen him looking strong and severe in meetings, but what would he look like with his thick, dark hair all slicked back and fashioned? How would his broad shoulders look in a slim-fitting suit?

"I'll admit it doesn't get a lot of use," he shrugged. "Brooks handles most of that kind of thing. He's much more apt to...mingle."

"So I've heard." She turned the corner, thinking of all the times she'd seen Brook's face at the head of page six in the newspaper. It was always under a headline that went something like 'Millionaire Playboy Plays to Win' or 'Organic Chemistry founder Making Sparks.' Needless to say, there would always be some tiny blonde pinned to his arm in each shot.

"That notorious, is he?" Garret grinned.

"I'm just amazed you don't have more broken-hearted secretaries."

"All in good time." Garret shrugged and for a moment silence fell over the car, then he went on. "Tell me about your sister."

"No. I'm not doing twenty questions with you again. I refuse."

"Oh, come on. It's not like that. I'll have to meet her, won't I?"

"I guess you will. And when you do...Let's just say that, unlike me, Eliza doesn't have a problem standing up for herself."

"I see."

"To her detriment."

"Oh?"

"She's a bit of a free spirit. She goes where the wind takes her. For a while, she was working in a traveling craft fair as a glass blower. Before that, she made organic perfumes. Before that, she tried college but..." Rachael shook her head, thinking of the inevitable phone call that always ended and started every new phase of her sister's life.

"Hey, Rach, so, everything is cool. Nothing to worry about. But, well, [insert terrible thing here]."

Maybe she drove her boss's car into the lake or she and the dean of admissions didn't see eye to eye on expressionist art in the middle of the student union. Whatever the case, the Ford sisters were, both, walking disasters.

But for Eliza, that was in the best possible way.

"But what?" Garret prompted her as they stopped in front of the tiny flower shop in town.

Rachael tilted her mouth to the side, trying to figure out how best to describe her sister. "She's the best person you'll ever meet."

"I can't wait."

T
he door chimed behind them
, but the two people behind the counter didn't look up. Instead, they seemed entrenched in focusing on each other and mumbling in angry, hushed voices.

As Garret approached, he thought he heard the younger of the two women say something like, "if you would just give it a chance, I'm telling you, Mr. Arnaldo would love to—"

The elderly woman's gaze finally found them and she smiled, apparently ignoring the girl who was still intent on talking. "Welcome to Bloom's. How can I help you?"

Rachael stepped forward, and then sat on one of the little stools in front of the wooden sales counter. "I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I need flowers for my wedding next month."

"That's no trouble at all. My granddaughter, Becky, needs something to keep her busy." The elderly woman stared pointedly at the girl beside her.

As they glared, Garret got the distinct impression that they hadn't walked in on anything unusual.

"We love weddings! We just finished my sister's a few weeks ago. What did you have in mind?" Becky pulled a binder out from beneath the counter and sat it in front of Rachael.

"Um, probably something standard. Nothing too—"

"Do you have sample pictures?" Garret cut her off. He wasn't about to watch her while away her time on things she didn't want anymore. As far as he could tell, she'd done quite enough of that already.

No, he'd be damned if Rachael didn't get exactly what she wanted.

"We certainly do." Becky flipped the pages of the book and Garret sat down next to Rachael and prepared himself for the fight of a lifetime.

"
I
still think
they're a little too wild." Rachael nearly closed the door on him as they entered the house that night, but he only laughed in response. She'd spent most of the day waffling on her choices before eventually picking the thing she would have picked if the outside world hadn't gotten in the way.

"They are called wild flowers."

"I know, but...I don't know." She plopped onto the couch and he stared at her for a long minute. The last time he'd been on that couch...

The scratching of paws against hardwood alerted him to Tesla's presence and he bent down to greet his drooling friend.

"Wanna say hi?" He asked Rachael.

She scooted farther away, "I'm good."

"Come on, it's not so bad. Give it a try. If you do, I will listen to you rethink the bridesmaids dresses for an hour."

He grasped Tesla's collar and led him closer to an increasingly anxious-looking Rachael. Still, she held out her hand and, as she touching hot lava, she gently and quickly stroked his fur.

"See? That's not so bad, is it?"

In lieu of answering, she bit her bottom lip, and when Tesla licked her calf, she pulled both legs onto the couch.

Apparently, that would be enough bonding for one day.

"So...what happens now?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I thought I'd make dinner."

"No, I meant, like... You don't plan on sleeping in my bed or anything, right?"

Why hadn't he thought of that? Sure, having him and the dog would have been stress enough on her, but those kinds of arrangements?

Ugh, he was such an idiot.

"No, no. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Except for when you come up every hour on the hour to monitor my sleep positions?"

"Exactly."

She nodded, a half smile tilting her lips, "I kind of liked the dog."

"I kind of knew you would."

"And I like of liked you helping me today."

"Oh yeah?" He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. From this distance, with her legs pulled up against her chest like that, he could almost see the triangle of her panties between her thighs. He tried his best not to look, but the more he tried to focus away, the more it called to his attention.

"It was...nice."

"Yeah, it was for me too."

He smiled briefly, and then stepped into the kitchen to uncork a bottle of wine. Hopefully, by the time he revisited the living room, her feet would be on the ground and his head would be on his shoulders again.

Tonight, they were going to toast to a very unusual bargain.

W
hen Garret got home
, bearing Chinese and an industrial bottle of Pinot, it was to find Rachael lounging in one of the wooden kitchen chairs, her drawn face lit only by the harsh light of her computer screen. He stood in the doorframe for a moment, surveying the way her pretty mouth scrunched up at whatever she was reading and the way one of her delicate feet absentmindedly pet Tesla under the table.

Repressing an internal sigh, he wondered for the millionth time what he was going to do about her.

If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t just the fact that she’d been glued in front of her computer from morning till night that worried him, though that was no small concern. He had to do something about
her
. Or, more accurately, about the fact that her feelings worried him so much. This was only a business deal. There was no reason for him to be going to bed, wondering what she was thinking in the next room. What she was wearing. If she was wearing anything at all…

Rachael sighed, and he took it as a sign to flick on the light. With a start, she stared around for him, the serious scowl on her face replaced with a wan smile instead.

“Hey there,” she sounded tired. Had she not been sleeping? He should…

No. He shouldn’t do anything. It was none of his business what she did.

“Hey. I picked up dinner. I got a bottle too, but,” He paused and nodded toward the empty glass beside her laptop. “Maybe it’d be better to save that for another night?”

She followed his gaze and then shook her head. “That? No, I was going to pour a glass, but I got distracted. Wine would be great. Welcome, even.”

She snagged her glass from the table, carefully avoiding Tesla who was, as always, underfoot. Garret bit back a smile, remembering how Rachael had yelped the first time she’d seen her furry familiar. Now, he hardly ever saw the two of them apart. In fact, if Rachael was home, the pug barely bothered to move to greet Garret anymore.

As Garret began unpacking the overstuffed white cartons from the brown paper bag, Rachael got out a second wine glass and filled them both nearly to the brim.

“What made you think to get dinner?” she asked.

Because you’ve seemed upset…

He couldn’t tell her that. He was her friend, sure, but it still seemed strangely intimate to admit. He certainly couldn’t admit that he’d called every restaurant in the area trying to get a meatloaf for take out before settling on Chinese.

Instead, he shrugged and said, “I had a craving.”

“Works for me.” She slid the container of pork-fried rice toward her, then opened a drawer and placed two forks on the marble counter. After popping her container open, she frowned and asked, “You’re the kind of guy who eats his Chinese on plates, aren’t you?”

“I am.” He picked up his own utensil, and then added, “but I’m flexible.”

She smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen all week, and he lost the battle not to smile back.

He picked up his spicy beef and broccoli and followed her to the table. “So what’s with the stressed-out face?”

“Oh that’s just my face.”

“Come on,” he prompted.

She sighed, “My mother finally responded to the e-mail we wrote her. She said she wished she was more surprised, that she never liked Lance, and that she wonders if I’m ready for a commitment like marriage.” She pushed her food aside and took a long sip from her glass. “Nothing is ever easy, is it?”

“No. But the good news is you don’t have to go back there.”

She tilted her mouth to the side. “I guess so. And once the wedding is over, Eliza will be here.”

“And you can tell her all about your sham marriage.”

“She’ll love it. It’ll be like the parental revenge she always wanted.” Rachael chuckled.

For a moment, they ate in silence and all the while Garret wondered at what to say. He could tell her that her parents didn’t matter and, really, neither did the wedding. That she shouldn’t let these things and these people bring her down.

That he hated to see her full lips frowning.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” her voice broke through his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Why did it mean so much for you to keep me around?”

He blinked. In truth, he’d spent most of the week wondering that same thing. At first, he’d thought it had been because she was a great worker. The perfect solution to his research problem with Matchware. But then, when he was here around the office…

Lately, it felt like he spoke to her less and watched her more. Like whenever she strode between the cubicles, his gaze was fastened on the way her body moved. The way she looked in her hip-hugging skirts.

“Who else would put up with me?” He smiled, surprised to find how suddenly dry his throat had become.

“Well, I just want you to know I appreciate it. I mean, the moving in here things was weird. And the dog has been…a struggle. But I’m glad.”

Her soft palm clasped the top of his hand and the warmth there spread through the whole of his body. In that instant, staring into her dark eyes, he thought again of his first morning here. Her barely-there pajamas…

Those damn tight skirts…

This was wrong. He’d spent every second of the last week convincing himself as much. Six times, he'd poured over his employee handbook. He'd looked through every version of every human resources guide for the company. There were no loopholes. No way for them to legitimize any kind of entanglement.

But that did nothing to change the fact that his tongue felt slick inside his mouth, his teeth itching to rip the tight fabric of her shirt away and expose the flesh beneath. To lick what he found there until she begged for more of him. And it would be practically effortless to hoist her onto those counter tops and take command of her supple body.

He took a deep breath.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she ran the tip of her sweet pink tongue over her top lip. A slight concern etched her delicate features, but there was something more than that…curiosity. She was testing him.

And without saying a word, he knew by the surge of need in his groin that he was failing miserably.

"Rachael," he said her name simply. A toneless prompt for an answer. He didn't allow the longing he already felt it pressing into his veins to escape his lips.

"What?” Those luscious lips puckered as she sipped her wine, a little splash dripping down the side of the cup. His head was screaming for her not to do it, not to tempt him, but she knew what she was doing. Her pink tongue lapped the side of the cup, trailing the drop with slow, accurate grace, and as she returned to her regular stance, the tip of her tongue traced the curve of her full, upper lip, leaving it glossy, inviting, and oh so red.

He needed her for his business. A million people had come and gone after trying to hold her position, each claiming that the hours and requirements were too demanding. He'd offered everything he could think of, but nobody was even competent enough to merit any of the opportunities he'd strung in front of them.

That is, no one but the barely clothed woman practically splaying herself open in front of him.

She was a perfect employee. Determined, committed, intelligent.

And sexy.

He'd kept his opinions on her looks strictly professional, of course. But it didn't hurt that when he'd stayed until the wee hours of the morning, the flushed, weary face across from him was more than easy on the eyes. And funny. And charming.

Her work clothes never highlighted her the narrow waist or angular contour of her collar. The collar that still peaked out from the thin straps of her tank top. The collar that curved into the long, elegant neck. That neck that looked like it had been kissed the way it should have been for a very long time.

This whole thing had been stupid. A stupid thing to agree to. But he couldn't turn down the challenge of it…

It hadn't been to see her so vulnerable. No, it had been to help a friend.

But the kiss they'd shared had been so electric that he could never look at her again without seeing all the sensuality he'd been so desperately trying to avoid. Even if she was in a tent he was sure his cock would still be aching to feel her. Even if her entire body was cloaked in a blanket.

Ina shapeless blanket with nothing else…just that thin, soft white skin entirely naked beneath it.

Blood thundered in his ears, and suddenly this huge effort to throw caution to the wind and ignore everything else seemed like the only remaining option. After that kiss, there would be no putting the horse back in the barn. There would be no pretending that every time he'd closed his eyes to sleep, he hadn't imagined pulling her clothes off one piece at a time until she was open and willing and all his. On her sofa. In his car. On top of his desk. All his.

He swallowed hard, nearly wincing as his cock swelled against him again with another surge of need. She's set her wine on the counter beside her and was crossing her arms over her chest, unintentionally squeezing her breasts together and enhancing her already impressive cleavage.

"Kiss me." It was practically a whisper, but it carried across the room like a dart, his pulse quickening as he returned to the image of her naked body beneath impossibly thin, white sheets.

Thin just like her tattered tank top. So easy to rip. It would only take one quick, solid movement to liberate her perfect breasts, to take them is his hands. To massage them. To kiss each peak.

The silence between them was palpable, each moment tracked only by the pulse he was sure pounded in both of their veins. Sh stopped swinging her feet against the counter, and instead sat unmoving, her arms still supporting her as she leaned against the back splash. They stared at each other, and he watched as the sweet pink color of her cheeks painted the delicate skin of her neck, and crept lower, to places he couldn't see.

She bit her bottom lip slowly, releasing the supple pink petal only to run her tongue across it. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded. Once. Twice.

His feet moved without his consent. Slowly at first, but then he was sprinting, making his way across the room in only a few strides.

His palm cupped the back of her neck and he crushed her mouth against his, smashing his own lips into hers with a fierce command.

It occurred to him that she might protest, but just as he was about to ease away, her fingers grasped at his hips. She used his body as an anchor to pull herself toward him, pressing her hot core to his own. Inviting him to rip away what little barrier there was between them.

"Rachael?" He breathed between demanding, passionate kisses.

"Yeah?" She voice had become something between a moan and a purr, and the sound make his hands twitch to explore her further, to silence whatever conversation couldn't be made physically. But this was important. It needed to be said. They'd already gone this far.

"How much do you like this shirt?"

She pulled back for a moment, eying him with a playful expression. Her lips glistened, redder and more inviting than they'd even been before.

"Not enough to say no."

She leaned back, and with one satisfying rip, the tank was mere shreds in his hand. Her full, firm breasts perfectly displayed before him.

But staring at the scraps of fabric, he realized a few things.

First, ripping a shirt was harder than it had seemed in his fantasies.

Second, he did not at all care what his employee handbook had to say.

Third, and most importantly, her body was more perfect than he could ever have imagined.

T
he counter was cold
, and so was the kitchen. Or, at least, that's what logic told her. In the heat of the moment, though, her body knew no sensation other than hot, burning lust. Fire licked at every nerve in her body, and her need had risen so much that it was nearly impossible to breathe. She knew nothing, nothing at all, except that Garret was there, the remnants of what had once been her favorite tank top in his hands, and she wanted to be taken hard and fast by the sexiest guy she'd ever known.

She didn't bother to ask before she yanked his shirt from over head, pressing her chest against his so that their bodies were completely flush with each other. It all felt strangely…
right
.

As his fingers worked the straps of her bra, she traced the length of his neck with her tongue. She smiled against his skin, enjoying the steady pick up for his heartbeat as it thrummed beneath her lips.

So close, so perfect…

And then it all went to shit.