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

He caught her chin, his touch light but firm.

“Yes?” she whispered, her heart in her throat.

“Nothing.” He dropped his hand.

Jill was about to turn away again when he stepped toward her, took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Jill had certainly been kissed before, and the experience had always been pleasant, if a bit predictable.

Not this time.

Exciting, unfamiliar sensations raced through her. Jordan’s mouth caressed hers with practiced ease while his hands roved her back, moving slowly, confidently.

Jill was breathless and weak when he finally broke away. He stared down at her with a perplexed look, as if he’d shocked himself by kissing her. As if he didn’t know what had come over him.

Jill didn’t know, either. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and then she remembered something Shelly had told her—the overwhelming sensation she’d experienced the first time Mark had kissed her. From that moment on, Shelly had known her fate was sealed.

Jill had never felt anything that even came close to what she’d just felt in Jordan’s arms. Was it possible? Could there be something magical about Aunt Milly’s wedding dress? Jill didn’t know. She didn’t want to find out, either.

“Jill?”

“Oh, no,” she moaned as she looked up at him.

“Oh, no,” Jordan echoed, apparently amused. “I’ll admit women have reacted when I’ve kissed them, but no one’s ever said that.”

She barely heard him.

“What’s wrong?”

“The dress …” Jill stopped herself in time.

“What dress?”

Jill knew she wasn’t making any sense. The whole thing was ridiculous. Unbelievable.

“What dress?” he repeated.

“You wouldn’t understand.” She had no intention of explaining it to him. She could just imagine what someone like Jordan Wilcox would say when he heard about Aunt Milly’s wedding dress.

Three (#ulink_7cbfd719-b1dd-50fd-a872-47d72069ea4d)

Jill glared at Jordan. He had no idea how devastating she’d found his kiss. And the worst of it was, she had no idea why she was feeling this way.

“Jill?” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. “What does my kissing you have to do with a dress?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “It doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she blurted without thinking, then quickly corrected herself. “It’s got everything to do with it.” She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. All he’d done was kiss her! There was no reason to behave like a fool. She had a good excuse, however. It had been a long and unusual day compounded by Shelly’s letter and the arrival of the wedding dress. Who wouldn’t be flustered? Who wouldn’t be confused—especially in light of Shelly’s experience?

“You’re not being too clear,” Jordan told her.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What dress are you talking about?” he asked patiently. “Could you explain yourself?”

Jill didn’t see how that was possible. Jordan wouldn’t understand. Not only that, he was cynical and scornful. The man who placed power and profit above all else would laugh at something as absurd as the story about the wedding dress.

She drew in an unsteady breath. “There’s nothing I can say.”

“Was my kiss so repugnant to you?” It didn’t appear that he was going to graciously drop the matter, not when his male ego was on the line.

Forcing her voice to sound carefree, Jill placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him square in the eye. “I’d think a man of your experience would be accustomed to having women crumple at his feet.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His habitual frown snapped into place.

“I’m not,” she said. Best to keep Jordan in the dark, otherwise he might misread her intentions. Besides, he wouldn’t be any more enthusiastic about a romance between them than she was. “The kiss was very nice,” she admitted grudgingly.

“And that’s bad?” He rubbed a frustrated hand along his blunt, determined-looking jaw. “Perhaps you’ll feel better once you’re back in your room.”

Jill nodded eagerly. “Thank you. For dinner,” she added, remembering her manners.

“Thank you for joining me. It was … a pleasure meeting you.”

“You, too.”

“I probably won’t see you again.”

“That’s right,” she agreed resolutely. No reason to tempt fate. She was beginning to like him and that could be dangerous. “You’ll be gone in a couple of days, won’t you? I’m here for the week.” She retreated a couple of steps. “Have a safe trip home, and don’t work too hard.”

They parted then, but before she walked into the hotel, Jill turned back to see Jordan strolling in the opposite direction, away from her.

* * *

Jill awoke late the following morning. It was rare for her to sleep past eight-thirty, even on weekends. The tour bus wasn’t scheduled to leave the hotel until ten, so she took her time showering and dressing. Breakfast consisted of coffee, an English muffin and slices of fresh pineapple, which she ate leisurely on her lanai, savoring the morning sunlight.

* * *

Out of curiosity, she glanced over at Jordan’s room to see if the drapes were open. They were. From what she could discern, he was sitting at a table near the window, talking on his phone and working with his computer.

Business. Business. Business.

The man lived and breathed it, just like her father had. And, in the end, it had killed him.

Dismissing Jordan from her thoughts, she collected her purse and hurried down to the lobby, where she was meeting the tour group.

The sightseeing expedition proved excellent. Jill visited Pearl Harbor and the U.S.S. Arizona memorial and a huge shopping mall, returning to the hotel by three o’clock.

Her room was cool and inviting. Jill took a few minutes to examine the souvenirs she’d purchased, a shell lei and several colorful T-shirts. Then, with a good portion of the day still left to enjoy, she decided to spend the remaining afternoon hours lazing around the pool. Once again she glanced over at Jordan’s room, her action almost involuntary. And once again she saw that he was on the phone. Jill wondered if he’d been talking since morning.

Changing into her bathing suit, a modest one-piece in a—what else—Hawaiian print, she carried her beach bag, complete with three different kinds of sunscreen, down to the swimming pool. With a large straw hat perched on her head and sunglasses protecting her eyes, she stretched out on a chaise longue to absorb the sun.

She hadn’t been there more than fifteen minutes when a waiter approached carrying a dome-covered platter and a glass of champagne. “Ms. Morrison?”