Breaking The Rules. Jamie Denton
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straightened and looked down at her, not sure what to do next. There were still things in the bar that needed his attention, but he couldn’t very well leave her trussed up in her wedding dress and Lord knew what else for the night. Or could he?
No, he decided against his better judgment. He couldn’t, but the thought of removing all that satin to reveal smooth skin didn’t exactly appeal to him, either. He took that back. It more than appealed to him, and that was the first and foremost reason for him to walk out and leave her be, regardless of how uncomfortable she looked.
Muttering a few more curses, he started with her shoes, then pushed up the heavy satin to reveal the lacy tops of white stockings covering the shapeliest pair of legs he’d ever seen.
He eased out a breath. Very nice.
What the hell was wrong with him? As if he didn’t have enough trouble, here he was borrowing more than he could handle by undressing a woman—an unconscious woman—he didn’t even know. Convinced he was certifiable and just looking to get his butt sued, or worse, he removed her stockings anyway, along with a blue satin and lace garter her groom should have slid from her leg as dictated by tradition.
She sighed, a soft sound that stirred his blood. Ignoring the heat uncurling in his belly, he tugged the satin down to cover her legs, then shifted her weight to expose a long row of pearl buttons running along her spine. Once he had them undone, he eased the dress from her arms and managed to pull the heavy fabric away from her.
Cooper was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the sultry evening and everything to do with the beauty lying in his childhood bed with her legs angled in a seductive pose. Wearing a scant pair of pure white lace panties cut high on her thigh and a matching corset that enhanced the swell of her breasts, she was a vision.
A sensual vision that had his blood pumping fast through his veins.
And a distraction he didn’t need or welcome.
He left the bedroom only to return a few minutes later with one of his T-shirts. Lifting her in his arms again, he pulled the shirt over her head and slipped her limp arms through the sleeves. Once he had her decently covered, he worked the back lacing of the corset, pulled it from around her and firmly tugged the shirt down.
A dreamy little sigh escaped her parted lips when he eased her back onto the bed. “Hmm,” she murmured, turning onto her side. Her hand landed in his lap, dangerously close to his fly.
Her slender fingers flexed.
A flash of heat flared in his gut and spread south.
He sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her, his gaze divided between the blissful expression on her face and the delicate fingers brushing his fly.
What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?
Absolutely nothing!
He had a business to salvage thanks to Hayden’s obsession with the opposite sex. He couldn’t afford a distraction, especially one with a body made for sin and a sassy glint in her turquoise gaze capable of sending his testosterone levels soaring.
“Nothing,” he muttered, and gently eased away from her.
He crossed the room and flipped off the overhead light, quietly closing the door behind him. He hoped his lapse into knight in shining armor was brief, praying it wouldn’t cost him any more than it already had: the unexpected need clawing his gut.
Too bad the only relief he suspected existed resided in the form of a buxom Princess sleeping off the effects of too much alcohol on an empty stomach.
3
Rule 3: A lady will never openly seek an invitation, but will wait until one has been extended to her.
CONSCIOUSNESS returned with a vengeance.
Carly eased her eyes open to mere slits, then quickly squeezed them closed against the blinding sunlight streaming through an open window. A series of jackhammers pounded on the street, or somewhere.
Her head?
Sweet Mary, what had she done?
Like a bad movie, the events of the previous day swam through her muddled and pounding head. Her panicked flee from the church. A hastily written note with virtually no explanation as to why she couldn’t go through with the wedding. The drive into Chicago. Her car breaking down in front of a bar, followed by far too many Scotch on the rocks for someone who’d never tasted anything stronger than sacramental wine.
She opened her eyes and groaned, grabbing her head in both hands, hoping to still the memories and lessen the pounding. She failed on both counts.
A flash of color caught her attention. Carefully, she opened one eye. Blue. Navy blue cotton?
She sat up quickly—too quickly—and heard the sound of a pitiful moan. Good grief, was that her?
One hand continued to hold on to her head, while the other shot to her rolling stomach. A few deep breaths later, she eased her eyes open again and looked down.
She was wearing a T-shirt.
A man’s T-shirt?
Frowning took too much energy, so she simply looked around the unfamiliar room. Where was she? Nothing snagged a memory. Worse, there just weren’t any memories, no clues as to how she ended up in a strange room dressed in a man’s T-shirt.
She spied her wedding gown laid carefully over a wooden ladder-back chair in front of an old student desk and gasped. Not only her wedding gown but her stockings, garter and corset, as well, all neatly folded and sitting on the corner of the desk. Had someone undressed her? Had she…?
“Oh, sweet Mary.”
Carefully, she eased her legs over the side of the twin bed and stood, the hem of the T-shirt reaching a few inches above her knees. Thankfully, the room didn’t spin. She vaguely recalled spinning, but not here, not in this room. It had been somewhere cool that smelled of bleach and disinfectant.
She shook her head, then groaned when a fresh flash of pain stabbed behind her light-sensitive eyes. She crossed an old braided rug to the door, then quietly stepped into a short hallway. The dulled hardwood floor was cool beneath her feet as she debated heading down the corridor toward the intoxicating aroma of fresh-brewed coffee or making use of the bathroom directly across the hall.
The bathroom won.
She took care of her immediate needs, then splashed cool water on her face. Studiously avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she opened the medicine chest in search of toothpaste. A tube with the cap snapped firmly in place sat on the lower shelf beside a single toothbrush, a container of floss and a bottle of inexpensive aftershave. Whomever had taken her home was neat, and single.
Since her own toothbrush and other toiletries were still in her car in the overnight bag she’d snagged before bolting from Homer, she made use of her unknown host’s toothpaste by spreading it on the tip of her finger. She snapped the medicine chest closed, then further invaded his privacy by liberating a comb and attempting to restore a bit of semblance to her hair.
Feeling about as refreshed as she could without the benefit of a hot shower and a change of clothes, she left the sanctity of the small tiled bathroom and slowly made her way down the corridor. To her immediate left, a door stood open. Ignoring everything she’d ever been taught about good manners, she peered inside, hoping to gain any amount of knowledge possible about the identity of her host. All she received was further confirmation of his cleanliness, which pretty much eliminated Benny or Joe, based solely on their scruffy attire.
Still clueless, she left the corridor and entered a comfortably and neatly furnished living room. No newspapers cluttered the old but shining surface of a square coffee table. Not a single magazine lay near the vinyl recliner or was tossed carelessly on the shelf of the wall unit, which doubled as an entertainment center and bookshelf. Even the CDs and videocassettes were arranged in neat