Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series) by Patricia McLinn Page B
Authors: Patricia McLinn
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never told anyone of his feelings for Tris. Maybe never even admitted them to himself. But Paul knew him very well, and the stillness betrayed him. "I was kidding, Dickinson. Why'd you want to know those dates?"
"I'll have to spend some time up in Chicago. I thought I'd make it coincide with you being in town if I could."
"Before Thanksgiving?" Since the first year of college, both Michael and Grady had spent most of their holidays with the Monroes.
"Yes. I've just decided to make it the first full week of November. Right after you get back from D.C."
Paul twisted around, but Michael remained bent over the woodwork and the back of his head revealed nothing.
"Why?"
Michael kept painting with even, steady strokes.
"I think I should meet this Bette Wharton."
* * *
THE REST OF the weekend passed without another mention of Bette.
Paul wished his mind had been as cooperative.
Driving home Sunday night, he found himself on I-55 instead of his usual meandering back roads, almost as if he were in a hurry. When he swung north on the Tri-State, he justified it as trying a new way back to his apartment. That excuse held until he got off at the Elmhurst exit. In front of Bette's house, he was out of excuses.
Also out of luck, he thought wryly as he considered the dark windows. Either she wasn't home or she was in bed.
Bette in bed
. The image appeared instantly, hot and heady behind his eyes. The sheets cool and serene like her voice, but with that promise under them of smooth heat.
He shifted. Too abruptly. His right thigh jammed against the steering wheel. He closed his eyes against the thoughts, then opened them immediately. Closing his eyes made it worse.
She probably wasn't home. Common sense said ten o'clock on a Sunday night was a little early to go to bed, unless . . . unless you weren't alone.
Sense drowned in unfamiliar jealousy. A meeting with a client Thursday night. A Friday morning departure for an out-of-town trip. Could one have extended into the other? Could she be away with someone? Could she . . .?
No. Bette wouldn't have kissed him the way she had if she'd been involved with someone else. The certainty in his gut was stronger than common sense or jealousy. He relaxed.
So she wasn't home yet.
He could leave a note - and say, what?
A snatch of lyric from an old song entered his head, something about the singer's determination to get his girl, and his lips curved. Yup, that was exactly what he wanted to say. But some things were better left unsaid - and simply acted upon.
She might think she'd shaken him loose. She might think he'd forget the laughter and teasing, the kissing and the holding. She might think his ego would forget all that after a week's worth of refusals. She thought wrong.
He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb in front of Bette's house, still smiling and softly singing to himself.
* * *
BETTE PUSHED OPEN her front door and automatically checked her watch. Nearly eleven o'clock, and she had to unpack and go through files she hadn't finished reviewing this weekend at her brother's house in Minneapolis.
It was a lovely house, and it had been wonderful to see the whole family, with her parents up from Arizona for two weeks to visit their new baby granddaughter - although Bette didn't envy her sister-in-law a fortnight of houseguests on top of a rambunctious two-year-old and a new baby. Still, Claire had seemed to greet the chaos with equanimity.
Bette frowned as she maneuvered her suitcase down the hall and around the corner to her bedroom. Perhaps there would have been less chaos if there'd been less equanimity. It only required some planning, some forethought. She knew that wasn't Claire's strong point, but surely Ron had learned that at home, as she had.
As it was, her decision to rent a car, despite his assurances he could drive her wherever she had to go, had been wise. Otherwise she never would have made the business appointments she'd set up.
She
"I'll have to spend some time up in Chicago. I thought I'd make it coincide with you being in town if I could."
"Before Thanksgiving?" Since the first year of college, both Michael and Grady had spent most of their holidays with the Monroes.
"Yes. I've just decided to make it the first full week of November. Right after you get back from D.C."
Paul twisted around, but Michael remained bent over the woodwork and the back of his head revealed nothing.
"Why?"
Michael kept painting with even, steady strokes.
"I think I should meet this Bette Wharton."
* * *
THE REST OF the weekend passed without another mention of Bette.
Paul wished his mind had been as cooperative.
Driving home Sunday night, he found himself on I-55 instead of his usual meandering back roads, almost as if he were in a hurry. When he swung north on the Tri-State, he justified it as trying a new way back to his apartment. That excuse held until he got off at the Elmhurst exit. In front of Bette's house, he was out of excuses.
Also out of luck, he thought wryly as he considered the dark windows. Either she wasn't home or she was in bed.
Bette in bed
. The image appeared instantly, hot and heady behind his eyes. The sheets cool and serene like her voice, but with that promise under them of smooth heat.
He shifted. Too abruptly. His right thigh jammed against the steering wheel. He closed his eyes against the thoughts, then opened them immediately. Closing his eyes made it worse.
She probably wasn't home. Common sense said ten o'clock on a Sunday night was a little early to go to bed, unless . . . unless you weren't alone.
Sense drowned in unfamiliar jealousy. A meeting with a client Thursday night. A Friday morning departure for an out-of-town trip. Could one have extended into the other? Could she be away with someone? Could she . . .?
No. Bette wouldn't have kissed him the way she had if she'd been involved with someone else. The certainty in his gut was stronger than common sense or jealousy. He relaxed.
So she wasn't home yet.
He could leave a note - and say, what?
A snatch of lyric from an old song entered his head, something about the singer's determination to get his girl, and his lips curved. Yup, that was exactly what he wanted to say. But some things were better left unsaid - and simply acted upon.
She might think she'd shaken him loose. She might think he'd forget the laughter and teasing, the kissing and the holding. She might think his ego would forget all that after a week's worth of refusals. She thought wrong.
He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb in front of Bette's house, still smiling and softly singing to himself.
* * *
BETTE PUSHED OPEN her front door and automatically checked her watch. Nearly eleven o'clock, and she had to unpack and go through files she hadn't finished reviewing this weekend at her brother's house in Minneapolis.
It was a lovely house, and it had been wonderful to see the whole family, with her parents up from Arizona for two weeks to visit their new baby granddaughter - although Bette didn't envy her sister-in-law a fortnight of houseguests on top of a rambunctious two-year-old and a new baby. Still, Claire had seemed to greet the chaos with equanimity.
Bette frowned as she maneuvered her suitcase down the hall and around the corner to her bedroom. Perhaps there would have been less chaos if there'd been less equanimity. It only required some planning, some forethought. She knew that wasn't Claire's strong point, but surely Ron had learned that at home, as she had.
As it was, her decision to rent a car, despite his assurances he could drive her wherever she had to go, had been wise. Otherwise she never would have made the business appointments she'd set up.
She
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