By Appointment Only (14 page)

“You don’t have to set a wedding date.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach at his terse statement. “I beg your pardon?”

“Our agreement,” he said, irritation in his voice. But at himself or at her? “I wasn’t being fair. We’ll go through with the sexual counseling, because it’s the right thing to do, and I think we’ll learn something from it. But as of tonight it no longer has strings attached. I don’t want a bride I have to badger into marrying me. If and when you’re ready, you can set a date. But until then I won’t nag you. Not anymore. And I apologize for pushing you up until now. It wasn’t fair and it was wrong.”

He sounded humble and defeated, and she was astounded. What had brought about this change of heart? Her hands trembled and she clenched the phone more tightly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Morgan. When a man proposes to a woman and she accepts, it’s natural for him to expect her to choose a wedding date. I’m the problem here. I’m the one who should apologize.”

She swallowed hard. “Do you want your ring back?”

“God, no.”

The knot in her stomach relaxed a fraction. “Then what is this conversation all about?”

“It’s about me respecting you and your wishes. It’s about me ceding control to the woman I love.”

“Oh, Morgan.” Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

After a brief silence, he spoke again. “Good night, Hannah.” And then he hung up on her.

She dropped the phone on the cradle and scooted down under the covers, pulling them to her chin. Her stomach felt funny and her chest was tight. What was she going to do about Morgan? She didn’t deserve a man like him, and the gods were surely going to slice apart her happiness sooner or later. She couldn’t let him get hurt in the process.

On Thursday Hannah had lunch with Elda. Afterwards the two women set to work cleaning out one of the apartment’s tightly packed closets. The center was having a group yard sale, and Elda was determined to make a few bucks.

Hannah’s adopted grandmother was unusually animated, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. When Hannah pressed her for the reason, Elda grinned slyly. “I’m taking a cruise next spring with Arnie. We’ve signed up early, ’cause that gives you a good price break. The French Riviera . . .” She sighed blissfully, her face as dreamy as a girl’s. “Do you think I can lose fifty pounds by then?”

Hannah frowned inwardly. “Do you really know Arnie all that well, Elda? And what if things between you cool off by then?”

Elda snorted and examined a fur wrap that was about as useful in Florida as an outdoor pool at the North Pole. She tossed it in the get-rid-of pile. “Sometimes you think too much, Hannah my girl. Life is meant to be lived. My dear husband would have laughed his ass off if he thought I wanted to mourn him forever. He’d tell me to get off my butt and enjoy whatever time I have left. And I intend to.”

“I’m not questioning your desire to have fun, Elda. I’m all for it. But what if Arnie turns out to be not such a great guy?”

Elda shook her head. “You young people are too damn scared all the time. Terrorists, global warming, bird flu . . . If I let myself dwell on all the bad stuff in the world, I’d never crawl out of bed. You have to take a few chances. And not just by jumping out of airplanes. You have to be brave enough to get out there and try to be happy.”

“And if life kicks you in the teeth?” Hannah asked wryly.

Elda slipped her arms into a red satin blouse that was at least two sizes too small. “Then you’re in good company, honey. Now open that big box and let’s see what’s in it. I need some vacation cash.”

Hannah was not at all sure she was ready to meet Morgan that afternoon. She’d planned on teasing them both with some titillating phone sex the night before, and instead, Morgan had sailed into deep waters.

What he’d said to her should have been a relief . . . should have made her happy. And it did. On some level. But it also made her feel guilty as hell. She wanted to show him how much she loved him, but if she came clean—if she poured her heart out—he’d have her walking down the aisle in no time.

This time she didn’t wait around in the parking garage. It was raining, and she was glad she didn’t have to get drenched getting into the building. A line of thunderstorms was rolling through the city, and the brilliant flashes of lightning followed by loud cracks of thunder made her flinch. She did not like storms.

She also didn’t like the thought of being locked in an elevator if the power went out, so she jogged up thirty-two flights of stairs. Perhaps the extra exercise would counteract the French pastry she’d had for dessert the night before.

When she saw Morgan in the office waiting room, she told herself that the breathlessness she experienced was a result of physical exertion. Every woman in the room looked at him, even the ones who were there with a partner. The Hursts shared this half of the floor with three other doctors, so there was a certain anonymity that Hannah appreciated. It would have creeped her out if everyone seated nearby knew what she and Morgan were about to do.

But on second thought,
she
didn’t even know what was about to happen. She met her fiancé’s gaze calmly and brought her lips to his for a quick kiss. “Do you have the key already?” she whispered.

He opened his palm briefly. “All set.”

He steered her toward the door marked
exam rooms
and they exited into the hallway of bland, unadorned doors. Their assigned spot was the same, room number six.

When they opened the door, Hannah actually glanced back at the number to make sure they were in the right place. No sign of a jungle hut remained.

Morgan whistled and rubbed his chin, an arrested expression on his face. “Now, this is a surprise.”

Hannah surveyed the room with reluctant interest. “That’s an understatement.”

The room had been turned into a luxurious hotel suite. Flowers on a side table. A minibar. A nice sound system with music softly playing. And a king-size bed made up with a white linen comforter and ultrasoft white cotton sheets. The covers had been turned down invitingly and a chocolate strawberry encased in clear plastic wrap rested on each pillow.

Morgan scanned the sheet of directions and his face went blank. He handed them to Hannah. “Take a look.”

Hannah read the paper with a sinking heart . . .

Hannah clenched the paper in her fist. This was far more scary than being bound and gagged. She stood irresolute, genuinely unsure if she could go though with this.

Morgan’s jaw was granite. He wasn’t a fool. And she was doing a piss-poor job of hiding her discomfort. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s voluntary. No one is going to make you do this.”

She tried to laugh. “It’s way more luxurious than Tuesday’s little playdate. Wonder if we have to pay for the minibar. I bet that jar of macadamia nuts is at least nine dollars—”

Morgan stepped behind her, putting his hand over her mouth to stop her babbling, and wrapping his other arm around her waist. There was no way he could miss the fact that her heart was beating like a trapped wild bird. He nuzzled her ear. “Don’t panic, sweetheart. This isn’t real. Just breathe, Hannah.”

His warm, comforting strength eventually broke through the utter confusion and anxiety that gripped her. She slumped against him. “I’m okay. I swear.”

He released her and took her face in his hands, studying her intently. “You still look pale.”

She bowed her head, for the moment unable to face the gentle understanding in his steady gaze. “I’m fine.” She gazed at the decorative screen that sectioned off one corner of the room. “I can at least put on the dress.”

“Only if you want to.”

She’d needed to give him something. Anything. A shred of encouragement and hope. She made herself smile. “I hope it isn’t all frilly, girly. I look like crap in ruffles.” Before she could change her mind, she evaded his hold and retreated behind the screen. Without looking at the dress, she stripped off her clothes.

She stood there in her bra and panties shivering, even though the room was plenty warm. It was just a dress, damn it. Not the holy grail of unwed young females everywhere. Nothing bad was going to happen just because she tried it on. To delay the inevitable for a moment, she took a brush from her purse and ran it through her hair until the heavy tresses lay silky and smooth against her back.

Finally, when she could dither no longer, she picked up the heavy garment. Even the weight of the thing seemed threatening. She took a deep breath, slid the fairy-tale princess frock over her head, and struggled to zip the side closure. Then she looked into the cheval mirror someone had helpfully provided.

Her reflection was shocking in the extreme. She wiped her damp palms on her discarded jeans and tugged at the bodice of the dress. Then, with courage she didn’t know she possessed, she stepped from behind the screen and confronted her patiently waiting fiancé.

He’d just slid his arms into the tux shirt and as he turned around, he sucked in a breath. “Oh my God.”

Hannah’s face was troubled. "Does it fit?”

Morgan felt like he was traversing a minefield. His throat was tight with all the things he wanted to say about growing old in rocking chairs and giving her babies to love and cuddle.

Instead, he leaned against the dresser and dredged up a lecherous smile. “It will do.” He deliberately raked her from head to toe with a lustful gaze. “You look damn hot, Hannah.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. Her hands played in the skirt’s voluminous folds. It was a fairy-tale dress: strapless, the waist fitted, the skirt a billowing froth of virginal white. The tops of her breasts peeked invitingly over the embroidered satin bodice. Morgan imagined for a moment seeing her like this on their wedding day . . . watching her walk down the aisle to pledge her love and commitment to him.

It was a painful image. Because he knew it might never happen.

Despite his mental turmoil, he kept his smile in place, trying to play his part successfully. “Aren’t you going to comment on your groom’s appearance?”

He was barefooted. Hannah had emerged before he had a chance to button his shirt, so it hung open, exposing his chest. He saw her eyes go from his face to his abs to the front of his pants. There was nothing he could do about the bulge there.

She swallowed visibly, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “You look very handsome.”

“And sexy?” He leered at her, trying to resurrect her sense of humor. She still looked extremely nervous and uneasy, and he sure as heck wasn’t going to make love to a woman in her condition.

He closed the gap between them until his legs pressed into the fluffy netting that surrounded her with a cloudlike, chastity-preserving, no-go zone. Lightly, he stroked one finger across the gentle swells of creamy flesh pushed up by the whale-boned edge of her frock.

The curves were soft. He tucked his finger in the shadowy gap between her breasts. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said huskily. He could smell her intoxicating perfume. And see the tracery of pale blue veins beneath her delicate skin.

She closed her eyes. “Sexy . . . yes.” Her voice was slurred as his roving fingertip moved to one side and brushed a nipple. His progress was hampered by the close-fitting bodice.

Morgan bent his head, brushing a kiss across her cheekbone. “A month is a long time,” he murmured, getting into his assigned part. “All day I’ve been imagining the moment when I’ll finally be able to slide between your legs and take care of this ache.”

She turned her head, trying to find his mouth with hers. “Kiss me.”

He obliged her. But he denied them the hungry mating of lips they both wanted. He kissed her forehead, her ears, her nose, her chin. His hands grasped her shoulders, holding her up, or so it seemed. Her arms remained at her sides, her fingers still twisting and clenching restlessly.

He deliberately moved closer, using his height and size to intimidate her. “It’s our wedding night,” he muttered. “I want to make it last.”

He scooped her into his arms and strode to the bed. Instead of joining her, he dropped her gently on the mattress and went to the bar, with shaking hands pouring them each a glass of champagne. In the distance, fierce rumbles of thunder roared, but the heavy drapes over the two small windows shut out the lightning flashes.

When he turned back to face her, she was propped against the headboard, legs outstretched, unwrapping her chocolate-covered fruit. He lifted an eyebrow. “Is it wise to eat that while you still have on your dress?”

She stuffed the whole strawberry in her mouth, finally seeming to come out of her state of frozen anxiety. She was smiling at him as she chewed and swallowed. “I have a big mouth, Morgan. You know that.”

Her naughty innuendo made him grin. “Ah . . . indeed. I never should have doubted you.” He perched on the bed beside her, hip to hip, and offered her a glass. “To my blushing bride.”

She took it from him and downed the entire contents in one thirsty gulp. “I don’t blush,” she said breathlessly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He took a sip of the surprisingly good champagne and set his own glass and hers on the bedside table. “Do you have to get drunk to make love to your groom?” He asked the question idly, wondering what she would say. He sensed a recklessness in her and wished he knew how to coax her into relaxing and letting things take their course.

She shrugged and smiled. “Aren’t all brides nervous on their wedding nights?”