“Has Chloe called you?” Owen says.
“No, was she supposed to?” I say.
He inhales deeply. “She wants to call off the wedding.”
My blood goes cold. “Why?”
“I’ve tried asking her, but she won’t tell me,” Owen says, sounding distraught. “Everyone has tried talking to her, but she won’t say anything.”
“Do you want me to try and talk to her?” I ask him.
His audible breath of relief comes down the phone. “Please,” he says.
I call Chloe as soon as I’m done talking with Owen. She sounds as if she’s crying.
“Where are you?” I ask her.
Two minutes later, I grab my handbag and leave the office, cursing under my breath. I rarely leave the office in the mornings as that’s the time I use to do any admin work. But this is important.
Chloe is at the park, and it takes me five minutes to drive there. The sun warms my skin as I stroll through the park, looking for her. I see her huddled on a bench, staring forlornly at the pond.
“Hi,” I say as I join her on the bench.
She gives me a weak smile. “Hi. I guess Owen called you.”
It’s a statement rather than a question. “He did, and he said that you want to call off the wedding.”
She nods and looks at me. Her hazel eyes are red and puffy. “I don’t think I deserve Owen. He’s such a good man. He deserves a better woman than me.”
I’m relieved. This is normal wedding jitters, and it’s not the first time that I’ve had to soothe my brides. “He thinks otherwise,” I point out to her.
We talk for almost an hour, and by the end of it, Chloe is back on track with the wedding plans, but I also slip her the number of a therapist. Her jitters are more intense than normal, and I suspect there might be a deeper reason for her insecurity.
I return to the office and continue with my daily tasks.
At lunchtime, Kimberly pokes her head into my office. “I’m going to get some sandwiches for lunch. Do you want one?”
I order a grilled chicken sandwich and settle back to work. My mind wanders to Declan, and I wonder how his day is going. I take my cell phone to text him, then think otherwise. He might think I’m crossing the lines of our relationship.
After lunch, I go downstairs for a dress fitting in the boutique. The bride and her party are already there, and after a flurry of greetings, we get started. I love watching Maggie in action. She has a motherly way about her that calms ruffled feathers and gets things moving simultaneously.
I’m glad when the bride settles on a dress, and everyone is teary when she models it for us. The mother of the bride is the most emotional, and she and her daughter cling to each other. Moments such as these remind me why I love my job.
The rest of the afternoon zips by, and at five on the dot, I’m the first to leave. I’m eager to see the new space and how much work has been done, or so I tell myself. My excitement has nothing to do with seeing Declan.
Before driving off, I reapply my red lipstick and pull off the band holding my hair at the back of my head. I shake and tease it a bit, hoping that the resulting look is casual but sexy.
I’m parked outside the bakery fifteen minutes later. The bakery sign has been removed. I leave the car and head to the glass doors, and try to peer in. I can’t see any activity, but Declan could be in the back office. I try the door, and it swings open. The sound of my heels clicking the tiled floor echoes in the expansive room.
“Marian, is that you?” Declan calls from the back before he emerges seconds later.
My heart swells when I see him, and I feel stupidly happy. He has a wide grin as well as he crosses the floor in large steps. He takes me into his arms and kisses me on the mouth, as lovers do, which I suppose we are.
“You smell good enough to eat,” Declan says, his voice low and sexy.
“Then eat me,” I say without thinking. The words conjure up an image that immediately dampens my panties.
“Easily arranged,” Declan says and breaks away. He strides to the door and turns the key.
My breathing becomes quick and shallow. What is he planning? He walks back to me, a determined look on his face, and bends to slip his hands underneath my hips. Effortlessly, he lifts me.
“Where are we going?” I laugh. I can’t remember the last time anyone carried me. I must have been a little girl.
“A tour of the kitchen,” he said, his voice thick with the suggestion. “It’s almost done, and I’d like your opinion of the counters.”
The laughter dies off in my mouth. We enter a room, but all I can see is the ceiling. Then gently, as if I’m as fragile as grass, he shifts me into an upright position and deposits me on the counter. I place my hands on either side to feel the granite tops.
Declan places his hands on my hips and slowly pushes my skirt higher and higher until my red panties are exposed. His breathing grows heavy as his gaze drops to the swell of my pussy.
His thumbs trace the edges of my panties. The feel of his hands on my skin nearly drives me mad.
“I’ve been dreaming of this all day,” Declan says, his dark gaze on me.
“Of what?” I ask.
“Tasting you,” he says. “When you’re up here, opened up like a flower for me. “
“Oh God,” I say, my insides trembling with need.
He lowers his head and pushes my panties to one side, exposing my pussy. His tongue swipes over my slit, and I let out a cry of both pleasure and agony. I ache so badly that it’s almost like pain.
I
