Best Laid Plans (Dearly Beloved) (5 page)

“And I do…like you, Claire. Very much.” His voice whispered across her skin—should she read anything into that pause?—and the hair prickled on her arms.

Goosebumps. The man gave her goosebumps. And so very much more. “I lo-like you, too, Nick.”

****

Nick refrained from fist-pumping but he was certainly doing so in his mind. She’d called him by his first name. And she hadn’t even realized it. She’d almost said the L-word, too.

He wanted to take her into his arms and dance under the moon. He wanted to kiss her senseless as he undressed her and discovered all the womanly delights her lush body had to share. She was going to love him before all was said and done. Just as much as he loved her.

Instead of doing a victory dance, he kissed her again and tucked a stray lock of her dark hair behind an ear he longed to nibble with his teeth. He abstained though it took Herculean effort on his part.

Forget the ads for male enhancement products. He’d been hard and wanting Claire since that day in the dining room when they’d argued over the changes he wanted to make to Laurel’s wedding. If he could bottle her sexuality, he’d make another billion dollars—but then he’d go broke because he wouldn’t want to share.

He was not a man who acted on a whim. Usually. But the flash of rebellion in her eyes that afternoon in his office, her absolute loyalty to Laurel, and the way she continued to champion his daughter kept him intrigued.

Women came to him easily. All but Claire. He had to work for her—would have to work to get her and keep her for the rest of his life. And he would. If nothing else, he was a man who got what he wanted. No matter what. And that meant Claire—in his life. As his wife.

He offered her a cryptic smile and kissed her cheek. “It’s late. You and Laurel have a big day tomorrow with her final fitting.”

Oh, but he enjoyed the way she sighed, as if she were disappointed. Good. Always leave an opponent wanting more. Truth be told, he was looking forward to when she was no longer his adversary, but his partner. And she would be. He had every intention of winning her love.

Taking the long way home along the coastal road, Nick was stretching his time spent with Claire for as long as he could. He craved her smile, the sound of her voice, her laughter. When they were apart he even missed her adorable scowl. He was pleased those scowls came fewer and farther between these days, though he had plans for teasing the expression back on her face once they were a couple.

The full moon glistened on the Pacific Ocean adding sparkle to the scenery flashing by. Nick considered the box tucked into his jacket pocket and resisted the urge to pat its comforting shape. If he stayed on the highway, he could drive straight to San Francisco. He would enjoy sharing San Francisco with Claire. Instead, he turned inland at the next exit.

At her home—the dingy condo where she lived alone—he parked and hurried around to open her door. When they’d first started dating, she’d always beat him to it. Now, she’d learned to wait for him even though she snerked about his chivalry.

“Chivalry is not dead,” he’d informed her at the time. “And whether you think so or not, I am a gentleman.”

After that, she’d let him open doors for her, hold her wrap, and carry large packages. He’d even offered to hold her purse once. He grinned now at the memory of the shocked expression on her face.

“I don’t remember saying anything funny.” Claire’s acerbic tone yanked him back to the present.

“Would you believe that just being with you makes me grin like an idiot?” She rolled her eyes and his grin broadened as he offered his hand to help her from the low-slung seat.

A bit to his disappointment, she’d started wearing slacks on their dates. He liked her legs. A lot. And enjoyed admiring them as she climbed into and out of the sports car. She’d caught on to that early and switched to clothing that left far less skin exposed.

He continued to hold her hand as they walked to her front door. He kissed her sweetly as he had earlier, but then deepened his kiss, pulling her body closer and pressing it against his, so that there was no mistaking his interest.

“Any chance of a nightcap?” He whispered the words against her temple as he pressed a kiss there.

Claire inhaled several times as if warring with herself over an answer. She eventually stepped back and her shoulders slumped a little. He tilted her chin up with a fingertip underneath and offered her a regretful smile. “I’ll take that as a no.” He leaned down to gently slide his lips across hers. “Raincheck then.”

He stepped back, waiting for her to unlock her door and step inside. He always waited until he heard her turn the lock before he left.

“Why, Mr. Grant?”

Nick fought to keep his poker face on. One step forward, two steps back. There was no challenge in the honorific now. He studied her, concerned at how deflated she seemed. “I thought I answered that question earlier, Claire.”

Her eyes looked luminous in the moonlight and he couldn’t resist tracing her cheek with his fingertips. “I like you. And not because you are my daughter’s wedding planner. I like you because you are a fascinating woman. And I do wish you would call me by my first name.”

He watched her closely, deciphering the series of expressions flitting across her face.

“Mr. Grant—Nick, we both know this…this whatever it is can’t go anywhere.”

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“How many times have you been married?”

While the question caught him off guard, he didn’t hesitate to answer. “Just the once…to Laurel’s mother. It didn’t work.”

Claire looked surprised. She tilted her head and watched him for a long moment. “She left?”

“With the pool boy. Claimed they were soul mates. He wanted to be a rock star.” He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Que sera, sera. What about your ex?”

Claire flashed a rueful smile. “John
was
the rock star. And he ran off with the pool boy, too.”

He managed not to laugh. “I promise,” he said solemnly, “I will never run off with the pool boy.”

She laughed then and he joined her. “That’s good to know,” she said after catching her breath. Her smile faded a bit as she regarded him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I’m off balance with you, Mis—Nick. I don’t know what this thing between us is.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one then. I have a proposal for you, Ms. Vitale.” He noted the way her eyes dilated when he mentioned the word
proposal
. “I propose that we don’t worry about what this
thing
between us is. I propose that we simply enjoy each other and see what happens.” He offered her his hand to shake. “Deal?”

Claire hesitated only a moment before she gripped his hand for a vigorous shake. “Deal.”

Reluctant to release her, he tugged her closer for one more kiss. “Enjoy your day tomorrow, Claire Vitale. I’ve been banned from the bridal salon for the duration of the fitting. And I will miss seeing you.”

Chapter 7

Claire stepped into the luxurious dressing room and found several gowns hanging there—unfamiliar gowns. Had she inadvertently walked into the wrong salon? She backed out and bumped into the bridal consultant. “Didn’t you say room six?”

The woman nodded. “You’re in the right place. Our bride is being mischievous today. She’s picking out gowns for
you
to try on.”

“Me?” Claire clung to her sense of decorum like it was a life raft. Before she could comment further, Laurel bounced up.

“Oh, good! You’re here. The seamstress isn’t quite ready for us so I thought we could pass the time by switching roles. I’m the wedding planner now and I’ve picked out some gowns for you to try on.”

Claire attempted to speak several times before giving up. The look of sheer delight on Laurel’s face precluded her from raining on the girl’s fun. “Well, I certainly hope you’ve picked out something matronly for me.”

Laurel waited outside the dressing room, comfortably seated in the viewing area, sipping raspberry ice tea. When Claire stepped out wearing the first gown, the girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, Claire,” she exclaimed. “You look amazing.”

The crepe de chine sheath dress had a slight flare at the floor-length hem line. Cap sleeves provided a simple backdrop for the elegant shoulder-to-waist cowl neckline with a sheer lace inset. The lines of the dress smoothed the curves Claire often cursed and for once, she didn’t cringe from the image staring back at her in the three-way mirror.

“You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

She stared in the mirror, focused on Laurel’s face behind her. “Your performance in this role reversal game is spot on. Now, young lady, enough fooling around. You need to get into your own gown. There’s only one Grant wedding planned and that bride is going to rock her dress, right?”

Laurel’s fitting took no time at all. Tall like her father, she was also slender. Off-the-rack clothes often fit her perfectly. The bridal salon would make a few minor adjustments, steam and press the gown, and have it delivered to the Grant estate two weeks before the wedding.

While Laurel slipped back into her street clothes, Claire handled some voice mails left by the groom’s mother. Justin was a sweet kid, such a contrast to his demanding mother. In some ways, the woman was almost as bad as Nick. Mr. Grant, she mentally corrected.

She looked up just as a junior clerk swooshed by holding
her
dress. She meant to keep the sigh internal but it slipped out. The dress was gorgeous
and
, unlike most, it fitted her rounded figure perfectly. Claire shoved thoughts of the dress away.

She had the shambles of a rehearsal dinner to mend. Justin’s mother had fought with the country club’s chef and now Claire had to find a restaurant that would take them on short notice. The wedding was just a month away. A wave of sadness rolled over her. Thirty days. Laurel and Nick would be out of her life then. The thought depressed her. She tried to pretend that it was Laurel she’d miss, but her heart knew better.

****

Nick stared out his office window. A storm was brewing out at sea and the waves formed foamy whitecaps. His thoughts were as unsettled as the atmosphere. Laurel would be married in a few short days and he now faced his fear that Claire might very well walk out of his life for good.

He’d come so close last night as he held her in his arms at her door. He wanted to tell her how he felt; wanted to crash against the barriers she threw up between them just like those waves now crashing against the private pier below his estate.

He had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes yet the one thing his heart desired eluded him. He’d kissed her, putting his entire soul into it. She’d responded, her lips softening beneath his onslaught and parting to let him in just as he longed she’d do with her heart.

As lightning flashed, he turned from the window and stalked back to his desk. He sank into the leather chair but couldn’t settle. He twisted it to face the window again, the fingers of his right hand drumming the mahogany top of his desk. Laurel had tried to help, but now a bad case of nerves only got worse the closer the wedding came had a hold on her.

His left hand dipped into his trouser pocket and withdrew the small black velvet box that had taken up permanent residence there. Nick flicked the top open and stared at the sparkling ring. Some of the women he’d gone out with would turn up their noses at the size. A mere one-and-a-half carets? They’d be insulted. But Claire’s hands were petite. He’d known the moment he’d looked at that ring it would be perfect on her left ring finger.

Thunder boomed close enough to rattle the windows. Nick inhaled deeply. He’d made up his mind, decided what he would do. He smiled; the expression was one his business colleagues were all too familiar with. He snapped the ring box closed and deposited it back in his pocket. Time to get to work.

Chapter 8

Claire rubbed her temple and wondered where she’d tucked her bottle of ibuprofen. Not even noon and she already had a killer headache. The rehearsal dinner had been an unmitigated disaster.

The best man got drunk and propositioned the maid of honor, whose fiancé had promptly tackled the man. The groom’s mother and father got into a shouting match, with the mother declaring she wanted a divorce before flouncing from the room.

Sometimes, no matter how well you planned, things just went to hell anyway. At the end of the evening Claire had even suggested, out loud this time, that perhaps Laurel and Justin should elope.

The party supply people had arrived and the tents appeared to be half-way erected. The caterers had moved into the kitchen. The truck from the liquor wholesaler was parked in the driveway while two burly men unloaded cases of wine and champagne.

Heidi jogged by, clipboard in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. “Don’t ask, boss,” she called over her shoulder right before she disappeared around the corner of the house.

Claire had tried to see Laurel earlier but the bride, claiming a headache, refused to open her bedroom door. She knew how the girl felt. She’d wanted to stay in bed hidden under the covers today, too. But she was the wedding planner and that meant she was in charge of making the day go according to plan.

Two hours later, she stood outside Laurel’s room again, knocking. When she got no answer, she tried the door knob and stepped into the room as the door opened. No bride. No dress. Turning on her heel, she trotted to the far end of the hallway and pounded on the guest room door where Justin was supposed to be dressing. No answer. The door opened with an ominous creak. No groom.