Janelle Denison: The Wedding Secret

She bit her trembling bottom lip in a valiant attempt to hold her emotions at bay. “I can’t do anything right today.”

If she hadn’t looked so beaten, he might have been able to resist the silent plea in her gaze. This was no calculated attempt to seduce him as he’d come to expect from most women, but a raw, honest need for his assistance.

Breaking his vow not to touch her, he brushed her hands away and hooked his fingers into the lacy band of her stocking with as much indifference as he could muster. His mind managed to remain detached from the situation, but when the calloused pads of his fingers accidently stroked her silky, delicate skin on the way down her leg, his body burned with a long denied hunger.

Irritated with his response to this woman, he finished the intimate task quickly. “Lie down and get some sleep,” he ordered in a gruff tone, anxious to get out of his bedroom.

She eased back on the pillows, her hair floating around her head like a halo of gold. Her expression softened as she blinked up at him slumberously. Glancing away, he lifted the covers beneath her arms and tucked her in. Just when he would have straightened and turned to go, she grabbed his shirt, holding him inches above her.

Heart pounding, he waited to see what she intended to do.

A multitude of emotions shifted across her face, too many to pinpoint just one. “Garrett,” she said, the drowsiness stealing over her making her voice husky and warm. “Thank you.”

Her lips were inches away, inviting and lush, and that sexy beauty mark beckoned to him. Had he ever wanted something so badly as to settle his mouth over Jenna’s and taste her?

He swallowed, hard. “For what?” he managed, his voice low and raspy.

“For taking care of me.” An achingly tender smile curved her mouth. “It’s been so long since anyone has been so kind to me, so caring.”

Garrett tried to straighten to break the physical and mental hold she’d seemed to cast over him, but couldn’t move. He felt himself being inexorably pulled toward her, not by the strength of her hands fisted in his shirt, but by his own damnable weakness, and the lure of what her soft, parted lips might offer.

Sweetness. Surrender. And a passion he suddenly craved more than his next breath.

He never meant for the kiss to happen. Never meant to allow himself to get caught up in needs and desires he’d buried long ago. But when she slowly slid one hand up around the back of his neck and into the hair curling over the collar of his shirt, then brought his mouth to hers, his senses spun. Her lashes fluttered closed, and resisting her became a distant thought. A Herculean effort he didn’t have the strength to battle.

The gesture itself was chaste enough, an expression of gratitude, he knew, but the way her lips molded so perfectly to his made the embrace seem more sensual than an overtly provocative kiss. Her mouth was warm and incredibly plush beneath his, so giving and sweet.

So full of the kind of promises he stopped believing in long ago.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back. She made a token sound of protest as their lips drew apart, but her hands fell away and her eyes never opened. Giving in to the exhaustion he knew she’d been fighting, she settled back into his pillow. With a soft, dreamy sigh she drifted off to sleep, leaving Garrett to wonder if she’d remember any of this in the morning.

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

With a groan that seemed to reverberate through Jenna’s aching head, she rolled to her side and pried her eyes open against the sunlight filtering into the room…and stared into the face of a pretty little girl with long, straight blond hair Jenna instantly envied, inquisitive green eyes, and a contemplative expression. The girl was on her knees at the side of the bed, elbows propped on the mattress, and her chin bracketed between her palms, as if she’d been there for a while, waiting for Jenna to wake up.

“Why are you sleeping in my daddy’s bed?” she asked, more curious than accusing.

Not recognizing the girl and startled by her question, Jenna’s heart leapt in her chest as she frantically searched her disoriented, foggy memory, trying to remember where she was, and how she’d gotten in this strange room and this large bed that seemed to envelop her in a subtle, masculine scent she recognized as belonging to the prince who’d rescued her last night.

Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. Last night, and the devastating events that led to her fleeing to a town where no one knew her flooded her memory like a tidal wave. She’d been so overwhelmed by shame that she’d leapt into the limousine waiting to take her and Sheldon to the country club for their reception, and hysterically ordered the chauffeur to Just drive! She hadn’t cared to where, just so long as she put as many miles as she could between her and the disgraceful past she couldn’t seem to escape. A past that would forever haunt her. A past that marred her chances of ever being respected, or respectable. What made her believe she could fit in to Sheldon’s affluent life and be the wife to a prominent surgeon? She’d tried to conform, but she couldn’t erase the mistake she’d made. His well-to-do family and their elite circle of friends weren’t willing to dismiss what she’d done, either.

An hour outside of St. Louis, in the small town of Danby, the annoyed limo driver had pulled into the parking lot of Leisure Pointe and informed her that he hadn’t been paid to take her on a trek across Missouri. Knowing there was nothing left for her in St. Louis, she’d climbed out of the limousine, entered the rowdy establishment, and sank despondently into a booth in a far corner—feeling more heavy-hearted and isolated than ever.

She remembered faceless men sending Amaretto her way. She remembered the bartender keeping those same hounds at bay when it was obvious she wanted to be left alone. She remembered Garrett, with his deep, dark blue eyes, and the way he’d made her feel safe and secure when she’d believed she’d never feel safe and secure again.

Her hand fluttered to her lips, and her belly tumbled, not from the aftereffects of consuming too much Amaretto, but from something far more pleasant, and far more frightening. Most of all, she remembered kissing her gorgeous, raven-haired prince and the sweet, tender acceptance that had filled her in that fleeting moment.

And then she remembered nothing as deep sleep consumed her. Jenna felt a gentle tug on her hair, prompting her to leave her private thoughts behind and lift her lashes to deal with her unexpected visitor. The little girl had a strand of Jenna’s hair corkscrewed around her finger, seemingly fascinated with the way it clung so naturally.

“How come you’re sleeping in my daddy’s bed?” she asked again, more insistent this time.

Still absorbing the surprise of finding a pixie watching over her, she chose her answer carefully. “Well, I needed a place to sleep for the night, and your daddy let me use his bed.” That much she remembered.

“Oh.” Her little nose scrunched up as she thought about that. “And you’re wearing his shirt, too.”

She glanced down, confirming that the nightshirt she wore wasn’t the silky chemise she’d packed for her honeymoon. More memories tumbled through her foggy mind, of Garrett helping her to undress, and the intensity in his deep blue eyes…

The little imp tilted her head to the side. “What’s your name?”

“Jenna.” She offered a small smile. “What’s yours?”

“Chelsea Blackwell.” Pushing away from the bed, she strolled over to the froth of satin draped over the chair in the corner of the room and stroked her hand over the shimmery material. “This is like a fairy princess dress,” she said in awe.