Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

Three short knocks on the door rattled Alice’s already shaky nerves.

“I’ll be right there,” she called, clutching Justin’s cell phone to her chest as she turned to scan the room for the suitcase he mentioned. A couple pieces of shiny black luggage rested on the tiled floor beside the bed.

That
was not her luggage.

Alice tossed the phone to the mattress and hoisted the largest suitcase onto the bed, somehow managing not to drop her bath towel. With a zip and a lift, she opened the bag and stared at its perfectly pressed contents.

These
were not her clothes.

Three more knocks punctuated the pounding of her heart. “Alice, the clothes … ”

“Go away, Justin.”

She pulled a pair of jeans from the suitcase. They were the longest, narrowest pair of jeans she’d ever seen.

He knocked again. “I didn’t pack for you. This wasn’t planned. Remember?”

How could she forget? He planned to honeymoon in North Carolina with his appropriate, politically approved wife. These conservative pieces of overpriced clothing were no doubt the banshee’s. And now, they were Alice’s torment. She bent forward and sniffed the air rising from the suitcase. The spicy scent burned the lining of her nose and tossed her stomach. Not only did the clothing look like Morgan, it smelled like Morgan. How was Alice supposed to get past the stench? How was she supposed to resurface in town dressed in Morgan’s things? It wouldn’t work.

Dropping the bath towel, Alice struggled to pull on her still-damp underpants and bra. As she did, she studied her shape in the full-length mirror. Tubby said she looked like Marilyn Monroe. Blonde hair. Big boobs. Huge hips. She could see the resemblance. Too bad the modern world didn’t appreciate women with curves. She looked back at the jeans stretched on the bed. Long. Straight. Narrow. Everything she wasn’t. Why bother?

Alice glanced around the room again, her tired eyes settling on the fluffy white comforter folded over at the top to reveal pinstriped sheets. The plump bedding called to her with the promise of sound sleep and a false escape from this horrible situation. She almost gave in. But slipping into Justin’s guest bed dressed in nothing but her bra and panties seemed seedy. Even so, her skin pimpled, aching for the brush of cotton.

He knocked again, scattering her goose bumps. “Please, go away, Justin.”

“I need my phone.”

She grimaced, knowing she couldn’t stay sealed in this room. Sooner or later she was going to have to let him in. “Just a sec.”

Ripping a white blouse from the suitcase, Alice huffed and puffed as she struggled with tiny buttons, finally shoving her arms through the sleeves. The fabric stretched across her belly. Tight, but the first three buttons fastened. And if it weren’t for her breasts, the next three buttons would’ve fastened, too. Instead, she looked like the star of a pornographic office parody with breasts spilling like water balloons from the open collar of a conservative shirt and black lace panties covering her bottom half. All she needed were the wire rims and a pencil to chew.

God, how she wished she were rehearsing for a silly play instead of starring in her own psychological thriller. She pictured herself on stage instead of stuck in Carolina. She ached for her theatre, the protection from her past, the promise of her future, the sense of wonderment in the chilly, dusty, dimly lit air. But with sunshine blasting her face from the open blinds, it was useless to pretend she was anywhere but here … with him. She growled and swiped at her image in the mirror, not hard enough to hurt herself, but hard enough to rattle the sliding door.

“Are you okay?”

She wasn’t surprised at his concern. Justin probably thought she needed to be rescued again. He was forever the hero, swooping in to guide the lesser man — or woman. It wouldn’t be half as annoying if he hadn’t already rescued her so many times before … her eighteenth birthday when one kiss to her cheek convinced her to go back to school and earn her GED. She hated that memory, hated how hopeful that kiss made her feel. False hope. He was good for that. Like the hope he gave her when he said he’d “pull some strings” to help with the theatre grant. Look what had become of that. Nothing.

Swiping at her tears, Alice snatched the cell phone off the bed. She wasn’t going to mope. She didn’t need to be rescued. Besides, there was no rescuing her from her current humiliation. As if the day could get any worse, now she had to tell the man of her dreams that she was too damn fat to fit into his fiancée’s clothes.

With a breath through her open mouth and her gaze locked on the popcorn ceiling, Alice cracked the door and shoved the cell phone toward him. “The clothes aren’t going to work.”

“Are you sure?” His fingertips tickled her skin as he retrieved the phone.

Alice growled. “I’m sure.”

“Did you try everything?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Yes, you do. You don’t have another option unless you want to wear your dress.”

If she thought the dress she wore to the wedding was itchy before, she could only image climbing into it now, after wind on the beach had doused it with sand.

“Seriously, if the pants are a little long, roll them up,” he continued. “No big deal.”

She yanked open the door, giving him a first-rate look at the ill-fitting blouse. “What do you think the odds are that something’s going to fit better than this?” She waved a limp-wristed hand down the side of her body.

Justin blushed. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and then turned and walked away. “Do what you want, Alice. You always do.”

Not true. Otherwise she’d be running across the room, launching herself onto his back so she could strangle him. Being here, this close to him, was killing her.

She slammed the door, putting a barrier between them, and determined not to leave the room until he was ready to leave the beach, and then she would … Alice glanced out the glass sliding doors to the balcony where her party dress flung over the railing, ruffling in the breeze. She would have to wear the dress home — scratching from sand, smelling like fish, looking in no way, shape, or form like she’d spent the weekend in Chicago with her best friend. But who would care? Alice Cramer was always doing crazy things.

Her stomach flipped as she dropped to the bed. Who was she kidding? She would care. Years spent in a family whose name was the punch line to town jokes made a girl more than a little neurotic about her actions. That’s why she could kick herself for standing up in that stupid church.

She opened her mouth to guzzle enough air to calm her panic. What was done was done. Now she had to figure a way out of this mess.

Alice glared at the suitcase of doom. What were the chances something in there would fit? Slim. Slimmer than the banshee. But Alice gave it another try. She hated the idea of Morgan laughing at her expense.

After too many pressed white blouses to count, Alice found a stretchy tank dress at the bottom of the suitcase. The item no doubt hung on regal Morgan Parrish, but on busty Alice Cramer, the dress looked like a second skin. Alice winced, rolled her shoulders back and sucked in her stomach like Coke through a straw. It didn’t help. She exhaled and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. Screw it. She was covered. This dress would get her out of this room, out of this condo and one step closer to home.

Grabbing a scarf from the ransacked pile of clothes, Alice tied the colorful fabric around her waist to hide the little pouch that lived below her belly button. She blew air through her lips to loosen the worried lines on her face and pulled her wet hair into a nub at the base of her neck. A couple uncooperative curls dangled at her temples. Good enough. After all, Justin wasn’t someone she wanted to impress.

A strange flutter tripped along her esophagus and trapped inside her throat. She ignored it, reaching for the knob. Her hand shook, which was harder to ignore. The tremor made her think twice about facing the man in the other room. He stirred things in her she would rather not feel, causing anger to become her protective shield. Anger wasn’t good for her current outlook on life. She had pledged to be optimistic as a rule for the sake of her theatre. That’s where she needed to keep her focus. That’s where she needed to be. If she stayed in this room, she couldn’t go home.

With chin lifted and shoulders back, Alice opened the door. “I’m ready.”

Justin leaned against the kitchen counter in khaki shorts and a linen shirt unbuttoned below the dip in his throat. One look at him and she salivated. Her fingernails dug into the wooden door as she struggled to keep from slamming it shut again. Damn him for looking like the man she loved, kind, decent, uncomplicated and tempting as hell. Damn her for refusing to let go of the stupid fairytale. Her muscles flexed, readying retreat.

“I forgot to give you these.” He walked toward her, lifting a hand from behind his back, dangling her character shoes from his fingertips. “I tripped over them on my way out of church.”

He stopped a foot away, splashing her with a crisp clean scent that was decidedly Justin. She held her breath and looked to the shoes, noticing his wrist. A thick cord of muscle travelled up his tan arm until it merged with his bicep. Mercifully, that muscle, a muscle she’d felt harden beneath her hand a time or two, remained covered by his sleeve.

She jumped her gaze to the gentle swell of his chest, closed her eyes for a moment, breathed — just a bit — and reached for the shoes. “Aren’t you a regular Prince Charming?” She resisted the urge to ask him if he came to see if the proverbial shoe fit. They both knew it wouldn’t.

As he transferred the shoes to her hands, he stepped closer, fanning his fresh scent over her face. She gulped and fought the impulse to step closer still, where she could bury her head in his neck and breathe him in until he’d become so much a part of her they couldn’t go their separate ways. Stupid thought. Thoughts like that got her into trouble years ago. She wasn’t looking for trouble now.

With a roll of her shoulders and a tip of her chin, she looked at him, catching him raking his eyes over her body turned breakfast sausage in Morgan’s tight dress. She fidgeted under the weight of his stare. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m … sorry. We need to get you something decent to wear.”

Decent.
She had news for Congressman Mitchell. It didn’t matter what she was wearing, she’d never be decent enough for him.
And that made her flinch. She glared at the ground, kicked a foot behind her and shoved a heel in place. “You poor baby. It must be agony to see me in Morgan’s clothes after she wore them so …
decently
.” Alice stumbled over the extra saliva in her mouth.

After kicking the other foot behind her to slap on the other shoe, she marched back to the mirror for one last look — needing a minute to shake off her shame.

But Justin followed. “All I meant was … ”

“I’m fat.” She wrinkled her nose at the reflection in the mirror.

“You’re not fat.”

“Okay, then you’re blind.” The dress was a size four. Alice wore a ten on a very good day. She wanted to kick him and then punch him until he hurt as much as she did. Being dragged off in the middle of the night was bad enough, waking up guarded and embarrassed was even worse, and now she had to endure contemplation and criticism until he came up with a suitable plan to salvage his precious reputation which was marred by their unseemly association. God, what a freaking mouthful! Alice dry heaved.

She stormed past him, but not before he snaked an arm around her waist. At the jolt of intimate contact, she froze, back to his belly, his hot breath ruffling the hair on her head. His arm slashed a line of heat below her breasts, leaving her thighs to quake.

“You make me so angry,” he whispered, never loosening his grip.

“Ditto.” It was lame, but when talking about what feelings they brought out in one another, anger was the only safe one on the list, especially when he was touching her like this.

His hand shifted, smoothing over her stomach. Her vision blurred. Impulse picked at her skin, urging her to rub against him, reach back and graze a palm up his leg. But she couldn’t move with his fingertips burning a trail along the thin elastic of her underpants.

“I think you’re beautiful.” His mouth was inches from her ear.

She crumbled, tilting her head so his breath could warm her neck and sprinkle tiny thrills throughout her body. Maybe he was lying, but to what gain? She didn’t know. All she knew was it was pathetic to pine for an unattainable man like this. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to stop.

He turned her to face him. With his eyes closed, he dropped his chin to his chest on a labored exhale. It was weird. Creepy almost. Like he wasn’t fully in control of what he was saying or doing. Even that couldn’t keep her body from tingling and priming for any number of outlandish things. His kiss. His caress. His body entangled with hers.

At some point, while she watched the struggle play out on his wrinkled face, her brain wrestled control from her body. In an instant, her every muscle tensed, fighting the tide, reminding her that the tide wasn’t good. It smacked of long-ago desperation, false hope, and this time Alice refused to play the fool.

When Mouse whined and scratched the front door, she recognized an escape. “He has to pee.”

Before Justin uttered a word, she left the room and grabbed the dog. She was determined to erase the memory of the last five minutes and undo the damage Justin had done to her resolve.

“Okay,” he called after her.

But it wasn’t okay. None of it was okay. Standing up at his wedding had been her biggest mistake. Bringing her on his honeymoon had been his. And now he’d gone and trumped both those mistakes by touching her and confessing something he should’ve taken to his grave.

I think you’re beautiful.
She shook away his words, unwilling to risk her heart again. And he shouldn’t be risking anything on her. Not that he would, or even could. He might think she was beautiful, but no amount of beauty could trump her last name. Cramers and Mitchells were different people, going different places.