Wrong Wedding Page 7

  Her mouth was bone dry. She licked her lips and swallowed. “That’s not... that’s not what’s happening.”

  “Isn’t it? Hasn’t it been happening since high school?”

  “No. I mean, maybe when I was younger, I had some... You were right about prom. About how I felt back then. But not now. That’s not why I’m doing this now.”

  Something was changing on his face, but she couldn’t recognize what the difference was. He scanned her face urgently. “Then why are you?”

  She felt exposed. Stripped bare. Like he could see into the heart of her in a way no one else ever had.

  It terrified her.

  She didn’t know this man very well. He wasn’t a stranger, but he also wasn’t a friend. And Carter was right. He couldn’t necessarily be trusted.

  Not with the deepest parts of her.

  She licked her lips again. “I don’t... know.”

  He leaned even closer. She could feel his breath on her flushed skin. “Yes, you do know. Tell me.”

  Normally, this kind of intensity would make her so uncomfortable she’d retreat. She’d give in just to have the confrontation over. But she wasn’t going to give in to Lincoln. “No. I’m not going to tell you. And you can’t intimidate me into it.”

  “I’m not trying to intimidate—”

  “Look at yourself!” she interrupted sharply. “Look at how you’re standing. You’ve got me trapped against this wall. And you’re really going to claim you’re not trying to intimidate me?”

  He blinked. Then looked down at himself. At her. At his hand braced on the wall. He dropped it suddenly and stepped back. “I wasn’t doing that on purpose.”

  “I know you weren’t. You’re used to people giving in to you. You’re used to women swooning at your feet because you offer them nothing but your hotness. And you find it frustrating that I won’t.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not expecting you to swoon at my feet.”

  “Aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re always so annoyed with me?”

  “No. It’s not. And you should know me better than that by now.”

  “I know you plenty well. And you’re fooling yourself if you don’t realize how easily you can normally get people to do what you want them to do. And how impatient you get when they won’t.”

  “My impatience with you has nothing to do with not making you do what I want you to do.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No.” He planted his hand on the wall again. “I’m not.”

  They glared at each other until Summer’s anger transformed into a rush of need and desire that nearly buckled her knees. She wanted to touch him. Kiss him. Run her hands all over his big, tense body.

  It was literally painful to hold herself back from doing so.

  She had no idea what she would have done or said—or what Lincoln would have done or said—had she not become conscious of another presence in the hallway.

  She turned her head and saw Carter standing a few feet away. He was frozen with a look of confused disbelief. And something else. Something deep and aching. His eyes shifted back and forth between her and Lincoln.

  Suddenly terrified and more self-conscious than she would have been had Carter caught them with Lincoln’s hand down her pants, Summer pushed Lincoln backward. Not hard but firmly enough to move his body.

  “Hey, Carter,” she said, forcing a casual cheer she wasn’t feeling. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

  Carter blinked a few times before meeting her eyes. “I was just stopping by to check on things.” He glanced over toward Lincoln, who was standing tense and silent. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Lincoln and I were just having a... disagreement. But it’s no big deal.”

  It felt like a big deal, but she didn’t know why.

  “Okay,” Carter said slowly. “You want to get some coffee or something?”

  “Sure,” Summer said with a smile that she hoped was more natural. “That sounds good.”

  Both she and Carter turned to look at Lincoln.

  His face was dead sober as he looked between Summer and his brother. “I don’t know if I was part of that invitation, but I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll see you guys later.”

  Without another word and without glancing again at her, he made his way down the hall toward the elevator.

  Summer’s stomach twisted. She felt heavy. Guilty. Confused.

  And she couldn’t help but resent Lincoln for making her feel that way.

  Carter still looked kind of upset, even after his brother had left. Summer went over to take his arm. “It’s fine, Carter. It was nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing. It looked like you...” Carter took a shaky breath.

  “It looked like what?”

  “It looked... intimate.”

  She gasped. “It wasn’t intimate! There’s nothing intimate between Lincoln and me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We were fighting. We weren’t kissing or anything.”

  “I don’t know why, but it looked like you were doing both. At the same time.”

  “We weren’t!” Her voice cracked. This whole thing was terrible, and she had no idea how to make it better. “I’m not that close to Lincoln. We’re just married so we can get access to my trust fund. You know that. It’s almost over. We can get divorced in another month or so. Then I won’t have to worry about Lincoln ever again.”

  Despite her words, the idea of being done with Lincoln made her heart sink more than ever.

  Carter exhaled deeply and rubbed his face. “I never should have done this to you.”

  “You didn’t do anything to me.”

  “Yes, I did. I got you into this mess. And if you end up getting hurt, it’s all on me.”

  “It’s not on you, and I’m not going to get hurt. I’m not a silly girl who falls for a hot body, pretty eyes, and a cocky attitude. You know I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “Then what?”

  He bit his lower lip and then quickly released it. “I don’t even know. But I really screwed up. I screwed up bad. Everything that happens now is all my fault.”

  She tried to argue some more since he was wrong. She knew he was wrong. But he was walking toward the elevator, so she didn’t get the chance.

  THAT EVENING, SUMMER was getting ready for bed at around ten. It was early, but she was exhausted and hadn’t felt like going out. So she took a long bath and changed into a pretty white camisole and lavender pajama pants.

  She was brushing her hair when there was a knock on the door.

  With a surprised jerk, she turned toward the main door of the room before she realized the knock hadn’t come from there.

  It had come from the private door that connected her room to Lincoln’s.

  Confused and strangely nervous, she walked over. “Yes?”

  “Can you open the door, Summer?” Lincoln’s voice was slightly muffled by the barrier between them.

  “Why?”

  “For God’s sake, I’m not planning to have my wicked way with you. I want to talk for a minute.”

  Despite the faint annoyance in his tone, she hesitated. Her hand was slightly shaky as she reached for the lock.

  When she swung the door open, Lincoln was standing across the threshold. He wore the same thing he’d been wearing earlier in the day, but his hair was more rumpled and his eyelids were heavy.

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I have the week off.” His eyes ran up and down her body from her loose hair to the hairbrush in her hand to her bare feet. His eyes lingered just a little longer on her breasts through the thin fabric of her top.

  “Why?”

  “Because I have vacation time, and I have to use it sometime. Can we talk for a minute?”

  “I thought we were talking now.”

  He rolled his eyes, and she relented, stepping out of the way so he cou
ld come into her bedroom.

  She stayed standing where she was rather than getting anywhere close to the bed. She found him way too attractive. She thought about sex far too much when he was around. She wasn’t going to risk it.

  “Are we all right?” Lincoln asked.

  “With what?”

  “With earlier. Our argument or whatever it was. Are we all right?”

  She nodded. “Yes. We’re all right. You’re an exasperating person, but I’m used to that by now. I’m not still mad or anything.”

  “Good. Then have you talked to Carter this evening?”

  Her eyes widened. “Tonight? No. Not since we had coffee this afternoon. I didn’t see him, so I figured he was out on a date or something.”

  “He’s not. He’s home.”

  “Really? Where is he?”

  “He’s in the library with the door closed. He’s drinking. A lot.”

  Summer’s eyes grew even rounder. “What? Carter doesn’t drink a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk before.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t let you see it. But he does drink occasionally. When he’s really upset about something.” Lincoln’s face was as close to worried as she’d ever seen it. “He’s upset about something now.”

  “He was kind of upset earlier because he was feeling guilty. He thinks he pressured me into this marriage.”

  “He did pressure you into this marriage.”

  “Lincoln, stop it with that. It’s not helping anything. Anyway, he was a little upset earlier, but I talked him out of it.”

  “I don’t think you did. He’s still upset. He’s drinking a lot.”

  Summer looked toward the main door of her room as if Carter might be lurking in the hallway. “Are you sure? Carter doesn’t do that.”

  “Summer, listen to me.” Lincoln reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, turning her back around to face him. “Carter does do that. Not much, but occasionally. He’s never let you see him do it because he likes for you to think he’s a perfect hero. He likes you to think he’s a saint.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “He’s not a saint, Summer. He’s a much better man than me, but he’s also a regular human being who messes up sometimes and doesn’t always handle it well. He’s wallowing in guilt right now, and he’s trying to drink himself into a stupor.”

  His sober tone and expression convinced her. With a rush of urgency, she hurried over to grab a soft bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door. “And you just left him there alone?”

  “He didn’t want me there. I was making it worse. He needs you, so I came to get you.”

  Summer quickly tied the sash of her robe and slid on a pair of slippers. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to him.”

  She was on her way out the door when Lincoln grabbed her arm. “Hey, wait a minute.”

  Pausing, she gazed up at his handsome face. “What?”

  Lincoln held her gaze without wavering. “Carter might not be a sinner like me, but he’s not a saint. Don’t expect him to be one. It makes it harder for him when he can’t live up.”

  Summer let the words process. Then she nodded. Pulled out of his grip. And walked away from him.

  WHEN SHE REACHED THE library, the door was closed. It wasn’t a private room of the house, but it was unusual for the door to be closed, so she knocked a few times before she opened it.

  “Go away, Lincoln!” Carter’s voice was muffled and slightly slurred. Not like him at all.

  She stepped into the room and found her friend slumped in a leather armchair near the large marble fireplace. He had the gas log turned on—blazing far too high for the room. It felt like she was walking into an oven. “It’s not Lincoln.”

  There was a delay before his jerk of surprise. Clearly his mind wasn’t working as quickly as usual. He held a mostly empty glass of what looked and smelled like bourbon. “Go away, Summer.”

  “I don’t want to go away. What are you doing in here?” She came over to sit in the leather chair opposite his. She was already sweating from the heat of the fireplace.

  “What does it look like?” He finished off the liquor in his glass and then leaned over to grab a bottle from a side table to pour himself another.

  Definitely bourbon.

  “This is ridiculous, Carter. How much of that have you drunk?”

  He shrugged.

  “This isn’t like you.”

  His brown eyes were hazy and his lids heavy, but he managed to give her a sideways glare that was speakingly annoyed.

  She remembered what Lincoln had said and went on. “Okay. Maybe it is. Occasionally. But there’s no reason for you to drink yourself silly. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He huffed. And kept huffing. She supposed he was laughing, but it wasn’t like any laughter she’d heard from him before.

  “Carter, please.” She leaned over and reached out to squeeze his knee. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly happy. I’m not hurt in any way by this marriage. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

  “I don’t feel guilty,” he mumbled, staring at the fire rather than at her. “I feel...”

  “You feel what?”

  “I feel...” He trailed off again. Didn’t finish the thought. Just took another big swallow of bourbon.

  “Carter—”

  “Summer, if you’re going to sit in here with me when I’ve asked you not to, the least you can do is not yammer the whole time.”

  A pang of pain and defensiveness slashed through her chest at the words—far ruder than Carter’s normal kind nature—but she didn’t let herself react with words. No good would come with arguing with him right now. He was obviously hurting. If she was going to help him, she couldn’t let him feel even worse.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “Then the least you can do is pour me a glass of that.”

  He glanced at the bottle, as if the fact that he was still holding it surprised him. Then he shrugged and stretched the full length of his body to reach a clean glass from the bar. He poured her a drink and handed it to her.

  She took a small sip. The taste was good. Warm. Filling. But stronger than she preferred her drinks to be.

  But she wasn’t going to leave Carter here all by himself.

  She sat with him for almost an hour. It took nearly the whole time for her to finish her glass. Carter drunk his down and poured himself another, but after that he sat holding his empty glass, staring at the fake fire.

  She didn’t know if her presence was helping anything, but he’d asked her not to talk, so she didn’t.

  “Go to bed, Summer,” Carter finally muttered. He still wasn’t looking at her.

  “I don’t want to. Not until you do.”

  “I’m going to bed soon.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t move.

  “Carter—”

  “Summer, don’t.”

  She straightened, trying not to respond emotionally. But it hurt. A lot. Carter never treated her like this, and she didn’t understand what had gotten into him now.

  Lincoln said this wasn’t the first time he’d broken down like this, but she’d never seen it happen before. She didn’t like it. She wanted it to be over. She wanted to fix it but had no idea how to do so.

  “Summer, I know you want to help.” Carter finally turned to meet her gaze with eyes that looked pained, bleary. “But there’s nothing you can do right now. So can you please back off a little? I need some space.”

  “But why do you need space from me?”

  “It’s not just you. It’s everyone. I’m asking you. If you’re my friend, you’ll give me some space for a few days.”

  She gulped. Nodded. Carefully set her glass down before she rose to her feet. “Okay. But I love you, Carter. And I know you love me too. You’ve never hurt me. So please don’t feel bad on my account.”

  He stared at her blankly. She wasn’t even sure if her words had registered. With nothing else to do, she left
the room, her eyes burning as she returned to her bedroom.

  IT WAS LATE—WELL PAST midnight—when she brushed her teeth, went to the bathroom, and climbed into bed. But she wasn’t sleepy. There was no way she could sleep. So she turned on the television and flipped around until she found an old sitcom she could tolerate.

  She’d been watching it blindly for about ten minutes when there was a knock on the door.

  Not her main door but the one that connected to Lincoln’s room.

  “It’s still open,” she called out.

  Lincoln opened the door, letting in a wash of light from his room. His body was silhouetted against it for a moment—a lean, dark, faceless figure—until he took several steps toward her bed.

  She could see him better now. He was dressed for bed in pajama pants and nothing else. He stood above her, gazing down at her face.

  “Is he okay?” he asked softly.

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “Give him time.”

  “That’s what he said, but it’s hard. He’s hurting, and I want to help him.”

  “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do for him right now.”

  “You said he’s done this before?”

  “Yeah. Several times I can remember.”

  “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

  “Because he’s never let you. I told you before. He wants you to only ever see him be strong. He’ll keep weakness from you if he possibly can. Let him sulk for a day or two. He’ll snap out of it. He always does.”

  “You’re sure?” She adjusted the covers up over her shoulders since Lincoln’s eyes kept slipping down to her chest. Her camisole wasn’t all that thick, and her nipples were probably visible through the fabric.

  He met her eyes again. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” She sighed and stretched out, trying to relax. Tomorrow was Saturday, so she didn’t have work in the morning, but she’d made brunch and shopping plans with a couple of her friends, so she couldn’t sleep until noon.

  She’d expected Lincoln to leave after confirming the condition of his brother, but he didn’t. He stood quietly, looking at her in the light and shadow of the room.