Unexpected Bride (14 page)

"The wedding that wasn't," she murmured.

He sighed. No doubt Cioverville would forever refer to it as that. "The bride ran off. I haven't forgotten that you had something to do with that."

"Did you really want Molly to marry a man she doesn't love?"

"I want to talk to Molly. I want to make sure that you're not the reason she's confused, that you didn't talk her out of something she wanted to do."

"Clayton!" She should have known better than to think he'd forgiven her part in Molly's running away. Clayton would never let her forget anything she did. Including the kiss.

"But most importantly," he said, his voice deep with emotion, "I want to make sure she's all right."

Her irritation faded and her heart swelled in sympathy. He loved his sister. "She is all right."

"So she did tell you in the note. You know where she is."

"No, I don't." Not for certain, at least, but she had a suspicion. If she told Clayton that Eric South probably had a houseguest, he would charge over there this minute and insist on talking to Molly. Abby had to honor her friend's request for time because she wasn't sure she could honor her other request. Just how long could she stay in Cloverville? While apparently the town had accepted that she'd changed, being back here made
her
feel as if she hadn't. She felt like that unloved, out-of-control girl all over again. And no one made her feel as out of control and as inadequate as Clayton McClintock.

"Abby, don't lie to me."

"Clayton, you're never going to trust me." Of course she'd given him a few reasons to be that way. back in her rebellious youth. The tattoos—he hadn't made it to the parlor in time to stop Molly and Colleen from getting theirs. "You'll never believe that I'm telling you the truth."

"Why should I?"

"I've never lied to you." Not really. Only by omission.

"Yes, you have," he insisted.

Okay, he was more intuitive than she'd realized. "When have I lied to you?"

"When you told me that it was nothing."

"What was nothing?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. Her heart pounded hard as she tried to figure out why it mattered so much to him that she'd dismissed their kiss. Male pride?

"Our kiss," he said. "Last night."

"You kissed
me,"
she reminded him, pride lifting her chin and preventing her from asking him why he had. She'd probably been asking for it. With her eyes, with the way she'd melted in his arms. She'd wondered for so long what it would feel like for Clayton McClintock to kiss her.

"And you kissed me back," he said.

"Clayton McClintock, ever the gentleman."

He reached for her again, but not as he had on the deserted sidewalk. He slid one arm around her waist and his other hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her ponytail. Then he brought her mouth to his. His lips touched hers with heat and passion.

Abby's heart raced in her chest as her pulse throbbed. She clenched her hands into fists so that she wouldn't reach for him. So that she wouldn't kiss him back. But she closed her eyes and an image swam into her mind—his chest bared to her hungry gaze. His well-developed muscles dusted with hair that arrowed down over the ripples of his washboard stomach to the low-riding waist of his worn jeans. She'd wanted to kiss his bruise, but she'd resisted. Then.

His tongue slipped between her lips, teasing hers. She couldn't suppress a moan as the pleasure spread, like hot fudge over ice cream, through her body. Melting her resistance, all her instincts for self-preservation. She couldn't remember the last time a man had kissed her in this way. Maybe never. Certainly, she had never been so weak-kneed, so dizzy with desire.

As her world tilted, Abby reached out to stop herself from falling. She clutched Clayton's shoulders, her fingers digging into the sinewy muscles just beneath the thin cotton fabric.

"Clayton," she whispered, moving her mouth on his, allowing him to deepen their kiss. Even though her skin heated with passion, she shivered.

His hands, wide-palmed and long-fingered, skimmed over her back and down to her hips. He pulled her closer. So close she had proof that she definitely hadn't emasculated him.

Clayton groaned, in a different kind of pain. Because of Abby Hamilton. His hands molded themselves to the curve of her hips as he fought the urge to lift her against him and carry her off to his bedroom. Instead, he pulled her away. But the distance didn't cool the fire raging through his veins, burning up his common sense.

"You don't feel better," she murmured as she stumbled back a few steps. Her face flushed, her eyes glittered with desire.

She wanted him, too.

He groaned again, fighting the urge to reach for her, to drag her back in his amis, back against his hard, aching body. "What?"

"You got your kiss," she pointed out, "but you're not feeling any better."

"No, I'm not." he admitted. In fact, he fell a hell of a lot worse. Abby Hamilton? What the hell was he thinking? Maybe all the McClintocks were losing their minds. Rory was sneaking alcohol. Molly had run out on her wedding. And
he
was making out with Abby Hamilton.

"Maybe I did hit my head in the alley." he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn't look at her, not without wanting her.

"And what about lasl night? What's your excuse for kissing me then?" she asked.

A warning bell clanged in Clayton's head, but he chose to ignore it. "Too much champagne."

"So you'd have to be drunk or suffering a concussion to want to kiss me?" she asked, sparks in her eyes as she glared at him. "Thanks a lot!"

"Abby..."

"You're not arguing with me," she pointed out.

"You're beautiful," he said. "You know you are."

But beauty had never meant much to Clayton. She knew that. "You still think I'm a flake, huh? Or an idiot. Oh, that's right. You don't think I'm smart enough for you." All her childhood insecurities came rushing back, dousing the desire she'd felt. Anger consumed her now. She had to get out of this town and away from this man.

"Abby..."

"Because I got expelled, you think I never finished school," she accused him. "But I did. I went to college, too. I took business courses."

"That's great," he praised.

Maybe he was sincere, but Abby sensed condescension, if only in her own head.

"I know school was hard for you," he continued.

"I didn't get a degree." she admitted. "I didn't have time." Not with launching her business, then becoming a single mother.

"And you probably lost interest before you finished," he guessed. "Nothing ever kept your interest for long. That's probably why you move around so much, why you work temp jobs."

"Work
temp jobs?" She'd suspected he hadn't known about her business, and now she had proof. "You think that's all I do?"

"Abby, there's nothing wrong with that. You're obviously supporting yourself and Lara. You've always been a hard worker."

"Wow, did that hurt?" she asked. "Actually saying something nice about me?"

"Abby..."

"So you heard about Temps to Go and just assumed I work for the place?"

His eyes narrowed as his gaze met hers.

"Well, you know what they say about assumptions and the people who make them. I
own
the business, Clayton. I didn't inherit it or buy someone out. I built it from the ground up." And she was damned proud of the little business she'd launched with one ad in the classifieds. "I'm not the stupid girl who got expelled from high school anymore."

"You didn't get expelled over your grades." Clayton pointed out, "and I never said you were stupid."

"Yes, you did. Eight years ago," she reminded him.

Stupid
was one of the nicer names he'd called her after he'd assumed that she'd driven her car into the statue of Colonel Clover.

"You accuse me of not being able to let go of the past," he said. "But it seems I'm not the only one."

"No, you're not," she admitted. "That's why I can't stay." In his apartment or in Cloverville. Molly had asked too much of her.

As she headed for the door, he didn't try to stop her. He didn't reach for her as she passed him. either. He let her walk away. Just as he had eight years ago. Abby slammed the door shut on him, on the crazy attraction she'd felt for him.

Nothing could come of her desire for Clayton McClintock, because even though he might want her, he would never respect her.

"I wish you'd stay in Cloverville."

Abby closed her eyes, holding back her tears. The request didn't come from the McClintock she wished would ask her to stay. She shook her head, disgusted with herself for wanting a man who didn't really want her, and she forced a smile for Mrs. Mick, who sat on the edge of the bed in Clayton's old room.

With tan walls and plush carpet, Mrs. Mick had achieved the look and comfort of an upscale hotel room. From her travels between offices, Abby was quite familiar with hotel rooms. She had one booked in Raleigh, North Carolina, right now, to check out the city as the possible location for the headquarters of Temps to Go and a home for her and Lara. She'd always heard that people in the South were as warm as their weather.

Her eyes filled with sadness. Mrs. McClintock watched Abby fold clothes back into her open suitcase. "You should really stay."

Abby's heart twisted, and she fought against the emotion welling in her throat. Mrs. Mick hadn't wanted her to leave eight years ago, either. She'd wanted her to move in with them, but Abby had intruded enough on the McClintock family during their time of inconsolable grief. "I can't..."

"You can. You've proven you can do anything you want to do," her champion insisted.

Abby's heart swelled. How she wished this woman had been her mother. "You're going to make me cry," she said, biting her lip to retain her self-control.

"Good, then we'll both have a good cry."

"What is that?" Abby asked, perplexed by the phrase she'd heard often but had never really understood. "A
good
cry?"

"Didn't you cry when Lara was born?" Mrs. Mick knew the answer to her question, since she'd insisted on coming east to Detroit for the delivery.

"Yes, I cried when Lara was born." she reminded the older woman. "But I was in pain." And terrified she would fail the precious baby who was dependent solely on her.

"And you were happy."

She'd brought a beautiful angel into the world, and she had had the most important people in her life with her, supporting her. As Mrs. Hild had pointed out, she'd had
her family.

"So, that's a good cry," Abby said, understanding the older woman's point.

"Yes, just as people cry at weddings."

"There were some people crying last night." Abby acknowledged.

Mrs. McClintock smiled. "Just Clayton, when he was writing checks."

Abby couldn't suppress a smile of her own, but she refused to comment on Clayton. She didn't want to think about him. either; she'd thought about him enough last night while she'd lain awake reliving their kiss. "Have you heard from her?"

"Molly?" the runaway bride's mother asked, concern tensing her face before she relaxed with obvious faith in her oldest daughter.

Abby nodded. "Molly."

"No, I haven't heard from her," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "You should stay until we do."

That had been Abby's intention until her most recent run-in with the bride's brother. Molly would understand.

Mrs. McClintock persisted. "She's going to need her friends when she comes home."

Abby hated to worry the older woman, but she had to raise the question. "What makes you so sure, once Molly sorts out what she really wants, that she'll come home?"

"All my children come home. Clayton, from college..."

Because his father had gotten sick, he'd foregone dorm and fraternity parties to return every weekend. But then maybe he'd also come back more to make sure Abby hadn't badly influenced his sisters than to take care of his dad.

"And Molly came home from college and now from med school. Colleen and Rory have never left."

Colleen out of guilt. Abby held in a sigh of concern for her young friend.

Mrs. McClintock beamed. "And you came home, too."

Abby blinked hard. "I'm not one of your children." Not that she hadn't wished a hundred times during her childhood that she was.

Mrs. Mick rose from the bed and pulled Abby into a light embrace. "Of course you're one of my children, Abby Hamilton. I raised you just like I raised my own."

"I don't think I've ever told you how much I appreciate everything you've done for me," Abby realized. She didn't know if Mrs. Mick even understood how much she'd done, how much she'd meant to Abby. If not for Mrs. Mick's example, she wouldn't have known how to be a mother.

"You showed me," the older woman assured her. "When you lived in Cloverville, you made me such beautiful gifts."

The school craft projects, which she was supposed to bring her mother for Mother's Day and Christmas, she'd given to Mrs. Mick instead. Her parents would only have used them as weapons when her dad came home from the road and confronted her mom over her latest drunken affair.

The other woman smiled with affection. "You picked me flowers...?"

"Mrs. Hild didn't appreciate that, though."

Her adopted mother laughed. "No, she didn't. I had to hide them when she came over to gab."

"Sorry'."

"Your heart was in the right place," Mrs. McClintock said, defending her. "And even after you left, you sent me cards and called. You're one of my kids, Abby."

She appreciated the sentiment, but she'd always known she wasn't a true McClintock. Clayton had made certain she hadn't ever believed she was one of them.

"So like I do to my kids," she continued, "I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice."

Mrs. Mick enjoyed painting herself as a meddling mother, but she wasn't the real meddler of the McClintocks. The role of primary manipulator belonged to her oldest child, the man who always had to be in control. Yet when he'd kissed her in the middle of the crowded dance floor and then again in his apartment, it hadn't felt as if he was in control.