Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (62 page)

“Keep in mind,” Pam said, “that Kate’s book is a self-help book, not a novel or a memoir. Her readers are willing to plunk down their money because they trust her advice. That trust has been broken. She might be seen as hypocritical since she advised her readers one direction and took an entirely different direction herself.”

Kate jumped in. “That’s why I should apologize, offer an explanation. I think my readers would sympathize with the fact that I was jilted at the altar. What woman wouldn’t be confused and prone to bad judgment at that point?”

“The fact is, though,” Paul said, “you aren’t every woman. You are Dr. Kate, expert in love relationships. Your whole book is about finding a marriage partner for a lifelong relationship, and you’ve entered a loveless marriage on a one-year lease. I’m not going to sugar-coat it, Kate. The media sure isn’t.”

Kate felt heat flush her neck and cheeks. That was as close to a dressing down as she’d received since her dad scolded her for loaning out her Nikes when she was in fourth grade.

“We need time to digest this,” Paul continued. “We’ll get hold of you later today and let you know what we’ve decided. Until then, don’t answer your phone.”

By the time they disconnected, Kate felt wrung out. More waiting.
I’m tired of waiting. I want to do something.
She leaned against the windowsill. Outside, the landscape looked gray through the blanket of rain.

“How’d it go?” Lucas asked.

Kate shrugged. “They’re going to decide how they want to handle it. They’ll call back later today. I don’t think they were too keen on my honesty plan.”

Kate didn’t think they were too keen on her either, and she didn’t blame them.

Hope is not a strategy.

—Excerpt from
Finding Mr. Right-for-You
by Dr. Kate

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kate searched for ways to stay occupied as she awaited Paul’s call. She filled the sink with soapy water and washed dishes. She wiped down the counters and table. When she was finished, she decided the linoleum needed a good scrubbing. Lucas worked on a design for an armoire while she cleaned.

Later, they had a quiet lunch of soup and sandwiches, then resumed working. The phone rang often, but the numbers were unfamiliar. She wished their number was unlisted. At least no one had shown up at the door today.

The storm raged on, rain tapping on the windows like a stranger with bad news. The sea oats bent in submission to the wind, and gulls floated high in the air, riding the gusts wherever it took them.

Lucas was stirring a pot of boiling pasta when the call came. Kate picked up.

“Kate,” Ronald said. “I just heard from Paul.”

“What did they decide?”

“They want you to avoid the press, kiddo. They’re afraid you’ll open yourself to all kinds of speculation. People will find out more than they already know, and from what they’ve heard, it’s not good.”

“They want me to do nothing?”

Lucas turned from the pot of spaghetti and studied her. As his eyebrows lifted, long lines formed across his forehead.

“Unfortunately, I agree, Kate. As much as I’d like to think this publicity will be advantageous, I think it’s going to cause damage. And the more details the media gets, the longer this is going to brew. The best we can hope is that it’ll blow over soon and be forgotten.”

The thought of doing nothing was demoralizing. It wasn’t in Kate to sit back and let things happen. She was a planner, a doer. She wanted to work this out; she wanted to fix it.

“If you’re confronted by the press, Paul suggested you say, ‘No comment’ and keep moving. It would be prudent to tell your family and anyone who has details to avoid the press also.”

Thunder cracked in the distance, and the rain pummeled the roof over the kitchen. “Paul asked about Bryan. I didn’t see him quoted in any of the articles. They’re hoping that’s an indication he won’t submit to an interview. They want you to confirm that.”

“I’ll call him,” Kate said. Her voice sounded choked. The burden of her mistake weighted her. Her body felt heavy—too heavy for her trembling legs.

As she ended the phone call, her legs buckled, and she dropped on the wooden window ledge. “I have to call Bryan.” She wasn’t up for it, but that didn’t matter. She dialed his home phone. It rang four times before the voice mail kicked on.

“Bryan, it’s Kate.” She ran her fingers through her hair.
What
should I say?
“Can you call me when you get this? Listen, it’s very important that you not talk to the press.”
Unlike your skanky girlfriend.
Kate gritted her teeth. She needed Bryan to cooperate, and a snarky attitude wouldn’t help. “Just call me.”

She hung up. Lucas was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read and didn’t have the brainpower to decipher. She dialed Bryan’s cell and got voice mail again. She left a similar message and hung up.

“What did your agent say?” Lucas asked.

“They want me to stay quiet. Do nothing. Hope it blows over.”

“You’re not happy.”

“I see where they’re coming from. They might even be right; they’ve got more experience than I. It just makes me feel so—”

Helpless. Useless. Like a sitting duck. Like a twelve-year-old girl
waiting to see if her mom is Jekyll or Hyde that day.

She walked away from the thought, into the bedroom, but it followed her there, like a persistent shadow. She didn’t bother to flip on the lamp, though only remnants of daylight seeped through the curtains. Instead, in the darkness, she paced the short length of the room while rain pounded the roof, a surge of the storm’s temper.

Lucas appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her.

“I just—I hate this doing nothing.” She whipped around, her hair slapping her on the cheek, and sank on the edge of the mattress. Would this be the way her career went down? With her forfeiting the match; not even putting up a fight?

Lucas approached Kate, aching to comfort
her. “Maybe they’re right,” he said. “Maybe it’ll blow over.”

And what will happen to us?
He wanted to know but couldn’t ask. Not now, when she’d been bombarded by everyone else. Heavy clouds seemed to roll in, darkening the room.

“What if they’re wrong? What if my readers think I’m a hypocrite?” Her eyes glazed over and she blinked rapidly. “Maybe I am a hypocrite.”

He’d never seen her look so fragile, so vulnerable, not even on her wedding day. She looked broken, her always neat hair a disheveled mess, hanging in her face.

“Hey . . .” he said, smoothing the sides of her hair with both hands. He tucked it behind her ears the way she liked it. “Stop talking like that. It’s going to be okay.” He cupped her face between his palms. “We’ll get through this.”

A tear escaped, and he brushed it away with his thumb.

“Why did we ever plan my wedding around my book’s release? It was stupid. I thought it was a brilliant idea, but it was just stupid. Look where all my planning has gotten me. My career is over, Lucas.” Her voice wobbled. The tears chased each other rapid fire.

“Shhhh.” He pulled her to him and caressed her hair, letting her cry. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her fingers clutching his T-shirt. She was falling apart, his composed Kate. He hadn’t thought it possible.

A bucket of guilt poured down on him like the rain that deluged the ground outside. This was all his fault. He was the one who’d offered to stand in for Bryan. If not for him, Kate would have told the truth. Sure, it would have been hard. It may have ruined her book sales, but it wouldn’t have wrecked her career.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” he whispered into her hair. He’d thought he was saving her, but he’d ruined her instead. “It’s my fault.”

She sniveled. “No, it isn’t.” She shook her head against his chest. “It was my decision.”

“It was
my idea
.” His arms tightened around her as his thoughts went back to that morning when he’d seen her so shaken, seen her eyes deaden to the reality of her situation.

“I was just trying to—”
Save you. Love you.
His gut tightened.

She pulled away, looking up at him. “Stop it.” One last tear trailed down her cheek. “You were only trying to help.”

He brushed the tear away, dried her face with his thumbs. Her eyes were sad pools of regret, her lashes spiked with moisture. If only he could clean up the mess he’d made so easily. He had been trying to help that day, trying to wipe that look of despair from her face. He would have done anything to accomplish that.

And yet here was despair again, sevenfold.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered. Did she believe him? It was important that she did.

“I know.” Her lips barely moved on the words. A tear trembled in the corner of her mouth. He swept it away, his thumb lingering over the plump curve of her lower lip.

Mercy, did she know how much he cared for her? How much he wanted her to be completely his? Did she know he’d do anything to protect her?

Did she know he loved her? The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, wavering, eager to escape, yet afraid of the consequences. What would she do if she knew? What would she say if she knew he’d loved her from the beginning?

Kate wanted to lose herself in Lucas’s eyes, in those fathomless green depths. Something stirred in her. His words replayed in her head.
“I would never hurt you.”

She knew it was true. He would never have deserted her on her wedding day, like Bryan had. Lucas would stand by and defend her, protect her no matter what. Kate had never considered herself the kind of woman who yearned for a knight in shining armor, but just now the notion was appealing. And the look in his eyes was irresistible.

He was so close. She felt the warmth of him through his T-shirt. Kate turned her face into his hand and pressed a kiss against his calloused palm. He was a man’s man, a hard worker. Loyal to the death. So many good things. She wanted all of them.

She kissed the curve of his jaw, feeling the coarseness of his stubble against her lips and relishing him for the man he was.

She heard his breath catch, and it emboldened her. With a hand against his face, she turned him toward her. Their lips met gently, and Kate soaked up his response. Her fingers tightened on the cotton material of his shirt.

Lucas pulled her closer, into the strength of his embrace. His stomach was hard against hers, his shoulders like solid rock. He was a sure foundation in a raging storm.

“Katie,” he whispered.

The taste of her name on his lips, so desperate and devoted, was sweet and heady.

I want him.

No, I need him.

He deepened the kiss, and she responded in kind, drawing her fingers through his hair. Lucas leaned into her, pressing her back against the bed, the weight of him more welcome than a cool breeze on sun-scorched skin.

What am I doing?
The thought had no more than formed than she pushed it down.

But it resurfaced with force.
Is this right? Do I love him?

He’s your husband. You have every right.

She latched onto the thought, clinging with everything in her.
He
is
my husband. He’s mine.

With the thought came complete surrender. She ran her hands along the plane of his back and returned his kiss with fervor.