Out of Town Bride Read online

  “What alternative do you have?”

  “I could…I don’t know. Volunteer in a homeless shelter or a free clinic.”

  McPhee laughed, but the sharp look she gave him silenced him. Dear God, she was serious. And the look on her face right now was priceless. Sort of like a blond Scarlett O’Hara, declaring she would plant cotton. Except not as self-serving as Scarlett. Sonya might be spoiled, but she wasn’t selfish.

  “Or I could get a job.”

  “Doing what, exactly?” He didn’t mean to ask it that way. But he simply could not picture Sonya Patterson with a job, getting up early every day, clocking in, eating lunch in a company cafeteria.

  Fortunately she was so caught up in her fantasy that she hadn’t noticed his slight derision. “Engineering, of course. I’ve always been interested in the development of alternate energy resources. Wind and solar. Even nuclear.”

  John-Michael slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent another burst of laughter.

  “What?” she said sharply. “You don’t think I’m smart enough?”

  “No, no, of course you’re smart enough. You have an engineering degree.”

  Sonya set her spoon in her empty bowl, pushed her chair back and slowly stood. “You don’t think I could handle a job. You think I’d get bored or…or quit at the first sign of trouble.”

  That was exactly what he’d been thinking. But looking at her now, he had a sudden flash of insight. This woman was Muffy’s daughter and she’d learned at least one lesson from her mother—to pick a goal and stick with it until she’d accomplished it. Sonya was determined. She would do what she set out to do.

  She walked around the table and stood next to him. “Go ahead, McPhee, say it. You think I’m too lazy and pampered to work.”

  She was too close to him. He stood, intending to put some distance between them. Instead he took her in his arms and kissed her.

  The initial contact of his mouth on hers was as much a shock to his system as it must have been to hers. She stiffened in surprise. But she didn’t resist or make even a token attempt to pull away. As passions that had simmered for ten years flared to life so hot they could have burned a hole where they stood, Sonya’s hands crept up to grip his arms, his shoulders, and finally the back of his neck.

  The force of his kiss bent her head back. She groaned softly, the embrace shattering her rigid control as thoroughly as his hands devastated her carefully styled hair. He let the fingers of one hand creep under her sweater, brushing against the warm skin of her back. With his other hand, he cupped her small, firm bottom.

  He and Sonya must have heard the squeak of Matilda’s crepe-soled shoes on the marble tiles of the dining room floor at exactly the same time, because they sprang apart as if they’d been spring loaded. Sonya literally ran around to the other side of the table, grabbed her cereal bowl and lunged for the sink. She probably didn’t realize that half of her hair had come loose from the pins and was hanging to her shoulders, or that her sweater was hiked up on one side.

  All John-Michael could think to do was fall back into his chair just as Matilda entered the kitchen.

  “Good morning to you, Sonya, and John-Michael. Don’t you look nice. Your hair’s shorter than usual.”

  “Got it cut yesterday,” he mumbled, hastily wiping his mouth and chin with his napkin. A telltale smear of Sonya’s raspberry-colored gloss was left on the napkin, making him wonder what Sonya’s mouth looked like. But she was still facing the sink, scrubbing the cereal bowl to within an inch of its life.

  What had happened? What the hell had he just done?

  “Your mother is complaining bitterly about the shredded wheat,” Matilda said as she put away the milk and cereal box. “Even the fresh blueberries and nuts aren’t convincing her to like her healthy breakfast. She wants an omelet.”

  “Sh–she’ll develop a taste for low-fat food,” Sonya said, her voice coming out unnaturally squeaky.

  Matilda glanced over at her, did a double take, apparently noticing the new, avant-garde hairstyle. But she didn’t mention it. “Here, dear, let me take that. You don’t have to scrub the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher, you know.” She took the bowl from Sonya’s hand and opened the dishwasher.

  Sonya turned as she dried her hands on an embroidered tea towel. Her lip color was smeared everywhere. He urgently signaled her to wipe her mouth. After a moment of staring at him uncomprehendingly, she finally realized the problem and scrubbed at her face with a tea towel. By the time Matilda finished at the dishwasher, Sonya’s face was flushed, her lips still full from being kissed. But there was nothing obviously indicating what had just happened, except the hair.

  Sonya gave him a questioning look. Better?

  He nodded, then surreptitiously pointed to his head. Sonya felt her hair and looked pained as she realized what it must look like.

  “Oh, my gosh, I never finished putting up my hair,” she said, laughing unconvincingly. “I guess I was so worried about missing our flight that I got into a big rush.”

  John-Michael saw a couple of hairpins on the floor. He leaned down and casually picked them up and stuck them in his shirt pocket.

  “You’d better hurry and fix it,” John-Michael said. “We should get going. No telling how the traffic will be.”

  “Oh, Sonya,” Matilda said, “your mother wanted you to stop in and see her before you leave.”

  “Okay.” Sonya scurried from the room, seeming eager for a chance to escape. He didn’t blame her.

  When she was gone, Matilda gave him a look. It was the sort of look she’d been giving him since he was old enough to filch cookies from her, and it made him want to confess every sin, great and small, he’d ever committed.

  “I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Damn. He was so busted, he didn’t bother with a denial. “Normally I am.”

  “I know she’s a beautiful girl, John-Michael, but you’ve managed to keep your hands off for nearly thirty years.”

  “Only the last ten or so have been difficult.”

  “Don’t be flippant, son,” she said, and he could tell she was deeply troubled by what she’d seen, or thought she knew. “That road brings nothing but heartache. I know you’re leaving in a few weeks, and maybe that’s made you reckless, but think of your father. Don’t do anything that might reflect badly—”

  “Matilda,” he said to stop the torrent of motherly advice. Come to think of it, Matilda had been the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had. His own had died when he was three. “It was an isolated event. It won’t happen again.” At least not until he was officially off the Patterson payroll. Then all bets were off.

  Sonya had kissed him back. She had definitely kissed him back. Which meant she might still feel something for him. It was definitely a starting place.

  “See that it doesn’t.” She took his cereal bowl to the sink, though he wasn’t finished with his breakfast.

  “Matilda, I’m curious. How do you know I’ve kept my hands off all this time? How would you know if I hadn’t?”

  “I have instincts about these things, and I’m never wrong.”

  “Was she—is she sleeping with Marvin?”

  “John-Michael McPhee, that is none of your business. And the fact that you’re curious is a bad sign.” She wet a sponge at the sink and began swabbing off the kitchen table. “Yes, she was sleeping with him, but only at his hotel. Never here.”

  “And when did she lose her virginity?”

  “John-Michael!”

  “I’m just testing your instincts against what I know.”

  “So you think you know?”

  “I have my suspicions. I’ve spent more time with her than anyone else.”

  “It was on her class trip to Cancun. She was eighteen. You were at the police academy then, I believe.”

  “Hmm.” He’d been wrong, then. He’d thought it was sometime later. That meant she’d not still been a virgin when she’d come on to him.


  “It’s inappropriate to be talking about this,” Matilda said. “If Muffy knew you’d had even a single improper thought about her daughter, I don’t know what she would do.”

  If Muffy didn’t know that he thought Sonya was hot, she was blind to her daughter’s allure and ignorant about the way men’s minds worked. But Matilda was right—Muffy would go ballistic. She’d vetoed one boyfriend after another where Sonya was concerned, even the ones who came from wealthy families. Marvin was the only one who’d met with her full, unconditional approval.

  This wasn’t a good time for Muffy to go ballistic, John-Michael thought grimly. Which only strengthened his resolve to keep his libido in check—for now.

  SONYA MADE A SIDE TRIP to a powder room before seeking out her mother, repairing her hair and makeup. Muffy would fuss if she ever saw Sonya looking less than well-groomed. Sonya couldn’t imagine what she might think if she saw her daughter looking thoroughly ravished.

  Hair fixed, nose powdered, lip gloss reapplied, she looked pretty good on the outside. Inside, she was still reeling. She’d fantasized at least a million times of just such a kiss, of John-Michael suddenly losing control and grabbing her. But she’d thought for a long time, now, that it was beyond impossible.

  What had suddenly changed? Because he’d started it.

  It wasn’t her show of temper, because surely she’d shown him her temper many times. It wasn’t her clothes. A pumpkin-colored cashmere sweater over fawn pants was hardly her sexiest outfit. Just yesterday he’d seen her in a swimsuit, and nothing had happened. Not to him, anyway. Her nipples had turned hard as glass beads just looking at him in his snug T-shirt, but she didn’t think he’d even noticed.

  As she made her way up the stairs toward Muffy’s suite, she reviewed the conversation she and McPhee had been having just prior to the kiss. They’d been talking about her getting a job, her interest in renewable energy, volunteer work, how useless and spoiled she was. None of those topics seemed particularly provocative.

  What, then? She didn’t have a clue.

  Muffy’s door was partially opened, so Sonya tapped on it. “Mother?”

  “Come in, dear!” Muffy said cheerfully. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing a pair of loose, gauzy pants and a matching shirt. She did not look like a woman who’d recently spent a month in the hospital.

  Scattered all around Muffy were several CDs. She had a portable CD player in her lap and earbuds in her ears.

  “I was just listening to the different songs the Brent Warren Orchestra can play for your reception. Now I’ve made a list of the ones I like, but I want you to listen to all of them and make up your own list, keeping in mind the running times and the fact that we’ll have approximately three hours to fill. We’ll see where our lists agree and where they diverge. Of course, you get to make the final decision—”

  “Mother, I’m sure your choices will be fine.”

  “You’re going to be on the plane for hours, anyway. You might as well listen to something nice.” She gathered up the CDs into a stack and handed them to Sonya, who dutifully took them along with the player.

  “All right.” She supposed there were more stressful things Muffy could do than listen to orchestral music. But she wished her mother wouldn’t get so wigged out about every tiny detail. If it were Sonya’s decision, she would just let the orchestra play whatever they normally played at weddings. But it wasn’t her decision, no matter what Muffy said.

  “You look a bit strange, dear,” Muffy said, examining Sonya’s face carefully. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

  Only insanity. “No, I feel great.”

  “Take some extra vitamin C. You know, planes are just breeding grounds for all kinds of diseases. All that recirculated air.”

  “Speaking of vitamins, have you taken your morning medications?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “And will you promise me not to argue with Matilda about the food? She’s working with the nutritionist on some more interesting dishes, but it might take a while.”

  “I’ll try to be good,” Muffy said. “You just go and have fun. Take your time with Madame Boirot, and make sure you’re really in love with the lace before you commit.”

  Sonya thought guiltily about the way she’d just chosen a pattern at random before ordering. “I will.”

  Muffy reached under her pillow and withdrew some cash. She handed it to Sonya. “Use this to buy something for John-Michael. A really nice gift. I haven’t thanked him properly for saving my life.”

  Sonya eyed the stack of cash with a practiced eye. It was about five hundred dollars. She could hardly refuse to carry out Muffy’s wishes, not when the gesture was so generous, and borne out of gratitude. And much as she’d like to, she couldn’t get away with buying a joke gift or something bland and impersonal. Muffy would find out.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Muffy asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “When you came in you were pale as a mist, and now you’re flushed.”

  “I’m fine. I better go before we miss our plane.”

  WHEN SONYA CAME DOWNSTAIRS, McPhee was waiting in the foyer for her. He’d already brought her sporty little BMW around to the front. It was doubtless sparkling clean and full of gas. Tim always took care of stuff like that for her.

  Oh, Lord, she was spoiled.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I put on my earphones,” she said once they’d settled into the car, trying to restore some sense of normalcy between them. “My mother has given me an assignment. I have to pick out music for the reception.” She indicated the stack of CDs and the portable player, which she’d tucked into a Louis Vuitton tote bag. She was grateful she had the task, because she didn’t feel she could handle making small talk with McPhee for four hours. Her body was still vibrating from that kiss. She needed some quiet time to process what had happened and formulate a plan for how she would deal with it.

  “No problem. I have some thinking to do myself.”

  Now that just made her curious. Would he be thinking about their kiss? Or had he already dismissed their encounter and moved on to something more practical, like choosing a new health insurance plan or whether to hire a moving company for when he moved out of his apartment above the Pattersons’ garage?

  Chapter Five

  By the time the BMW had cleared the Patterson driveway, Sonya had the CD player’s earphones on, but she didn’t listen to any music. It would only make her depressed. She perused her mother’s list, crossed off three songs she didn’t like. “Disco Duck”? Even if this wedding had been relegated to the abstract, no one was playing “Disco Duck” at her reception. She replaced the three with jazz songs she knew she would enjoy, were she to ever hear them.

  Her task was completed, and they weren’t even out of her neighborhood yet.

  She pulled a glossy magazine from her tote and flipped through it. But she found she couldn’t concentrate on the latest designer fashions or trendy weekend getaway destinations. There was no getting around it. She had to consider what had just happened between her and McPhee, deal with it, put it in a box in her mind, shut the lid tight, and forget about it.

  Unlike the painful and embarrassing incident ten years ago, this time McPhee had initiated the kiss. After all, it couldn’t have been her. She’d been spitting mad, her pride bruised by McPhee’s refusal to immediately embrace the idea that she should get a job and become a more productive member of society. She’d been intent on getting him to confess he thought her too spoiled, stupid or lazy to work. She hadn’t been thinking about kissing or sex or anything the least bit scandalous…had she?

  But she sure hadn’t fought off McPhee. She hadn’t put up even token resistance. So maybe somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’d been thinking of something other than her job qualifications.

  For a few minutes she let herself experience the kiss again, the feel of McPhee’s big hands on her body, tangled in her hair, the warmth of his mouth against hers, the t
aste of blueberries on his tongue, the smell of his sun-bronzed skin, the beating of his heart against her chest.

  She hadn’t been able to remember much about the first time they’d kissed. She’d been tipsy on margaritas, and in the morning her most vivid recollection had been the sting of McPhee’s rejection, not the feel of his body pressed against hers.

  This morning’s kiss was different.

  She went through it again, recalling particulars, even such inconsequential details as the gurgle of the coffeepot in the background and the feel of the corded muscles in his neck.

  The memories were sweet torture. Her body responded, almost as if she were experiencing the kiss for real. She squirmed in her seat, then turned the thermostat on the climate control down to sixty-five degrees. She was having a hot flash!

  She caught McPhee’s gaze and realized he was watching her. For how long? Her face flamed at the possibility that he’d been watching long enough to catch the play of emotions that must have crossed her face.

  She removed the headphones. “Did you want to say something?”

  “Sonya, we have to talk.”

  “I’m…I’m not ready to talk.”

  “Then just let me do the talking. I’m very sorry about what hap—No, that’s not right. It didn’t just happen. I made it happen. It was very wrong of me, and believe me, it won’t—”

  Sonya didn’t hear the rest. She’d put the earphones back on and hit the play button.

  “Hey! I’m apologizing here!”

  But she didn’t want to hear an apology. She realized with no small shock that what she wanted him to say was that he wasn’t sorry, that it wasn’t a big mistake, that he’d enjoyed it and wanted to do it again.

  Impossible! She couldn’t function while such ridiculous thoughts were rambling around her brain. These feelings were simply the residual emotions from an adolescent crush that she’d never dealt with properly.

  She did what she’d always done when dealing with her unrequited crush on McPhee. She wrapped herself with cold indignation and reminded herself of her mother’s advice: Never let them see you cry.