How to Lose a Groom in 10 Days (6 page)

*

“I can’t believe
they found marshmallow roasting sticks.” Melanie shifted beside him on the blanket he’d spread out in front of the fireplace for their makeshift picnic.

She still wore a white hotel spa robe, the fabric covering her from neck to toe, but she’d belted the thing so tight it accentuated her generous curves in a way that made him crazy. And when she leaned forward to find the hottest spot for her marshmallow… he didn’t dare savor the view when the neckline gapped or she’d be back on the other side of the blanket in a heartbeat.

His wedding night was going to kill him.

“The tougher part was finding a property with a wood burning fireplace.” He’d had to search fast, but he’d found just what he’d been looking for. And yeah, it helped that he had the money to pay for this place. He’d worked hard and made sacrifices for his career. Why shouldn’t he enjoy the rewards? “I’m hoping I can convince you that camping in a luxury hotel can be all kinds of fun.”

“You’re making a heck of a case.” She turned her marshmallow after one side charred dark brown, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the blaze. “I like the ant-free picnic.”

Score. He needed to start wooing her. Winning her back. He had three days before the regular season started, and he couldn’t afford to chase her around central Florida for too long. As much as he wanted to smooth aside the terry cloth robe to bare her knee and kiss his way up her thigh, he needed to focus. Show her he understood what she liked—outside the bedroom—and prove they had what it took to stay together forever.

With an effort, he redirected his thoughts away from her body wrapped in just a robe.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.” He could see the other side of her marshmallow was about to catch flame and reached for her stick. “Can I get that for you?”

At her nod, he took the long metal fork with a wood handle on the end, the prong looking like something out of a fondue set. Carefully, he eased it away from the flames.

“Watch out for Polly,” she reminded him.

The pup had fallen asleep with her furry chin on a dog biscuit—mid gnaw. Now, she snoozed on the far corner of the picnic blanket.

“I see her.” Still, he was careful about where he laid aside the hot metal fork after he slid the gooey marshmallow onto a plate to cool. “Do you mind if I ask you a question about your family?”

“A question?” Melanie’s eyes shot to his. She shifted from her spot on the leather ottoman to a seat beside him on the quilt.

Putting her in touchable range, even though she looked a little freaked out at the idea of talking about her family.

“I’m camping and testing out life as a pet owner, right? I’m trying to compromise. So it’s your turn. Share some of your secrets that you think are going to keep us apart.”

“I didn’t mean to keep them a secret—”

“Yes you did.” He watched the flames glow blue at the base of the blaze, figuring it was safer to keep an eye on the flames than her.

“Okay, maybe I did. But you know I work in my father’s restaurant a lot of nights.”

“I know it’s on the other side of town from the ball field and that you discouraged me from stopping by.”

“Dad’s sort of a local legend. A minor league journeyman who hit a lot of homeruns but never went back to the majors after a shoulder injury prevented him from being as good as he once was.”

He could sense a whole lot of subtext there, but wasn’t quite sure how to pull it free.

“No wonder you know your baseball.” He’d been impressed at her knowledge of the game more than once—from situational pitching to batter’s box strategy. But she’d written it off as stuff she’d picked up on her temp jobs at the training facility.

“Baseball and broken dreams. They’re the language of the household.” The bitterness in her voice was something he’d never heard.

“Your dad took it hard?” He wanted to understand her better. Wished he’d worked harder to figure her out sooner.

“Not as hard as Mom did. Her disappointment in him drove her to drink. For a long time, I thought he was crazy to stay with her. But as I get older, I think it’s how he punishes himself.”

“That’s so—”

“Dysfunctional? Messed up? Yeah. I know.”

He shook his head. “I was going to say, that’s sort of like my father. He was an angry man and he took it out in the boxing ring as a small-time fighter. He always wanted his sons to do better. Be more than the old man. So he drilled us relentlessly on our chosen sports. Baseball for me. Golf for Seth. Hit two hundred balls before dinner. Two hundred more before bed.”

“Yet you always credit your father with your success as a player.” She frowned, her eyes full of tender concern.

“I wouldn’t be where I am without him. Although if I had it to do over, I’d be a golfer like Seth.”

“He’s on the PGA tour, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I don’t envy his success as much as the fact that he always got to hit his two hundred balls off the tee. Whereas I got the old man pitching to me for most of those swings. Which meant I doubled up on the father-son time.” He shook off the old ghosts. “But if you’re thinking I’m some kind of sports fanatic, I can tell you nothing could be further from the truth. When my career is over, I move on—no regrets.”

Her eyes darted away.

“However long the success lasts, you pay a high price for it.” She picked up her marshmallow now that it had cooled, balancing it on her fingertips while she seemed to debate how to eat it.

“Damn straight. And I’d never want to be with a woman who didn’t understand that.” He savored the sight of her tongue testing the gooey warmth.

Her eyes closed for a moment as she sampled the treat.

And just like that, the temperature in the room spiked. The dynamic between them shifted. He’d known her long enough to feel the sexual hum of awareness, and he felt his restraint slide away. He’d missed her so much the night before. Had dreamed of being with her today—as husband and wife.

He must have made a sound. Or moved toward her. Because suddenly her eyes locked with his. Awareness sparked. Flamed.

“Want some?” She held out half the marshmallow to him, sticky white liquid encased in a flaky dark shell.

“I think you know I do.” His eyes never left hers as he braced himself for a retreat.

“I don’t like denying myself any more than you do,” she confessed unhappily.

“So why do it?” He shoved aside leftover dishes. Tossed a towel next to Polly to keep her feeling safe. “I don’t see how not touching each other is going to suddenly help us think more clearly. If anything, the wanting is a distraction that’s tough to see past.”

He kept his hands to himself, not making his case in the most convincing manner, but he was trying to be fair. Let her decide.

For a long moment, they stared at each other over the marshmallow, flames crackling in the fireplace beside them. And then, slowly, she nodded.

Only then did he take Melanie’s hand and bring her fingers to his mouth, white sugar coating two of them. He heard her breathing quicken. Felt her pulse race under his thumb where he held her wrist.

She watched him, her lips parted, as he cleaned her fingers with his tongue. Slowly. Thoroughly. All the while, she breathed harder. Faster. Until her tongue darted out to trace along her upper lip and nearly undid him.

“I could eat you up.” He spoke into her ear, his mouth grazing the impossible softness of her neck, then skimmed her lips. “But only if you want me to.”

At the words, he felt Melanie turn rigid. The progress he thought they had been making was quickly fading.

“I…I can’t, Grady.” Her words were soft, barely spoken above a whisper against his mouth before she eased back out of his arms.

Her unmistakable conviction slammed into him. One kiss hadn’t gained him anything more than to send her running again. Faster. She gathered Polly in her arms, shot to her feet, and retreated into the smaller bedroom. Leaving him alone. On his wedding night.

Damn it. This was not how he wanted things to be between them. He had to convince her that this was right. That they were right. If he could only just get her to talk to him. To trust him.

He fought the urge to charge after her. Moving too fast was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. He would let her sort through her feelings tonight. The day had been taxing on both of them. But tomorrow…tomorrow he would resume his campaign to win her over.

*

Once the door
was closed and locked behind her, she slumped onto the hotel bed, the plush duvet poofing underneath her. With a wet nose, Polly nudged her hand. Absently, Melanie scratched the puppy’s head, finding calming and comfort in the animal’s soft fur.

Of all the ways she had pictured her wedding night, this scenario had never entered her mind. There was a door between her and her husband. A door she had put there. To protect herself. To protect him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

She hugged Polly closer as sobs clogged her throat and her nose burned with the tears building up inside her. She blinked hard to hold them back. But no luck. Tears mixed with the remainder of her eye shadow and mascara streaming down her cheeks. She slumped back into the pile of pillows, so much softer than a tent floor.

Good. She felt like she deserved it for causing the hurt to darken Grady’s normally warm cinnamon eyes. He was so kind, so generous. But she was all wrong for him. She couldn’t be the one to tie this man down to a future he didn’t want. Melanie wouldn’t do that.

She refused to continue to cause him pain. It was too cruel, too selfish to hang onto this marriage they’d jumped into so fast. Which is why he needed to leave now before she caused him any more damage.

But what about her pain? This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Weddings were happy occasions. And she had made such a grand mess out of it all.

Another sob caused her to shudder. Polly whimpered, then licked Melanie’s arm. Through her blurry vision, she could make out the puppy’s sympathetic eyes. The tears eased, the puppy’s comfort bolstering her enough to regain some control.

“What am I doing, Polly?” As if in response, the puppy cocked her head, trying to make sense of her question. She let out a small bark before curling up in a tight ball on the bed, tail wagging now that Melanie had stopped crying.

“If only it were that simple, little one,” Melanie breathed, lying next to the dog.

Part of her wanted Grady. His kiss. His heat. There was an undeniable chemistry between them. There had been since the moment they met. But that kind of chemistry didn’t mean that they could build a life together.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. She had to leave, had to show this too-good-for-her man that they were on two completely different—and incompatible—paths. But how was she supposed to get that point across to him so he wouldn’t keep following her? She scratched Polly’s head, searching for more of that calm and peace to sort through her thoughts.

The pup had fallen asleep curled against Melanie, her little chest rhythmically rising and falling. Polly needed a real collar, one that suited her. Melanie envisioned something cute, fun, something that fit a helluva lot better than her wedding dress had. Maybe she would go tomorrow morning to look for a collar and leash before Grady woke up since the last thing he would want to do on his honeymoon would be shop for doggy paraphernalia. The extra time alone could give her time to think. Time to figure out how to show Grady why their marriage was a mistake. But as she glanced at the sleeping puppy, the perfect plan began to take shape in her mind, thanks to Polly and that missing collar. She kissed the puppy between her ears. Polly stretched her paws out, still half asleep.

The best way to show him that their marriage would never work? Paint the domestic scene. His life as a rising baseball star wasn’t a good fit for her ideas on the future. She wanted to plant roots somewhere, wanted kids, and a house that needed weekend projects. That vision would send him away. It would help him move on.

So she would preview that life. Tomorrow at the pet store.