Once Upon a Honeymoon (Harlequin American Romance) Page 4

  “Once?” he ventured.

  “At least three times. And that doesn’t count Christmas gifts or Mother’s Day.” She gave him a dark look. “Your mother hates me, and I end up picking out all her gifts, all because of you and your tactics.”

  “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t like you all that much,” he said evasively. “But who cares what Kitty Belle thinks? And it’s not all her gifts.” He smiled, obviously trying to curry favor. “Just most of them.”

  “Putting Kitty Belle aside for the moment,” Bridget continued, “there’s also the matter of that horrible pole vaulter person I had to pick up at the airport because you were stuck in Cleveland—”

  “He was an Olympic gold medalist! I thought you’d like him.”

  “He was a creep!”

  “Come on, Bridgie—”

  “No, Tripp, I’m serious. I’ve done your taxes, wired money when you got mugged in Australia, flown to your hospital bedside in Aspen when you were dumb enough to break your leg skiing—and that’s just the past few years.”

  “And who took away your mousetraps so you didn’t have to look at the poor, dead mice? Who shoveled your car out of a snowbank?”

  She didn’t have to listen. She’d heard it all before. Every time they got together, it was the same litany of who’d done what for whom and who owed favors to whom.

  “And,” he finished up triumphantly, “I cooked dinner for your entire family.”

  She hated it when he brought that up. “One little Thanksgiving dinner!”

  “It was not little. It was twelve people, two turkeys, cranberries, sweet potatoes—the whole thing. It was a lot of work.”

  Sheesh. One lousy dinner and he expected her to be indebted forever. Feeling sensitive, she declared, “That was a special favor, Tripp. You knew I didn’t know how to cook, and you knew my whole family had somehow invited itself to my house for Thanksgiving, and I was desperate.”

  “And when you didn’t want them to know you weren’t cooking your own dinner, didn’t I sneak in and out through the kitchen window? I cooked the whole thing, I got no credit and I didn’t say a word.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Oh, terrific. Piling on the guilt. “But one dinner doesn’t even balance out college.”

  “Oh, no, she’s bringing up college again,” he groaned.

  She ignored him. “Of course I’m bringing up college. That’s when this cycle started! Four years of working my tail off to keep you in school. I drove to—where was it? Philadelphia?—when that bimbo you were dating dumped you under the Liberty Bell. I stayed up all night writing the English paper you didn’t have time to, just to keep you in the big game.”

  “That was team spirit, for good old Beckett College.”

  “Puh-leez,” she scoffed. “I did it to keep you from flunking and ruining your life, and you know it. And what did I ever get out of the deal?”

  There was a pause. When she looked up, she saw that his expression had changed. Softly Tripp said, “I don’t know. I never did. What did you get out of it, Bridgie?”

  Oh, God. His words spun dizzily through her brain. What did she get out of their arrangement? A chance to be close to him, of course. And in the old days, that was enough.

  “Bridgie,” he went on, in that same slow, sexy voice, “I’ve known for years that I can never repay you. You kept me in college. You kept me sane. You know that. I do appreciate it, Bridgie.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know you do,” she said quietly. She tried not to be bowled over by the emotional tidal wave that Tripp had always represented in her life, but it was a losing battle.

  “If it will make you feel better, I’d be happy to do Thanksgiving dinner again. For you and that feeble Philpott fiancé of yours. Only this time I insist on sticking around and eating some of it.”

  “Tripp, will you please stop insulting Jay? He’s anything but feeble, as you well know,” she insisted. “Unlike some people I could mention, Jay is ambitious and committed, and he’s determined to change the world for the better.”

  “Unlike me, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Well, no, but since you mentioned it...”

  “Right. Forgive me,” he said sarcastically. “Some of us are just regular folks. It’s tough to compete with Saint Jay. What’s he up to this week? Inventing a new rocket fuel? Or maybe negotiating world peace in his spare time?”

  “That’s really unfair! Just because he cares about people, and about the world, you’re making fun of him.” Bridget was on firm ground here. It really was difficult to criticize Jay, who happened to be a truly noble, selfless person. “As a matter of fact, he’s had to scale back some of his work while he campaigns for the primary next March. But he still volunteers at a soup kitchen twice a week, and plants trees in disadvantaged neighborhoods every Saturday.”

  “He’s a real prince all right,” Tripp muttered.

  “Yes, he is!”

  Tripp shook his head. “He’s perfect. I admit it. But he doesn’t need you. I do.”

  He moved up behind her, bracketing her shoulders in his hands, leaning in very close. “Bridgie,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll do anything you say, anything you can think of. But you have to help me. I’m desperate.”

  She’d heard that tune before. But he sounded so sincere, so sweet, and she really couldn’t resist when he was touching her and breathing on her this way. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against his hard, welcome warmth. “What is it this time?”

  “A nightmare.” His voice grew grimmer. “My mother has apparently told every debutante from Milwaukee to St. Louis that I’m desperate to get married.”

  Bridget opened her eyes. Her getting married was one thing, but she had never considered that Tripp might. “Are you?” she asked quickly.

  “God, no.”

  “So why did Kitty Belle tell a bunch of women you were?”

  “Hoping one of them would strike a spark, I guess.”

  “Strike a spark? You mean she’s throwing women at you, trying to find a match? Has it worked?”

  “Of course not!” Shaking his head, Tripp released her. Hands jammed in his pockets, he turned his back to her. “You know my mother’s been hassling me for the past ten years about getting married and carrying on the high-and-mighty family name. I guess she finally got tired of being ignored.”

  For the first time since he’d mentioned the word marriage, Bridget relaxed.

  She knew him well enough to know that he always did the exact opposite of whatever his mother wanted. It was a game he and his mother played, a battle of wills, and Tripp had never given in yet.

  “So what’s the problem?” she asked dryly. “Kitty Belle tries to interfere in your life, and you ignore her. Sounds like business as usual to me.”

  His brows drew together darkly. “Except for the fact that I’m up to my neck in marriage-crazed women. I can’t figure out why they’re behaving this way. They act like they’re sharks, circling, while I give off the scent of fresh blood.”

  Poor baby. Couldn’t beat them off with a stick. Bridget smiled cynically, glancing down at her watch to indicate she didn’t have all day. “Gee, Tripp, that’s really rough.”

  “There was one in my shower when I got up this morning. In my shower!” he said with disgust. “And then there were six or seven more at the office. They were awful, screeching and clawing at me. My secretary threatened to quit, and I lost a client who was more interested in laying odds on who would catch me than buying vaulting poles.”

  “Who won?”

  He turned, confused. “Nobody won.”

  “Oh, of course. Nobody’s caught you. Yet.”

  “Well, one did stow away in my car. She practically tried to sit in my lap while I was driving. I dumped her at a strip mall in Schaumburg. Let her find her way home from the wilds of suburbia.” He ran a hasty hand through his hair as Bridget tried hard not to laugh at his distress.
“I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously, Bridgie. I’m a desperate man.”

  “Sure you are,” she said sweetly.

  “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “What can I do?” she asked with a laugh. “Call them all up and threaten to break their kneecaps if they don’t leave you alone?”

  “Do you think that would work?” he asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  But Tripp pulled her hands into his, giving her his most soulful gaze. “You have to think of something to get me out of this mess. They’re at my house, in my office, in my car...I have nowhere to go.”

  “Tripp, I do not see this as a major problem.” Bridget yanked her hands away. Even at her weakest moments, she had always steered clear of any involvement in his romantic life, and this certainly qualified. “They can’t make you marry them. And if you wait long enough, they’ll go away.”

  “Can’t you think of anything to do in the meantime? I’m losing my mind!”

  With a decidedly sharp tone, she said, “Well, you could always give in and pick one. Tie the knot. Have some kids. That would make Kitty Belle happy.”

  He shuddered. “I’m not getting married. And especially not to any of them.”

  Good, she thought before she could stop herself. She could’ve smacked her subconscious. What did she care if Tripp married a society bimbo hand-picked by his mother? She was marrying Jay and riding into the sunset, wasn’t she?

  “Okay, well, I only have one other suggestion.” As his expression brightened, she offered, “Call Kitty Belle. Tell her to find a way to get rid of them. After all, it’s her fault.”

  “I tried,” Tripp said grimly. “She’s skipped town for a while.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Short of taking out an ad in the Tribune that says I’m not responsible for my mother’s insane delusions, there’s nothing I can do,” he mused.

  “An ad. I like that.” Bridget smiled with satisfaction. “‘Hear ye, hear ye. All those acquainted with Kitty Belle Ashby draw near and pay heed. The aforementioned Mrs. Ashby is a menace and a meddler and should be treated as such. Steer clear, citizens of Chicagoland!’”

  Tripp raised one eyebrow. “You’ve made your feelings on the subject of my mother perfectly clear.”

  “She,” she said plainly, “never liked me.”

  “She never said that.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

  She wished he would stop touching her. It was driving her crazy. And it was making it hard to think. But she could hardly snatch her hand back from that sweet, soothing clasp for the second time in five minutes without looking like an idiot.

  Pretend you don’t care that his hand is warm and strong. You don’t even notice. Calm. In control. Think of calm, controlled things. Think of Jay—your fiancé.

  But perfect Jay would never take the hand of a woman who didn’t ask him first. And perfect Jay would never make her tremble, either.

  “I—I never had anything against Kitty Belle,” she said quickly, trying to get her defenses back in order. But it was tough when he was fondling her hand, rubbing his thumb tenderly across the backs of her fingers, sending little sparks of pleasure all the way up her arm.

  Concentrating on a mental image of his odious mother helped, however. It also gave her the courage to take her hand back once and for all and hide it in the pocket of her suit jacket.

  Bitterly, she declared, “I tried to like her. Really I did. In those days, we were all fighting with our parents. But your mother was the worst. And when she looked down her nose at me, and announced—right to my face—that you shouldn’t hang around with trash or it would scare away the quality people, well, that was enough for me.”

  “That’s not what she said,” he tried.

  But Bridgie was implacable. “Close enough.”

  “She never used the word trash. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “Okay, so she implied it. I knew what she meant.”

  “Besides, she never liked any of my friends. Steve was blue-collar, Ki was pushy, Deke was a hick... And your blood wasn’t blue enough to suit her. She wanted me to pal around with Rockefellers and Vanderbilts.” He shrugged. “She’s nuts. What can I do?”

  “Have her committed?” Bridget suggested.

  Dryly, Tripp commented, “But I’d still be stuck with the bimbos she left behind.”

  “Well, that’s all the advice I have to offer.” She scooted back behind her desk and tried to look businesslike. Seated, she folded her hands neatly, covering her engagement ring with her other hand as she gave him a cool stare. “If I were you, I would pick up this phone right now, and order Kitty Belle in no uncertain terms to call off the dogs and the debutantes. Problem solved.”

  “That’s what you think,” he muttered. “Even if I could find her, I’d really be inviting trouble to trust her to fix things. If she agreed to call off the Chicago contingent, and I sat with a gun to her head and made sure she did it, she’d just expand her search with the next breath. She’s very cagey.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  He shook his head again, gazing down at Bridget in disbelief. “And that’s the best you can do?”

  “Tripp, I’m not Wonder Woman.” Even though that was always what she’d tried to be—for him. Rather than hazarding meeting his eyes, she fiddled with a stack of papers on her desk, pretending to be absorbed in the fine print. “I’m sorry, but you’re on your own this time.”

  “Okay. I get the message. You’re busy. You’re going to marry a senator. You’re too busy for old friends like me.”

  His face was cold and hurt as he wheeled and stomped out of her office.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, she sagged with relief. She couldn’t help it. Catastrophe—in the form of Tripp Ashby and his devastating effect on her life—had been averted one last time.

  “You did it, Bridgie,” she told herself. “He’s gone.”

  So why did she feel as if she’d just sold her heart down the river?

  * * *

  “I LIKE THE GREEN,” Jay said thoughtfully. “And it has good environmental significance, too. Not a bad message to give to our guests.”

  “I suppose so,” she returned, trying to keep the doubt from her voice. “But, unfortunately, I don’t look good in green. And I do think the color scheme at my own wedding should be something I look good in.”

  “But your dress will be white.” He crinkled his forehead. “Why does it matter if you look good in green if you’re wearing white anyway? You have to consider the importance of the statement against the sacrifice you have to make.”

  Bridget shot up to her feet, recklessly throwing down the huge notebook of fabric swatches. “I really do not want my whole wedding to be the color of broccoli, no matter how politically correct it is!”

  “Darling, please. Don’t upset yourself.” Jay gave her an encouraging smile. “If you don’t want green, we won’t have green. And I’m sure you’ll look wonderful no matter what you wear.”

  Bridget tried to relax. She knew it must be torture for him, trying to appear interested in all these wedding preparations. As usual, Jay had a million obligations and demands on his time. And she’d offered several times to make all the arrangements herself. Yet he’d chosen to sit here at her dining room table, leafing through bridal magazines, venturing his well-thought-out opinions on everything from his-and-her matchbook covers to the style of her wedding veil. Infinite patience, exquisite taste. Jay was as thoughtful about empire waists and beaded headpieces as he was about economic sanctions in the Balkans. He took it all very seriously. So why was he driving her crazy?

  “And we have to be very careful about the menu and the flowers, as well as the dishes and the linens. No paper products unless they’re recyclable. And ask Lawrence to give you the list of boycotted products from countries with human rights violations. I know Iranian caviar is on it,” he said calmly, looking down at a list.

  “
Iranian caviar. Okay.” Life was extremely complicated when you were required to be environmentally, socially and economically aware at all times.

  If only Jay weren’t so perfect, maybe she could relax a little, too. But she was always afraid of making some major faux pas. Would it ruin his reputation if anyone found out his wife-to-be had an alligator handbag, when alligators were endangered?

  “What do you think, darling?” he asked, handing her a list of possible sites for their reception. She recognized the handwriting. His campaign manager had come up with the list of choices for her wedding. She glanced down at them. All very grand. All very large. And not at all what she’d had in mind.

  “Lawrence says we need to get this squared away ASAP,” Jay interjected.

  “But the wedding’s not till a year from June! Surely we have some time—”

  “Yes, dear, of course.” Jay patted her hand. “But we have such a large guest list that we have to plan ahead. Lawrence thinks we need to have a place, signed and sealed, right away.”

  “Such a large guest list?” Bridget echoed. “I thought last time we talked, we were thinking around a hundred people.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I guess I neglected to update you.” His smile was fond, but firm. “I’ve come to realize that this will be a terrific chance to say thank-you to a lot of big contributors. The timing is such that there would be a lot of noses out of joint if I didn’t invite my major campaign supporters. You see that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Bridget chewed her lip. “How many people are we talking about?”

  “No more than two thousand.”

  “Two thousand?” She felt her jaw drop. “We’re jumping from one hundred to two thousand?”

  “No, darling, be reasonable,” Jay said in an even, unhurried tone. “This has become more than just our wedding. It’s as if it were a celebration for all the little people who are working so hard.” He nodded. “I know it’s hard not to be selfish, when it comes to something like our wedding. But you have to remember, a big part of both of us belongs to our constituency now.”