The Best Man's Bride Page 4

  Celina’s face flamed. “I wasn’t –!”

  Jack lifted a single mocking brow. His mouth quirked.

  “I wasn’t spying on you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” Amusement licked at the corners of his mouth.

  “If you saw me, why didn’t you come over and say hello?”

  “And get this kind of reception?” Jack made a sound that was very much like a snort.

  They stared at each other a long moment, and it was every bit as horrible as Celina imagined it would be.

  Because all the feelings she’d had for Jack – feelings she’d promised herself could not possibly exist anymore – hadn’t gone away. They were still there inside her, awakened again, swirling around, threatening to swamp her.

  She hated him! He’d hurt her! Gutted her! She hadn’t believed him capable of what her eyes told her was true.

  She didn’t still love him. She couldn’t!

  She tried to believe it. Needed to believe it. Her fingers tightened into fists. Her teeth clenched so tightly she could feel the pulse pounding in her temple.

  Jack apparently saw – and registered – her reaction.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you at the house. Not then,” he told her. “I had no idea you were working for Maggie because bloody Jonas never said. I thought you might be at the wedding. But –” he shrugged “– I didn’t know.” He paused. “I didn’t know what you’d do if I came over. You didn’t exactly look as if you’d welcome me.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” Celina agreed stolidly.

  “So I figured it would be better to see you alone. I don’t need some journalist creating news –” his mouth twisted “– that isn’t news at all.”

  “I’ve never been a news story,” Celina retorted.

  “The hell you haven’t!”

  She stared. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You scarpered out of Barcelona before for the news hit the fan.” Jack’s tone was bitter.

  She’d ‘scarpered’ out of Barcelona because she’d just had all her dreams blown to smithereens, thank you very much. Celina hugged her arms tightly across her chest. “I left, yes,” she said tightly.

  “It didn’t go unnoticed.”

  “Oh.”

  Was she supposed to care? To be embarrassed? From the moment she’d opened the door and seen the tousled, tumbled woman sleeping in Jack’s bed – and Jack’s nearly naked body when he’d come out of the bathroom seconds later – she hadn’t seen anything else.

  Maybe if he’d come after her, tried to talk to her ...

  But he hadn’t.

  She’d made a beeline to the airport, caught the first flight she could get to Chicago and then Des Moines. Fifteen hours later, faced with going back to their Ames townhouse – the one with the wedding photos and Jack’s clothes hanging in the closet – she couldn’t do it.

  Instead she had driven straight to her grandparents’ farm.

  She’d dared to hope Jack would come after her, that somehow he would make the scene imprinted on the insides of her eyelids go away. He would explain. It would be all right.

  But he hadn’t come.

  He never came.

  And that was when she’d begun to realize that whether he’d slept with the woman or not, he was glad of the excuse to be done with their marriage. She’d started to understand that they never should have married at all.

  She couldn’t talk to her grandparents about any of it.

  Instead she’d simply said that she’d been missing them and wanted to come to visit for a long weekend.

  She didn’t know if they bought her lies or not. If not, they’d never said anything. They’d welcomed her, coddled her, and sent her back to Ames stronger than when she’d arrived.

  She’d survive, she had promised herself when she got back to Ames.

  “Articles in every bloody paper in Barça,” Jack said. “You don’t half know how to make an exit.”

  “I didn’t half have a reason to!”

  A muscle in Jack’s jaw ticked. “If you’d stuck around and listened –”

  Celina shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.” Not then. She’d been mortified.

  She’d come all the way from Iowa to surprise him. They hadn’t been together for three months, and he was going to miss her graduation because the band was playing a concert in Barcelona that weekend.

  “You could come here,” he’d said. “Skip graduation.”

  “My parents are coming,” she’d said. She’d invited them because she was sure he’d be home then, too. That had been the plan before Tobin, their manager, had booked them at a charity concert in Barcelona.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack had told her on FaceTime. She’d seen his grimace and knew he meant it. “It’s charity, though. I’ve got to do it. I can’t get out of it. You could come there,” he’d suggested, a sudden eagerness in his tone.

  “Graduation,” Celina had murmured.

  “Yeah. Well, if you’d rather march around in a cap and gown than get naked with your husband ...” He’d lowered his voice to that gruff sexy baritone that sent shivers up her spine and touched all her most susceptible intimate places.

  He’d gone on to say that he’d be lonely without her. He missed her, he’d said. What was the point of having a wife if she was on the other side of the world? he’d said.

  And Celina had missed him, too. Desperately.

  So desperately that she did the unthinkable.

  She contacted her parents and told them not to come. She was going to skip graduation, she said. She’d see them sometime during the summer, she promised. She needed to be with Jack more than she needed to waltz through graduation in her cap and gown.

  As soon as her last final was over, she’d been on a plane.

  Tobin, eager to make up for having spoiled Jack’s trip home, had left her a key at the front desk. And Celina had grabbed it eagerly. She’d been so excited, so wired, so eager to surprise him, to slip into his hotel room and slide into his bed – except it had already been occupied by a sleepy smiling golden-haired girl who barely looked old enough to be legal.

  And Jack, emerging from the bathroom, wearing only a towel, had turned red, then white, then even redder than before, had told her she’d misunderstood.

  It was hard to misunderstand the sight of a woman in her husband’s bed.

  “I know what I saw, Jack,” Celina said now, folding her arms across her chest.

  “You interpreted what you saw.” His baritone was even raspier than usual. It was like rough sandpaper, friction, making her body tingle with awareness.

  “Fine. I interpreted it.”

  He’d given her no other option. When he hadn’t come, hadn’t called, hadn’t even texted, she’d come to the only conclusion she could: he didn’t want to be married to her anymore.

  So she’d filed for divorce.

  He hadn’t contested it. He hadn’t spoken to her again.

  They hadn’t talked about it at all.

  And she wasn’t talking about it now.

  It was only partly about the woman in his bed, anyway. It was mostly about how wrong they were for each other, how they couldn’t satisfy each other’s needs or hopes or desires.

  “It’s over,” she told him. “We’re over. You know that. You signed the divorce papers,” she reminded him.

  His jaw tightened. Their gazes locked, held, dueled. Finally it was Jack who let out an exhalation of breath.

  “You know better,” he said gruffly. “You know I’m not like that.”

  “Do I?” She was surprised he pressed it, but she wasn’t giving in.

  “I thought you did.” Jack rolled his shoulders as if the invisible weight he was carrying was too much. “Oh, hell, never mind. Believe what you want,” he said roughly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Celina’s knees were wobbling. Thank God her voice wasn’t.

  “Or it won’t if we just play it cool,” Jack went on. �
��Don’t give the journos anything to write about.”

  “Why would they? We’re not news. No one knows who I am.”

  “Journos know,” Jack said flatly. “It’s their business. And they’re crawling all over this place.”

  “For Jonas and Hope.”

  “For any bloody stories they can get! We don’t need that. I don’t need it. And I can’t imagine you want it,” he added wearily. “You never wanted any part of it.”

  Celina opened her mouth, then shut it again. She wasn’t going to fight with him about the band. South Face was part of who he was. She knew that.

  She just hadn’t wanted to be in direct competition with it – and losing – all the time.

  Jack nodded, taking her silence as agreement. “So can we play it cool, Celie?”

  Not if he kept calling her that. No one else ever called her Celie.

  Her parents believed in calling people by their given names. Her brother was Edward, not Ed or Eddie or Ted or Ned. Her sister was Letitia, never Letty or Tish. And she’d always been Celina.

  Until Jack.

  From the first moments of their relationship when her stupid date at the frat party she never should have agreed to go to, had been refusing to take no for an answer, and suddenly Jack had stormed out onto the porch, yanked her date off her, punched him and flung him into the bushes, then bundled her, still shaking, into his truck and slipped his arm around her, and he’d asked her name.

  “C-Celina,” she had told him through chattering teeth.

  Jack had hauled her close to his hard body, his breath warm against her hair as he had murmured, “Celie. It’s okay now, Celie. It’s all okay.”

  The memory of that first encounter with him was burnt into her memory.

  And for all that she wanted to bristle now, somehow she couldn’t form the words. Instead she felt a worrisome spreading warmth where her determinedly cultivated annoyance should have been.

  She tried to ignore it, to remember that while Jack had saved her then, he had hurt her later.

  She was grateful, but she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t let herself go down that path again. And she was sure Jack didn’t want to, either.

  “Of course we can play it cool.” She did her best to resurrect the calm composed version of Celina Harris who normally inhabited her skin.

  Jack’s jaw tightened briefly, but then he just said, “Good,” and nodded his head. “We’re still friends.”

  They were? Celina locked her teeth together before she could say something she would regret. Only when she was sure she had regained her composure did she smile, albeit tightly, and nod. There. Now he’d got what he came for, she expected he would leave.

  But he made no move to get off the bed. Instead he swung his legs around again and settled back against the headboard. “So, how’ve you been?”

  Celina stared at him. “How have I been? What the hell, Jack?”

  “We’re practicing playing it cool,” he told her. “Being polite. Friendly. I’m inquiring about your health.” But even though he was ‘being polite’ Celina heard a still noticeable rough edge to his voice.

  “I’m fine,” she said shortly through her teeth.

  “Glad to hear it.” If he was trying to sound hearty, he was falling pretty far short. “Are you happy?”

  Breath hissed between her teeth. “I’m not playing a small talk version of Twenty Questions with you, Jack.”

  “Come on, Cel’. You’re not playing cool,” he chastised gently.

  “You’re trying to annoy me.”

  “I’m not trying.”

  “On the contrary, you’re very trying.”

  A sudden appreciative grin slashed across Jack’s features, the sight nearly cutting off Celina’s breath. But then just as quickly, it vanished, and he cocked his head and waited as if he would sit there all day if he had to.

  Celina glared. “Yes, I’m happy.”

  “You don’t sound happy,” Jack remarked, but pressed on before she could throw something at him. “You like your job?”

  “I do, in fact. Very much.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being dragged into a slanging match over that one. Besides, it was the truth.

  “Why did you take it? Because of Jonas?”

  “Because he offered the possibility,” she agreed. “Why not? I’d graduated, remember? I needed a job.”

  “But it’s not Iowa.”

  It was a deliberate barb. Jack knew how she had always felt about wanting to put down roots, to have a home. But he also knew it didn’t have to be Iowa. Montana would have been fine. He was baiting her now, and Celina refused to let him ruffle her this time.

  “It’s not Iowa,” she agreed, and was glad her voice sounded composed. To reinforce it she gave him a smile. “But it’s a beautiful place. Lots of history. And –” she shrugged “– who knows? I’ve been there two years now. I might put down roots there.”

  Jack went still. His shoulders stiffened. His gaze narrowed. “You’re staying permanently in San Michele?”

  “Considering it. I haven’t decided.” It wasn’t something she was giving a lot of thought to, but who knew?

  “Why?”

  “Because I like it. The place. The people.”

  “You’ve got someone serious in your life, then?”

  That was an interesting conclusion to jump to. Celina didn’t reply. Instead she moved across the room to pull back the sheer curtain so she could look out across the gardens. So, all right. He wasn’t going to leave. But that didn’t mean she had to stand there and look at him.

  “Not Jonas,” Jack said harshly.

  Celina’s head whipped around. Jack was scowling at her, looking positively feral.

  “For heaven’s sake! Of course not Jonas! Whose wedding are we here to celebrate?”

  Jack’s jaw bunched and he shrugged irritably. “He would have had you if he could have,” he said roughly. “I saw you first.”

  “Lucky me,” Celina retorted. “I’m not some bone you two could fight over, you know.”

  “He was in love with you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She knew Jonas had been interested in her, but he’d never expressed it overtly. It was more a body language thing, the way he’d sort of leaned in her direction, how intent his gaze had been. But the only time he’d said a word had been that time he was helping her move to San Michele.

  And once he’d met Hope, there was no question she was the real love of his life, his soul mate. What they had was a far cry from the friendship he shared with Celina. And Jack should know that.

  “Jonas is my friend. And I’m his friend. Period. Hope is perfect for him. They’re perfect for each other.”

  Jack grunted, then raked a hand through his hair. Was that him grinding his teeth? “So who is it then?”

  Wouldn’t she love to have a name to throw at him? To have a serious love interest, making it clear she’d well and truly left him behind. But she didn’t. Not yet. And she wasn’t going to lie.

  “No one in particular.” She shrugged. “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve these days.”

  He didn’t speak for a long moment, his gaze still intent as if she were some alien species he couldn’t comprehend. She didn’t think he ever had.

  Finally he gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. “Smart move.”

  “For which I don’t need your approval.” She glanced at her watch. “You’re going to be late for dinner.”

  He shrugged negligently. “Not going. Come out to dinner with me.”

  The invitation – or was it a command – rocked her. Celina stared at him. “What? No!”

  “Why not? If you don’t move along, you’ll miss it, too.”

  “I wasn’t going.”

  “Why not? Afraid you might have to sit next to me, Celie?”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  His brows rose in surprise. “It’s what I’ve always called you.”

  And she
didn’t need to recall those times.

  “I don’t like it,” she said. Her arms crossed over her breasts, as if she could shield herself from what he was making her feel. “Just go away, Jack.”

  “See?” he said, not moving an inch. “This is why I came.”

  “To convince me to play it cool,” Celina bit out. “Yes, I get that. So stop baiting me.”

  “I’m not!” he protested.

  “Much.” She rolled her eyes, then took a deep breath and made herself look at him squarely even though it was like staring into the sun. “Look, it’ll be fine. I won’t be a bitch in public –”

  “Just in private.”

  “– unless you provoke me, which you seem intent on doing. I don’t want notoriety. I work for the Serene Dowager. Whatever I do reflects on her. So I’m not going to cause any problems at all.”

  Though even as she said it, the thought occurred to her that the notoriety he didn’t want her causing might be because he’d met someone else who was now part of his life. Her mid-section twisted. Celina ignored it.

  “I won’t have anything to do with you,” she promised and was annoyed when Jack shook his head.

  “If you avoid me, it’s a story.”

  “Aren’t stories publicity?” That’s what his agent had always said. “They’re supposed to be good for you, create attention, right?”

  Jack pressed his lips together. “Not now.”

  Celina frowned. “Why not?”

  Jack’s gaze dropped. “It’s complicated.”

  Celina narrowed her eyes. What was complicated?

  She waited for Jack to elaborate, but he didn’t say anything. His fingers plucked at the duvet cover, and just when she was sure he had given up speech altogether, he looked up.

  “We haven’t been touring since Christmas,” he said abruptly. “We’ve been off the road since January. Taking a break. We all needed a break.” He paused. “I had surgery in February.”

  Celina’s head whipped around. “Surgery?”

  “Polyps on my vocal chords.” He shrugged. “Occupational hazard, apparently.” His tone was expressionless.

  And Celina realized that was the rougher edge in his voice that she’d been hearing. The implications of what he’d said began to sink in, and she looked at him closely. His mouth was a taut line. He stared straight ahead.