Arlene James - A Bride To Honor

“Part of the job,” she replied, then clamped the pencil between her teeth. “Wif oo ahms.”

He laughed. “What?”

She took the pencil out of her mouth. “Lift your arms.”

“Ah.” He lifted his arms, and she wrapped the tape around his upper chest, pulling it tight in the center, her body moving close to his. The tape parted and slid free, but before she stepped back, he let his arms drop around her. She froze, and then she simply dropped down to the floor.

“Almost through,” she said, as if he had not just tried to hold her.

Disappointment, relief, embarrassment and frustration percolated through him all at the same time. He ground his teeth. Obviously she had more sense and wisdom that he did. Just as obviously he couldn’t trust himself with her. He waited for her to finish, but seconds ticked by and she made no move. When finally he looked down, it was to find her head bowed, her hands and the tape on the floor. Before he could say anything, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and brought up the tape. As her hands rose slowly toward his groin, he realized in a flash that she had yet to take his inseam. In an instant he was hard as stone.

Catching her hands in his, he sank down with her on the floor. Placing her hands on his shoulders, he took her into his arms. Unresisting, she leaned forward awkwardly and laid her head on his shoulder. He placed his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

For a long while, he simply held her. The sudden rush of desire gradually faded, leaving in its place an odd sort of contentment tinged with sadness. He sighed and kissed the top of her head, saying, “I have no right to this. I can’t change anything. The business is at stake, and my whole family’s depending on me.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He ran his hands over her back, feeling the sharp little bumps that defined her delicate spine. Her breasts felt surprisingly heavy against his chest, given her small frame. He closed his eyes again, imagining her long, slender body lying alongside his. He could almost feel the jut of her hipbones, the softness of her flat belly, the firmness of the little mound at the apex of her thighs, her long legs tangling with his. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago,” he said.

She lifted her head. “Before the affair, you mean.”

He winced, loosening his embrace. “Will didn’t leave anything out, did he?” He smiled at himself, at the irony of this whole thing, and teased gently, “I’ll have to speak to him about that mouth of his.”

She gasped and pulled away. “Oh, no, don’t! He’ll never understand. Please, Paul, don’t—”

“Hey! It was a joke. I’m actually glad that he told you everything.” His smile twisted wryly. “I’m not sure I could have. I think the temptation not to would have been too great.”

He saw a spark of pleasure in her soft green eyes before she bowed her head again. Her fingers picked at the tape. “You just think that now. Probably if you didn’t have this thing hanging over your head, you wouldn’t even notice me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted quietly. “It’s all right. I’m used to it. I’m just not the sort men notice.”

He laid his hand against the side of her throat and neck, feeling her pulse quicken. “What about Charlie Chaplin?”

She made a face. “Tony’s not interested in me,” she said firmly. “He just thinks that because I’m a virgin I must be frustrated enough to eventually give in if he keeps at me.”

A virgin. Paul gulped. Heaven help him. When had he last met one of those? When had he even wanted to? What an utter fool he’d been, what a complete and total ninny to waste his time on experienced, sophisticated women when all this sweetness languished here. He’d played games when he might have had honesty and simplicity. He deserved just what he was getting. He deserved manipulative, scheming Betina. And Cassidy Penno deserved someone free to love and treasure her as the prize she was. He said, “Promise me you won’t throw yourself away on the likes of that little imposter.”

Her eyes grew round and then she burst out laughing. “On Tony Abatto?” she said. “I’d rather join an order of nuns!”

He chuckled. “Don’t do that, either.”

She sobered and told him solemnly, “Can’t. I’m not Catholic.”

They both erupted at that, laughing until their sides ached. Finally he got to his feet. When she started to do likewise, he pointed a finger at her. “You stay right there. Give me that measuring tape.” Her gaze questioning but trusting, she did as he said. He pulled the tape through his fingers to the end, then placed the end at the place where his groin met his thigh. Pointing at the floor, he asked, “What does that say?”

She read the number, reached for the clip board and scribbled on it, muttering, “It says that you have very long legs.”

“So do you,” he said, imagining those legs wrapping around him. He cleared his throat, turning off the vision and said, “Okay, what’s next?”

She took the tape from him and got up from the floor. “Fabric. We have to pick out fabric.”

“All right,” he said, caught up again in forbidden fantasies. He shook his head and belatedly added, “But, uh, not today. I, um, I have to get out of here. Go, I mean. I have to go.” He glanced at his watch, trying to make it sound reasonable. “How about, um, Monday?”

She nodded, then said, “Listen, we don’t have to drag this out if you don’t want to. I can pick out the fabric and sew everything up, and we’ll just do a single fitting, if you want.”

He didn’t want. He wanted every moment with her, but maybe she was too smart to let him have it. He shrugged, surprised by how much it cost him. “Whatever you think best.”

She looked away, pretending to be busy with the clipboard and pencil. “Oh, well, I usually prefer for the client to pick out the fabrics.”

“Is that what you want,” he asked carefully, “for me to pick out the fabrics?”

She turned her head one way and then another, looking at the figure on the paper, and then she dropped the clipboard and lifted her gaze to his. “Yes.”

A giddy smile split his face. “Monday, then?”

She smiled, too. “Monday.”

“What time?”

She bit her lip. “I close about six.”

“Six,” he repeated. They should have dinner. He wanted to have dinner with her, but he knew it would be stupid, beyond stupid, even risky, potentially devastating. He took a deep breath. “Would you like to have dinner with me afterward?” So much for being sensible. “I’ll behave myself, I promise. Well, I’ll try.”

She gave him a slow, shy smile. “It would have to be someplace public, and maybe you wouldn’t want to be seen—”

“I know just the place,” he interrupted quickly. “It’s nothing fancy, but the barbecue is great. You like barbecue?”

“I love it.”

“Great! Okay, it’s settled then. Monday at six; fabric first, then barbecue. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Me, too.” They stood a moment, sharing the anticipation, before she said, “I’ll walk you out.”

He was careful not to touch her as they wound their way through the darkened shop again. At the front door she took his coat down and handed it to him. He slung it on and waited, telling himself that he simply could not give in to the impulse to kiss her goodbye. She slid open the dead bolt and turned the lock, depressed the thumb tab at the top of the curved handle and pulled open the door. The rain had ceased, but a chilly breeze gusted, blowing discarded paper and crisp leaves along the curb. He stepped out into dreary afternoon and turned back to face her.