Last Chance Christmas (15 page)

She smoothed a hand across his sculpted chest, anticipating all the years she was going to spend touching him and loving him.

“I think I probably need a better business plan than to let my rich sports star husband pave my way, but thank you just the same.” Pressing a kiss to his chest, she felt the warm beat of his heart against her lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you being my investor once I get it all worked out.”

“Just know that it’s there.” His touch skimmed along her back, slipping beneath the hem of her sweater to bare skin. “I want to be here for you, Shea, whatever you need.”

“I need you. That’s all.” She combed her fingers through his hair, remembering the couch was only a few feet away. “And after you make me delirious with fulfillment, I want to decorate that tree. And bake cookies with you. Maybe paint your sexy body with sugary frosting until you’re so sticky we have to go in the hot tub.”

His laughter was a welcome sound, the ease of being with him returning now that she knew he wanted her the same way she wanted him. Forever. For always.

“You are a driven and ambitious woman, but even for you, that seems like a lot to accomplish before bed.” Despite his words, he already unfastened the hook on her bra, baring her back to his touch.

“There’s a chance we won’t be sleeping,” she warned him, nipping his ear with a playful bite.

“Good thing athletes have excellent endurance,” he whispered against her neck.

Giving herself up to the moment and the man, Shea celebrated the best Christmas of her life under a fresh pine with no decorations.

There were, however, plenty of cookies.

The End

How to Lose a Groom in 10 Days

Joanne Rock and Catherine Mann

Copyright © 2015

B
uying a wedding
dress off the clearance rack twenty-four hours before the Big Day had not been Melanie Webb’s brightest idea ever.

A size too small, the fabric had cinched her breasts even before she began hyperventilating from the growing fear that she’d made a huge mistake with her impulsive courthouse elopement. An elopement she never thought the groom would really follow through on.

Now, as the Orange County, Florida judge pronounced Melanie a married woman, the tea-length bridal gown worked like a Chinese finger trap. With a ruffle at the hem. The more she tried to drag air into her lungs, the tighter the dress became. The ruffle teased her legs with hints of freedom, of breaking free. If she didn’t get out of the tiny courthouse “Wedding Room” soon, she’d die of tulle-related asphyxiation.

Or the suffocating guilt of hurting a truly terrific guy. Whichever came first.

“Congratulations,” the craggy-faced judge monotoned with a lack of enthusiasm that suggested he’d officiated too many marriage ceremonies to give a damn anymore. He shoved a signed license across the desk. “Don’t forget your paperwork.”

The Certificate of Marriage came without fanfare. He’d allocated them all of two point five seconds for a “you may kiss the bride” moment, which really was okay since a romantic swoop into her new husband’s arms would have been awkward given the line of people waiting impatiently to tend to whatever court business they had – some looking decidedly sketchy considering this was supposed to be their wedding day.

Were they really married? Had she even said “I do”? She’d been shaking so hard she didn’t remember. She barely recalled that two point five second peck on the lips. Surely a wedding deserved more. A memory to store of kissing her mouthwatering six-foot-three second baseman for the Atlanta Stars who stood beside her. She’d never shared a kiss with Grady Hollis that hadn’t been vividly memorable.

He grinned down at her now, unaware of her sudden panic attack or her dress woes. He’d offered to go all out and buy the bridal attire when they’d decided to tie the knot three days ago, but three days ago she still believed they wouldn’t really wind up here. She’d been certain he’d get on a plane with his team to start the regular season and they’d both move on.

But since she’d been the fun, party girl for the past ten weeks, she hadn’t wanted to be the one to blink first in the game of elopement chicken. So she’d bought the dress on her own, after telling him she didn’t want to start their marriage as a baseball groupie cliché, cashing in on Grady’s high paying career even though she worked multiple jobs to make ends meet.

The jack-of-all-trades existence she’d led since high school had been her choice. This marriage, however? She would have never chosen to marry a guy who hadn’t mapped out a future—a guy so content to live in the moment she had no earthly idea what happened next.

“Guess we’re official.” Grady’s brown eyes held the same mix of devilry and challenge that had turned her inside out two and a half months ago when they’d first met. One of those attraction at first sight moments, the kind a girl fantasized about. But for her, it had seemed real, that night he’d charmed her and a room full of kids with some sleight of hand tricks at a family mixer that kicked off his team’s spring training.

She’d pulled childcare duty through an event services company because of her CPR certification. And although seasonal work in a Florida ballpark was nothing new to Melanie, Queen of Temp Jobs to supplement working in her father’s restaurant, caring for the ten-and-under demographic had been completely out of her league. She’d thought Grady was a nice dad who took pity on her when he’d organized an impromptu ball game with the rowdy Stars’ offspring, but—amazingly—he’d been a major league player, single, and flirting wildly with her.

Ten weeks later, she could still hardly believe it. Or that she’d just married him.

“Official?” she squeaked, her voice a breathless rasp with panic and form-fitting shapewear squeezing the ever-loving life out of her.

“You make a better Mrs. Hollis than I could have ever hoped for.” His blue eyes went darker. Serious.

Any other woman on the planet would have swooned at the declaration. She felt her throat close. Her skin itched like she might be getting hives. Had she really just married a man she’d known for the extent of one spring training season? Yesterday, she kept thinking he’d back out of it before they really said “I do.” She’d counted on it even, not packing up all her old apartment, certain he wasn’t really serious.

How many pro ballplayers had she seen come and go from Kissimmee, flirting with the local girls for a few weeks before heading back to their real lives?

“I—” She couldn’t breathe. Or think. Or even begin to imagine how she could carve out a life at his side when major leaguers lived on the road for the better part of eight months each year.

Had she used this marriage and this great guy as a means to finally escape Kissimmee? Her troubled family that she hadn’t even invited to the wedding? She clutched her little bouquet of peonies tighter. They’d cost more than her dress, but Grady had surprised her with the flowers. Insisted.

Guilt surged faster than Grady’s fans after a win.

“You deserve much more,” she rasp-whispered, an underwire support jabbing her left breast like an accusing finger. “I’m so sorry.”

He frowned. His hands lifted to cup her shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”

Wasn’t it obvious? One of baseball’s hottest rising stars had just eloped with a glorified temp worker who was so deep in a panic attack she couldn’t draw a full breath.

Her eyes stung as she thought about all the ways she was about to hurt him. But wasn’t it better for him to find out now what a mess she was inside than later? The marriage could be annulled. Right?

Behind them, the judge cleared his throat.

“Your paperwork?” Craggy Face lifted the certificate off his desk and waved it meaningfully in their direction. “And tell the next couple they may step forward, please.”

Melanie didn’t bother answering. As soon as Grady turned to retrieve the papers, she sprinted out of the Wedding Room as fast as her pink high heels would take her.

*

Everything else in
Grady Hollis’s life had come easily enough.

Hits. RBIs. Walk off homeruns. He’d made every team he’d ever tried out for. Impressed scouts with his skills defensively as much as with his bat.

So maybe this moment was the universe’s way of reminding him to stay humble. Because it sure as hell was humiliating to watch his bride speed away from him like a base runner trying to avoid the tag. He’d be damned if he would chase Melanie through the Orange County courthouse building past other newlyweds snapping pictures of their nuptials. Those other brides were gazing longingly up into their grooms’ eyes. Melanie hit the massive stone steps with so much speed she broke the heel on her shoe. She’d just pulled them off and ran faster.

The sports media would have a field day with this if anyone found out, damn it. He’d been so careful lining up this time off with the team’s press secretary, arranging it so he could drive to Atlanta instead of taking the plane back. Couldn’t Melanie have waited to freak out about their wedding until they were safely back in his truck? Or home in his apartment they’d shared for the last month, where they’d planned to celebrate their honeymoon before for at least a few hours?

Then again, if they’d made it to a bed, she wouldn’t have run in the first place. The chemistry they shared was too off the charts.

“Grady Hollis?” a woman shouted to him from the base of the stone staircase as he started down the steps.

His head swiveled automatically.

On the first floor, a woman raised her arm to point at him.

“It’s Grady Hollis, the Stars player!” she squealed.

Crap, crap, crap.

He thought about searching for a back staircase, but heads were already turning. Other people pointed. The guy in front of him on the stairs halted and spun around.

“Grady Hollis?” His southern accent drawled thick as he surveyed Grady’s dark suit and tie. “Look here, boys.” The older man yanked on the hands of a couple preschoolers who both wore Stars caps. “It’s the ballplayer you saw with Grampy in spring training last week.”

Grady searched the pedestrian traffic on the ground floor while a sea of workers heading for lunch break rolled out of the Orange County office buildings. Off to one side, he spotted a flash of white streaking toward the glass doors that led toward the parking lot.

“Can you sign my shirt, mister?” a tall, lanky kid with a scratchy voice asked from behind his left shoulder, already pulling off his tee.

“I saw you hit that humdinger at Stars Stadium against the Aces,” someone else shouted from a few steps away—a heavyset guy with a briefcase under his arm and a coffee in one hand. “Do you remember that one? It went right over their centerfielder’s head at the wall.”

“You’re really a baseball player, young man?” a grandmotherly type with steel-gray hair asked from his right, her weathered hand landing on his suit sleeve and preventing him from taking another step. “We root for the New York team in my house, but I’ll bet my grandson would love to hear how I met a real baseball player.”

The woman dug in a purse, presumably for a pen, while hats, papers and hands came at him from all sides, pressing him closer to the railing, pinning him onto the staircase with a gridlock of people. Damn it. Melanie wouldn’t just leave him here, would she?

He grabbed a pen and a hat and started autographing things, making small talk on autopilot. He had no flipping clue what had happened back in the Wedding Room. Melanie had spent the night before at her parents’ place even though they’d been living together for weeks. He hadn’t thought twice about it, figuring all brides were superstitious about not seeing the groom on the day of the wedding until the ceremony. Totally normal, right?

Except maybe she had looked jittery during the ceremony. Fidgety. Breathing fast. But he’d figured all that was par for the course with brides. She knew he was crazy about her. What had gotten into her?

“Whatcha all dressed up for?” a teen with a pierced nose asked while she chomped on a piece of gum. “Traffic court? My mom said they don’t care what you wear.”

Grady kept signing and shuffled down a step as the dad with two little kids moved away. On a good day, Grady could sign autographs for a long time, grateful to work in his dream job and all too aware he was a lucky man. But right now, he needed to get to Melanie.

“Just watching a buddy tie the knot,” he hedged, determined to keep his nuptials secret or he’d never get out of the building.

“Oh my God!” the girl squealed and so did ten other nearby women.

The noise level in the throng around him kicked up a few decibels. And a few octaves.

“Was it that nice Boone Sullivan?” The gray-haired granny next to him asked about the Stars third baseman, still clutching his arm while fans crowded them both. “He’s supposed to marry a reality show actress.”

“It wasn’t anyone on the team,” Grady rushed to explain. His teammates were going to string him up by his cleats for starting rumors. “But I’d better catch up to the wedding party now.”

He signed the grandmother’s coffee shop napkin that she’d found in her bottomless purse and gently disengaged himself. The crowd pressed closer, sensing they were losing him.