Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (4 page)

Beef jerky. Yum.
She hadn’t had a stick in years, not since her daddy died.

She rolled to her side, and pain shot through her shoulder.
Ouch!
She tried to sit, but something tightened against her chest. The struggle caused her head to spin and her belly to lurch.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.”

That voice. She pried her dehydrated eyes open as her head whirled and her stomach churned.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes or so.”

Justin.
Alice groaned. “Where … what … why?” The words acted like an elixir, causing memories to flash. The church. The tearful walk home. The “tea.”

“Oh, no.” Alice cringed.

“Oh, yes.” Justin reached over their heads and opened the sunroof.

Humid August air stole a bit of the staleness from the vehicle, but not enough to help Alice feel better. She grabbed the opened bottle of cola from the center console and finished it off without asking permission. As the carbonation fizzed in her throat, the fog in her head dissolved. “You didn’t get married?”

“Nope.”

“Because I stood up?”

Justin dragged a loud breath into his open mouth and then pushed an exhale through loose lips. “What do you know about the tiara?”

“Not much. I sat on one in Charlie’s car. It was so odd, and then you looked so sad. I … ” Alice watched his knuckles whiten as he death-gripped the wheel. Another wave of nausea surged into her throat. She pressed a fist to her lips. “Oh, God, Justin. I’m so sorry. What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not hers? Or what if it is, but there’s a perfectly rational explanation for it being there? I didn’t think things through, and I … oh, God.” The tears felt good. Maybe they released some of the alcohol.

Justin drew another labored breath and shook his head. “I looked at her, really looked at her, and she couldn’t look back. The longer I looked at her, the angrier I got, because if there was a rational explanation, she would’ve given it to me at the church. Something didn’t add up.”

Reality trickled into Alice’s sleepy brain. He wasn’t married. She watched early morning sunlight dance across his face. He was here. With her. In … Carolina Beach? “Where are we going?”

“On my honeymoon.”

Alice suddenly preferred the blackened state of drunkenness over her current reality.

He laughed, but the skin around his eyes didn’t crinkle and his lips didn’t hitch. And then he started to chew. He stared out the windshield, shaking his head and gripping the wheel like he was afraid to lose control.

“Why am I here?”

He bristled at her question, and she was no longer certain she wanted to know. But it was too late. Leaning an elbow on the window ledge and scraping a palm across his lips, Justin released a low growl. “I figured you had answers. But then you were too drunk to talk and I sort of … ” His shoulders drooped. “I couldn’t leave you like that.”

There was more to the story. Alice could tell by the way he chewed his lip.

“You couldn’t leave me drunk in my own bed?”

He scowled. “Morgan threatened you.”

“She wasn’t serious.”

“You don’t know that.” But he didn’t look particularly concerned. He’d stopped chewing and stared out the windshield, looking more tired than worried.

Still … “Do you think she was serious?”

He took longer to answer than she hoped. “Probably not, but her father can make your life miserable by interfering with the theatre opening. Maybe with you out of town for a couple days, they’ll have time to cool off where you’re concerned.”

Fat chance. If the Parrishes blamed her for the botched wedding, running off with Justin wasn’t going to help. Then again, she hadn’t “run off” willingly.

“You’re kidnapping me.”

He shook his head. “I’m rescuing you from a bad situation.”

Alice balked. Of course he was. Always the hero, even if rationalizing his heroics meant twisting the truth. “Whatever helps you sleep.” She shook her head and stared out the passenger window. “What about Parrish Plastics?” Which was supposed to be his most heroic accomplishment to date.

“That’s a bit complicated now. But don’t worry. I have a plan.”

He always did.

“When I get to the beach, I’m going to call Harold Parrish, and we’re going to discuss the plant like the educated businessmen we are. He can’t build anywhere else on U.S. soil for less, thanks to me and my work in Congress. He’s a smart man. He wants a successful corporation more than he wants a married niece.” She looked in time to see him punctuate the words with a crisp nod. Alice couldn’t help but think he looked like he was trying to convince himself. “Harmony Falls will come out of this unscathed. I truly believe that.”

Who was he kidding? He was speeding down the highway with a Cramer in his car. “What about your precious reputation? Will that come out unscathed, too?”

He winced. “People break off engagements every day. I have to believe it’s better to call it off now than to be married to her amidst rumors of her infidelity. How capable would I look if my wife was running around on me? Who would support me or my projects then?”

Alice closed her eyes and leaned against the cool window. She was exhausted from more than the liquor and unsatisfying night’s sleep. Justin exhausted her. All this talk about reputation and image and his ability to emotionally disconnect from the most brutal experiences in the name of his “projects” annoyed her.

“What about my project?” she whispered without opening her eyes. Two weeks ago she’d asked Justin to talk to people on the grant committee on her behalf. She was so damn close. Before this. She had a sickening hunch things were different now.

“Alice, after what happened in that church, if I stick up for you or the theatre … ” — he glanced at her, wrinkling the muscles of his face — “ … people will talk.”

She narrowed her eyes. “People are already talking. They’ve always talked. They always will. Whatever.” She waved a hand. “I don’t care what anyone says. I wasn’t the one who cheated, and I didn’t ask to be here.” She glared at him. “But since you care, don’t worry about helping me. I can fight for my theatre without you.”

Congressman Mitchell’s heroics were better saved for people who needed to be rescued. Alice Cramer rescued herself years ago, and she wasn’t about to step back into old habits, old habits that led her to feel ashamed.

She twisted until her upper body stretched between the seats, her hand groping the backseat and floor while Mouse dove around her sweeping arm. “Where’s my purse? I’ll rent a car and drive myself home. Then you can ride your white horse back into town without so much as a speck of dirt on your face, and you can walk down the aisle like nothing
compromising
ever happened. Tell everyone Alice Cramer is crazy. The tiara was a joke. Tell them … ” Her hand met nothing but empty space.

“Where’s my purse?” Alice spoke slowly, sitting rigid, glaring at him.

“I only grabbed you and the dog.”

“Crap.” She slumped against the leather and huffed some more. “I want to go home. I want a do-over. I want to close my eyes, wake up and realize this is all a bad dream.”

It sucked to be the kind of girl who never got what she wanted.

Bringing Alice Cramer on what was supposed to be his honeymoon wasn’t just a bad dream, it was a cold, harsh nightmare turned reality. And now Justin was going to have to deal with the repercussions.

He parked his car in a spot marked with the number fifteen and let his eyes linger on the mirrored high-rise. “It’s oceanfront.” The fact gave him immense pleasure when he’d purchased the condo as an escape from the pressures at home and work. Now, it didn’t produce a twinge of satisfaction.

“Good for you.” She wasn’t happy.

He couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t exactly his best plan. Hell, this wasn’t planned. This was what he got for letting impulse lead the way. He gave her a sideways glance again and bit down extra hard on the inside of his bottom lip. If only he’d thought this through … Looking at her now, the danger was clear. Despite her ugly mood, she was beautiful, so beautiful he had to look away.

All those years, Justin had kept his distance for one reason. Alice Cramer wasn’t the right kind of woman. Untamed starlit curls drew a man into her spotlight, and the ensuing chaos of her family life threatened to bring the man down. A Mitchell couldn’t take that risk. And yet, here he was … with the vanilla scent of her perfume stealing every last bit of fresh air from his car.

He threw open the door and took a deep breath. “I’ll grab the suitcases. You head into the lobby. Hopefully we won’t be seen.” He didn’t expect to be recognized hundreds of miles from home, but he’d taken enough chances already.

As he rummaged in the trunk, Alice wandered away from the car. When he flung the last bag over his shoulder, he saw her disappear around the corner of the building — in the opposite direction of the double doors.

What now? Why couldn’t she be simple, easy, uncomplicated? Why the drama all the time?

“Hey,” he called after her, glancing back at the dog staring at him from the back seat.

With a huff, Justin dumped the bags in the trunk and restarted the car to give the dog some cool air. Then he set out to see what sort of trouble Alice was getting into.

He found her neck deep in the ocean.

Alice jumped a wave, and Justin was assaulted by a flash of creamy skin and black lace. She was swimming in her underwear. Catching sight of a pile of clothes out of water’s reach, Justin shook his head. Apparently, she had ditched her dress. Why was he not surprised?

“What are you doing?” he called above the surf.

She flashed him a smile he hadn’t seen in years. “I’ve never been to the ocean.”

His untucked shirttails whipped in the wind, and with the strength of his hands he fought the chaos. “I guess that explains it.”

She stayed smiling, considering him with the same hypnotic eyes he knew as a child. Back then, he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Now, he was afraid to know the answer.

“I’m going to get the bags and the dog out of the car, and then I’ll bring you a towel. Be careful. No further. You hear? In fact, stay closer to the beach. The undertow is strong, and I’d like to avoid another rescue.”

A few steps up the beach and her wail hit his back. “I don’t need to be rescued.”

But she did. Somebody had to keep her from making rash decisions, like stopping weddings and swimming in the ocean half-dressed. He slowed his pace and closed his eyes. That someone couldn’t — shouldn’t — be him. On an inhale, he opened his eyes and returned to the surf. “Fine. No more rescues.”

“Good, because I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself. Stop telling me what to do. Stop treating me like you’re my father or my brother. You’re not. You’re just a guy. I’m just a girl. And you make life too complicated.” She raised her arms to her side and fell backwards into the sea.

Justin’s heartbeat quickened as he searched the choppy water, waiting for her to surface. Her father died an alcoholic and her brother looked destined to follow. Not being lumped in their category was a good thing, but where did that leave him?

Relief flooded him when her head broke the surface. She pushed soggy curls from her face, and raising her arms over head, spun until a wave knocked her off her feet. She was definitely not a baby. But if he was just a guy and she was just a girl, then bringing her with him was an even bigger risk. He had obligations, expectations and an image to uphold. In trying to avoid a scene at the church, he’d put himself in one hell of a compromising situation.

The cell phone resting in his pants pocket vibrated like it had so many times on the drive down. He watched Alice play in the waves as he listened to messages. Two calls related to the agricultural committee he served on. One call came from an aide, congratulating Justin on his marriage. One was from an arts council member, returning his call about Alice’s application. There was one message from his brother, Will, one from his brother, Mark, two from Morgan, and only four from his mother.

Justin felt a growing guilt over not being man enough to spare them all this pain by calling off the charade months ago. He’d come close on a couple occasions, but Morgan caught on and appealed to his sense of obligation. A responsible man didn’t propose and then renege. He worked on the relationship. A responsible man didn’t walk away from the opportunity to bring hundreds of jobs to a town in desperate need. He made choices and stood by them. He honored his father’s memory.

Standing in the sand, eyes glued to Alice, Justin’s guilt multiplied. He wasn’t a responsible man. He embarrassed his family, and he jeopardized the plastics plant. And now he stood on a beach in North Carolina watching a beautiful woman — who wasn’t his new wife — frolic in the sea.

The bottom corner of his BlackBerry dug into his palm, numbing the skin and sending a shot of pain up his arm. He didn’t loosen his grip. His fingers wrapped tighter around the black box, and he wondered how much pressure it would take to crush it. How long would it take for the world to stop turning without access to him? It was a melodramatic question. Surely he wasn’t as important to everyone’s success and survival as he’d allowed himself to believe. But something inside of him withered at the thought of testing the theory.

Alice floated on her back, further out to sea, and all Justin could imagine was the scandal that would result from her drowning on his watch.

“You’re asking for trouble, Alice,” he yelled. “Come closer to the beach.”

She flipped into an upright position and glared at him. “
You’re
asking for trouble if you keep telling me what to do.”

He didn’t want any trouble. His intentions were good. Keep Alice from being dragged to sea. Get Alice out of Harmony Falls so she could sober up, he could get answers and tempers could cool. Marry Morgan and complete his father’s lifelong mission of bringing industry back to town. But would Harold Parrish care about intentions? Would he go through with his promise to build the plastics plant even though Justin backed out of marrying Morgan?

“Seriously, Justin. What are you doing? Go get the dog before it gets too hot … or I’ll do it myself.” She started to rise from the water, dripping wet. The stringy straps of her black panties rode low on her hips.