Two Weddings And A Bride. Anne Eames
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How she’d be glad when this ride was over. Motion sickness had never been a problem before. But then she’d never had so much alcohol before, either. Another thing she could thank TJ for—if she ever spoke to him again.
TJ. She’d refused to dwell on him since leaving the reception, but now her mind drifted in that direction, the book on her lap long forgotten. She leaned back in the seat and felt the cool air on her face, not ready to deal with the past, but unable to put it out of her head.
They’d grown up together, their families having been close since before they were born. It was natural for everyone to push them together. They were both intelligent, educated, ambitious and—probably too important to both families—well-heeled. Money would never have been an issue between them. They each brought their share to the table.
TJ’s philandering was no secret to her. In high school and college she was the one he had told his secrets to, sparing no details of his outrageous behavior. But when their friendship had turned to romance, she thought all that had changed, that he would never cheat on her. Especially on their wedding night!
So, she asked herself, how did she really feel about all this? The first word that came to mind was stupid. TJ had made a fool of her, embarrassed her in such grand fashion that she wondered how she could ever face all those people who witnessed her humiliation. Of course, she reminded herself, they never would’ve known what he’d done if she hadn’t stood there in front of God and everyone and told them. But she had to. She wanted everyone to know it was TJ’s fault the marriage had ended before it began. She wanted him to pay the price for his inexcusable behavior. A slow smile spread across her lips. If only she could have seen what happened when he returned to the banquet room. There probably wasn’t a soul there who had a kind word for him. Even his experience as a smooth-talking lawyer couldn’t have bailed him out of that mess.
A half hour later Catherine was still picturing TJ and Mary Beth trying to cover their tracks, letting her imagination run wild, when she felt the plane touch down in Montego Bay. She looked to her right and saw Jake dozing, his seat upright and belt fastened. And for the first time she wondered what kind of man would drop everything and fly off this way. As if looking for a clue she studied his relaxed face. It was handsome in a rugged kind of way—tanned, with white squint lines at the corners of his eyes. His nose was a little large, but it seemed to fit his long, angular face. His sandy hair was a little long, too, brushing the collar of his blue chambray shirt. She let her gaze drift south to his jeans. Flat stomach, nice…
“See anything you like?”
Startled, Catherine shifted in her seat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She looked into his mocking brown eyes, then quickly away. “I was just looking at what you were wearing. I knew you changed clothes when you stopped by your place, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”
“Don’t you mean you were out cold when I got back to the Jeep?”
She could feel his stare, but she refused to look him in the eye. “I was catching a little catnap, that’s all,” she insisted, thinking she sounded a tad too defensive.
“Right.” The plane rolled to a stop and Jake stood into the aisle. He retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment, handing Catherine hers and positioning his duffel over one shoulder.
Catherine followed him down the portable steps, the hot wind billowing her pant legs, a length of hair blowing across her eyes. Before they reached the terminal she felt the moisture on her skin and the humidity curling the hair on her neck. They passed through immigration uneventfully and, having no baggage to claim, went directly to the row of shuttle buses.
The tags on their carryons identified their point of destination and a driver waved them in his direction.
“This is your lucky day,” he said in his lilting Jamaican patois as they boarded. “You are my only two passengers this morning…so we con go right away.” He settled into the driver’s seat, then looked back at them. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Miller, am I correct?”
Catherine didn’t want to see the expression on Jake’s face. She despised being called Mrs. Miller. Today of all days. She could imagine how Jake felt about being called Mr. Miller. “You have the right couple,” she said to the friendly driver, forcing a smile.
Satisfied, he started the van and made his way around haggard-looking travelers and a maze of buses and other vehicles until finally he pulled onto the narrow two-lane road heading west for Negril, their home for the next seven days.
And seven nights.
Nearly two hours later, when they inched their way around a last stray cow and turned into the circular driveway, the thought of sharing a room with this virtual stranger became more of a reality. Catherine eyed the entrance to their resort. A large flower-engulfed ceramic sign spelled out its name.
Decadence II.
What kind of place was called Decadence II? she thought as she stepped from the van. And what happened to Decadence I? She shook her legs and stretched, glad to be on solid ground again, though still reticent about her surroundings.
She’d let TJ make all the arrangements once they’d agreed on Jamaica. All she’d done was pick up the tickets. Now she wished she’d been less involved with her job and paid more attention to this trip. She paused under the large, open archway, then followed Jake inside.
They went through the business of registration, tolerating the “Mr. and Mrs. Miller” routine one more time, then wandered down the tropical, plant-lined path to their room. Catherine noticed scantily clad guests roaming the grounds and was instantly relieved. At least they were clothed. This wasn’t a nudist camp.
What started as a lark last night, felt more like a trip to the dentist chair by the time the porter deposited their bags inside the suite and left them alone, staring at the king-size bed. Her woozy stomach did another flip-flop. What on earth was she doing at a place like this with a man she barely knew? Maybe he really was Jake the Ripper. How did she know?
Catherine busied herself with her carryon, hoping to take her mind off the bed. It didn’t take long to unpack since she only had a swimsuit, sandals, one shorts set and toiletries. On the walk to the room she remembered passing a couple of boutiques. She debated whether now was a good time to go shopping. Truthfully she’d rather take a nap, but not with this man lurking around. Restless, she grabbed her shorts, went into the bathroom and locked the door.
When she emerged a few minutes later, hair pulled back and feeling cooler, she looked toward the open door wall. Jake was standing in the same spot, thumbs hooked in his back jeans pockets, studying the scenery. She decided to see what was so enthralling and moved beyond him, out onto the shaded patio.
A gentle breeze stirred coconut palms, the sound reminding her at once that she was truly on vacation. There was nothing as peaceful and soothing to a midwesterner, she thought, as the sights and sounds of palm trees. She let them work their magic, lifting her cheeks to the warm rays that peeked through overhead branches. Smiling, she gazed down the sprawling, sandy beach to the majestic Caribbean beyond. Colorful sails of vivid red, blue, orange and yellow tilted gently with the wind on the blue-green horizon. A few small whitecaps tumbled lazily toward shore and she could feel the tension starting to ebb with each new wave. Maybe she was being silly to worry. This Jake person seemed harmless enough.
Her vision narrowed as she watched a swimmer emerge from the water. His tanned, oil-slick body was young and firm and…naked. She gasped and turned away quickly, feeling a rush of heat on her face when she passed Jake. She ignored his devilish grin and went back inside, willing to bet anything he wouldn’t let the moment pass without some smart aleck remark. And she was right.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Never seen one of those before?”
She wanted to say “One of what?” but she knew exactly what he meant and wouldn’t dignify his question with an answer. Instead she turned and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Have fun playing voyeur. I’m going shopping.” She