Prescription: Marry Her Immediately (14 page)

“A romantic setting. Lots of friends,” she said. “Aunt Mary always knows what to do.” She started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“We won’t have to worry about hiring an organist!” she said. “Mrs. McLanahan’s been humming a wedding march since you moved in with me. All we have to do is invite her, and she’ll provide the music.”

“Let’s hire a pianist and let Noreen entertain at the reception,” he said, deadpan.

“She’ll be so excited, she’ll probably dance, too.” Amy toyed with her French braid, which was coming apart. “A wedding! On Saturday! There are so many details to work out, I don’t know where to start.”

From his pocket, Quent pulled his personal organizer. “How about the guest list?”

“It’s as good a place as any.”

A
CT NOW,
deal with the consequences later.
The motto was standing him in good stead, Quent reflected the next day as he dialed Lucy’s work number during his lunch break.

He was glad he’d asked
Amy to marry him, and even more pleased that she’d said yes. Surely they could find a way to make this work, to keep it light, to give each other space and avoid whatever imaginary abyss kept giving him the willies.

Everything would be fine as long as Lucy agreed they could keep the children. He didn’t want to wait until the end of the day to talk to her. This was too important.

In the privacy of his book-lined office, Quent listened to the phone ringing at the other end of the line. When Lucy answered, he said, “Dr. Quentin Ladd and Dr. Amy Ravenna request the honor of your presence at their wedding on Saturday.”

“You mean it?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “I mean, we do. Or rather, we both plan to say ‘I do.”’

“Wow!” Relief filled Lucy’s voice. “That’s wonderful news.”

“The children can stay with us, then?” He didn’t take it for granted, because he knew what a strong bond had formed between her and their mutual niece and nephew.

Lucy let out a long breath. “Part of me wants to keep them. I love those little guys. If things were different, I’d never let them go. But as matters stand, that wouldn’t be fair to anybody.”

“You’ll always be welcome to visit whenever you want,” Quent said.

“Believe me, I’ll take you up on that.” Excitedly, Lucy went on. “A wedding! I hope I’m not spoiling your plans by rushing you this way.”

“The important thing
is that the children will have a permanent home,” he said.

“If you’ll hire a lawyer, we can start the adoption proceedings. I guess there’ll be some kind of home study like I had, but I’m sure it will be fine,” she said. “Congratulations, Quent. I always knew you’d make a great father when you grew up. The question was, how long would that take?”

“A few months ago, I wouldn’t have bet on it happening soon,” he said. “I’ve changed since I came to Serene Beach.”

“Amy changed you,” Lucy said.

“You’re right about that.”

After they hung up, he sat staring into space. Marriage. The dark shadowy sense of danger was still there, still cautioning him about how disastrously wrong things could go.

So what? he thought. He and Amy weren’t their parents. They were two intelligent, loving people. Most of all, they were pals.

There was no reason why they couldn’t live happily ever after more as friends and lovers than as a conventional husband and wife. They’d already made a good start at it.

And he had no doubt the best was yet to come.

S
TANDING AT THE GLASS
counter in the jewelry store, Amy hesitated to try on the ring. The swirl of diamonds captured the fantasy she’d treasured since girlhood so perfectly that she was afraid it wouldn’t fit, and that, if it didn’t, it couldn’t be sized in time for the wedding.

Mostly, she was afraid this moment wasn’t really happening.

“Want me to slip it on you?” Without
waiting for an answer, Quent took her hand and lifted the ring.

Amy’s breath caught. His blond head as he gazed downward made her feel like Cinderella waiting for the prince to try on the glass slipper. Even though she knew it was
her
glass slipper, there was always the possibility that the magic couldn’t be trusted.

“It’s a new design. We just started carrying the line,” said the elderly jeweler, Hugo Oldham, a friend of Mrs. McLanahan’s who owned several shops. “I discovered the designer last month.”

“Just in time.” Cupping her palm in his, Quent slid the ring along Amy’s finger. It stopped at her knuckle, stirring a breath of disappointment before he twitched it free. “See? It’s exactly right.”

Depths glinted in the diamonds and in Quent’s eyes as he watched her reaction. He kept her hand in his with subtle possessiveness, his skin ruddy against Amy’s olive hue.

“It was made for us,” she said.

“Never let her go,” Hugo told Quent.

“I don’t intend to.”

It was at that moment that Amy began to trust that maybe, just maybe, the magic might be real.

I
N THE MIRROR
of her old room at Aunt Mary’s house, she studied herself. She’d chosen an ivory cocktail dress that flattered her dark hair and eyes. The silky way it swished around her legs felt sexy.

“You look gorgeous.” Heather tucked an errant flower into the wreath atop Amy’s head.

“I’m glad you agreed to be my maid of honor on such short notice.” Her friend’s presence steadied her. Aunt Mary was busy watching the children, and Natalie, although honored, had declined to be a bridesmaid due to her pregnancy.

“I’m a practical
woman. I like getting to use my dress twice.” Heather smoothed down the turquoise outfit she’d worn at Natalie’s ceremony only two weeks earlier.

Amy appreciated the acceptance and the discretion of her two best friends since she’d made her surprise announcement. At work, the grapevine had gone crazy with speculation. The consensus, she’d heard, was that, as a friend, she was generously helping Quent with his niece and nephew.

Some people admired her. Others thought she’d taken leave of her senses. Mercifully, neither Natalie nor Heather had breathed a word of what must be obvious to them, that Amy was head over heels in love, even if Quent wasn’t.

Thank goodness Heather, aware that Amy hadn’t had any reason to use contraception in the past, had helped her arrange for it now. There was a lot to be said for having a doctor as one of her best friends!

The week had passed in a whirl. Aunt Mary, overjoyed that Amy had found the right man to marry, had gamely organized her friends to decorate the house and cook for the reception.

On such short notice, they’d invited only about thirty intimates, including, of course, Noreen. Almost everyone had been happy to come. Amy’s father and one of her brothers had driven down from Fresno, while Lucy had arrived with Quent’s father from San Diego.

Amy snapped out of her reflections as Kitty came in wearing the aqua bridesmaid dress she’d borrowed from Amy. It fit better than expected, although Aunt Mary had had to tack up the hem.

Her aunt deserved a medal.
Amy made a mental note to throw a big thank-you party to celebrate Mary’s fiftieth birthday next fall.

Behind Kitty strode Loretta, who’d volunteered to record the event on film. As the P.R. director at Doctors Circle, she knew how to take professional-quality photographs.

After a few obligatory shots of the bride with her attendants, Loretta shuttered her camera. “Good luck,” she said. “I don’t know anyone who deserves happiness more than you, Amy.”

“Thank you.” Amy reached out and squeezed the other woman’s free hand.

“I’m glad these children are going to have a great mom,” Loretta said. “I’m amazed how quickly you’ve bonded with them.”

“It surprises me, too,” she said.

“Speaking of the kids, we’d better go downstairs.” Kitty paced to and fro in excitement. “Tara’s starting to squirm and Lucy says she won’t be able to keep her quiet forever.”

“Let’s do it!” Amy shooed her band of friends ahead of her out of the room. “One wedding, coming up.”

When she saw her father waiting in the upstairs hall, Amy’s heart began to hammer in her chest. This was really happening. In a few minutes, she was going to marry Quent.

For better or for worse.

In the high-ceilinged
living room, butterfly-shaped balloons danced on their tethers above masses of ruffly paper flowers. To the guests in their folding chairs, it must seem as if they were sitting in a garden, Quent thought.

“You haven’t lost the ring yet, have you?” he teased Greg. The little boy, garbed in a new suit, shook his head solemnly.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t.” Gary Lee, Quent’s best man and a close friend from medical school, stood with one hand resting lightly on the ring bearer’s shoulder. “He’s a very responsible young fellow, so I’m sure we don’t have to worry.”

A glow of satisfaction spread through Quent as he glanced from the fresh-faced child to Tara, a yellow bow askew in her hair as she played with a simple puzzle in the front row beside Lucy. He’d already found a lawyer and begun the home study. Soon he and Amy would be their parents in every sense of the word.

To his right, the minister indicated to the pianist to segue from love songs into a march. Both the pastor and the woman at the piano had come from Aunt Mary’s church, kindly rearranging their plans to accommodate the last-minute affair.

When the tempo altered,
Kitty appeared on the staircase with a single white rose in her hand. She strolled down at a measured pace, looking thrilled and a bit shy. Quent had to remind himself that this blushing teenager was about to become his cousin. Marrying meant acquiring a whole new family!

Heather followed, her back straight, her hands graceful on her rose. She exchanged a smile with Natalie, who sat watching dreamily beside her new husband.

It occurred to Quent that he should have slipped the pianist an extra twenty to speed up the procession. He could hardly wait to see Amy, who had refused to show him her dress in advance.

After an eon, he heard the strains of “Here Comes the Bride.” Down the staircase floated Amy on her father’s arm. Loretta moved forward to snap a few shots before taking her seat.

The first thing Quent noticed about his bride-to-be were her legs, nicely displayed by the elegant dress. She had great calves, long and slim. All brides ought to wear mid-length gowns if they looked as good in them as Amy did.

The lacy fabric swished tantalizingly around her knees and clung to her slender waist. Spaghetti straps showed off her bare shoulders, and through her dark hair wove a magical array of flowers and silver sparkles.

A soft light diffused across her face. Quent’s breath caught in his throat. Radiant, that’s how she looked.

Even if he hadn’t rehearsed the night before, he would instinctively have stepped forward and offered his arm. Behind him, he heard the pastor ask, “Who gives this woman to be married?”

“I do.” Pride
beamed from her father as he handed over his daughter.

The rest of the ceremony blurred in Quent’s mind. All he could focus on was Amy. Her light perfume awakened images of canopied beds and silken sheets, yet there was an air of innocence about her today, too. Something about a wedding transformed the bride into a young girl about to experience love for the first time.

What would it be like if he were the man to awaken her? To be her first lover, her entire world of experience? Quent couldn’t imagine. Besides, he preferred Amy the way she was.

He stirred from his reverie to accept the ring from Greg. With only a slight tug, it slid onto Amy’s finger, where the diamonds twinkled like living stars.

“Wow!” the little boy said loudly, then clapped his hand over his mouth. An amused murmur rose from their guests.

“It’s okay,” Amy told the child in a stage whisper. “I think it’s pretty, too.”

After they said their vows, they turned to face their friends with Greg between them. Tara, who’d grown wiggly on her chair, squirmed onto the floor and toddled over.

“I now present to you Dr. and Mrs. Ladd, and children,” said the minister.

Applause erupted. Quent scooped up his daughter, Amy took Greg’s hand, and down the aisle they went.

On any other occasion, he’d have relished the surge of friends and the delicious food in the dining room. You’d have had to pry him away with a crowbar.

Today, he wanted to whisk Amy out to his flower-trimmed SUV. It was a two-hour drive to their hotel in Palm Springs, and he could hardly wait.

W
EDDING-NIGHT JITTERS
. Thirty-three-year-old women
weren’t supposed to get them. Especially not if they were marriage counselors.

Amy knew the facts. What she didn’t know was how they were going to get from point A to point B, or how Quent would react when he discovered his smart-talking bride was clueless in the bedroom.

The advantage of wearing a cocktail dress was that she didn’t have to put on fresh clothes before they left the reception. Otherwise, judging by Quent’s eagerness to get her alone, she suspected he’d have trotted upstairs and insisted on helping her change. As it was, he sent Kitty to fetch her suitcase, bade everyone farewell as soon as politeness allowed, and broke the speed limit all the way to Palm Springs.

“I’m sure the kids will have a great time with Aunt Mary,” Amy said as they waited for the registration clerk to process his credit card. “She’s going to take them to an amusement park tomorrow.”

“Did I mention how much I like those flowers in your hair?” In his dark suit, Quent looked dashing. And sexy. And incredibly romantic. “I love when you wear it loose that way, like a cloud.”

“You can brush it out for me.” The image of him touching and stroking her made Amy’s stockings feel too tight. She searched for a topic more suitable to discuss in a hotel lobby. “It was nice of Dr. Fingger to cover for you this weekend.”

“I have to return the favor by being on call after ten o’clock Christmas Eve,” Quent said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be able to go to the Barrs’ yacht party.” He ran a finger across her cheekbone, sending shimmers down Amy’s spine. Every instinct urged her to fling her arms around him and cuddle up close. Very close.

“Here you are,
sir.” The clerk returned the credit card. “Would you like a porter?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Quent accepted their keys and hoisted his bag along with Amy’s. They’d packed lightly, since they were only staying one night. On such short notice, it had been impossible to steal even one extra day from a workweek already shortened by the Christmas holiday.

They’d make up for their abbreviated honeymoon next summer. Quent had offered to take her to Hawaii for a whole week. His expectations of marriage might not be traditional, Amy reflected, but they were definitely amorous.

When he escorted her into their room, she gave a little cry of appreciation. “It’s a suite. How beautiful!”

Pale pastel fabrics swathed an outer chamber furnished with low couches and a cozy dining table. The creamy carpet ended at a set of steps that led up to a whirlpool spa, ready for action beside a pile of white towels. The bedroom lay beyond, out of sight. But not out of mind.

“Only the best for my wife,” Quent said. “Wait a minute. I want to carry you in.”

“I’m kind of tall for that, aren’t I?” she asked regretfully. “I don’t want my groom spraining his back before we get to first base.”

“What do you take me for, a wimp?” After flinging their bags inside, Quent whipped around and picked her up. Amy clung to him, enjoying his strength. She wished she could lie here forever, suspended next to this wonderful, unpredictable man.

He stepped across the threshold and held her for a moment, his mouth brushing hers with a promise of more to come. Amy wanted it right now.

Quent set her down
as lightly as if she were made of gossamer. “How did I do?”

“Magnificently.”

She wished he’d take her back into his arms. Thirty-three years of waiting were coalescing into an intense longing to become Quent’s wife in every way, right this instant.

He, however, seemed more interested in exploring their suite, especially after he spotted champagne cooling in a bucket. “I propose a toast. To best friends becoming lovers.”

“You don’t need to get me drunk for that!” Amy didn’t want to come right out and tell him to forget the champagne, though, when he’d obviously gone to so much trouble to please her.

He set to work opening the bottle. “No headlong rush for my beautiful bride. I want this night to be unforgettable.”

How could she argue with that? “Champagne sounds fabulous.” Tamping down her impatience, Amy curled on the couch and prepared to let Quent wine and dine her.

A
WOMAN’S
wedding night was extremely important. Despite his eagerness to make steamy, nonstop love to Amy, Quent was determined to do this right, and that meant paying attention to details.

After making sure of her preferences, he’d ordered a meal of seafood and baby vegetables, scalloped potatoes, crusty French bread and a salad with raspberry dressing, plus a fine selection of tortes for dessert. Romantic music played from the stereo system as they were served in the privacy of their room by a waiter who knew how to keep his presence unobtrusive.

After the man left them
alone, Quent switched on the jets in the spa and went into the bathroom to don his swimming trunks. He wanted to arouse Amy gradually, as she was no doubt accustomed to. The hints she’d dropped had given him the picture of a woman who expected skill and artfulness from her men.

It wasn’t going to be easy to take it slow. All afternoon, he’d become more and more attuned to her femininity, her responsiveness, her sweetness. He had to keep a tight grip on himself tonight or risk disappointing her.

When he emerged, Quent found his new bride already in the spa. He nearly choked as he noticed her lacy peach bra and matching panties. The lingerie looked great on her, even better than he’d dreamed.

What a slim figure she had, its hint of shy sensuality forming an alluring contrast to her athletic tone. His wife was going to be full of surprises, Quent suspected, and he could hardly wait to discover them.

He eased into the pool across from her. If he stretched out his legs, he could tangle them with hers.

Take it easy, buster. You’ve got to watch yourself or you’ll rip those skimpy clothes off her.

“I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit.” Amy gave him a mysterious smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I wear this.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t mind at all.”

Heat surged around them. The swirling water caressed her breasts and fanned her hair across the ripples. The woman was a born temptress, Quent thought, closing his eyes and hovering near the edge of meltdown.

“You know,” Amy said in a throaty voice, “I don’t think people are required to wear anything at all in a spa.”

“I didn’t see any rules
posted.” With a grin, he dared to regard her again.

She leaned forward, dark tendrils playing around her breasts. Her gaze met his, daring him to make the next move.

Quent reached to finger a long strand and pulled her gently toward him. Amy’s tongue touched her lips in what almost appeared to be hesitation. She was attuned to the most alluring subtleties, he thought admiringly.

At such close range, he could almost taste her. Was she as eager as he was? Or might she be mentally critiquing his style? He’d better play it safe.

“You must be stiff from the drive.” He slipped one arm around Amy, offering his shoulder as a pillow. “Let’s relax for a while.”

“I don’t want to relax. Do you?” She placed one palm against his chest and sighed as if thrilled by the mere sensation of touching him. Slowly she stroked downward, closer and closer to his rapidly responding male core. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

Catching her waist, Quent swirled her onto his lap and slanted a kiss onto her luscious mouth. Amy kissed him back, long and deep. If she kept this up, he’d be all over her in a few seconds, and what would she think of him then?

Keeping a tight rein on his masculine drive, Quent lifted his head and smiled lazily. “What next? I want to do this your way.”

“Well…” After nibbling her lip for a moment, Amy slid the bra strap off one shoulder and, catching his other hand, held it to her breast. The nub was hard and responsive. “Is this what you mean?”

“It’s perfect.” He eased off the other strap and cupped both breasts. Instantly, Quent’s body hardened into one long lustful ache. The most exciting part was Amy’s rapt expression, as if she were already in ecstasy.

Seeing her so lost
in the moment, he trailed kisses along her neck and seized each nipple in turn between his lips. Moans tore from her, intensifying his desire. The moment Quent released her, she shot him a look of pure mischief and pulled off her panties, which she tossed onto the tile. “How’s that?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He could hardly talk.

“Guess I’m doing okay so far, huh?”

“Better than okay. Better than…never mind.”

The last shred of restraint vanished. Quent was yanking off his trunks when his bride pushed him onto the bench and straddled him. The warm, billowing water cushioned their movements.

“Hey, you caught me off guard!” he said with a smile. “I was going to do that to you first.”

“I always wanted to win a wrestling match with you,” Amy murmured close to his ear.

“Honey, you can win every match from now on.”

He loved the way she knelt atop him, caressing his skin and sliding her body over his. “You’re really, really good at this,” he rasped.

“Am I?”

“As if you didn’t know!” He smoothed his hands down to her rounded derriere and pulled her against his hardness. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.”

“Who asked you to?” Her laugh had a low, sexy hoarseness.

Quent played one palm lightly across Amy’s heated center. Hungrily, she opened herself to him.

With pleasure so keen it bordered on agony, he pressed inside her. Oddly, he felt a moment of resistance, but it scarcely registered before he claimed her.

Amy gasped. Quent,
too, let out a moan as her enticing movements inflamed him. He drew her along him, in and out, and she caught his rhythm, quickening it almost to the point of no return. Abruptly, she stopped.

“Too fast,” she whispered.