Marry Me (51 page)

She hadn't thought she'd had that much to drink at her brother's reception, but apparently, she'd overindulged to the point of recklessness.

She was terribly hung over, and the state was rare for her. Her head was throbbing, her bones aching, and she felt so sad, as if she could crumple to the rug and weep for a week.

She went to the window and gazed out, half expecting to find Matt sitting in his red Mustang. But he wasn't there, and she was so relieved.

He was a dangerous man. Dangerous to her well-being. Dangerous to her future.

He sensed her insecurities, her isolation, her desire to belong and be loved. Because he was sympathetic, because he was perceptive and supportive, she'd grown attached to him and couldn't bear to let go.

Even now, when she'd called his boss to guarantee that she never saw him again, she was swamped by the preposterous impression that she was making all the wrong choices.

She'd shamed herself, had jeopardized her engagement, had proved that she was loose and fickle and disloyal. She was sick over what she had done. What would Andrew think if he knew?

She had always viewed herself as a faithful and devoted person who could be relied upon to behave correctly. Yet she'd nearly tossed it all away for Matt Monroe.

She wanted to marry Andrew. She
wanted
it. She wanted to be a wife, to live in New York City, to share his life and friends. She wanted to be accepted into the elevated social sphere where he thrived, where she would thrive, too.

She wasn't interested in a wild fling with an inappropriate, vain, macho man who could never mean anything to her. Why had she wandered down such an irresponsible, unsuitable road?

When she'd awakened next to him at dawn, when she'd remembered every delicious, humiliating detail, she'd been stunned by her conduct and too unnerved to face him.

She'd slid out of the bed, dressed, and sneaked off without his stirring. The weather had cleared, and it had been easy to rent a car, to drive away. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she'd cried all the way to Denver.

But she was on familiar ground now. She was where she belonged, where she'd stay. The encounter with Matt had been an aberration, one she wouldn't pursue or repeat.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and her mother entered the parlor.

"Where have you been?" Jacquelyn demanded.

"I went out partying," Brittney said. "I got back late, so I slept in."

"Honestly, Brittney, I realize you're an adult and can do as you please, but you might have warned me. The housekeeper asked if she should cook you breakfast, and I had no idea what to tell her."

"I'm sure she survived."

"What if you'd had an accident? I didn't know where you were. I was worried."

No, you weren't,
Brittney thought, but she didn't say so. Instead, she inquired, "Why are you still here? I could have sworn I told you to head to Santa Fe."

"And I told you that you were being absurd. I came to this godforsaken town to plan your wedding. I'm not going home until we're finished."

"I'm not waiting until July to get married."

"What?" Jacquelyn's astonished expression was amusing.

"I don't want to delay that long."

"It's only three months as it is. It's not as if you're rushing."

"I'd like to do it next week or the week after."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm flying to New York to speak with Andrew. I have a reservation tomorrow night. I'll have him check his schedule to see if he'd be available to get it accomplished any earlier."

"Then what?" Jacquelyn scoffed. "I couldn't possibly pull any guests together that quickly."

"I might just drag him off to a judge in New York."

"You will not," Jacquelyn fumed.

"If he can get away, we'll do it here. If not, I'll settle for a small and fast event in New York. There's no reason for him to travel all this way—except that I had hoped to have the ceremony here in the mansion. But I don't have to have it in Denver."

She left her perch by the window and headed for the hall, the path taking her by her mother. She simply wanted to go to her room, to shut the curtains and lie in the dark until it was time to drive to the airport the following evening.

Though she couldn't understand why, she felt as if she was grieving, as if she was mourning what she'd lost, what might have been.

Jacquelyn clutched her wrist and snarled, "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You look awful."

"I'm fine."

"Are you all right? Did something happen last night while you were out."

"Nothing happened," Brittney claimed. "Nothing at all."

She yanked away, went to the grand staircase, and began to climb.

CHAPTER SIX

"Would you eat something?"

"I'm not five years old, Mother. Don't nag."

"You're picking at your plate like a bird. Why bother to order any food if you're not going to eat it?"

Brittney glared at Jacquelyn.

Her mother had dragged Brittney out to lunch, and Brittney had staggered after her, not clear on why she'd consented. It was much easier to comply than fight her. It had always been that way between them.

Jacquelyn demanded, and Brittney obeyed.

She'd been stuck in the mansion, with her flight to New York not leaving until after ten o'clock that night.

She'd been pacing in her room, feeling antsy and miserable. At the slightest noise, she'd jump, certain it was Matt arriving to yell at her for sneaking off from Gold Creek without a goodbye, for her getting him fired.

She shouldn't have been thinking about him at all, but she couldn't seem to stop, which was insane. She was engaged to a perfectly suitable man who was her social and financial equal. Yet she was obsessed with a thoroughly inappropriate ex-soldier who had glommed onto her for reasons she didn't understand.

What was wrong with her?

She kept wondering where he was, what he was doing, how he'd reacted after talking to Brandon Talbot.

Obviously, a message had been conveyed, because a guy named Ted had shown up in his place. He was short and overweight, with a crooked tie and stain on his shirt. He didn't look tough or menacing, and she was irked by his inability to seem threatening.

Matt might have had a bad arm, but if some sort of attack had actually occurred, she'd have been safe. With Ted, she felt exposed and in danger—even though she'd never previously detected a hint of risk.

When her mother had knocked on her bedroom door to announce that she was visiting the downtown headquarters of Merriweather Industries, when she'd insisted Brittney tag along, Brittney had agreed. She'd had to get out of the house or she might have exploded.

Neither Jacquelyn nor Brittney had ever worked for Merriweather Industries, but Jacquelyn liked to waltz through the offices, liked to put everyone on edge, to remind them who owned everything.

They'd made an appearance, then headed to a sidewalk cafe. But Brittney was grouchy and in no mood for Jacquelyn's chatter.

"I lied yesterday," she suddenly confessed.

Jacquelyn scowled. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't go out partying as I claimed."

"Where did you go?"

"I went up to Gold Creek—to Dustin's wedding."

Jacquelyn froze, her fork suspended in mid-air.

"How dare you defy me," she hissed.

"How dare I? As I just mentioned, I'm not five anymore. If I decide to attend my brother's wedding, it's none of your business."

"We are not welcoming that…
woman
into this family."

"I doubt she cares if she's welcomed by you or not. Everybody else is pretty happy to have her join us. Including me."

"Your brother may shame himself in any fashion he chooses. He can ignore his prominent name and station in life, but he does so at his own peril."

"He's a grown man with his own fortune. How could you punish him? Will you spank him if he doesn't behave?"

"There are many ways to make him pay."

Brittney rolled her eyes with disgust. "Do you have any idea how pompous you sound?"

Her mother went off on a tirade, complaining about Lucas, about Dustin, about their wives and marriages. Brittney tried to listen, but she was distracted. The hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle, and she was suffering from the strangest impression that she was being watched.

She glanced around, but didn't see anything odd. Her erstwhile bodyguard, the hapless Ted, was sitting at a coffee shop across the street. He was busy reading the paper, so if there had been a suspicious person lurking, he wouldn't have noticed.

A burst of reflected sunlight made her blink, and she peered down the block, positive she saw a camera lens. But as quickly as she noted it, the camera—and the man holding it—slipped out of sight.

Was someone taking her picture? Why would anyone?

She wasn't a movie star, stalked by paparazzi, so there was no reason to skulk in the shadows in order to photograph her. She peeked over at Ted, but he remained blissfully clueless.

She stared, able to identify the red hood of a car, and though she was too far away to be sure, she knew it was Matt's Mustang.

Her heart raced.

Was it Matt? Was he following her? Why would he?

She turned away, pretending to be absorbed in her mother's rant. In reality, she was focused over Jacquelyn's shoulder.

The man was stealthy and fast, but she managed to glimpse a leather jacket, a dark ponytail dangling over a collar. It might be anybody, but it also might be Matt Monroe.

Suddenly, she was swept away by the worst rush of longing. For twenty-six years, she'd created no waves, had floated like a stick of wood, carried in the current of a stream. She'd refused to imitate her parents' vitriolic conduct, so she'd tamped down every bit of temper or excitement or rage.

Matt made her furious. Matt made her laugh. Matt made her happy. Matt treated her as no one ever had, as if she was pretentious and idiotic. He didn't fawn or flatter, didn't lie or lavish false praise. He didn't give a hoot about her money.

Matt had figured out her deepest secret:  She was so lonely.

Did she really intend never to speak to him again? If she married Andrew, that was the sole option, but it dawned on her that a life without Matt, wouldn't be a life at all.

"Would you excuse me?" she said, interrupting her mother who hadn't paused in her diatribe. 

"Are you even listening?"

"No. I have to use the restroom. I'll be right back."

She scooped her phone off the table, dropped it into her purse, and headed into the restaurant. A hallway led to the rear of the establishment, and she proceeded down it and through a door marked, "Employees Only."

She entered the kitchen. It was very busy, and no one noticed her. She kept going until she exited into the alley, then she ran out to the street.

If it actually was Matt, he'd still be in his hiding spot, expecting her to return to her table. She wanted to catch him before he wondered where she was.

She crept up to the building on the corner and peeked around it. Halfway down the block, Matt was leaned on his car, a camera resting on his hip. He was facing away from her, so he didn't see her. She approached until she was directly behind him.

"What are you doing?" she barked, hoping to startle him.

She thought he might jump with surprise or annoyance, but that kind of reaction would be too predicable. He spun slowly and grinned that grin of his, the one that always floored her, the one that always had her grinning too.

"How did you see me?" he said.

"Sunshine reflected off the lens. It made me look right at you." She had
sensed
his presence too, but she wasn't about to admit it.

"Aren't you a sneak?"

"And aren't you a lousy spy?"

"I'm not spying," he insisted.

"You're lurking between some parked cars and snapping secret photos. That certainly sounds like spying to me."

"You had me fired but—"

"I didn't have you…
fired
. I had you reassigned."

"I won't stop watching over you just because you don't want me to."

"How chivalrous you are!" she sarcastically retorted.

"Hey, if any of your boyfriend's enemies track you down, it's not as if Ted will be of much help."

"Andrew's enemies?" she scoffed.

"He's a criminal who's about to have all sorts of dubious characters on his ass. Don't you read the financial section of the paper?"