Dream Wedding: Dream Bride | Dream Groom (3 page)

Chloe took the seat opposite his, while Charity was next to her. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I can answer anything without first getting an agreement that everything we discuss here is off the record.”

There was a stunned moment of surprise followed by a burst of laughter. Both women looked at Chloe, who raised her hands in the air. “Fine. I won’t take notes, record the conversation or make any attempt to retain it in my brain. I’m sure that important secrets will be shared here tonight, but the public will just have to stay uninformed.”

“So how long are you in town?” Cassie asked.

“Three weeks.”

“Where were you before you got here?”

“South America. I was making arrangements to ship the gems. Before that I was in India.”

Chloe passed him the bowl of mashed potatoes. As he took it from her, she shrugged. “You’ll have to forgive her. Cassie works with preschool children. She doesn’t get out much.”

Cassie gave her sister a mock glare. “Oh, and you’ve traveled the world yourself. I know you have a lot of questions, too. You’re just pretending to be sophisticated.”

Arizona leaned toward Chloe. “It’s working,” he said in a low voice.

Her dark eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t quite register, then she smiled and looked away.

“What do you usually look for?” Cassie asked as he finished serving himself and passed on the mashed potatoes. “Bones and stuff?”

“I’m not that disciplined,” he admitted. “I know it’s important to study the details of life in lost civilizations, but I don’t have the interest. I want to learn about the unusual. The mystical and unbelievable.”

Cassie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Magic. Objects that cast spells or connect the wearer to whatever gods that society worshiped.”

Chloe put some salad on her plate and gave him an innocent smile. “Remember the last Indiana Jones movie, Cassie? It’s the one where they were looking for the Holy Grail—the cup Christ is said to have used at the Last Supper. Arizona looks for stuff like that.”

Arizona wasn’t fooled. Chloe might have just been assigned the story, but she would have spent the day doing research. She had to know that he loathed being compared to that fictional movie character Indiana Jones. There was no way he could compete with that kind of hero and come out anything but second best. Tweaking the tiger’s tail, he thought. She obviously wasn’t a pushover. He liked that in a woman.

Cassie stared at him wide-eyed. “Really? So you’re interested in legends?”

“All kinds. Old stories, myths about the past.”

“Family legends?”

There was something about the way she asked the question. Chloe focused on her sister. “Mr. Smith doesn’t want to hear about that,” she said, her expression tight. “It wouldn’t be interesting.”

A mystery, he thought as he glanced from sister to sister.

“Just because it didn’t work for you doesn’t mean it’s not real,” Cassie said. “We have a family legend. The Bradleys do anyway. That’s the family on our mother’s side.”

“Cassie, I don’t think—” Chloe began, but her sister waved her off.

“Ignore her,” Cassie said. “She’s a cynic when it comes to stuff like this.”

“I’m intrigued,” Arizona admitted. As much with the idea of a family legend as with the mystery as to why Chloe didn’t want him to hear it.

“The story is that several hundred years ago an old gypsy woman was being chased by some drunken men. They were throwing stones and yelling at her and she feared for her life.” Cassie waved her hands as she talked, providing animation for the tale.

He spared a glance for Chloe. She stared at her plate as if it had suddenly started forming signs and symbols in the mashed potatoes.

“A young woman heard the commotion,” Cassie continued. “She lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. I think she was being shunned or something but no one knows for sure. Anyway, she invited the old woman in and protected her from the men. In return the woman gave her a magic nightgown.”

“Really?”

Cassie’s humor faded. “I’m not making this up.”

“I don’t doubt you. It’s just clothing isn’t commonly used to carry magic. It doesn’t age well, is easily torn or destroyed. But it’s not unheard of. What’s the magic?”

“This is the good part. Every woman in the family is supposed to wear the nightgown on the night of her twenty-fifth birthday. If she does, she’ll dream about the man she’s going to marry. He’s her destiny and as long as she marries him, they’ll live a long and happy life together.”

“I see.” Interesting story. He’d heard several like it before in different forms. It was a common theme. Related stories were the idea of sleeping with a piece of wedding cake under the pillow, or the stories about St. Agnes Eve.

“Any punishment for not sleeping in the nightgown?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Aunt Charity? You’re the one who knows the most about it.”

Charity shrugged. “There have been rumors of unhappy marriages when the woman didn’t pay attention to her dream and married the wrong man, but I don’t think there’s a penalty for not wearing the nightgown.”

“I’d like to see the nightgown,” he said.

“Is that really necessary?” Chloe asked. “It’s just a nightgown. I mean you’ve probably seen a dozen just like it.”

“Ignore her,” Cassie said, rising to her feet. “She’s crabby because the legend let her down.”

More intrigued because Chloe was obviously hiding something, Arizona leaned toward her. “What don’t you want me to know?”

“Nothing.” But her dark gaze avoided his. “It’s just a story. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something to your sister.”

“Cassie has always been the dreamer in the family.”

“Oh, and you’re the practical one?”

This time she looked directly at him. “Absolutely. I only believe in things I can prove.”

“Not magic?”

“Magic is skillful sleight of hand at best, smoke and mirrors at worst.”

Before he could answer, Cassie returned to the kitchen. She handed him a soft cotton-and-lace nightgown. The fabric was old, but it didn’t have the look or feel of something from a couple hundred years ago. He fingered the lace. Sometimes objects spoke to him. Not in words, but in images or sensations. A prickling along the back of his neck or a—
She stretched out on the straw and reached up for him. Her eyes were bright with passion, her lips wet from his kisses. Slowly, so neither of them could doubt his intent, he knelt beside her and placed one hand on the inside of her knee. Inch by inch he drew his hand up toward the most secret part of her. The nightgown offered only token resistance, tightening slightly before sliding out of the way.

As quickly as it had appeared, the image faded, leaving Arizona feeling aroused and slightly disconcerted. He hadn’t really seen much of the woman’s face. Just her mouth. But he’d formed an impression of her, one strong enough to identify her.

Chloe.

“What do you think?” Charity asked, her gaze far too knowing.

He hoped his expression didn’t give anything away. He cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s antique enough to pass muster in a vintage clothing shop, but this isn’t more than fifty or sixty years old.”

Cassie’s mouth drooped with disappointment.

“Hey, that doesn’t mean the magic won’t work,” he told her. “Who wears it next?”

“I do,” Cassie said, then raised her eyebrows. “Of course my birthday isn’t for about six months. However, if you want to talk about a recent experience, ask Chloe. She wore it last night.”

“Really?”

Chloe flushed slightly. “It was my birthday yesterday. Big deal. I wore it. Nothing happened.”

He studied her, the smooth skin, the high cheekbones and firm set of her chin. She was lying, but about what?

“No dreams at all?” he asked.

“None worth mentioning.”

“Maybe you should let us be the judge of that. After all, if you’re so interested in my story, maybe you should share yours with me. Just to be fair.” As he said the words, the image of her in the nightgown popped back into his head. No way, he told himself. It hadn’t been him. He wasn’t anyone’s idea of destiny. The fates were smart enough to know that.

A timer dinged on the stove. Chloe rose to her feet. “Saved by the bell, and I mean that literally. The cobbler is ready. Why don’t the three of you go on into the living room. I’ll serve the dessert and bring it to you.”

“Ah, Chloe, you’re no fun at all,” Cassie complained.

“I know. It’s my lot in life.”

“Don’t worry,” Charity said as she linked arms with him. “We can use the time to convince Arizona to stay here instead of at some boring hotel. What do you think?”

Cassie clapped her hands together. “That would be great! Say yes, Arizona. I swear I won’t bug you every minute with questions.”

“Just every
other
minute,” Chloe muttered.

Cassie grinned. “Actually, she’s telling the truth, but would that be too awful?”

“Not at all,” Arizona said.

He
was
tempted. He would have accepted the gracious invitation except for one thing. Chloe. Something about her called to him. He could still picture her in the nightgown and he was hard with wanting. If anything happened between them, he didn’t want to worry about upsetting Charity by taking advantage of her hospitality and therefore be unable to make love with Chloe.

Talk about an ulterior motive, he told himself. If Charity knew what he was thinking, she would want him neutered for sure.

Cassie took the nightgown from him and folded it. “We’re supposed to wash it by hand using water from the first rain after the first full moon following the wearer’s birthday. I’ve marked the full moon on my calendar. I don’t want to forget. Chloe might not believe, but I’m determined to make sure the legend happens to me.”

Arizona stood up and caught Chloe staring after her sister with an incredible look of sadness on her face. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but this wasn’t the time, and even if it was, he didn’t have the right. He was just a guest in the house. Of course there was the detail of the article Chloe wanted to write. She was going to spend the next three weeks chasing after him, and if she played her cards right, he just might let her catch him.

CHAPTER THREE

“T
HERE
IS
a perfectly logical explanation,” Chloe told herself as she exited the freeway and headed for the university. “Things like this happen all the time. It’s nothing to worry about. I’m not going insane.”

She braked at the stop sign and shifted her car into neutral. Her mouth curved up into a smile. “The fact that I’m talking to myself is not an indication of mental imbalance. I’ve
always
talked to myself. The trick is to not answer. At least not out loud.”

The intersection cleared. She shifted into first and accelerated. Okay, so she was still feeling very strange about the dream she’d had two nights ago. Being exhausted didn’t help. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all the previous night, what with trying to make sense of everything. Obviously she’d seen Arizona’s picture somewhere in the past, and his image had been lodged in her subconscious. It happened all the time. Cassie had been talking about the nightgown legend for weeks before Chloe’s twenty-fifth birthday. The combination of life pressures, family-legend expectations and Lord knew what else had created a very real dream. But it was only a dream.

The fact that Arizona had invaded her life the next day was merely coincidence. The world was full of them.

“I’m going to be fine,” she said aloud. “This article is a great opportunity for me. I’m going to turn in a dynamite project, impress the socks off my editor and write my way into a job with a big New York publisher.”

She drew in a deep breath. The spring air was warm, the sun bright, the sky clear. At the next stop sign Chloe glanced around at the budding trees and green lawns that marked the outskirts of the university campus. For the first time in months she had the top down on her little sports car. The wind ruffled her hair and made her want to laugh. She would get through all this. She’d always been a survivor. If nothing else, she would keep reminding herself that Arizona Smith was just a man. Okay, he was very good-looking and the sight of him made her heart race. And maybe when they’d shaken hands yesterday she
had
felt a slight electrical charge, not to mention the fact that she didn’t even have to close her eyes to picture him naked, next to her, on top of her, touching her everywhere as he—

“Stop it!” she commanded herself. “Don’t go there. It’s way too dangerous territory. Keep it light, keep it professional.”

With that she turned into the parking lot by the exhibition hall. She found a parking spot by the main walkway and put up the top on her convertible. She’d barely finished collecting her leather briefcase when a black four-wheel-drive Ford Explorer pulled into the spot next to her. As she stepped out of her convertible, she had the feeling her car looked like a gnat buzzing beside an elephant. Then the tiny hairs on the back of her neck all stood up and a shiver raced down her spine. She couldn’t think about cars or even breathing because she knew.
He
was there.

Sure enough, a tall, handsome guy climbed down from the driver’s seat and circled around the front of the Explorer. Arizona wore khakis and a long-sleeved dark green shirt. His hair needed a trim, his boots were scuffed, and none of that mattered because there was a glint in his green eyes that made her wonder if the devil was half so appealing as this man standing in front of her.

“Morning,” he said. “I thought I saw you zipping by me on the freeway. You were talking to yourself.”

Chloe tightened her grip on her briefcase, then faked a casual chuckle. “Dictating, actually. I’m a journalist. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“I see.” His gaze traveled leisurely over her body. The attention was as tangible as a blast of hot air. She found herself wanting to move close and rub up against him, just to make the moment complete. Before she could make a total fool of herself, he turned his attention to her car.

“Nice,” he said, pointing at the silver BMW Z3 convertible. “You ever pretend you’re James Bond?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. She’d heard the question before. Yes, the car had been featured in Pierce Brosnan’s first film as James Bond, but that wasn’t why she’d bought it. Some of her trust money had become available a couple of years before, she’d needed a new car and she’d always wanted a convertible. She’d bought the car on a whim and had never regretted it even once.

But she wasn’t about to explain that to Arizona. She was in a lot of danger with this man. He was the subject of a story she intended to write, so she had to get the upper hand. His respect for her professional abilities was required. But she had a feeling he wouldn’t care about her years of study or how many articles she’d written. He exuded power the way flowers exuded scent. He would respect someone who gave as good as they got. She was having enough trouble trying to forget about the dream and ignoring her unexplained attraction to him. She refused to let him best her in a game of wits.

She made a great show of glancing around the parking lot. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dr. Smith, but Bradley is firmly located in an area referred to as the Sacramento delta. This part of California is completely flat. So unless you plan on scaling a building or two, this four-wheel-drive monstrosity you’ve rented seems a great deal like overkill to me.” She kicked the closest monster tire and smiled. “Of course, you’re the expert in archaeology. Perhaps there’s something I should know to explain this.”

Their gazes locked. Chloe didn’t dare back down. Better to have gone too far than not far enough, she told herself.

A slow smile pulled at his mouth. His eyes brightened with humor. “Yeah, yeah. You called me on that one. I couldn’t help it. I hate little cars.” He took her arm and led her toward the exhibit hall. “Let’s get one thing straight. I prefer Arizona to Dr. Smith, okay? Let’s keep things informal.”

The victory was sweet, although not enough for her to ignore the tingling in her arm or the way her heart fluttered in her chest. “Works for me. I want you to feel comfortable.”

He looked at her. “I do. I feel very comfortable.”

If they ever made love, they would be in danger of experiencing spontaneous combustion.

She didn’t know where the thought had come from, but she knew it was true. Dear Lord, the man turned her on. But she couldn’t let him know.

“Good. Then you won’t mind answering all my questions.”

They’d reached the building. Arizona held the door open for her. “Not at all. We can talk about anything you’d like.”

The hallway was dim and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust. They stood facing each other. “I have a whole list of things I want to ask you.”

“I think I’d rather talk about you.”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Chloe’s body screamed a gratified “Yes!” when she finally absorbed the meaning of his statement. Her brain resisted. Was this teasing or testing? She didn’t allow herself to think it might be an invitation. He couldn’t possibly know about the dream. Did the attraction go both ways? The thought both excited and terrified her.

“That’s not very subtle,” she told him, pleased that her voice was calm. Shrieking would have been so unattractive.

“I can be if that’s what you would prefer.”

“What would you prefer?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that question, but it was too late to call it back. Once the words were out, she really wanted to hear the answer.

The devastating smile returned. “I’d like to take you to an island in the South Pacific. Somewhere isolated and romantic.”

“I’m sure you have just the one in mind.”

“Of course. You’d like it. The indigenous population has a society based on a female deity. The social structure is matriarchal. In their eyes, men pretty much have one use.”

Chloe was grateful for the dimness of the foyer. She could feel herself flushing. Based on what she’d read about him, he was probably telling the truth about the island. Despite herself, she laughed.

“I should be insulted,” she told him.

“But you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” How could she be, when every cell of her being responded to him. Not just because he was good-looking. In fact, that was the least of his appeal. Much of what drew her was his energy. She felt like a cat seeking out the warmth of the sun. She wanted to bask in his glow.

“Don’t you have some gems you want to show me?” she asked in an effort to change the subject.

“Absolutely.” He led the way down the hall toward the exhibit hall.

She fell into step with him. “You’re not what I expected,” she admitted.

“So you’ve been doing your homework. Did you think I’d be more scholarly?”

“No, although I’m sure you’re the expert everyone claims. I guess I didn’t think you’d be just a regular guy. I try not to form too much of an impression of someone before I meet him. I don’t want to be writing the article in my head too early. But in your case, that was more difficult than usual. There’s a mythical element to your press clippings.”

“Tell me about it.” He stopped suddenly and turned to face her. “Despite the press trying to make it seem otherwise, I’m not Harrison Ford or Indiana Jones.” His mouth twisted. “I can’t tell you how many times those comparisons have been made.”

“How often do you come out ahead?”

“Good question.” His features relaxed a little. “We’re running about fifty-fifty. You wouldn’t believe the people who have trouble understanding that he’s an actor portraying a fictional character. What happens in the movies has very little to do with real life. But people have expectations.”

“You don’t want to disappoint them,” she said guessing.

“Of course not. But I’m not a larger-than-life character. Who can compete with a movie legend? This is real life. I don’t get a second take to make sure the line is said just right.”

“I would guess that the fans who most want you to be like Indiana Jones are the ladies,” she said.

He groaned. “They bring me hats like his. And whips.”

Chloe wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I see.”

He winked. “Of course some of them have been quite satisfied with reality.”

I certainly was.

She jumped. Had she said that or just thought it? Her gaze flew to his face. He was watching her expectantly. Her heart, which had stumbled a couple of beats, resumed its steady thudding. She must have just thought it. Thank goodness. Arizona could never know about that night—or her dreams.

“Chloe, I’m sorry. I was just teasing. If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”

His statement didn’t make sense for a second. Then she realized she’d been quiet and he probably thought she’d been insulted by his comment. “It’s fine,” she told him.

He shrugged. “Seriously, there was a time when I enjoyed all the press and comparisons. I worked hard to live up to the hype.”

“A girl in every port?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened?”

“I grew up. It got old. I’ve learned that quality is the most important part of a relationship.”

That surprised her. “So you’re a romantic at heart?”

He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “Yes. But not the way you mean it. If you’re asking if I believe in love, the answer is no.”

That didn’t make sense. “You said you believe in magic.”

“Of course. One doesn’t have anything to do with the other. Magic exists. Love is the myth.”

“No way. I’ve never seen magic at work, but you only have to look around to know love is everywhere. Parents and their children, couples who have been together fifty years, kids with their pets. How can you deny all that evidence?”

He stepped toward the wide double doors that led to the exhibit. “It’s surprisingly easy,” he said, pulled a key from his pocket, turned the lock and pushed open the right door.

As she moved to step inside, she was instantly assaulted by cool air. The light was even more dim inside, with only an illuminated path to guide them. A shiver rippled up her spine, but this one was from nerves, not attraction. Chloe instinctively fingered the heart-shaped locket she wore around her neck.

“This way,” Arizona said with the confidence of someone who could see in the dark.

They’d taken about two steps when a voice stopped them. “You can’t come in here,” a man said. “The exhibit isn’t open yet.” Seconds later a bright light shone in her eyes, blinding her.

“It’s okay, Martin,” Arizona said. “This is Chloe Wright. She’s a journalist. I brought her by to show her the exhibit.”

The light clicked off and a security guard stepped out of the shadows. “Oh, sorry, Dr. Smith. I didn’t know it was you.” The fiftysomething man smiled. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, Martin, thanks.”

When they were alone again, Arizona motioned to the dark draperies on either side of the lit path. “The entrance is going to have blown-up photographs showing some of the ruins, that sort of thing. Robert Burton, a friend of mine, is composing appropriate music. Whatever the hell that means.”

Chloe chuckled with him. “Probably something with a South American flavor.”

“Probably.”

They continued down the walkway toward bright lights. Dark drapes gave way to glass cases exhibiting tools, bowls and animal hides fashioned into primitive clothing. Arizona briefly explained the significance of the items.

“I constantly offend my colleagues,” he admitted, not looking the least bit concerned by the fact. “I know I should be interested in this kind of thing.” He motioned to a row of cutting knives. “They are the basis for understanding how a people lived day by day. But I’m a true romantic. I find the living more interesting than the dead, even the long-dead, and I prefer magic to reality. I don’t care what they used to skin their kill. I want to know how they prepared for the hunt. I want to learn the rituals and hear the songs.” He shrugged. “As I’m frequently reminded, religion and magic have their place, but a good knife in the hands of a skilled hunter can keep a family alive for the winter.”

Chloe studied the honed cutting edges. “But religion feeds them as well—their souls rather than their bodies. That has to count for something.”

“Exactly.”