Wedding Fever. Susan Crosby
Maggie listened as Misty made the necessary arrangements to get her out of the sky-high restaurant, then Misty folded the phone and slid it back into her purse.
“Okay, it’s all set, hon. Jacques will be right outside the door.”
“Thanks, Misty. I owe you.”
“Just tell me you’ve learned a lesson—don’t bite off more man than you can chew.”
“I didn’t bite this one.” She eyed the rest-room door. “I felt as close to helpless as I ever want to feel in my life. I was doing the best I could to handle him. But he’s...a force unto his own. I’m afraid this is just the beginning of my problems with him. He’s going to be furious that I dumped him.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, hon. Trust me, this is not a man you want to be involved with.”
Maggie frowned. “Then I can’t leave you with him. I got myself into this mess. I’ll get myself out.”
She patted Maggie’s arm. “In another life, I dealt with men like him. I know what to do.”
“No, I—”
“Just follow me out.”
Maggie expected to see either Brendan., Tweedledee or Tweedledum looming outside the door. She saw only the maitre d’, Jacques, who whisked her through the kitchen. He indicated a door.
“You will find a service elevator on the other side,” he said precisely.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and retreated. Maggie pushed open the door and stepped through.
“Well, Alice, have you had enough adventures in wonder land?”
She whirled around. “Diego! How did you—What are you doing here?”
He strode toward her. “That’s some dress you’re almost wearing.”
“Don’t start,” she warned, relief warring with anger at herself. “I’m not in the mood.”
She marched to the elevator and punched the down button. Several times she looked over her shoulder. She jabbed the down button twice more. “Come on. Come on.”
“Where’s your coat?” Diego asked, coming up beside her.
“In the coat check, at the restaurant.” She fired a glance his way. “This can’t be a coincidence, your being here. Were you following me?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Maggie shivered, not only from the cold but from residual fear After a moment she felt his suit jacket being draped around her, warm and scented with the essence of him. “Thank you,” she said tightly, embarrassed that he’d seen her vulnerable. And inordinately glad that he was there.
J.D. cupped her shoulders a moment, indulging himself. They shared a silent ride down the elevator and an equally silent walk to his car, leaving each other to their thoughts. He observed her ngid posture, felt the stiffness of his own muscles.
Damn it, he’d known she’d get in the way. More than that, she’d almost blown it for him, almost ruined the relationship he was building with Hastings by forcing J.D. to confront him. Worse yet, she’d almost gotten herself into a position he couldn’t have extricated her from so easily. Thank God for Misty, who’d been able to keep him out of any public scene with Hastings.
Still silent, J.D. and Maggie navigated the hills of the city until they reached her apartment. They climbed the stairs in unison. He took the key from her and opened the door. She flicked on the living room light as she passed him.
“Dios. ” He ran his hand down the long crack in her front door. “What happened here?”
She tugged his jacket closer. “One of Brendan’s henchmen wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He inspected the splintered wood, giving himself time to calm. He should have been there. He’d known Hastings was back. He knew the man wouldn’t give up—his track record verified that.
J.D. shoved the door to close it.
He should have known she’d need him.
“I don’t believe Hastings would have harmed you,” he told her. Not yet, he thought, aware that Hastings liked to present a civilized facade for the world. J.D. leashed his temper, knowing anger would counter his purposes. “Control you, yes. But not harm.”
“Oh? And controlling someone isn’t harmful?”
“It isn’t life threatening.” He cupped her elbow and moved her to the couch. They sat several feet apart.
“I guess it depends on who’s being controlled. And I wasn’t in fear for my life, just my right to choose who I date. He’s creepy.”
“Creepy. Could you be more specific?”
“Just creepy. I don’t know how to define it. It’s a feeling, that’s all. Why were you there, anyway?”
“I was invited to your sister’s party. I was going to surprise you, pick up you and Matthew and take you there. When I arrived, I saw you getting into the limo. That didn’t make sense to me so I followed.”
“Was Misty there because of you?”
“She fit the scene. I didn’t.”
“He made me feel dirty,” she said, burrowing farther into his suit jacket, then scowling. “I’d just finished making that new winter coat, too. The jerk. He’d better give it back to me.” She stood. “I need to wash off my makeup and get out of this dress. You won’t leave, will you?”
“No. Take time to have a shower if that would make you feel better.”
When J.D. heard water running, he stood and wandered around the room, more than a little surprised at the disorder he found. A large wooden hoop held what appeared to be a block of quilting; a sewing machine and cabinet took up a substantial amount of space in one corner; a dressmaker’s form was layered with a diaphanous white silky nightgown draped over a mold reminiscent of Magnolia’s shapely body. He traced the lines with his eyes, appreciating the perfection of proportion he’d always been drawn to. His willpower had been stretched to the limit these many months of working beside her, watching her move with unintentional—and sometimes completely intentional—seductiveness. She’d flirted relentlessly with him, feeling safe perhaps, or maybe just testing him. He’d rarely reacted openly. It was all he could offer her—self-control, protection and respect.
He had a job to do, and the job came first. Unfortunately, she had become part of his job.
He forced his gaze from the dress form, shifting instead to the opposite corner where a desk held a computer and printer. Stacks of papers were piled neatly beside it. He resisted the temptation to thumb through them.
After a few minutes, the bedroom door opened. She was bundled in a fluffy pink bathrobe over a long, flannel night-gown dotted with tiny flowers. Her hair hung straight and wet to her shoulders. Her cosmetic-free face glowed from the scrubbing she’d given it. He wished he had the right to hold her.
“I’m sorry for the clutter,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I’m redecorating the second bedroom, so everything’s out here until I’m done.”
“It’s a nice home, Magnolia. I don’t think I told you that last time. Very warm and inviting.”
“I like it ” She sat on the sofa and rested her feet on the coffee table.
“I didn’t know you sewed.”
“My second love. Major in English, minor in fashion. Yes, I know. It’s an odd combination. But I have plans for both.”
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