Wedding Fever

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He should have known she’d need him.

“I don’t believe Hastings would have harmed you,” he told her. Not yet, he thought, aware that Hastings liked to present a civilized facade for the world. J.D. leashed his temper, knowing anger would counter his purposes. “Control you, yes. But not harm.”

“Oh? And controlling someone isn’t harmful?”

“It isn’t life threatening.” He cupped her elbow and moved her to the couch. They sat several feet apart.

“I guess it depends on who’s being controlled. And I wasn’t in fear for my life, just my right to choose who I date. He’s creepy.”

“Creepy. Could you be more specific?”

“Just creepy. I don’t know how to define it. It’s a feeling, that’s all. Why were you there, anyway?”

“I was invited to your sister’s party. I was going to surprise you, pick up you and Matthew and take you there. When I arrived, I saw you getting into the limo. That didn’t make sense to me so I followed.”

“Was Misty there because of you?”

“She fit the scene. I didn’t.”

“He made me feel dirty,” she said, burrowing farther into his suit jacket, then scowling. “I’d just finished making that new winter coat, too. The jerk. He’d better give it back to me.” She stood. “I need to wash off my makeup and get out of this dress. You won’t leave, will you?”

“No. Take time to have a shower if that would make you feel better.”

When J.D. heard water running, he stood and wandered around the room, more than a little surprised at the disorder he found. A large wooden hoop held what appeared to be a block of quilting; a sewing machine and cabinet took up a substantial amount of space in one corner; a dressmaker’s form was layered with a diaphanous white silky nightgown draped over a mold reminiscent of Magnolia’s shapely body. He traced the lines with his eyes, appreciating the perfection of proportion he’d always been drawn to. His willpower had been stretched to the limit these many months of working beside her, watching her move with unintentional—and sometimes completely intentional—seductiveness. She’d flirted relentlessly with him, feeling safe perhaps, or maybe just testing him. He’d rarely reacted openly. It was all he could offer her—self-control, protection and respect.

He had a job to do, and the job came first. Unfortunately, she had become part of his job.

He forced his gaze from the dress form, shifting instead to the opposite corner where a desk held a computer and printer. Stacks of papers were piled neatly beside it. He resisted the temptation to thumb through them.

After a few minutes, the bedroom door opened. She was bundled in a fluffy pink bathrobe over a long, flannel night-gown dotted with tiny flowers. Her hair hung straight and wet to her shoulders. Her cosmetic-free face glowed from the scrubbing she’d given it. He wished he had the right to hold her.

“I’m sorry for the clutter,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I’m redecorating the second bedroom, so everything’s out here until I’m done.”

“It’s a nice home, Magnolia. I don’t think I told you that last time. Very warm and inviting.”

“I like it ” She sat on the sofa and rested her feet on the coffee table.

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“My second love. Major in English, minor in fashion. Yes, I know. It’s an odd combination. But I have plans for both.”