Enlisted by Love (20 page)

Finally the doorbell rang. The movers had arrived with the final piece. She showed them how to arrange it, took a step back to make sure everything was in place, shooed them off, then scooted upstairs to change. She pulled on the black cocktail dress that set off her coloring so well, then touched up her makeup and fixed her hair. She checked her look in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Ian had not understood the point of the mirror, but she was glad she'd overruled him. She squinted at her reflection. The skirt was too short. She tugged at the hem. She'd told Tess at the time they bought it but Tess hadn't listened. Tess had insisted it was perfect. Now Greta could see it was definitely too short. It was too late to do anything about it. At least she'd been working out and had the legs for it. She slipped into her pumps and darted back downstairs.

Glancing into the dining room, she snapped her fingers. She'd found a hammered copper fire pit for the center of the table. It was still out in her car. Requisitioning one of the catering staff, she instructed him to haul it in and set it in the center of the monstrosity. The catering assistant did as she asked, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Appetizers and cocktails were to be served in the living room, dinner in here. She'd told Ian not to have the table set. She wanted the full visual impact of the room to hit the guests as they sat down. The caterer would plate in the kitchen and the waiters would bring the utensils and filled glasses of water and wine at the same time as the food. It would be impressive, a real conversation piece, which was exactly what Ian wanted.

She fretted with the fire pit until it was positioned perfectly, then went into the kitchen to borrow matches. She lit the fire. She stepped back. Perfect. Primal, masculine, earthy. Maybe not the most relaxing place to have at a meal but you certainly wouldn't forget it in a hurry. She reached forward to make another adjustment to the fire pit.

“Wow,” a husky voice said from the doorway.

She started, so absorbed in her task that she'd forgotten Ian was wandering around, supervising. So far he'd had the excellent sense to stay out of her way. She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. The room was dim but she could see him moving toward her like a big cat on the prowl.

“Wow?” she said, her tone a query.

“Wow,” he said again, and he wasn't talking about the effect of the finally finished dining room. She was suddenly aware of the shortness of the cocktail dress and wished she'd opted for an ankle-length evening gown instead.

As he strolled closer to her, she backed into the table, clutching the edge with her fingers. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to — but she didn't want him to. “Ian,” she said breathlessly. “I don't — I can't — ”

“Greta. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she lifted her chin and looked at him.

“I know you trust me,” he said.

She nodded. She trusted him. He'd never given her a reason not to.

“So it must be you that you don't trust.”

She sucked a startled breath in. Horrified, she felt tears welling in her eyes. She didn't want to be wrong again. She didn't want to choose poorly again. But how would she ever know?

“You trust me to stop,” he said. “That's all that matters between us. You trust me not to hurt you. So you don't have to worry, right? Because I won't hurt you. And I won't let you hurt you. Okay?”

For an argument it was not the most logical she had ever heard. But that didn't matter at the moment. For a moment, it seemed possible that he was right, and —

“I think — ” Ian began, but she never got to hear what he thought because the doorbell rang.

“Guests, guests,” she said, and ran out of the room.

His eyes never stopped following her around the room. He kept standing by her, touching her, as if to stake his claim. She tried to cover her discomfort with polite smiles. His guests were polite and interesting but she didn't really remember much about them. She was too aware of Ian's eyes watching her every move. He had made it clear he thought they belonged together, and she hadn't told him no, and now he was jealous of her. Was he going to criticize how she'd talked too much to Geoffrey, his single colleague? Had he decided he disapproved of the too-short cocktail dress after all?

This wasn't going to work. She couldn't live like that again. When the party was over, she'd tell him so, and she would never have to see him again or talk to him again. Her job here was finished.

Somehow, the hours passed and no one seemed to notice her upset or how she picked at her meal because of her roiling stomach.

When the last of the guests had gone, Ian put a hand on her arm and said, “Please stay.” She knew they might as well have it out, so she nodded and wished wholeheartedly that Tess and Michael had come.

Finally, the caterer bid him goodnight, and she heard Ian shut and lock the front door. She rubbed her arms with her hands, moving towards the fireplace. He came back into the room and she lifted her head. A cold lump of misery started in her chest. This was going to be hard — and awful.

Ian walked across the room and dropped a kiss on her cheek. She flinched but didn't turn to look at him.

“Greta, I — ”

“Don't start,” she said bitterly.

“Start what?” he asked.

“I saw you looking at me,” she said. “Every time I talked to a man, you were there, staring at me across the room. No, I wasn't flirting with any of them. No, I'm not going to — ”

“Greta, you can flirt with the whole neighborhood if you want,” he said.

“I — what?” she said, swinging around to face him.

“Well, maybe not the whole neighborhood. The dogs and kids, you'd probably need to leave them out.”

“I — you don't — I don't understand. I thought you wanted us to — ?”

“Sure.”

Understanding dawned and her breath came easily for the first time all evening. “You're not jealous.”

“Of what? If you don't want to be with me, then what good does thumping my chest about it do? You're not the kind of woman who'll cheat on a man she makes a commitment to.” He shrugged as if that said it all.

She stared at him. It couldn't possibly be that simple, could it? Did he really believe that? It was true, of course, but that didn't mean he believed it.

“I just — you kept watching me,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “And you kept creeping up behind me like you were trying to catch me doing or saying something I shouldn't. Or to show that I was with you and everyone needed to keep their hands off.”

“Creeping up behind you?” Ian raised a brow. “Sorry. I didn't realize you were taking it that way.” He shrugged again. “I like being near you, Greta. That's all. I'm not your first husband.”

“My only husband,” Greta said. “Fortunately now my ex-husband.”

Ian grinned. “I referred to him as your first husband because I plan on being your second one.”

Greta's jaw dropped.

“Right. Insufferable, arrogant, taking a lot for granted,” he said, even though she hadn't responded. “We can discuss the wedding date later.”

“We can, can we?” Greta asked icily, though she couldn't help the glow of warmth that started in the pit of her stomach.

“Sure. Found the woman I want finally, so I think it's time I settled down.”

“It is, is it?” she said.

His slipped his arms around her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him. His gray eyes approved of her; they always had. This was Ian, not the figure she had made up out of fear and doubt. This Ian would never let her down.

“Look, Greta. I love you. I trust that you'll do the right thing — for yourself and for us.” He smiled and said, “I was staring at you all night because you're beautiful and I love you. You have any idea how those two facts can focus a man's attention on a woman?”

“That's it? You've been staring at me and breathing down my neck all night because you love me?”

“Yes, ma'am. You gave me a
Barcalounger
. And you're surprised I want to marry you?”

“I haven't said yes yet,” she reminded him.

“You will. You know you love me.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You let me keep the Barcalounger,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

Jenny Jacobs, a writer living in the Midwest, is still kissing frogs, but likes to write about people finding their happily ever after — even if they have to go through some difficulties to get there. Her previous titles for Crimson Romance include
The Winter Promise
and
Sadie's Story
. Find out more about her at
www.jennyjacobsbooks.com
.

Sadie Rose Perkins stared at the rain twisting down the plate-glass front window of the bookstore and sighed. It had been raining for three days straight, monotonous and gray and dreary, and neither the forecast nor the sky gave any indication that it was going to let up soon. Springtime in Cedar Valley, Ohio. She'd only had three customers today and it was already after lunch.

She propped her chin in her hand and forced herself to set the glossy travel brochure aside, all blue skies and smiling families. Apparently it never rained in the Greek Isles. If it did, it would be Mediterranean rain, and that had to be better than Midwestern rain. Or at least different.

She put the Webster's unabridged dictionary on top of the brochure to forestall temptation and got back to work, turning to the book catalog from Caterina's Closet that Bob (the mailman) had delivered yesterday. Caterina's Closet sold only very sexy romances and at first, Sadie hadn't been sure about ordering any. But she was a businessperson, and businesspersons had to look after the bottom line, so she'd bought just a few and put them discreetly behind the counter, hoping she wouldn't end up being an agenda item at the next city council meeting. Willing to endure the storm if it came to that, she'd written a coy little note on purple paper and pasted it on a shelf in the romance section — and had been astonished to find that reading very sexy romances was the favorite pastime of the ladies and gentlemen who lived in the retirement home on the edge of town.

Now she brought each month's order to the retirement home library herself and they'd be lined up five and six deep, waiting for her arrival on the appointed day. They enjoyed their fantasy lives every bit as much as Sadie did hers, though by comparison her dreams of adventure beyond the confines of this small town were modest and retiring.

While she had a special affection for the seniors, she liked all of her customers, even the nose-in-the-air ones from the university who furtively bought hard-boiled mysteries and hid them under the artistic book covers Aunt Gertrude quilted for her to sell at the shop. Pages: A Bookstore, as the sign out front said. (Gran had named it Pages, and Gramps had added the qualifier, so as to prevent confusion.) Sadie squinted out the window. You could hardly see the sign in this rain. But everyone in town already knew where the bookstore was. Not that she expected anyone else would be coming in today, not with the rain coming down like that.

She picked up her pen and turned back to the Caterina's Closet catalog, making a tick against the title of a pirate romance. She would never be the haughty princess abducted by the swashbuckling pirate — she'd learned all about reality when she was a kid — but it was fun to imagine. She might not be the haughty princess, but she was going to be ready for her adventure when it came. She was sure it would, just as she was sure she would find The One, the missteps she'd had with the Allens and Marcuses of the world notwithstanding. They'd just been part of getting ready.

She turned a page of the catalog.
Today may be the day he walks in the door.
He would know it and she would know it and they would walk hand-in-hand into the future together. Maybe they would have an adventure first. If she was going to dream, she might as well dream about having it all.
You never know.
Wasn't that what Gran had always said, smiling and patting her hand?
You never know.

The bell above the shop door jangled and Sadie looked up, her breath catching. But it was only Bob, with the mail, dripping on the mat by the door as she came around to collect the envelopes.

• • •

Jordan Blaise shot his arm out and glanced at his watch. The university chancellor had gone on and on … a breakfast meeting that had lasted until lunchtime. These academic types had no idea how much the wasted time cost. After all of the mind-numbing and self-congratulatory talk, the chancellor had decided he couldn't agree to certain terms that Jordan had believed final — leaving him back where he had started a month ago, only more frustrated.

And now this. He listened on his smartphone as Paula, his girlfriend, told him bitterly and in no uncertain terms that if his work was that important to him, he could just marry it.

“I told you I had to be out of town,” he began, but she was in no mood to hear it.

“I don't care if you told me,” she said. “That's not the point. I care that you're
never here.
And if you're never here, then why are we even dating?”

“I'm sorry,” he said but obviously not apologetically enough because she slammed the phone down in his ear. He sighed and pushed the off button. He was convinced the only reason she maintained a landline instead of relying solely on her iPhone was so she could slam the phone down in his ear.

Possibly he was becoming cynical, a character failing his mother gently chided him for from time to time. Well, if anyone had paid a price for cynicism, it was she. She should have held out for a hero.