BEVERLY BARTON - Whitelaw's Wedding

“How wonderful,” Claire said, a warm smile on her face. She reached out to clasp Manda’s hand. “Sweet girl, I’m so glad to see that you didn’t let that silly incident with Boyd Gipson keep you from accepting this young man’s invitation.”

“Claire, I’d like for you to meet Hunter Whitelaw,” Manda said. “Hunter is an old and dear friend of Perry’s. Hunter, this is Claire Austin. Rodney’s mother.”

“Ma’am.” Hunter nodded

“Hunter was Perry’s best man at our wedding.” Gwen laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. “And he was Manda’s first love, wasn’t he, Manda?” Gwen skewered Manda with her cold black eyes.

“Is that right?” Claire asked, her gaze resting on Hunter.

“She had a teenage crush on me, ma’am,” Hunter explained. “At the time she was a bit too young for me, but now six years difference in our ages doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it doesn’t.” Claire patted Manda’s arm, then leaned over and whispered to her, “I do so want you to be happy.”

“Thank you.” Manda kissed Claire’s cheek.

“Manda and I were headed out to the patio to find a table. Would you ladies care to join us?” Hunter asked.

Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but Claire spoke first. “Nonsense. You two want to be alone…to talk. Besides, Gwen must spend more time with her guests, mustn’t you, dear.”

Manda took the opportunity Claire had given her to head toward the French doors. Hunter followed her along the escape route, through the open doors and onto the patio. The only empty table was in the garden, on the far side of the swimming pool. She halted immediately.

“Keep going,” Hunter said. “We’ll be out of earshot over there, but we can still put on quite a show for anyone watching us.”

“Do we have something more we need to discuss in private?”

“We have a great deal more to discuss,” he told her. “If we’re going to walk down the aisle in a couple of weeks, we need to plan a whirlwind courtship and get started on it right away.”

“A couple of weeks? You’re kidding. You expect us to get married in two weeks?”

“Keep walking.” He nudged her in the back with his plate. “And two weeks is my limit at playing adoring suitor. If our engagement doesn’t bring out Mr. Lunatic, then we’ll follow through with the wedding. That’s sure to bring him out. He’s not going to allow you to be happily married to another man.”

Manda set her plate and crystal flute on the wrought-iron table, then Hunter did the same. He pulled out a chair and with gentlemanly good manners assisted her. Once seated, she lifted the glass to her lips and sipped the champagne.

Hunter pulled a chair up beside her, so that when he sat, their arms brushed against each other. Quivers fluttered through her body. She hadn’t been this aware of a man in years. This won’t do, she told herself. She couldn’t let her emotions come into play during their game of pretense.

“So, the way I see it, we need to become a constant twosome,” he said. “Dinner tomorrow night. And afterward, you’ll invite me in and I’ll stay for at least an hour.”

“An hour?”

“Just in case Mr. Lunatic is watching your house.”

“Oh.”

“Then day after tomorrow, we’ll start having lunch and dinner together every day and by the end of the week, we’ll be inseparable.”

“I don’t know if I can stand that much of a good thing,” she said sarcastically.

“Force yourself. After all, it’s for your own good.”

“Okay, after we’ve shown the world how nauseatingly in love we are, what do we do next?”

“I move in with you—twenty-four hours a day.”

“No way!”

“Manda, that’s what people do when they fall madly, passionately in love.” Using his fork, Hunter sliced through his piece of cake, lifted the bite and brought it to Manda’s mouth.

When she opened her mouth on a startled gasp, Hunter slid the cake inside and grinned as she glared at him. She chewed and swallowed. “And I assume you know that we won’t be sharing a bed or even a bedroom.”

“We’ll work out the details later. As long as we give the appearance of being lovers, we don’t actually have to be. Unless you’d like—”

“I wouldn’t like,” she told him.

“How do you know you wouldn’t like it unless you try it?”

“I think you have me confused with your ex-wife. I don’t sleep around. I believe that love and sex go together in a relationship and that the best sexual relationships are created as part of the lifelong commitment two people make to each other.”

“Your grandmother did a good job of brainwashing you with her old-fashioned morals, didn’t she?” Hunter chuckled

“I think more and more people these days are seeing the wisdom in waiting until—”

“Okay.” He grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “I have no problem waiting until after we’re married. It should make for an interesting wedding night.”

“Hunter Whitelaw, if you think that I’m going to—”

He kissed her, adeptly silencing her tirade. She struggled for just a minute, then ceased her resistance, but refused to participate in the kiss.

When he lifted his head, he grinned and said, “Baby doll, if we’re going to convince people that we’re in love, you’re going to have to put a little more into it. You’re not doing a very good acting job.”

Keeping her voice low and smiling at him as she spoke, she laid her hand on his shoulder and gazed dreamily into his eyes. “If you call me ‘baby doll’ one more time, I’m going to emasculate you. Do I make myself clear?”

Chuckling softly, he caressed her hand that lay on his shoulder.

“I’ve noticed that lovesick fools usually have pet names for their lady loves, so if you don’t like ‘baby doll,’ would you prefer honey or sweetie or sugar or darling or—”

“I don’t think a pet name is necessary. I have no intention of calling you anything other than Hunter.”

He slid his arm around the back of her chair, effectively encompassing her shoulders. “Manda Munroe, you’re still a stubborn, hardheaded brat. You want it all your way or— Hey, that’s it. I’ll call you ‘brat,’ the way Perry and I used to when you were a kid. People will find that endearing and amusing.”

“Brat? Oh, that’s just great.”

“Take your pick—baby doll or brat?”

“Go to hell,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I have a feeling that’s where I’m headed. When I told Perry years ago that I pitied the poor guy who married you, I had no idea that I’d wind up being that guy. Or at least the first guy to marry you. Once we nab Mr. Lunatic and you and I get an annulment, I’m sure it won’t take you long to find a real groom.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She glanced away, unable to continue meeting his gaze. Had he really told Perry that he pitied the guy who married her? Had he disliked her that much all those years ago? If she’d had even one silly little notion in her mind that Hunter might actually be attracted to her, that he might genuinely care about her, his comment had vanquished that thought. For the next few weeks she was going to have to accomplish a difficult task—pretending to fall madly in love with Hunter, without him ever realizing that he still held the power to affect her sexually and emotionally, more so than anyone she’d ever known.

M anda was glad this was a Saturday morning and she didn’t have to go to work today. She had slept fitfully last night, waking often between erotic dreams about Hunter Whitelaw and frightening dreams about a faceless killer pursuing them. In retrospect, she wondered if she was out of her mind for agreeing to go along with Perry’s plan to trap her tormentor. What if something went wrong and Hunter was killed? She knew she couldn’t survive another loss. It had taken her years to recover after losing Rodney, but at least when he died, she hadn’t been eaten alive with guilt that his death had been her fault. No one, not even the police, had suspected that his car crash was anything other than an accident. Even now, Perry insisted that all the evidence showed that, after one of his long intern shifts at the hospital, Rodney had been driving too fast when he had probably fallen asleep at the wheel and careered over a steep embankment. More than anything, she wanted to believe that was true.