The Summer Wedding: Groom Wanted / The Man You'll Marry

“She’s married to Mark Brady.” Jill waited, wondering if Jordan would recognize the name.

“Mark Brady.” He spoke slowly, as though saying it aloud would jar his memory. “Is Mark a tax consultant? I seem to recall hearing something about him not long ago. Isn’t he the head of his own firm?”

“That’s Mark.” Jill nearly told him how Shelly and Mark had met, but stopped herself just in time. Jordan knew about the wedding dress—though not, of course, its significance—because Jill had inadvertently let it slip that first night.

“And Mark’s married to your best friend?”

“That’s right.” She took a sip of her tea. “When I said I’d met you, Mark knew who you were right away.”

“So you mentioned me.” He seemed pleasantly surprised.

He could have no idea how much he’d been in her thoughts during the past two weeks. She’d tried, heaven knew she’d tried, to push every memory of him from her mind. But it hadn’t worked. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow nothing was the same anymore.

“You ready?” he asked after a moment.

Jill nodded and carried their empty cups to the sink. Then Jordan led her to his car, opening the door and ushering her inside. When he joined her, he pulled out his ever-present cell phone … and turned it off.

“You don’t need to do that on my account,” she told him.

“I’m not,” he said, his smile tight, almost a grimace. “I’m doing it for me.” With that he started the engine.

Jill had no idea where they were going. He took the freeway and headed north, exiting into the downtown area of Seattle. There were any number of four-star restaurants within a five-block area. Jill was curious, but she didn’t ask. She’d know soon enough.

When Jordan drove into the underground garage of a luxury skyscraper, Jill was momentarily surprised. But then, several of the office complexes housed world-class restaurants.

“I didn’t know there was a restaurant here,” she said conversationally.

“There isn’t.”

“Oh.”

“I live in the penthouse.”

“Oh.”

“Unless you object?”

“No … no, that’s fine.”

“I phoned earlier and asked my cook to prepare dinner for two.”

“You have a cook?” Oddly, that fact astounded her, although she supposed it shouldn’t have, considering his wealth.

He smiled, his first genuine smile since he’d shown up at her door. “You’re easily impressed.”

He talked as though everyone employed a cook, and Jill couldn’t help laughing.

They rode a private elevator thirty floors up to the penthouse suite. The view of Puget Sound that greeted Jill as the doors glided open was breathtaking.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered, stepping out. She followed him through his living room, past a white leather sectional sofa and a glass-and-chrome coffee table that held a small abstract sculpture. She wasn’t too knowledgeable when it came to works of art, but this looked valuable.

“That’s a Davis Stanford piece,” Jordan said matter-of-factly.

Jill nodded, hoping he wouldn’t guess how ignorant she was.

“White wine?”

“Please.” Jill couldn’t take her eyes off the view. The waterways of Puget Sound were dotted with white-and-green ferries. The islands—Bainbridge, Whidbey and Vashon—were jewellike against the backdrop of the Olympic Mountains.

“Nothing like Hawaii, is it?” Jordan asked as he handed her a long-stemmed wineglass.

“No, but just as beautiful in its own way.”

“I’m going back to Oahu next week.”

“So soon?” Jill was envious.

“It’s another short trip. Two or three days at most.”

“Perhaps you’ll get a chance to go snorkeling again.”

Jordan shook his head. “I won’t have time for any underwater adventures this trip,” he told her.

Jill perched on the edge of the sofa, staring down at her wine. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to separate you from my time in Oahu,” she said softly. “The rest of my week seemed so … empty.”

“I know what you mean.”

Her heartbeat quickened as his gaze strayed to her mouth. He sat beside her and removed the wine goblet from her unresisting hand. Next his fingers curved around her neck, ever so lightly, brushing aside her hair. His eyes held hers as if he expected resistance. Then slowly, giving her ample opportunity to pull away if she wished, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Jill moaned in anticipation, instinctively moving closer. Common sense shouted in alarm, but she refused to listen. Just once she wanted to know what it was like to be kissed with real passion—to be cherished by a man. Just once she wanted to know what it meant to be adored. Her heart filled with delirious joy. Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders as she clung to him. He kissed her again, small, nibbling kisses, as though he was afraid of frightening her with the strength of his need. But he must have sensed her receptiveness, because he deepened the kiss.

Suddenly it came to her. The same thing that had happened to Shelly was now happening to her. The phenomenon Aunt Milly had experienced sixty-five years earlier was coming to pass a third time.

The wedding dress.

Abruptly, she broke off the kiss. Panting, she sprang to her feet. Her eyes were wide and incredulous as she gazed down at a surprised Jordan.

“It’s you!” she cried. “It really is you.”

Six (#ulink_ba555d8b-fd43-50b8-8059-10625ab20851)

“What do you mean, it’s me?” Jordan demanded. When she didn’t answer, he asked, “What’s wrong, Jill?”

“Everything,” she cried, shaking her head.

“I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, “no.” She sobbed quietly as she wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”