Ford packed up his easel, his canvas, his paints, brushes, and solvent and headed to Greer’s house in Drake’s SUV to pick her up. It was time to go to the Isle of Palms for the La Di Da beach weekend. He was so used to not being invited up to her apartment that he was shocked when she told him through the intercom that she needed him to come up.
“You parked in a good place?” she asked.
“Yes. I got lucky.” Parking in Charleston was difficult. And he wasn’t used to driving with the steering wheel on the left, nor did people in the U.K. have the massive cars Americans drove. It had taken him a few minutes to parallel park between a Beemer and a Honda Accord. By the time he was done, he was sweating.
The buzzer sounded and he opened the door, went up the elevator, and knocked on 3-A. No one came. He knocked again.
“Just a minute,” she called from inside.
Thirty long seconds later, she opened the door. She wore a pretty floral robe that skimmed her thighs. “Come on in,” she said.
“Sure.” He walked in, and she shut the door behind him.
“Hey,” she said, and when he turned around again, she was completely naked.
She was gorgeous and sexy, and he wanted her like he’d wanted no other woman. “You look incredibly hot,” he said, and pulled her close. Her hour-glass figure was made to be adored.
She shook her head and smiled. “Let’s go see my room.”
“Wait,” he said, and kissed her first, a long, slow kiss that he didn’t want to break.
She didn’t, either, judging by the way she clung to his neck. But when he slid a hand down to her rear and pulled her against his erection, she pushed her hands on his chest. “Wait,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “Let’s go see my room.”
He was happy to follow, but he wasn’t going to make this easy for her. “I thought we weren’t supposed to fool around. You texted me. You told me to forget it. You said you had to look for the real thing. Love with a capital L.”
“I never mentioned love,” she flung over her shoulder.
“You might as well have,” he said. “You said you needed to find a real partner.”
“Okay, so I did,” she said.
But before he could answer, he was assailed with pink. Leopard spots. Diamonds galore. Baywatch.
Elvis!
“This is…” He looked around. Even the fern wore a huge pink bow. “Colorful. Uh, spirited.”
“Welcome to my loving space,” she said with a shy smile.
Her loving space? The polite Englishman in him came to the fore. “It’s enchanting. In its own way.”
“This used to be my living space,” she explained. “But now it’s my loving space, thanks to my friend Jill at Erospace Designs. Eros. Get it? The god of love.”
“Oh, that’s clever. I was thinking aerospace, as in NASA.”
“It’s a play on words.” She gulped. “I’m her guinea pig client. She removed all my bedroom furniture and redecorated this way, claiming that my sex life would take off. And I have to say, even though I was highly skeptical, it did. That very same night she put in the furniture, I kissed you at The Rooftop.”
“And that was some kiss. Do you think this”—he spread his arm wide—“is responsible for our incredibly good chemistry?”
She laughed. “Who knows? It’s fun, at any rate.” She took his hand. “I want you in my bed, Ford. No more stopping.”
He picked her up right then and there and tossed her on the bed. She gave a cry of delight as he pulled off his shoes and trousers.
“Spread your legs, cupcake,” he said.
“Cupcake? I can’t believe you called me that,” she said with a laugh, and bounced in place. Then she did as she was told.
He reveled in the view as he unbuttoned his shirt. “We had our reasons for holding back.” He bent, pulled his wallet out of his trousers on the floor, and removed a condom. “But I can’t think of any right now,” he said, pulling the latex sheath on. “I can’t think of anything but you and how perfect you look on your leopard-spotted bed. I’d love to make love to you.” He crawled on top of her, and she shuddered a little in his arms.
They already knew each other’s bodies so well, knew exactly how to bring each other to the ultimate pleasure.
“No foreplay,” she murmured in his ear. “I’m ready.”
He teased her with his fingers, and she whimpered. “Yes, you are,” he murmured. He couldn’t hide that he was, too. He bent low and lathed her nipple with his tongue.
She groaned. “I’m tired of being mature.”
He smiled into her warm, woman-scented flesh. “It’s a burden sometimes.”
“I don’t care anymore,” she murmured, and ran her hand down his side, then cupped him with warm, eager fingers.
Exquisite torture.
“About what?” he managed to say.
“About protecting my heart.” She wrapped her hand around his erection. “It’s not really living, and I want to live.”
“Good God, so do I,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“I want you inside me.” She was beginning to sound more herself. Sure, not strained, the way she had been when he’d first arrived. “I want to be filled with you.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice like gravel.
The clock ticked behind them.
He looked down at her, and her eyes were smiling.
“This,” he said, and entered her, plunging deep.
She closed her eyes, turned her head to the side. “Ford,” she whispered. “Ford.”
He began a slow stroke, in and out. There was something different about making love to her properly. He felt even more protective of her. He also liked her that much more. Something locked into place that had never locked into place before.
It was right, in a way it had never been.
She caressed his back, gripped him tighter with her thighs. “Let’s not think about the future. Or our current challenges.”
“I dare you to name them,” he said.
She laughed. “The portrait.”
He suckled her left breast, clasped her right buttock with his hand, stroked in and out.
“Winning my dress,” she said with a sigh.
He kissed her silent, his tongue colliding with hers. “I think I like pink and diamonds,” he murmured.
“And Elvis posters?” she said.
“No,” he said with a grin. “We can do without those.” And then he moved faster. And faster.
She rode along with him and finally arched her back and let herself go. When she did, he followed immediately after, a swell of sensual shock-and-awe rocking him, rocking her.
When it finally left them still, he rolled off her. “That was good. Extremely good.”
“I agree,” she said, and chuckled. “Credit the room.”
“No,” he said. “I credit you.” He smiled and kissed her.
They did it all over again, slower this time, with her on top. He marveled at her athleticism, her supple movements, her grace. He absorbed her fierceness when she came and brought him to that place of no thinking, only hovering on a plain of utter sensual abandon.
And he wondered how he could ever leave her and go back to England.
* * *
Greer sat up on her new, softer mattress. How could they ever leave her bedroom and go to the beach? The last thing she wanted was to have a TV camera in her face, producers of the contest hovering, and to participate in a competition.
All she wanted to do was be with Ford. In their own little cocoon.
“Gah,” she said, picking up on an expression of his, and rolled out of bed. “We have to be at the Isle of Palms in an hour. We’re cutting it awfully close. We have fifteen minutes here, and then we have to skedaddle.”
She ran to her bathroom, shut the door, and came out a minute later with her hands full of bottles and toothpaste. “It’s free,” she said, indicating the bathroom. “I’ll be packing.”
“And dressing,” he reminded her on his way there, and kissed her one more time, their naked bodies pressed hard against each other.
She noticed that he instantly became aroused again, but he backed away and a minute later came out of the bathroom with his hair slicked back from his forehead. He pulled on his boxers and trousers. “This is going to be a tough weekend if we don’t get much alone time.”
“We’ll make it happen,” she said, slipping on her bra and panties.
He didn’t seem able to look away. Yes, he’d seen her plenty of times now, naked, but she felt today’s romp between the sheets had done something to rev up their chemistry even higher.
“God,” he said, and shook his head.
She paused. “What are you thinking about?”
“The painting. It doesn’t come close to capturing you. The essence of you. You’re so much bigger a presence than what I’ve managed to paint. You’re like a constellation of stars, your own sign. And I painted a sparkle of sunlight on the water.”
She shook her head. “I loved what I saw last I looked at the portrait. Remember, none of us know what you had planned in your head. We see what we see.” She paused. “To be honest, I don’t care what the artist intended. I’m selfish. Once I’m standing before a painting, it belongs to me. I interpret it the way I want to.”
“I like that,” he said.
And he did seem happier. He was helping her pull some clothes out of the closet when he saw a couple of her Perfect Wedding albums stacked on the hat shelf. He read the binder. “Perfect Wedding number ten,” and “Perfect Wedding number eleven.”
“Oh,” she said. “I threw those two in there because there are a few things I wanted to look at before I talk to one of my clients about her upcoming wedding. The rest are on a shelf in the living room.”
“These are your wedding scrapbooks?”
“Yes.” She pulled one down. “I’ve been doing them since I was a kid. It was difficult then to get a hold of wedding magazines. I used to have a connection at the Waterloo drugstore. She was a friend of my mother’s. She’d save me old copies of Brides and any magazine that might have wedding articles in it.”
He flipped through it, his face unreadable.
“What do you think?” she said. “You’re the first person I’ve ever shown one to.”
He handed it back to her. “I think it’s a girl thing. The whole fairy tale notion.”
She shrugged and put it back on the closet shelf. “Maybe it is.”
He examined her face, as if he were pondering something.
She began to feel self-conscious. “What is it?”
“I just want to know why,” he said, “a perfect wedding is so important to you.”
“You said it yourself. Women like fairy tales. Maybe it’s because when we were little, we pretended to be princesses.”
“Did you do that? Pretend to be a princess?”
“Sure.” She shrugged.
“What was it like at your house?”
She felt slightly stressed at such an all-encompassing question. “It was … nice. My parents are both very down-to-earth people. Our house was calm and well-run. But we were always prepared for Mother Nature to throw a wrench in our best-laid plans. Some years were extra hard. Dairy farming isn’t easy. We had to go with the flow. Mom used to say we had to be brave and face reality head-on.”
“They didn’t mind having a daughter with such an active imagination?”
“No.” Her eyes began to sting. “They thought it was silly of me, but they seemed to understand.”
“What is it?” He came over and wrapped his arms around her waist. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“It can’t be nothing.”
She closed her eyes. One tear fell out of her left one.
“Hey,” he said in a soothing voice.
She opened her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“It’s okay,” he said in a gentle tone. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
His look of concern made her feel worse, so she pulled herself together. “No, it’s all right,” she said, and braced herself. “It’s hard to face, but the truth is, I’m not sure my parents ever loved each other. And growing up always wondering in bed at night, or at the dinner table, when they’d be completely courteous with each other, I used to sit there wracking my brain trying to figure out if we were … normal.”
He sat on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. “No family is normal.”
“I know.”
He squeezed her tight. “But when you’re a little girl, you want to see your parents show affection to each other. They didn’t do that?”
She shook her head. “But they were always respectful. And kind to each other.”
“You just didn’t see any passion there?”
“Never.” She sighed.
“Did they laugh together?”
Her mouth tilted up on one side. “They used to be amused by me. So yes, they’d laugh together at things I did. But they never had inside jokes or teased each other. At least not that I saw.”
“So they shared a peaceful sort of relationship?”
She sighed. “Yes, I think it was, so I can’t say they were or are unhappy. They had an arranged marriage, in a way. Two farming families wanted to unite, and they were brought up believing they were meant to be together. I know that sounds old-fashioned, but these old Scandinavian families still cling to tradition.”
“I understand perfectly,” he said. “I think every culture tries to preserve power that way, by uniting the children. It happens in England. It happens in Charleston. It happens everywhere.”
She gave a little laugh. “So I think that’s where my obsession with a Perfect Wedding started. I wanted a romantic relationship for my parents.” She gave a little cry that came from somewhere deep inside, an old, old place as worn and faded as one of her mother’s quilts. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”
He hugged her close. “I’m glad you did.”
She sighed and allowed herself to be held another minute. “Ready to go?” she asked eventually, grateful to him for his patience.
“Sure,” he said. “We’ll perk up at the beach. You’ll see.”
She wasn’t ready to go. But it had to be done.
They raced downstairs with her bags instead of taking the ancient elevator, which could be slow, and managed to get them in the SUV without smashing the portrait, which he’d wrapped lightly in paper and stowed in the back. The easel was folded and ready to go. They got in, put on their seatbelts, then looked at each other.
“We’re off,” he said. “Good luck this weekend trying to win Royal Bliss.”
“Thank you for trying to help me,” she said back. She felt lighter, having shared such heavy stuff with him. “And I hope we’ll have plenty of time for the portrait.”
“My deadline’s coming up fast,” he said, as they crossed the Ravenel Bridge. “Much faster than I anticipated. Being in Charleston has been really great. It’s helped me get through an otherwise awkward phase—the recently dumped one.”
“Although you dumped her, right?”
“The way anyone would when you find out the other person has betrayed you, so technically, yes.”
“Still. You’re the one who walked. Good for you.”
“I certainly didn’t chase her and try to fix things.”
“Some people would have. But you believe in yourself too much to go back to a person who didn’t value you.”
He shot her an amused glance. “You’re kind to remind me how lucky I was to escape.”
She laughed. “I’m only telling you because you need to be the same way when you paint. Cast off the doubt in your head. Walk out on the distrustful thoughts throwing shadows on your work. Flip the bird at cynicism and skepticism. They don’t deserve your company.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “You might have something there. I tend to pull up a chair and give them my full attention. I even offer them drinks. My best scotch.”
They chuckled together.
“I’m serious,” she said.
He nodded. “I know.” His tone was serious, too. “And I appreciate it.”
“Speaking of which, any word from your ex?”
“No,” he said. “And I consider that good news.”
The quieter mood in the car was a far cry from their impetuous adventure they’d had in her bedroom but was still just as intimate. She refused to go back to protecting herself. She wanted to stay here, in this place of risk, of uncertainty, because that was where Ford was most himself. She craved being with him that way. In bed, when he’d filled her, she was with that man she’d seen at the end of the auction, and onstage. He was a man who saw her, really saw her, in a way that no one else ever had. He’d brought out the adventurer in her, too, the vulnerable woman who wanted to be free of worry but who knew she could fight for what she wanted if she had to.
He’d brought out the woman she’d made it her business to hide.
He reached across the seat and took her hand. “When we get there, things will be crazy, I’m sure.”
She looked out her window at the harbor below, almost bursting with happiness that they were holding hands. “I’m sure they will. But I still think I can do it. I can win the gown. Serena’s definitely ahead, but I’m not so far behind I couldn’t overtake her.”
“Do you think the other three have a chance?”
“It’s only two now,” she said, and explained about Carol dropping out.
“That’s sad for her, but good news for the rest of the contestants.”
“Carol says she’s happy, so I’m going to believe her. As for the other two, I honestly think they’ll have to work very hard to win. But what do I know?” She tried not to think about Kiki and Pierre, but she simply had to. “I have to watch out for Kiki.”
“Why?”
“Pierre wants me to lose.”
“He told you that outright?”
“Yes. He cares more about petty revenge than this new bridal department. We were never able to find him a match at Two Love Lane. If I don’t lose, he’s threatened to bring it down. Those are his words. He told me onstage the night I became a finalist.”
“I’d like to see him try.” The irritation on Ford’s face made her happy. He looked over at her. “You never told me any of this.”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to take a fool like him seriously. Then again, foolish people are dangerous, especially when they have money and power—and mindless minions like Kiki.”
“You’re wise to stay cautious around both of them,” Ford said. “Is there a chance they’ll try to fix the contest?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said. “Henny has a good head on her shoulders. I think she won’t let him get away with it if he tries.”
But if she wanted a solid chance to win Royal Bliss, Greer couldn’t rely on Henny. She had to rely on herself. And Ford, of course. She still believed there was a chance to take home the dress of her dreams, the dress that would really make her Perfect Wedding perfect.
“I’m starting to feel competitive,” she said when they pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous beach house.
“Good,” he said, “because we’re here, and there’s the truck from Channel Four, and I see balloons hung all around the railing of an upstairs porch, and this, I can tell, is going to be an utter circus all weekend. You’ll need to be on your best game.”
A camera man came trotting over, his camera on his shoulder.
“Let’s start right now.” She leaned over and kissed Ford.