Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (7 page)

Alice would have no trouble remembering that if they weren’t currently stuck in the same place.

• • •

Justin didn’t follow Alice when she disappeared with the dog. He wanted space — needed space — because the longer he was with her, the more irrational he became.

She talked down about herself. So what? Big deal? What woman didn’t want to change something about her body? If he had a penny for every time Morgan droned on about her flawed manicure or shiny T-zone, he could buy Parrish Plastics out from underneath Harold and guarantee the damn thing stayed in Harmony Falls forever. But something about the way Alice attacked herself didn’t allow Justin to stay quiet.

And not staying quiet was a big mistake.

He’d opened a mess of emotions. He was sure of it. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have run out.

So he waited for her return, sliding open the screen door and dragging a patio chair to the edge of the balcony with every intention of forming a solid plan to get them out of this hellish situation sooner rather than later. Instead, with his feet kicked onto the railing and his legs crossing his ankles, he fell in and out of restless sleep to the rhythm of the waves. One minute he dripped a cold sweat, dreaming about lifting Morgan’s bridal veil, and the next minute he breathed heavy, dreaming about Alice, touching her, kissing her, listening to her whisper his name.

He needed to get a grip.

Standing, Justin stretched and made his way back into the condo, resettling on the sofa, out of the hallucination-inducing heat, where hopefully he could sleep without further rude awakenings, and wake up clear-headed.

Before long, he heard Alice’s voice again …

“Justin?” She was standing above him. Sunlight split the pine boughs behind her and circled her head like a halo. Charlie lurked in the distance, cleaning the fish they caught earlier.

Justin smiled at her, eager to hear what she wanted, willing to give her anything before Charlie dragged him off to Sullivan’s bonfire.

She adjusted her polka-dotted bikini top, giving him a show, dipping her finger in the edge and pulling the triangle low enough to show the contrast between her fresh tan line and a patch of milky skin.

He was getting hard.

“Justin? Open up.”

Hey, that was his line.

“Are you hungry?”

Like hell he was. Reaching up for her, he wrapped a hand around her wrist, and when he tugged, she screamed.

Justin lifted his head … off the back of the sofa and saw Alice — clad in Morgan’s awful dress — sprawled across his lap. No bikini. No creek bed. No pine trees overhead. He was in his condo living room with her belly resting on his thighs, her head twisting over her shoulder and her baby blues darkening with accusation.

She jumped up, straightened her dress and dropped a phonebook in his lap. “Jerk. I thought we might want to order pizza. You’re such a … ”

“I was sleeping, Alice. You don’t wake a person out of a sound sleep to ask if they want pizza. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t eaten in … a long time, and you have the money.”

Roughing his hands over his face, he growled into his palms and forced air like steam out his nostrils. “We’re leaving at sunrise.”

“Fine.” She thrust a hip, and her fist landed on her side.

“Good.” He stood, towering over her.

“Exactly.”

Justin pushed past her to the peninsula of granite breaking the kitchen and living area in two.

“Wait. Why? Did you come up with a plan, or did you get bad news? Is everything okay? Is my theatre okay? Did you hear something about the grant? Are you … ”

“Alice, stop talking. Just stop. I don’t have a plan. Yet. I’ll figure it out on the drive home. What waits back there can’t possibly be as bad as what’s going on here.” He pulled two twenties from his wallet and tossed them on the counter. “Order your freaking pizza. I’m going to bed.”

She whizzed by him, blocking his way into the bedroom. “I don’t know the address here.”

He turned, snagged the builder’s magnet off the fridge and threw it on the counter by the money. “There.”

“There? That’s all you have to say?” Her voice rose with each word. “Explain yourself.”

“What are you talking about? I’m tired. Move.” He grabbed her upper arms and started to lift.

She squirmed. “Put me down.”

“Gladly.” He deposited her to the side and stormed into his room.

Only she followed him.

“How are we going to do this? We need a plan. I don’t have anything to wear. We can’t just waltz back into town
together
. We should stagger our returns. How can we stagger our returns?”

That was when he noticed her hair, which had been pulled back in a knot at her neck, was now as wild and crazy as her sleep-deprived mood. No blown-dry loops of sunshine grazing her chin, instead kinky, frizzy springs poked out in all directions. And her nose was red, but not red like the lipstick her lips were missing. Her mouth formed a pale, hard line across her face, and her eyes jumped out at him. They were bold, blue and full of fury.

“Alice, go to sleep. We’ll talk about this later. The exhaustion is getting to you.”

She lunged, driving both fists into his breastbone, forcing him to trip on his own feet. He reached one hand behind him to shield the hard corner of the bedside table and the other hand to her waist to soften her fall should they both crash.

And they did. On the bed. With Alice on top.

She rolled off of him immediately, but she didn’t jump off the bed like he expected. She also didn’t hit him with her left hand, which rested inches from his right hip.

Justin was afraid to move, afraid to say a word, afraid to breathe should it pull her out of whatever peaceful trance she’d landed in. But after several seconds of eerie silence, curiosity won. Maybe she’d fallen asleep.

Turning his head, he watched her watch the ceiling fan rotate and wondered if this crazed state of sleep and food deprivation would give way to some sort of weird spiritual enlightenment.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

So much for that theory.

• • •

Alice watched the fan blades whirl and wished she could close her eyes and make the man beside her go away. He was ruining everything. Years of building a wall strong enough to support her fragile indifference of him and strong enough to imprison her true feelings for him were wasted after five seconds by his side.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

She told herself not to look at him, that he didn’t deserve her attention, but something in his voice was so unlike the proud and sure voice of Congressman Mitchell. She had to see.

When she turned her head, he was looking at her, and if she didn’t know any better she’d think regret was written all over his face. Regret about what, she didn’t know. There was too much.

She returned her gaze to the fan. Look what they’d become. It was laughable, really. Two old friends with a sordid history, still unable to be honest about their feelings.

“I’m sorry, too.” She was … and she wasn’t. He deserved to be punched. Maybe not over pizza delivery, but certainly for dragging her here and making matters worse with the I-think-you’re-beautiful admission. Still, punching him and fighting with him wasn’t solving anything.

Alice let her eyes close.

“We’ll figure this out. Technically, neither one of us has done anything wrong. Morgan cheated. She deserves the brunt of disdain. You and I will go home. I’ll get the plant. You’ll get your theatre. And we can forget about the rest.”

The rest.
Like this. Her stomach pitched. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forget what it felt like to lie next to him in bed, the heat from his body warming her left side, the scent of him stirring fantasies in her head. Or how it felt when his breath tickled her ear. Or how he looked shirtless in the summer sun.
The rest
wasn’t going to go quietly.

“Do you hear that?” His whisper shivered along her skin.

She prayed for him to quit talking. Then maybe she could forget he was there long enough to fall asleep and wake up ready to go home.

“Do you hear the ocean?”

In all the chaos of their argument, she’d missed the loud whooshing, pulsing noise permeating the glass sliding door.

He sighed. “I could lie here forever and listen to that sound.”

God help her, because she could, too, and she hated the romantic notion, mostly because it was another impossible dream. Congressman Mitchell didn’t have the freedom to stay here. Back home he had a mess to clean up. And in three weeks, when congressional recess was over, he’d be back to D.C., listening to the yapping of all the yes-men and women who followed him around, basking in his glow. Alice didn’t want to bask in the glow of anything but her own accomplishments, and being here put her theatre behind schedule.

A list of construction projects left undone formed in her head. The rotting hardwood floors. The ripped cushioned seats. The lack of lighting. The need for sound. Foggy incoherent thoughts garbled the list, but when she stirred a moment later, the words inside her head were loud and clear: Nothing mattered but the theatre.

On an exhale, Alice released the remnants of tension preventing sleep. In the morning, she’d wake up ready to go, ready to make her theatre a success. And Congressman Mitchell could do whatever he damn well pleased — as long as he stayed away from her.

So much for Congressman Mitchell keeping his distance. When Alice woke to darkness, his arm was behind her neck, his opposite hand on her waist, and she was thoroughly confused. The ocean thrashed beyond the sliding door. Mouse snored at the foot of the bed. Justin slept on the pillow beside her. Several seconds passed before she knew she wasn’t dreaming.

On a shallow breath, she lifted her gaze to Justin’s shadowy face, and tried to imagine how they got to this overly-friendly — entirely too comfortable — position. Maybe she tried to wake him again. Maybe he was the one who’d been dreaming.

Don’t wake him now.
If she could slip out of his arms and his bed, she could spend the rest of the night in the guest room, alone, pretending the whole world hadn’t jumped its axis the moment she stood up in church.

Before she could make a move toward freedom, her stomach grumbled, echoing over other noises in the room. She held her breath and waited for Justin to stir. He only inhaled, lifting her body on the strength of his chest. She rode the wave, savoring the peaceful moment while studying his face. Moonlight peppered his cheek and sparked in his hair. The deep lines of worry that etched his forehead earlier had disappeared.

Alice’s heart swelled, crowding her lungs, making it hard to breathe. This was dangerous.

She tore her gaze from his face and stared at the flash of stars outside the window. How did she get here? She closed her eyes and struggled with a shaky breath. It didn’t matter how she got here. She
was
here, not here in North Carolina on his honeymoon where she didn’t belong — that was bad enough — but
here
in his arms. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit she liked it here. She liked it, because she liked him. A lot. She breathed again, deeper this time, taking in his fresh scent and stoking her desire.

Now was a terrible time for honesty.

His arm tightened around her shoulder, fusing her to his side. She opened her mouth to breathe and swallowed a mouthful of him as her lips pressed against his chest from the force of his hug. Reflexively, she hugged him back. He felt good, strong. She’d never felt so safe.

His thumb strummed the curve of her bare shoulder, churning the emotion in her chest. She loved him. Still. She should leave. And she would have, if she’d ever been the kind of girl who did the sensible thing.

While she struggled with herself, he nuzzled his cheek against her forehead and flattened his palm on the curve of her waist. Her breasts heated against his rolling chest, and the sensation opened a pit in the lowest part of her stomach.

This was crazy. She was wrapped in Justin Mitchell’s arms. One tip of her chin and her lips could touch his throat. The thought caused pleasant chills to trip along her body until she ached enough to test the limits of her sanity, tilting her face to his neck, setting her nose to his throat. But she stopped there. Even though the darkness dulled her inhibitions, the thought of her mouth on his body had her body scared stiff. Besides, any minute now he’d wake and stop the insanity.

She waited for reason.

Instead, he strummed the flesh at her waist, each swipe of his fingertips pushing her closer to the edge. With her heartbeat echoing in her ears, she breathed him in and out, one minute cursing her weakness, the next wondering if it would be so awful to steal one kiss. Probably. It would screw her up royally, that was for sure. But wasn’t she already screwed?

His hand smoothed over the dip in her waist, back and forth, bunching her dress, until he rode the curve of her hip. She shuddered, surrendering to the ache in her core. Less than an inch, and her lips were on his throat, brushing over his Adam’s apple, skimming the scratchy arch beneath his chin. She was definitely going to rot in hell, but what was an eternity of flame compared to the unbearable heat of this?

He gripped her hip and pulled her closer, close enough for her to feel his erection. Guilt over their predicament and the way she was taking advantage of him warred with the want burning her soul until she was too confused to care.
Screw it.
She’d always been a loose cannon where Justin Mitchell was concerned. Why should this time be different? Sure, this particular situation sucked extra hard, but wasn’t the mass of SUCKINESS even more of a reason to get something pleasurable out of all the pain?

Yes. Yes it was.

And so she kissed him.

For the longest time, Alice’s lips didn’t move. They simply pressed against his as she breathed in his quickening exhales. But then he startled her by kissing back, opening his mouth and tangling his tongue with hers until she couldn’t feel anything but her body freefalling into unbelievable bliss.