The Summer Wedding: Groom Wanted / The Man You'll Marry. Debbie Macomber
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in the tropics had done anything but add a not-so-fetching touch of pink across her shoulders.
She dressed in a thick terry robe supplied by the hotel and had just wrapped a towel around her wet hair when her phone rang.
“Hello,” she said breathlessly, sinking onto her bed. Her stomach knotted with anticipation.
“Jill Morrison?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t Jordan. But the voice sounded vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t immediately place it.
“Andrew Howard. I sat next to you at the dinner party last night.”
“Yes, of course.” Her voice rose with pleasure. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her chat with the older man. “How are you?”
He chuckled. “I’m fine. I tried to phone earlier, but you were out and I didn’t leave a message.”
“I went on a tour this morning.”
“Ah, that explains it. I realize it’s rather short notice, but are you free for dinner tonight?”
Jill didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I am.”
“Good, good. Could you join me around eight?”
“Eight would be perfect.” Normally Jill dined much earlier, but she wasn’t hungry yet, thanks to an expensive snack, compliments of Jordan Wilcox.
“Wonderful.” Mr. Howard seemed genuinely pleased. “I’ll have a car waiting for you and Wilcox out front at seven-thirty.”
And Wilcox. She’d almost missed the words. So Jordan had accepted Mr. Howard’s invitation. Perhaps she’d been too critical; perhaps he’d understood the point of her story, after all, and was willing to put business aside for one evening. Perhaps he was as eager to spend time with her as she was with him.
* * *
“I wondered if you’d be here,” Jordan announced when they met in the lobby at the appointed time. He didn’t exactly greet her with open enthusiasm, but Jill comforted herself with the observation that Jordan wasn’t one to reveal his emotions.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he added. That was when she remembered he was hoping to interest the older man in his shopping-mall project. Dinner, for Jordan, would be a golden opportunity to conduct business, elicit Mr. Howard’s support and gain the financial backing he needed for the project.
Jill couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “I’ll do my best not to interrupt your sales pitch,” she said sarcastically.
“My sales pitch?” he echoed, then grinned, apparently amused by her assumption. “You don’t have to worry. Howard doesn’t want in on this project, which is fine. He just likes to keep tabs on me, especially since Dad died. He seems to think I need a mentor, or at least some kind of paternal adviser.”
“Do you?”
Jordan shrugged. “There’ve been one or two occasions when I’ve appreciated his wisdom. I don’t need him holding my hand, but I have sometimes looked to him for advice.”
Remembering her dinner conversation with the older man, Jill said, “In some ways, Mr. Howard must think of you as a son.”
“I doubt that.” Jordan scowled. “I’ve known him all this time and not once did he ever mention he’d lost a son.”
“It was almost thirty years ago, and as I told you, it’s the reason his company’s done so much cancer research. Howard Pharmaceuticals makes several of the leading cancer-fighting drugs.” When Andrew Howard had told her about his son’s death, a tear had come to his eye. Although Jeff Howard had succumbed to childhood leukemia a long time ago, his father still grieved. Andrew had become a widower a few years later, and he’d never fully recovered from the double blow. Jill was deeply touched by his story. During their conversation, she’d shared a little of the pain she’d felt at her own father’s death, something she rarely did, even with her mother or her closest friend.
“What shocks me,” Jordan continued, “is that I’ve worked on different projects with him over the years. We’ve also kept in touch socially. And not once, not once, did he mention a son.”
“Perhaps there was never a reason.”
Jordan dismissed that idea with a shake of his head.
“Mr. Howard’s a sweet man. I really like him,” Jill asserted.
“Sweet? Andrew Howard?” Jordan grinned, his eyes bright with humor. “I’ve known alligators with more agreeable personalities.”
“Apparently there’s more to your friend than you realized.”
“My friend,” Jordan repeated. “Funny, I’d always thought of him as my father’s friend, not mine. But you’re right—he is my friend and— Oh, here’s the car.” With a hand on her arm, he escorted her outside.
A tall, uniformed driver stepped from the long white limousine. “Ms. Morrison and Mr. Wilcox?” he asked crisply.
Jordan nodded, and the chauffeur ceremoniously opened the back door for them. Soon they were heading out of the city toward the island’s opposite coast.
“Do you still play the piano?” Jordan asked unexpectedly.
“Every so often, when the mood strikes me,” Jill told him a bit ruefully. “Not as much as I’d like.”
“I take it you still haven’t conquered the caesura?”
“Not yet, but I’m learning.” She wasn’t sure what had prompted his question, then decided to ask one of her own. “What about you? Do you think you might be interested in learning to play the piano?”
Jordan shook his head adamantly. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had much interest in that sort of thing.”
Jill sighed and looked away.
Nearly thirty minutes passed before they reached Andrew Howard’s ocean-side estate. Jill suspected it was the longest Jordan had gone without a business conversation since he’d registered at the hotel.
Her heart pounded as they approached the beautifully landscaped grounds. A security guard pushed a button that opened a huge wrought-iron gate. They drove down a private road, nearly a mile long and bordered on each side by rolling green lawns and tropical flower beds. At the end stood a sprawling stone house.
No sooner had the car stopped than Mr. Howard hurried out of the house, grinning broadly.
“Welcome, welcome!” He greeted them expansively, holding out his arms to Jill.
In a spontaneous display of affection, she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”
“The pleasure’s all mine. Come inside. Everything’s ready and waiting.” After exchanging a hearty handshake with Jordan, Mr. Howard led the way into his home.
Jill had been impressed with the outside, but the beauty of the interior overwhelmed her. The entry was tiled in white marble and illuminated by a sparkling crystal chandelier. Huge crystal vases of vivid pink and purple hibiscus added color and life. From there, Mr. Howard escorted them into a massive living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Pacific. Frothing waves crashed against the shore, bathed in the fire of an island sunset.
“This is so lovely,” Jill breathed in awe.
“I knew you’d appreciate it.” Mr. Howard reached for a bell, which he rang once. Almost immediately the housekeeper appeared, carrying a tray of glasses and bottles of white and red wine, sherry and assorted aperitifs.
They were sipping their drinks when the same woman reappeared. “Mr. Wilcox, there’s a phone call for you.”
It was all Jill could do not to gnash her teeth. The man was never free, the phone cord wrapped around his neck