Engaging the Boss (Heirs of Damon) (12 page)

She
blinked at him. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“It’s
time for dinner.”

“Oh.”
She looked away from him, clearly processing this piece of knowledge. Then,
“Oh. Oh no! I fell asleep. What time is it?”

“It’s
seven-thirty.”

“I’m
late!” She grabbed his arm and used it to haul herself to her feet. “I’m not
even dressed. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t
worry about it,” he said, still smiling rather goofily.

“Your
uncle will be upset. You go on to dinner, and I’ll get dressed really quick.”

They
started walking quickly, pausing only to lock the garden door and put the key
behind the stone.

“I’m
not going to go to dinner without you. It’s not a big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal,” she insisted, “Your uncle takes these things seriously.
And this is an important dinner. Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

She
sounded really upset and was starting to get out of breath, since she was
practically running down the garden path toward the house.

“I
didn’t know where you were,” he explained, lengthening his stride to keep up
with her.

“I
know. It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry.”

“You
don’t have to be sorr—” He cut off the word, since she obviously wasn’t
listening, so focused was she on getting back to the house as quickly as
possible.

It
took a few minutes to get to the house and then another minute or two to sprint
up flights of stairs to their room.

Then
she yanked her shirt and skirt off and dropped them on the floor as she hurried
toward the closet.

Jonathan
wanted to be a gentleman but couldn’t help but stare at her shapely back,
bottom, and legs, covered only in a skimpy lace bra and panties.

She
grabbed an evening gown of bronze silk and pulled it over her head, letting the
slinky fabric slide over her curves. “Can you zip?” she asked, hurrying over to
the case on the dresser where she kept her jewelry.

He
walked over as she pulled out a pair of antique-looking earrings and fumbled to
put them in her ears.

He
reached down toward the zipper of the dress that was hanging open. Her smooth
back was completely exposed, except for the lace strip of her bra.

He
stared down at the graceful contour leading down toward her waist and rounded
hips. Her hair was wildly tousled, swaying over her shoulders as she fiddled
with her earrings.

Jonathan
experienced a surge of yearning so powerful he could barely process it.

He
wanted this woman—he
wanted
her—so deeply he momentarily couldn’t
breathe.

It
wasn’t just physical. He wanted her in every way.

He
wanted her to be his.

“Jonathan,
zip,” she urged impatiently, looking at him over her shoulder.

He
zipped her dress up and dropped his hands.

She
turned around, working on the clasp on her necklace that matched the earrings.
“Do I look okay?” she asked anxiously.

His
eyes devoured her. The slinky bronze dress flattered her figure and brought out
the paleness of her skin, the vividness of her hair. Her skin was a little dewy
from her haste, and her hair was sexily mussed.

“You
look…” She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He swallowed. “Fine.”

“Are
you sure? Do I stink?”

She
smelled like Sarah and sunshine and grass, and it roused something primitive in
his body, in his heart. “You smell fine.”

Her
face twisted in distress. “I wanted to look all gorgeous tonight, but we don’t
have time. Let’s go.”

“Sarah,”
he said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “Wait.”

He
wanted to tell her she did look gorgeous, that he’d never wanted anyone more.

She
turned around and gazed up at him, her expression changing from impatience to
something startlingly soft.

His
chest clamped down around his voice. “You need to put on some shoes.”

***

Cyrus Damon shot
Jonathan a cool glance as he and Sarah slipped into the huge ornate ballroom,
which was set up for a formal dinner party.

They
were twenty-minutes late, and his uncle wasn’t likely to let that go unnoticed.

Fortunately,
they were sitting on the very end of the main table, so they didn’t make a huge
scene taking their seats.

The
guests were still on the salad course, and they hadn’t missed any of the
toasts, so Jonathan was satisfied that their lateness wasn’t a big deal.

Sarah
stirred her salad in her plate and slanted him an anxious look. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop
it, Sarah,” he said under his breath. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s
not a big deal.”

“I’m
supposed to be helping with your uncle, not getting him mad at you.”

“He
likes you. He won’t be that annoyed.” When she still looked worried, he took her
face in one hand. Murmured, “I mean it, Sarah. It’s not your job to please my
uncle.”

Her
eyes were wide and soft. “It’s not? I thought that’s why I was here.”

It
was. That was the whole point of his ruse. No wonder she was so flustered. She
wouldn’t know he didn’t care about the ruse anymore. That he wanted it to be
real.

But
had no idea how to make it so.

“Don’t
worry about it,” he said thickly, putting his hand down before he did something
stupid like pull her into a kiss.

“Okay.”
She looked down at her plate, then back up to him. She smiled and reached over
toward him.

For
a moment, he thought she was going to caress his face, but her fingers glided
over his hair instead. “You should have combed your hair,” she said with a
teasing smile.

“Is
it bad?” He wasn’t surprised, what with the frustrating search for her, the
rush back to the house, and the rampant lust.

She
smoothed it down, her lips quivering. “Not too bad.”

He
was pretty sure she was lying, but he didn’t give a damn about his hair.

When
Sarah started on her salad again, looking more relaxed, he glanced over at his
uncle, who was watching him thoughtfully.

Jonathan
looked away, and his eyes landed on Andrew. Andrew was watching him too, for
some reason, and was wearing an expression of barely concealed hilarity.

Jonathan
wasn’t always up on social nuances, but he knew instinctively what had amused
his cousin.

He
and Sarah had arrived late to dinner, and they were both tousled and flushed.
Andrew, naturally, would assume they were doing something other than rushing
from the garden.

If
only that were the case.

Sarah felt absolutely
beautiful.

It
was a rare enough feeling for her to be rather overwhelmed by it. She kept
wanting to giggle or hug herself.

She
didn’t, of course. She was walking into the four-hundred-year-old chapel on
Damon manor beside Jonathan in front of the eyes of two-hundred guests, so she
kept a composed smile on her face.

Inside,
she was giddy, though.

She
wore an elegant gown of slate blue silk, since the wedding was black tie. It
had vintage-looking lace straps and cinched in a thick band just under her
breasts. She wore it with a fine webbed silk cardigan, since she didn’t want to
flash too much skin at an old-fashioned wedding.

Jonathan
had stared at her speechlessly when she’d come out of the bathroom fully
dressed, but she’d learned to read him better during the last week, and she was
sure it was admiration in his eyes.

When
she walked down the center aisle of the chapel with Jonathan toward the family
pews in the front, she was conscious that other guests were watching her. But
she felt pretty, so it was an excited kind of self-consciousness rather than
the old familiar kind that made her want to sink into the floor.

Sarah
had always known she was smart. And she’d always known she was competent and
successful at the things she tried her hand to. She knew some men had liked
her, even wanted to have sex with her. But she’d always assumed they were
settling for her looks because they liked other things about her.

Most
women, she assumed, became aware of their power to attract men some time in
their teens. For Sarah, it was only happening now.

Which
might have been why she, at the moment, felt like a silly adolescent girl on her
way to the prom.

Jonathan
put his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the pew the usher was
gesturing them into. He looked startlingly handsome in his traditional tux—more
like a sexy secret agent from a movie than the rumpled, brilliant man she knew.

She
slid in the pew to sit beside Ben, who was actually wearing a tuxedo too. The
contrast between the sophisticated suit and his unruly beard was odd but still
attractive.

She
grinned at him and leaned over to whisper that he looked good and he should
wear a tux more often.

Jonathan
had been quiet since they’d gotten dressed for the wedding. Even quieter than
usual for him. He was giving her an oddly cool look now, like he was displeased
about something. But he put his arm on the back of the pew behind her shoulders
when they sat down, and she loved the way it felt, like he was claiming her,
protecting her.

The
chapel was decorated beautifully in white roses, pink tulips, and purple
orchids. There were candles at all of the stained-glass windows, and more at
the front around the altar.

When
Harrison took his place at the front next to Andrew—both looking like movie
stars in theirs tuxes—Sarah felt a brief surge of envy. Harrison was one of the
most controlled, confident men she’d ever encountered. Yet he looked antsy,
almost anxious, standing in the front. Not like he was scared or reluctant to
take this big step, but like he was desperately anxious for it to happen.

He
loved Marietta that much.

Sarah
had never really believed a man could ever love and want her like that, but now
the recognition ached.

She
didn’t just want any faceless man to love her like that—the way she had in so
many of her youthful daydreams. She wanted
Jonathan
to. And not as a
dream hero, but as a flesh-and-blood man.

Laurel
was Marietta’s only attendant, and she walked down the aisle first. Sarah saw
Andrew wink at her and Laurel give him a discreet, disapproving shake of her
head, all the while hiding a smile.

Then
the music swelled and everyone stood up. Sarah couldn’t see much past
Jonathan’s broad shoulder and the people behind them, but she knew Marietta had
started down the aisle.

She
glanced back toward Harrison, whom she could see better. He was gazing at
Marietta, and Sarah had to turn away from what she saw on his face.

Her
chest hurt for no good reason. No good reason at all.

Marietta
had now gotten far enough up the aisle for Sarah to see her. She was escorted
by an older man. Vern Edwards, Marietta’s grandfather. Sarah had met him last
night.  He was very clearly almost in tears now.

Marietta’s
dress had probably cost a fortune, but it was simply cut with thick straps, a
square neckline, and a fitted bodice that flared out into a princess skirt. It
wasn’t what Sarah would have chosen for a wedding dress, but it was innocent
and delicately pretty—much like Marietta herself.

Marietta
had told Sarah a couple of nights ago at her bachelorette party that Harrison
was the only man she’d ever had sex with.

Sarah’s
throat was hurting now, and her hands were trembling. She had no idea why.

They’d
reached the minister at the front of the chapel, and Edwards kissed Marietta’s
cheek and went to sit down.

Harrison
and Marietta stood side by side. He didn’t look at anyone but her.

It
was a beautiful wedding—with every detail pitch perfect. Harrison and Marietta
obviously loved each other deeply. But there wasn’t anything unusual about the
wedding, and Sarah didn’t even know the couple very well. She’d been to dozens
of weddings before and had never felt this way.

But,
for no good reason, her eyes burned with tears.

She
twisted her hands together in her lap nervously, trying to focus on anything
but her ridiculous emotional response. She shifted in her seat.

The
minister was talking now, and then Cyrus Damon got up to read a passage from
the book of Isaiah about how the sin and death and tears of the world would all
be remade in love and new life.

And
Sarah couldn’t sit still, afraid at any moment she was going to break down and
cry.

She
wasn’t a woman who did that. She never cried at weddings. She didn’t cry much
at all. None of this made any sense.

Without
even looking at her, Jonathan reached over and covered her twisting hands on
her lap with one of his big, warm ones, maybe to keep her still or maybe to
comfort her. She didn’t know. It stilled her fidgeting immediately.

It
also made her lose it.

Her
shoulders shook, and the tears she’d been trying to keep in her eyes spilled
out to stream down her face. She ducked her head, wishing she’d worn her hair loose
so it could hide her face. But it was pulled back in an elegant chignon at the
nape of her neck and offered no protection.

When
she didn’t pull it together in a few moments, Ben nudged her with his elbow,
giving her a look that was obviously a question about whether she was all
right.

She
smiled and made a helpless gesture, trying to signal that she had no idea what
was wrong but it was no big deal.

Jonathan
had let go of her hands when she’d gestured to Ben, and now he put his arm around
her shoulder. He still hadn’t looked at her. She had no idea what he was
thinking.

Maybe
he would think it was just that time of the month. Maybe he would think she was
someone who always cried at weddings. Maybe he would think she was one of those
pitiful women who cried because she wanted this for herself so much and could
never have it.

She
wouldn’t have been able to explain it anyway, since she had no idea why she was
crying.

Marietta
and Harrison were saying simple, traditional vows now, and Sarah tried
desperately to listen.

Tears
still streamed down her face, and she had to sniffle to keep her nose from
running.

She
was a mess. She was a fool. She was horribly embarrassed.

She
saw a motion farther down the pew. Ben’s mother had reached for her purse and
was pulling something out of it. She handed it to Ben, who was sitting beside
her.

Ben
handed it to Sarah.

A
tissue.

Sarah
accepted it gratefully, mopping up her face. She must look like a wreck, all
her makeup smeared off.

She’d
thought she’d been so pretty today, too.

She
leaned against Jonathan’s side, feeling sheltered beneath his arm. It felt like
he was taking care of her. Maybe he was.

Harrison
was kissing his bride now, and Marietta was glowing like the sunshine. And the
ceremony was over as they were all introduced to the newly married couple.

Sarah
had finally managed to stop crying.

She
ducked her head against Jonathan’s shoulder as they got up and walked to the
narthex. She didn’t want Ben or anyone to ask what had been wrong with her.

She
didn’t have any sort of answer, except the wedding had felt real to her in a
way weddings never had before.

The
next hour passed in a haze. They had to stay for some photographs—fortunately
not too many, since they weren’t part of the bridal party. Sarah went to the
restroom to restore her face with a paper towel. She needed to touch up her
makeup, which she hadn’t brought with her, and her hair was slipping out of the
chignon, but otherwise she decided she didn’t look too bad.

The
reception was back in the ballroom of the estate, spilling out into the terrace
and formal gardens. Jonathan had his hand on her back again as they entered the
mansion, guiding her toward the reception. But she stopped. “Do you think I can
run upstairs real quick and fix my makeup?”

Jonathan
blinked. “Sure. I’ll wait for you here.”

“No,
no.” She felt silly enough as it was, and she didn’t want to make a big deal
about her makeup touch-ups. “You go on. I’ll find you.”

He
nodded. He still hadn’t asked her what had made her cry.

He
probably never would.

She
ran upstairs to her room, reapplied makeup, tried to smooth down her hair, and
was on her way down the hall again in less than five minutes.

She
nearly ran into Ben on the stairs.

“Hey,”
she said, “What are you doing?”

“I
had to get away for a minute,” he admitted. “Too many people.”

She
peered up at him curiously, figuring the crowds must be too hard on him
emotionally, because of his history with his family.

“You
all right?” he asked, studying her face with his very dark eyes. “What was the
breakdown about?”

“It
wasn’t a breakdown,” she insisted. “It was nothing. Weddings make me
emotional.” It was a lie, but he would have no way of knowing that.

“Hmm,”
he said, like he didn’t believe her. Then he arched his eyebrows. “I thought
maybe you were upset about losing your ring.”

She
stared up at him blankly. “What?”

“Your
engagement ring.” He nodded toward her left hand.

She
looked down at it. Her ring finger was empty.

It
took a minute for it to process, but when it did she gasped with a flare of
panic. “My ring! What happened to it?”

“I
don’t know. You didn’t have it on earlier today either. It didn’t appear as
though you and Jonathan had broken up your fake engagement, so I assumed you’d
lost it or forgotten to put it on.”

Sarah
wracked her brain, trying to remember when she’d last been aware of it. She’d
only worn the thing for a week and so she wasn’t used to keeping track of it,
but it was unforgivable to lose something so expensive.

“Maybe
it’s just in your room,” Ben suggested.

“Yes.
Probably.” She grabbed his arm. “Please help me look. I’m supposed to go down
and meet Jonathan, and I don’t want him to see it’s missing.”

Ben
came along, agreeably enough, although he seemed to think the situation was
amusing rather than urgent.

They
looked on all the surfaces and the floor of the bedroom, bathroom, and closet.
But the ring wasn’t there.

When
they’d finished searching, Sarah was almost in tears again. That ring was the
most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. She’d loved it. And she knew
Jonathan must have paid a lot for it.

It
wasn’t even really hers. How could she have lost it?

“Don’t
start to panic yet,” Ben said. “Try to calm down and think. When was the last
time you noticed it.”

His
reasonable tone struck her as rather obnoxious, but she knew he was right. She
made herself close her eyes and breathe.

Then
she remembered. “Damn. I was fiddling with it yesterday in the secret garden
before I fell asleep.”

“And
you didn’t see it afterwards?”

She
shook her head.

“Then
that’s where it is.”

She
glanced down nervously, as if she could see through to the ballroom on the
floor beneath them. “What am I going to tell Jonathan?”