Celebration's Bride. Nancy Thompson Robards
she was off the clock and a little looser from the wine. Even though his arrival would make a good news story—Hometown Boy Who’s Done Well Comes Back to Work on Locally Filmed Show—Aiden could handle it…or it could wait until tomorrow.
She turned her eyes on Miles.
Maybe it was the combination of the wine and exhaustion, but she suddenly felt very relaxed sitting there. Miles had just sat down and she didn’t want to be rude getting up to talk to the press, especially when the press in question was her good friend’s husband. “Did you leave for college right after high school graduation?”
He shook his head. “I joined the army right after I left Celebration.”
“You were in the service?” Sydney asked. The e-encyclopedia hadn’t mentioned that.
He nodded as he took another long draw of his beer.
“How did you go from soldier to scary filmmaker?” The place was noisy and she leaned in a little closer to hear what he had to say.
“I’ve always loved film,” he said. “I even shot when I was on active duty, but then I was injured.”
She thought she’d noticed him walking with a subtle limp. “So, you’re a war hero?”
“That’s stretching it a bit,” he said. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He didn’t strike her as the type to fake modesty. “What do you mean?”
Everyone else had either gotten up to dance or shoot pool or was engrossed in conversation within their own huddles. The music was so loud, they were sort of in their own little world. It was nice…and intimate.
“It’s a long story,” he said.
“I have all night.”
“Do you?” he asked.
That was a loaded question, and there was something in the inflection of his voice that she could’ve taken all sorts of different ways if she’d wanted to.
Instead, she smiled at him and said, “Relatively speaking.”
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “You tell me where you were this weekend and I’ll tell you about how I was injured.”
As the jukebox switched to a mournful country tune, a guy singing something about wasted days and nights, those who were dancing moved close together and swayed to the rhythm. “Why do my whereabouts on my free time matter?”
“I’m just curious,” he said. “But technically, you were MIA on my watch. Even if it was only a few hours.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in an unexpected touché, and the raw sexual energy that danced between them made her want to reach out and touch him.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I respect that.” His voice was low and husky and when she looked at him, she thought, bedroom eyes.
She had to look away, or risk getting caught in the magnetic net of this chemistry. Temptation plus wine equaled a whole slew of ways she could get in trouble. Not to mention, she hadn’t even told the girls about her trip to St. Michel.
“So you consider Texas home?” she answered.
Miles shrugged. “I was born and raised here. I haven’t been back in a long time.”
“Do you still have family here?”
“I do. Most of them live here. The Mercers are a big, rowdy brood.”
“Are you close?”
She watched him as he stared at his beer bottle, picking at the edges of the label. “My mom and I are close. She’s really the glue that holds the family together. And my siblings and I stay in touch as much as we can. I’ve got three brothers and two sisters and some of them are married with kids. Everyone is just so darn busy these days. You know? It’s hard for most people to get away—even if it’s just for a long weekend. Maybe they should take lessons from you since you seem to be so good about juggling a career and flying off to parts unknown.”
He had a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. For a moment, the way he was looking at her made her breath catch under her breastbone.
“Okay, it’s obvious you’re not going to let this go, are you?” she said. “So if you must know, I had a job interview. But please keep it between you and me. There’s no sense in getting everyone all excited about it if I don’t get the job.”
She had no idea why she was confiding in him. She’d simply drawn in a breath and the words had spilled out of her mouth before she could contain them, but she’d already spilled the beans. So now she had to live with it.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he said.
“You’re not going to tell? Or even blackmail me?”
“Blackmail’s a great idea,” he teased. “Yes, I’m glad you brought it up because I can definitely use it to my advantage.”
“You do realize there are laws that prevent that type of harassment?”
“Of course. I was thinking more along the lines of trying to find some way to entice you to stay.”
She was leaning in again. Or maybe he was the one who’d moved closer. But there was definitely something going on here. Even though every fiber of good sense in her being told her fooling around with the boss wasn’t a good idea, her libido was wanting no part of playing the good girl.
Chapter Three
Several cars were parked in the suburban cul-de-sac of Miles’s parents’ neighborhood. He stopped the car at the first break in the line of vehicles and parallel parked along the curb. He sat there looking at his childhood home for a moment before he killed the engine.
The last time Miles had come home, the visit had been a disaster.
He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, wondering if this was a mistake. Maybe he should’ve met them out somewhere, on neutral territory.
But no, he was doing this for his mom. For that reason, he reminded himself that this time things would be different. Even if he had to bite a hole in his tongue. Lightly, he closed his teeth around the tip of his tongue as if giving censure a practice drill.
His mom was the peacemaker of the family and deserved better than the scene that had unfolded between Miles and his father the last time Miles had come home for a visit. Five years ago.
He and his dad hadn’t spoken since. Even if Miles couldn’t go back and change what happened on that day, he could take the high road and move forward.
For his mother’s sake.
He unlatched his seat belt and let himself out of the car. The sturdy brick, two-story Colonial, which was surrounded by trees, sat atop a small hill and seemed to be looking down on him as he made his way up the paver-lined driveway. It wasn’t the most fashionable house, especially not compared to some of the homes in Hollywood he’d visited, but it was a family home, warm and inviting, well-kept with a lived-in patina. He had to hand it to his old man. The guy would make sure his yard was manicured if he had to crawl around on all fours to get it done.
Window boxes sported bright red geraniums. There were two white wicker rockers on the front porch that looked as if they’d recently received a fresh coat of paint. A closer look revealed that the seat cushions were fraying, but the paint made the chairs look nice and inviting, even if they weren’t brand new. That was his mom’s handiwork. So was the sunflower wreath on the front door. All these little touches made a person feel welcome and wanted.
If that didn’t sum up the difference in his folks: his dad tended to the practical matters like the lawn, weeding and edging, while his mom added the nice touches that made this middle-class house a home.
When he’d talked to his mom to tell her he’d be back in town, she’d assured him