Runaway Groom (6 page)

And don’t forget that one small point that men don’t find you attractive.

The glimmer of reality pierced and deflated the delicious champagne buzz she had going on.

“You okay?” Melissa asked with a frown of concern. Amy’s throat started working against a massive lump as her alcohol high took a rapid plummet toward maudlin, reminding her of her utter folly that had resulted in yesterday’s flight to Whitetail. The backs of her eyes burned.
I
will not cry.
I
cannot cry.

“I’m fine,” she finally managed to say.

Melissa didn’t look convinced. “You don’t look fine. You look like your dog just died but I know what will cheer you up,” she said with a smile. “Try on the dress.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Amy said, hastily setting the gown over the back of the couch.

“Why not?” Melissa set down her drink. “I try on every wedding gown that comes into the store.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.” She looked a bit self-conscious and then she jumped up, selected a gown and unzipped the protective bag. “This is your size. Try it on and you’ll either understand what I mean or you won’t. Either way it doesn’t matter.”

“I’d feel silly. I’m not even in a relationship let alone thinking about getting married.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

A spectacular soft-white chiffon gown hung on a padded satin coat hanger, dangling from Melissa’s French-manicured nails. It called to her like the sirens called to the sailors and she couldn’t understand why. But then again, she’d been flung out of her normal life and nothing in the past twenty-four hours was remotely familiar. She’d lost her job, attacked and dislocated a motorcyclist’s shoulder, undressed the handsomest and most exasperating man she’d ever met and now she was buzzed on champagne in the middle of the day. Why not add in trying on a wedding gown?

“Okay,” she said, kicking off her shoes.

Melissa told her to keep her eyes closed as she zipped her into the gown and the next moment she was staring at herself in the mirror. The gown only had one shoulder strap, which was embroidered with a thousand tiny seed pearls that wound down in a floral pattern over her bust to finish at her waist. The A-line cut of the gown and the soft drape of the chiffon hugged and accentuated her curves, highlighting them in a way none of her work clothes ever did.

She hardly recognized herself. She looked...attractive. Pretty almost. Like the fairy princess in the stories her sisters had always loved to have read to them when they were kids. Stories she’d hated. “Oh, my God.”

Melissa nodded, understanding perfectly. “It’s magic, right? Best pick-me-up ever.”

Amy laughed. “And it’s not even addictive.”

An odd look crossed Melissa’s face. “It’s safer than cocaine for sure.”

Amy picked up the church train and twirled a few times, imagining dancing in the dress across a parquet floor. The image of Ben, his broad shoulders filling a black tuxedo jacket, pinged into her mind and the next moment it was like she was looking into his supercilious gaze. She stopped dead.
Ben.

She’d totally forgotten he was waiting for her to drive him back to the house.

Chapter Five

Ben stared at the pile of white towels, his neatly folded clean jeans and T-shirt, and a fresh bar of soap, all of which Amy had laid out in the bathroom as if he was a guest at a hotel. The moment he’d put off for most of the day could be put off no longer. It was time for a shower.

He was finally back at the lake house after spending a large part of the day at Al’s workshop. When he’d arrived at the auto repair’s, the sign on the door had read, Driving Bride and Groom around Town. For the next three hours, no one had wandered in. Either the townsfolk knew Al was busy on a wedding day or everyone else was too.

Not that he’d minded the time. He loved the smell of grease and he’d been happy to have the place to himself. He’d checked out Al’s eclectic collection of old cars and bikes and texted his father some photos of the T-model Ford and the Mustang. Then he’d pulled a well-thumbed novel out of Red’s saddlebag and read. Spending time alone wasn’t an issue—it was the whole reason for this year away. But as the hours had ticked past, he’d realized that Amy was probably paying him back for his refusal to shop with her and do everything her way. If this was her idea of punishing him, he had no complaints at all.

The phone had only rung once and it had been a supplier in Madison telling him that Red’s top-end oiler kit, which he needed to fix the bike’s mechanical problem, would be dispatched on Monday. Yesterday that would have annoyed the hell out of him. Today, it made scant difference to his life when the thing was shipped. Hell, he couldn’t even fit it with one arm out of action.

He’d been using his left hand and scrawling a probably unreadable note to Al when Amy had arrived at the garage all breathless and pink cheeked with her gray eyes sparkling and her tight curls dancing around her face. She’d looked as if someone had just shown her the moon and the stars for the very first time.

She’d looked like a woman who’d just been laid and his gut had rolled and his blood had pounded just that bit harder with the same ridiculous pull of attraction that he’d got last night. It made no sense. He didn’t want to be attracted to any woman—he didn’t want a woman in his life, period. But he couldn’t deny his body was reacting to her and that confused the hell out of him. Surely, if his dormant sex drive was going to wake up, he’d be attracted to the same physical type that had always caught his eye.

He thought of Lexie with her short-cropped hair and athletic build, which she toned daily with a punishing workout regime, and he instantly wondered if this unwanted and unexpected attraction to Amy was because she was the total physical opposite of Lexie. The thought instantly reassured him and he relaxed. This odd pull couldn’t be attraction after all. It was what his sister-in-law, the therapist, would call something like overcompensation. He’d call it bullshit at the very least or his body getting sick of the longest sexual dry spell it had experienced in a decade. Either way, he was in the clear and, most important, he wasn’t going crazy.

When Amy had rushed into the garage, she’d also looked happy for the first time since he’d met her, but now as she lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, she didn’t look happy at all.

“So how do you want to do this?” she asked, chewing on her knuckle.

Her usual take-charge attitude seemed to have slipped slightly and she wore an air of vulnerability he didn’t want to acknowledge. Remembering her reaction earlier in the day when she’d found out that he’d told the doctor how he’d hurt his arm, he knew exactly how to get her back to her irritating, outraged self.
That
Amy he could cope with.

He raised his brows. “I figured you’d strip me naked and I’d take a shower.”

Her eyes widened and her face instantly flamed as red as her hair. “I’ll do no such thing,” she snapped in her best martinet voice.

He grinned, loving how irate she was. “Why not? You did it last night.”

“We’ve been through this. I did not strip you.”

He raised his brows.

Her bee-stung lips pursed. “If you recall, your shirt stayed on. The
only
reason I took off your leather pants was because you were so drunk you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Semantics.”

“No, facts. Today, I’m prepared to remove your shirt and your boots.” She flung her arm out, her ringless fingers pointing in the direction of a chair. “I brought that in so you can sit while you take off your pants.”

He could see that working and he appreciated her forethought, not that he was going to tell her that, given she’d put him in this position. Even so, as good a suggestion as it was, it still didn’t make him totally independent and he resented that. “As much as neither of us want this, I’m going to need your help getting dressed.”

She tugged at her suit jacket as if she was preparing to face the Spanish Inquisition. “When you’ve showered, use that bath sheet to cover yourself and then call me when you need help.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute with his good arm.

“Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t certain if her tone was censuring or wistful. He thought about his past year, which was as far removed from a joke as possible, but she didn’t need to know that. “Pretty much.”

She stepped in and started to undo his sling, her fingers brushing the back of his neck. “Is that an Aussie thing?”

Trickles of warmth stole through him. “What?”

“Being laid-back?”

If she thought she knew him after less than twenty-four hours, he wasn’t going to disabuse her of the notion. “Yep. It’s part of our DNA.”

“Hold your arm,” she instructed a moment before she slid the sling away. Then her fingers were on the hem of his shirt, the soft pads caressing his chest as she raised the material up.

Shit.
Silver spots danced behind his eyes, mocking his quip that he wanted her to strip him naked. At this point, still fully dressed, he was going to be hard-pressed not to embarrass himself.
Hard-pressed?
God, what the hell was wrong with him.

“Ben?”

He tried to concentrate. “Hmm?”

“I’m not your slave and I can’t do everything for you. You need to help out by pulling your good arm through the sleeve.”

Her impatient tone thankfully centered him and he did what he was asked. The next moment, she tugged the shirt over his head and then she slid it down his arm.

“Thanks.” His voice sounded rusty.

“No problem.” She swallowed. “Um...can you...um...” She glanced away as if she didn’t want to look at him and he noticed the tips of her ears were tinged pink.

“Can I what?” he asked, fairly certain he knew what she was going to say but wanting her to say it anyway. It probably made him a total jerk but her acute embarrassment was surprisingly enjoyable. Plus, if his teasing could make her feel uncomfortable then she’d do the absolute bare minimum to help him, which was what he needed if the brush of her fingers on his back had spots dancing before his eyes.

She tilted her chin and blurted out, “Manage the snap on your pants.”

He grinned. “Probably, but you can always help if you want,” he said, knowing full well she wouldn’t touch his jeans with a ten-foot pole.

The next moment her right hand shot out, gripping his waistband with a jerk and pulling his pants up hard against his crotch. The backs of the fingers of her left hand brushed his belly and his butt cheeks clenched as blood shot to his groin.

She flicked open the snap and then her fingers thankfully leaped away as if the metal had burned her. “The water’s extremely hot so you’ll need to add cold,” she said as her heels clacked quickly against the tiles, heading fast toward the door.

It slammed shut behind her and Ben sat down hard on the chair, closing his eyes and gulping in a breath.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
At this rate he was going to need a cold shower today and every day until he got the use of his arm back and he no longer needed Amy’s assistance. That day couldn’t come fast enough.

* * *

“Amy!”

The volume of Ben’s frustrated shout almost split the wood on the bathroom door.
Oh
,
God.
She sucked in a steadying breath, knowing she had to go back in there and she wouldn’t know where to look. Why did he have to have a body that every woman desired and every man envied? Every muscle and tendon was delineated and screamed pure masculine strength and beauty. Just looking at him made her feel even more dumpy and frumpy in comparison and she hated that. Yet his body was hypnotic—she wanted to gaze at him in open admiration just as she’d gazed at Michelangelo’s David in the Uffizi museum in Florence all those years ago when she was a college student with her life in front of her.

You can do this.
Just don’t stare.
Don’t stare.
Do.
Not.
Stare.
She blew out a breath, placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it.

“What do you...?” Her mouth dried as her eyes decoded blue cotton stretched across the tightest male ass she’d even seen. Her eyeballs melded to the glorious sight like they’d been super-glued and she had to close them to break the bond.

Please don’t turn around or I will totally embarrass myself by drooling.

Angry at herself for feeling so hot, aroused and out of her depth, and angry at him for making her feel that way, she flicked the bath sheet off the rail and said to his back, “I asked you to cover yourself with a towel.”

“Yeah, well you try tying a towel with one hand,” he said with a deep growl of frustration.

Thankfully he didn’t turn around. “Here,” she said, flipping out the towel and passing it around his front and knotting it at his hip.

“Jeez, lady, you are one uptight chick. I did my best to protect your poor, fragile sensibilities by putting on my jocks. Anyone would think you’d never seen a naked man before.”

She felt the slow flush of heat starting at her neck and knew it was fast crawling over her face. She hated that she blushed so easily but it was the unwanted legacy of some distant Scottish genes, which gave her pale skin, red hair and a propensity to color up.

“Of course I’ve seen naked men,” she snapped, hoping he didn’t demand to know exactly how many because the incredibly low figure would give him even more to tease her about. “But unlike Australians, who seem so free and easy with putting their bodies on display in front of virtual strangers, here in the Midwest we’re more—”

“Prudish? Repressed?”

Sex with you was so boring I barely stayed awake.

“No,” she spluttered, quickly stifling the memory of Jonathon’s sneering voice that her traitorous mind had chosen that precise moment to recall.

He turned around to face her, his left hand gripping the edge of the vanity. “What then?”

But the bright red blood running down his cheek stalled her reply. “You’ve cut yourself.”

He grimaced. “It appears you need two hands to shave well.”

She grabbed some toilet paper, wadded it and pressed it firmly against his cheek to stem the bleeding. He smelled of coconut body wash and the image of him running along a beach fringed with palm trees socked her hard. Her body urged her to lean in and see if his clean and burnished skin tasted of coconut too, and it took everything she had to lean back from him. It was then she noticed how extremely pale his face had become.

“Ben?” She pulled the chair toward him. “Sit down before you fall down.”

To her surprise, he actually obeyed her and sat down heavily.

She shook her head, bemused. “Yesterday you coped with excruciating pain when I put your shoulder back into position, but today you nearly faint at the sight of a minimal amount of your own blood? What’s with that?”

He gave her a half smile. “Survival.”

She didn’t understand. “How is fainting at seeing blood survival?”

He rubbed his unshaved cheek. “They reckon if a caveman fainted at the sight of his own blood, his opponent walked away thinking he was dead.”

“Well, I think you’re going to live this time,” she said, checking the nick that had stopped bleeding.

“I’m sure as hell not shaving again until I can lift both arms.”

She started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You look like the Yin and Yang symbol with one cheek white and the other brownish-black.”

“I’m glad my misfortune entertains you.”

For the first time he looked ill at ease—sulky almost—which took her by surprise. “I guess I could shave you.”

His honey-brown brows shot to his hairline. “Have you ever shaved anyone before?”

“I’ve shaved my legs plenty of times,” she said, standing up and picking up the shaving cream and twirling the razor. His eyes darkened to the color of moss that grew on the rocks by the lake. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She grinned, realizing that she was and not quite understanding why, unless it was because for the first time since she’d met him he seemed uncertain. Up until the moment when he’d almost fainted, he’d been this perfect specimen of manhood who seemed so confident and secure about everything, which was in stark contrast to how she felt about her life. How she always felt in the company of men.

Only now, sitting here, he was just as fallible as her. “I’m enjoying it but not as much as if it was a straight razor.”

“It’s ‘The Man From Ironbark’ revisited,” he muttered as she approached him.

“The man from where?” She rubbed shaving cream into his unshaven skin, feeling the stubble against her fingertips and enjoying the prickly feeling.

“It’s an Australian poem about how flowing beards became popular after one man’s ill-fated shave.”

“Tilt your head back.”

His eyes took on a steely look. “Be careful.”

She smiled down at him as she scraped the safety razor through the cream, watching smooth skin appear. “Perhaps you’re not as laid-back as I thought you were.”

“And what? You’d be totally at ease if I had you on a chair half-naked with your hands tied and I was standing over you holding a razor and able to inflict damage?”

A throb of pleasure pulsed through her at the image, half horrifying her and half exciting her. She pressed her thighs together trying to stop it. “I’ve hardly tied you down.”