Say You Will (18 page)

“Ha!”

He hauled her in his arms and kissed her, all enthusiasm and desire.

She wanted to resist—she told herself to resist. She lifted her hands to his chest to push him away, but they clenched him closer. When he lifted her onto the counter, her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord. She felt his hard arousal press at the core of her, and she moaned into his mouth.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said between kisses.

He yanked her blouse out of her skirt and ran a hand up the bare skin of her back. “Why not?”

“Because you’re wrong for me.” Her heel hooked behind his leg, pulling him in closer. “I don’t want this, this—”

“Passion?”

“Insanity,” she corrected.

His thumb pressed the hard tip of her breast and she moaned. He nuzzled her neck, his teeth teasing her skin. “I think you do want this. You want
me
.”

She did—so badly she was shaking with it. Her body felt on fire and out of control. She wanted to tell him to pull her knickers down and touch her, to feel her wetness.

As if he could read her mind, his other hand skimmed up her thigh, his fingers rubbing her through the damp cotton.

A sharp current of pleasure made her cry out. Eyes squeezed shut, she bit her lip to keep from begging him to make her come.

“I want you, Em,” Joe whispered against her skin. “I haven’t hidden it, and I’m through waiting until you’re ready.”

“But I’m not interested in playing,” she lied, panting. “I want forever.”

“I want
you
forever.”

That didn’t make sense. Why would he want her forever? She was nothing, from druggie parents who didn’t know she existed. He could have anyone—even a Victoria’s Secret model.

Her head swam as his fingers caressed her through her underwear. Her hips arched up of their own accord, a silent plea for him to give her more.

Being here, with Joe like this, reminded her of the time she’d walked into the kitchen and found her mother writhing on the counter with some random man.

“No, I can’t.” She pushed him away, tugging down her skirt and pressing her knees together. “I’m like my mother around you.”

He stepped away from her, but his gaze sharpened. “What does that mean?”

“She acted this way with men. Any man. All the time.” She swallowed her shame as she righted her clothing and smoothed her hair frantically, trying to calm her breathing.

“You’re not like your mother.”

She glanced at him. “How would you know?”

He crossed his arms. “Because I’m the only man who’ll ever make you feel this way.”

She laughed, but it sounded shrill to her own ears. “You don’t know.”

“Do you act this way around Ben?”

No, which was precisely why he was so good for her.

The door opened, and one of the assistants walked in, stumbling to a wide-eyed stop when she saw Joe.

He didn’t take his attention off Em. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

“This ‘conversation’ is ended,” she yelled after him. Then she pointed at the assistant. “Not a word.”

Rushing out of the ladies room, she paced behind her desk, too wound up to sit down. Her nipples poked out from her shirt, and underneath her skirt she was on fire.

But Joe could do that to any woman. Like his old
chum
.

She felt a new stab of jealousy followed immediately by a feeling of inadequacy. She could never measure up to a woman like that.

Ben would never be with a woman like that. He’d be with someone like Em.

Ben didn’t make her feel like a goddess.

But Ben was safe.

Avoiding the urge to pluck the crumpled cutout of pseudo Joe from the trash, she picked up the phone and dialed the Greenhouse Café. “Ben,” she said when he answered the phone, “when did you want to go out?”

Chapter Twenty-three

“You’re glowing,” Sara said as Rosalind sat down to tea.

“Am I?” She smiled brilliantly, unwinding her scarf from her neck.

“You look deliriously happy.”

“Maybe.” She smiled at their waitress, who just brought them their usual order of Earl Grey and scones. “We should have champagne today, too.”

The waitress grinned at her. “Of course. I’ll bring it right out.”

“Champagne.” Sara uttered it as though it was a foreign concept. “Are we celebrating?”

“My best friend Bijou says champagne is a state of mind, not a special affair.” She shrugged. “I’ve never really understood what that meant, but it seems to fit the moment.”

The waitress set two flutes in front of them, next to their teacups. She raised hers and clinked it with Sara’s.

Sara closed her eyes at the first sip. “This is lovely, doubly so because today was horrid.”

“Tell me.”

“I had an unreasonable client who wanted the world, and wasn’t happy when I only offered him half of it. My friend, who works at the firm, is having a meltdown because of a man she refuses to admit she’s in love with, who also works at our firm.”

“And?”

Sara exhaled, wilting in her seat. “It’s my mum’s birthday today.”

“I’m sorry.” Rosalind reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

Her new friend shook her head, as though she were trying to shake off the tears. “It’s just fresh. I miss her so much. She was my best friend.”

“You’re so lucky you were close to your mother, even if it was for a short period of time.” Although, lately, she’d forged some sort of tentative relationship with her mother. It was strange, but lovely. It made her hope.

“I’m not going to be morose though.” Sara made an effort to smile. “I’m setting today behind me.”

“Good.” She patted her new friend’s hand. “Then you’ll be happy to know that I’m almost done designing your dress. You’re going to love it.”

“Oh.” Sara blinked.

Rosalind grinned. “You look like you forgot about it.”

“I—” The woman shook her head. “I just didn’t think it’d be so fast.”

“I got inspired.” Unable to help herself, she leaned forward and said, “Can I tell you something?”

Sara nodded, her eyes wide.

“Nick and I have been seeing each other.”

“I guess it’s been going well,” Sara said, sounding hesitant.

“Even better recently.” She thought about the way he
fit
. Not just sexually, although that was fairly fabulous. He simply understood her—was in sync with her. “It’s all so unexpected.”

Sara took a sip of her drink. “You aren’t rushing things, I hope.”

She laughed. After all the time she waited to have him, rushing was hardly a worry.

Then something else occurred to her. Frowning, she studied her new friend. The woman looked uncomfortable. Concerned. Maybe disapproving even, or was she imagining that? “You’re okay with me seeing Nick, right? I don’t want to step on your—”

“Oh, no.” Sara gaped. Then she shuddered. “Ew
.
Nick is like my brother. I’d never—
ew
!”

Rosalind laughed. “That’s a relief. I’d have hated it if I poached.”

“Take him with my blessings.” Sara made a shooing gesture with her hands. “I love him, but he’s impossible.”

Impossibly lovely. She smiled into her champagne, feeling a glow that had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with love.

She was still floating as she walked up the walkway to the house.

Until she saw Viola pacing on the steps right outside the South Street residence.

Her sister gripped Rosalind’s arm before she could run away and said, “You have to help me.”

“Are you in trouble?” she asked, frowning with concern.

“Why do you ask that?” her sister asked cautiously.

“Because you’ve been mainlining tequila and begging Bea to use her private detective, and now you’re here accosting me.”

“I didn’t beg.”

Rosalind rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Just watch Chloe for me. I brought her here to Mother or Fran but neither one of them seem to be around.” Viola gestured at the front door. “She’s inside. You don’t have to do anything. She’ll just sit somewhere and quietly pout while she does her homework.”

She sighed. “Why is she pouting?”

“Because she’s a teenager and they’re all miserable.” Her sister took her arms and made puppy dog eyes at her. “Please, Ros?”

“Go.” She sighed. “I’ll watch her.”

“
Thank you.
” Vi kissed her cheek and ran down the stairs.

Sighing, Rosalind went inside to look for her niece. She didn’t have to look long before she found her sulking among the potted trees in the orangery, earbuds in and her legs dangling off the end of the couch.

She went up to Chloe and tapped her shoulder.

The girl looked up and reluctantly tugged out her earbuds. “What?”

“Don’t you have homework?”

“I guess,” was the sullen answer.

Rosalind rolled her eyes. “Get it and come with me.”

The girl sighed heavily, like she was beleaguered, but got off the couch and picked up the discarded messenger bag from the floor. She sighed again as she slung it on her shoulder and looked at her impatiently.

“This way.” She was thinking of going to the kitchen—Fran’s cookies and milk had always been her favorite thing as a child. But at the last moment she detoured and headed upstairs to her mother’s closet. “I just need to stop to get my sketchpad.”

Chloe mumbled something noncommittal, but at least she kept pace. Rosalind fetched her things from her room, and they went to her mother’s closet. She double-checked to make sure Jacqueline wasn’t in there, walked to the closet, and then faced Chloe. “Can you keep a secret?”

Her niece’s face curled, like she was insulted. “I don’t snitch.”

“I hate this house. I hate every room except this one.”

She looked at the door. “This looks like a closet.”

“It is. It’s my mum’s. But it’s magic in here.” She opened the door and turned on the light. “I used to come in here and pretend this was a special place where a girl became a princess.”

Chloe followed her in. “I never wanted to be a princess.”

“What did you want to be?”

“A ninja.”

Rosalind grinned. “You’d make a good ninja. Tell you what? I’ll make you a ninja princess dress in all black whenever you like.”

Chloe stared at her incredulously. “Do you mean that?” she asked suspiciously.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” She sat down in front of the ball gowns and flipped open her sketchbook to the design for Sara’s dress.

“You’re odd.” But the teenager sat down right next to her.

“I’m a Summerhill. It’s in our genes.” She gave the girl a pointed look. “You’re a Summerhill, too, you know.”

“It’s not my last name.” But there was a longing to the statement.

Rosalind shook her head. “The last name is just a formality. You have the hair, the eyes, and the cheeks. You’re a Summerhill through and through.”

The girl nodded even though she didn’t look convinced. She took out a book from her bag and began to read.

Rosalind looked at her design. It was wrong. It was good—she didn’t do anything that wasn’t—but it wasn’t quite right.

She knew exactly what it needed to look like. She picked up the charcoal and began to sketch.

A strapless dress with rhinestones dotting the light tulle, all white. The bodice would be heart-shaped, and the bottom would be thigh length in front and trailing in a small train behind—what Bijou would have called a mullet dress.

It was perfect. Modern like Sara but still feminine and dreamy. She was going to love it. It was maybe one of the best designs she’d ever done, except for the dress she’d designed for herself. She’d captured Sara’s essence—not surprising since she felt connected to the woman, like they’d been friends forever. It was a nice feeling.

She wanted Sara to feel and look perfect on her wedding day, more than she had for any of her clients, except KT.

She thought about her own dress. Her wedding day had always been an ephemeral idea—some date in the future that she wasn’t particularly rushed to get to. She flipped to her own dress and pictured wearing it. How she’d feel.

She pictured Nick seeing her in it, the way he’d looked at her when she’d tried on wedding dresses in that shop—like she was
his
princess.

“Why are you staring into space?” Chloe said, breaking into her reverie.

She’d almost forgot the girl was there. “No reason.”

Chloe studied her. Finally she said, “Are you thinking about a boy?”

Rosalind blinked. “What do you know about boys?”

Her niece looked at her like she was an idiot.

She pointed a finger at the teenager. “It’s natural to be curious, but if I find out you’re messing around with boys, I’ll lock you in this closet.”

Chloe shrugged sadly. “Mum doesn’t care.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Rosalind set her pad down. “Is there a boy you like?”

The girl shrugged again, exaggeratedly blasé. “They’re all losers.”

Rosalind sighed, finally getting it. “They are, especially if they can’t see how great you are.”

Her niece stiffened.

She took Chloe’s hand. “Promise me you’ll hold out for someone you really, really like. You don’t think so, but, trust me, it makes a big difference.”

Chloe swung her big blue eyes at her. “Is there someone you like?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking about Nick.

“Have you told him you like him?”

She frowned, thinking back. Had she? She thought it’d been pretty clear, but maybe not. “I’m not sure.”

“Maybe you should,” the teenager said, as though she were the adult.

“You’re right. I should.” She smiled at Chloe and then hugged her briefly. “Thank you. I needed that wisdom.”

The girl looked surprised by the praise, but then her expression lightened. She nodded and lowered her head to read again.

Rosalind stared at her—what her sister had created—and felt something loosen in her chest. Scooting closer to the girl so their knees were touching, she opened her pad and thought about how she’d tell Nick she liked him. That she liked him a lot—the sort of like that led down the aisle.