“It doesn’t matter if I like it. It’s your wedding. That gives you the right to choose the maid of honor’s dress.”
“You see how difficult she is?” Chloe complained to the men.
Grace watched as Bryan and Donovan exchanged a quizzical look. “Difficult?” Bryan asked tentatively. “She’s letting you make all the decisions. That sounds pretty cooperative to me.”
“Now you’re being difficult,” Chloe accused him with a shake of her head.
Bryan turned a questioning glance at Grace, who shrugged and mouthed, “Bridal jitters.”
He seemed satisfied by that explanation.
Chapter Three
The long, busy day had left Grace tired, so that she was very quiet when Bryan took her home. He drove her in a car that had somehow become available to him at the restaurant. She no longer questioned how everything he needed seemed to simply materialize at his fingertips.
He lingered in the hallway outside her converted-loft apartment until she unlocked the door. She suspected courtesy suggested that she invite him in for a drink, but she really just wanted to be alone for now.
He seemed to sense her feelings. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded and turned her doorknob. That might have been the end of the evening had the door to the stairwell at the end of the hallway not opened at that moment, accompanied by a burst of voices and laughter. Bryan seemed to react on sheer instinct, reaching out to pull her into his arms without any warning of his intentions. His mouth was on hers before she could ask what the heck he thought he was doing.
Maybe it was the element of surprise that kept her from resisting. Or maybe it was the awareness of those onlookers and the role she had agreed to play for the next few weeks. Telling herself this was only an act and Bryan was merely playing to their audience, she forced herself to relax and appear cooperative.
The problem was that it was all too easy to forget this was only an act. Whatever other problems she might have with him, Bryan Falcon certainly had a talent for clearing an otherwise intelligent woman’s mind of all coherent thought.
The sounds of voices faded away as Bryan’s mouth moved on hers.
Grace couldn’t have said whether it was because the newcomers had stopped talking or her ears had simply stopped working. It seemed all she could concentrate on was the way his lips felt against hers, the strength of his arms around her, the warmth of his lean body as it pressed against hers. She found herself clutching his shirt, the expensive fabric gathered tightly in her fingers as she steadied herself. For some annoying reason, her legs were proving a bit unreliable at the moment.
She must be more tired than she had thought.
She pushed her heavy eyelids upward as Bryan slowly drew his lips away from hers. His gleaming midnight-blue eyes were very close to hers, their expression intense but impossible to interpret. Blinking to clear her vision, she glanced around the hallway to find that it was empty now, her neighbors having discreetly entered their own apartment.
Bryan’s arms were still around her. She took a half-step backward, bumping against her apartment door. “Well…” she murmured, irked when her voice came out a croak. She cleared it quickly. “I guess that capped the performance for today.”
Just a hint of a smile touched his lips. He dipped his head toward hers again. “How about an encore?”
Groping behind her with one hand, she quickly turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and moved another step backward. “Sorry. Final curtain.”
With a good-natured smile, he straightened. “Good night, Grace.”
She let herself into her apartment and closed the door behind her. And then she sagged against it, listening until Bryan’s footsteps had faded away and the rumble of the elevator indicated he was gone.
“Elvis has left the building,” she muttered, trying to find humor in a situation that had grown entirely too disconcerting.
Her lips were still tingling from his kiss, her stomach still fluttering like crazy. It had been a long time since she’d been involved with anyone—not since her engagement had ended a year ago, actually. Maybe, when this was all over, she should consider getting out more.
“Stand still, Grace. You’re making it very difficult for Mrs. O’Neill to fit you.”
“There’s a straight pin sticking into my butt,” Grace complained, squirming again.
The exasperated-looking, gray-haired woman kneeling beside her made a hasty adjustment. “Is that better?”
“Some.”
“Then why are you still wiggling?”
Grace made an effort to be still, even though she felt very much like a voodoo fashion doll being poked and prodded and peered at.