Authors: Mary Margret Daughtridge

SEALed with a Ring (10 page)

SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO TELL HIM SHE DIDN'T WANT HIM to kiss her.

She opened her mouth to do just that, in fact. But when he angled his head and, instead of going for her lips as any reasonable man would have, he settled his mouth against the crook of her neck, she was too surprised— and too flooded with knee-weakening hunger—to do anything but clutch at his shoulders just so she could stay upright.

The feel, the incredible, solid feel of him, the musky heat of his skin, the whispery, moist drift of lips and breath on her neck made her nipples tighten and her back arch.

She thought she had forgotten how
good
it was. God knows she had tried. She tightened her fingers into the crisp cotton of his shirt. Determined to hold on. Determined to push away.

"Take it easy." She felt rather than heard his chuckle. "I'm going to give you everything."

Oh, she remembered
that
, the easy, confident way he laughed. No sweat. Everything copacetic.

His arms came around her to hold, to cradle her to him, to nestle her against him, his strength so sure, so competent, so safe that she could let him take over. She dropped her head to his shoulder and inhaled the rich, warm, slightly musky, wholly masculine scent of him. Low in her body, hidden tissues recalled plea sure and swelled and primed in anticipation. She could yield to the delicious sense of being unrestrained, yet secure—
no!

What was the matter with her? She shoved uselessly at shoulders impossibly beyond her strength to move. He had to do no more than enfold her in his arms to make her feel safe—but it wasn't true. The morning after always came. The scattered pieces always had to be picked up. She had been down this road before. She didn't know what he did to make her think forgetting her responsibilities was acceptable. She knew how fast everything came apart if one let down one's vigilance.

She wrenched her mouth away from his seeking lips. "No," she said.

He relaxed his hold but didn't release her. "How come? I was enjoying it—a lot."

"I can't. I can't kiss you and marry him."

"That's easy. Don't marry him."

The same no-sweat chuckle that had charmed her a minute ago made her furious now. "You don't know what you're talking about! There are obligations more important than an easy lay," JJ snapped and was in stantly ashamed of herself. She had her faults, but she hoped self-righteousness wasn't one of them. She had only to look at his scars to know he understood both duty and sacrifice. "I'm sorry." She made herself meet his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that."

His hands had stayed at her waist, but now he slowly dropped them. The scarred side of his face was in deep shadow. But even on the perfect side, his face was harsh, his brows drawn down, the perfect bow of his lips com pressed into a tight line.

"You shouldn't be out on the beach alone." His hard fingers closed around her upper arm, tight enough to show he meant business. "I'll walk you in."

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Nobody told JJ Caruthers where she should and should not be. Apparently he intended to march her back to the hotel.

"I got my own self out here. I'll get my own self back."

"It isn't about you. Somebody needs to tell that frig gin' fool you say you're
not
officially engaged to he needs to keep up with you better."

Chapter 15

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU DON'T WANT A CHURCH wedding." Blount slowed his Miata for the turn onto Military Cutoff, which would carry them to U.S. High way 17. He shifted into second.

The Miata shuddered as Blount let out the clutch. As always, he gave it more gas a fraction too late. Some men shouldn't be allowed to buy a six-speed manual transmission.

JJ let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes, trying to shut out both Blount's whiny tone and his driving. She made a mental note to insist upon driving her own car rather than riding with him from now on.

"I wouldn't want anything as hippie-ish as what we just went to," Blount continued when she refused to be drawn in, (or maybe he just wanted to complain and didn't notice she wasn't contributing). "But a marriage is an important event—not just to the couple, but to the entire community. You're always so aware of your civic responsibility—what's the matter with a church wed ding all our friends can be invited to?"

Blount didn't understand that she simply didn't have the year of lead time it took to plan a large wedding. She hadn't told him about her grandfather's ultimatum and didn't intend to now.

"Blount, we've been over this before. We will have a large reception after we're married. We'll invite half of Wilmington, if you wish. But the sort of MGM ex travaganza that is expected these days—even among people who aren't well-to-do—offends me. With the same money, they could put a kid through college, buy a house, fund an animal shelter, a women's shelter, a homeless shelter, an after-school program—something that would change people's lives.

"They could make a real difference, and instead they create a faux-Disneyland that will be gone in a day."

"Sometimes you talk like an old lady."

"I just don't like to spend money and, at the end of the day, have nothing to show for it."

"If you feel that way, I'm surprised you insisted on leaving the hotel even though we'd paid for the room," he needled her.

In point of fact, after finding a bellman and clearing the room of their things, JJ had put the room on her charge card.
He
hadn't paid a nickel, but she didn't correct him. Blount's disgruntlement with her unilateral decision to leave was the reason he was acting so pissy now.

Despite her irritation at his aggrieved tone, she al lowed he had some right to be upset. She
had given tacit
, if not explicit, consent to spending the night with him. In simple fairness she had thought she should pay for the room. Dealing honestly and equitably meant a lot to JJ. Now, whether he knew it or not, he was doing her a favor. With every whiny word, any guilt she felt for backing out dissipated further.

In the last hour or so, she had realized she had a much larger problem than not wanting sex tonight.

Before tonight, she had convinced herself the very tame attraction she felt for Blount was what she wanted. Any time she'd found herself recalling the night of unleashed passion she'd shared with Davy, she intentionally made herself characterize it as tawdry and reinforced her sense of shock at herself, her shame. She repressed any memories of being in such perfect physical accord that her body sang.

Tonight he'd said his name was David, and she had to admit, with his scars and new air of gravity, a name like Davy no longer fit him. She had gotten rid of him in her mind, and yet tonight she hadn't been with him for five minutes before she craved his arms, his kisses. And arousal had begun melting her bones.

She hadn't felt the smallest fraction of that when Blount kissed her.

She had no choice but to marry Blount, but she was beginning to doubt if she would
ever
want sex with him. And if refusing to have sex once they were mar ried wouldn't be backing out of an agreement, she didn't know what would.

"When we're married, will you insist on spending all our money on good works?" Blount broke in on her thoughts. Having failed to provoke her into an argument, he was trying a different tack.

JJ clamped down on the urge to snap. "
Our money?
I thought we had an understanding. My money will remain mine. Yours will be yours—to do with as you please."

"You mean the prenuptial agreement? Are you still set on that?"

"Correction. I'm not 'set' on it. I'm demanding it." He had agreed to it, although nothing was signed yet. JJ tried to soften her tone. "This discussion indicates we need to have money matters spelled out between us, don't you think?"

"Of course. All couples should discuss how they will handle money, but do we really need lawyers?"

"If we should talk about it, what's the objection to formalizing what we agree to? Unless you don't intend to keep your word." Even as she spoke, all the pieces that had been coming together tonight clicked into place, and JJ realized she was right. No matter what they agreed to, he would try to weasel, and no matter how much she gave him, he would always think he was owed more. The sick, black dread she'd steeled herself against earlier on the beach broke through again.

Not wanting to look at Blount, JJ focused on the nightscape out the passenger window.

It was late. The businesses along Military Cutoff were closed. Streetlamps glared on empty parking lots. The car's headlights bounced off wisps of fog whenever they crossed over one of the swampy creeks. For long stretches, fewer streetlights and the thick canopy of trees draped with Spanish moss made the thoroughfare darker. On the curb, a lone man, barely visible, walked hunched, as if he was carrying something heavy.

She craned forward to get a better look.

"JJ, you're misunderstanding what I'm trying to get at. A marriage cannot succeed in an atmosphere of distrust—"

"Blount," she interrupted him. "Was that man carry ing a dog?"

"I didn't notice. As I was saying—"

"Stop. We have to go back."

"Are you crazy?"

"No, Blount, I'm not hallucinating. If it was a dog, it had to weigh sixty pounds. He wouldn't be carrying it un less it was sick or hurt. We have to see if we can help."

"I meant crazy to think I'm going to stop. In this neighborhood?"

"We don't have to get out of the car. We'll just find out what's going on and see if we can call someone for him."

"Call the police yourself. Let them take care of it." He gave the car more gas.

JJ turned as much as the seat belt would allow, trying to keep the man in sight. "For God's sake, Blount! The man's hands are
full
. He can't attack us. Are you afraid the dog's got a switchblade on him?" She glanced back at Blount and saw the set, disapproving line of his lips. Realization dawned.

"You don't intend to stop, do you? No matter what I say."

"No. It's good to be generous, but you can't go around impulsively—"

"Turn the car around, Blount, or I
will
call the police. I'll tell them I'm being kidnapped."

He gave her a furious look and, with jerky move ments, slowed the car enough to make a U-turn in the almost deserted street.

Chapter 16

THE MAN, BAGGY JEANS DROOPING OVER RUN-DOWN cowboy boots, stopped walking when they pulled along side him. Sure enough, in his arms he carried a reddish dog that looked like a chow-lab mix. The dog's big square head hung over the man's arm. From time to time, the animal stiffened as long shudders ran through him.

JJ lowered her window less than a hand's width. "What's the matter with your dog?"

"Don't know. Just found him like this. Some'un's been poisoning dogs in my neighborhood." The man had the deep-grooved, hollow cheeks of someone who had spent too much time in the sun, smoked too many cigarettes, and drunk too much whiskey. Thinning gray ing hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His faded denim jacket and jeans hung on his slight frame. He shifted the dog higher up his chest.

"Where are you going with him?"

"Car won't start. I'm hoping my buddy lives over on Ewell will give me 'n' Snake a ride to the vet'narin."

Snake?
JJ repressed a shudder at the macho moniker. No dog in the world had ever looked less like his name. But that was none of her business. She didn't have to name him; she just needed to help him. "Is your buddy expecting you? Couldn't you call him?"

"No'm. I ain't been working regular for some time. Phone's been shut off."

"Ewell is a good ways from here."

The man shrugged as much as a man with a sixty pound dog in his arms could. "It's near 'bout as far to the pay phone as to my buddy's house. Figured I was just as well to pick up Snake here and start walking his direction," he added with philosophical acceptance of a life that had never been easy.

"What's your friend's number? I'll call him."

She put the cell phone on speaker and dialed. In a few minutes she heard, "Yo! I'm not here. You know what to do," followed by the beep of voice mail.

"Don't even think about it!" Blount shook her arm less than gently. "We're
not going
to take him to the vet." He shot a suspicious glance at the man and lowered his voice to a hiss. "I draw the line at letting a man that dirty—much less a dog that's sick and likely to throw up—into the car."

"Got it covered," she agreed, already dialing. "I'm calling Ham, my grandfather's handyman."

"Ham," she said as soon as he answered. "I need you to bring your pickup. I've got a man with a sick dog that we need to transport to the emergency vet. Throw some old towels or a blanket in the back."

She gave Ham the location and hung up. "He'll be here in a few minutes," she told the man. "Why don't you put the dog down and rest your arms."

At her suggestion, the man carefully laid the dog in the grass. Squatting beside the animal, he kept one thick-fingered hand on him, while with the other hand he pulled on the bill of his stained Evinrude cap. "Name's Grady, ma'am, and you, you're one of God's own angels."

Blount spoke through gritted teeth. "You have the sit uation all taken care of. Now can we get out of here?"

"We're going to wait for Ham."

"Come on, JJ! Enough is enough."

"When Ham gets here," she told him. "Not before."

In less than ten minutes, the headlights of Ham's big, red Chevrolet truck penetrated the frozen atmosphere within the Miata. JJ had her seat belt unhooked and was out the door before Blount could say anything— fortunately for him.

Ham climbed down from the cab. "Blankets ain't clean," he said going around to the back of the truck and opening the tailgate. "Had to take 'em off my bed. Reckon a dog won't mind."

"Off your bed? I told you to bring old ones." JJ took the wool blanket he handed her and folded it down to pallet size for a dog.

Ham grunted. "Don't got nothing
but
old ones."

Together, Ham and Grady shifted Snake onto the blanket. Taking the four corners like a stretcher, they lifted him to the truck's bed. Grady climbed on beside him. The dog's shudders were coming at longer inter vals. JJ didn't know if that was a good thing.

"Here's something to cover him with." Ham passed him a knitted, cotton summer blanket. Clearly, Ham had stripped his entire bed for a dog.

JJ went back to the Miata, where a stiff-faced Blount stared straight ahead. Rigid with disapproval, he hung onto the steering wheel as if the car wanted to run away and he was holding it back by main force. Wonderful. He hadn't gotten his way so now he was sulking. What an ass. She retrieved her purse and quilted, Waverly tote from behind the seat.

"What are you doing?" Blount yelped, breaking his stony silence. "Get back in the car!"

JJ, respecter of good machinery, if not of its owner, closed the car gently. "Earlier, you asked if I was crazy. Apparently I was—I thought I could marry you. Fortunately," she gave him her sunniest smile, "in the last several minutes, I seem to have had a miraculous recovery."

"Come on, JJ. Don't do this. This is another example of your impulsive sentimentality. You're going to re gret this."

"Not as much as I would regret being married to you."

"What about your grandfather?"

JJ went cold. "What about him?"

"He thinks you're going to marry me. What are you going to tell him?"

"I'll tell him I realized I could have you or a dog. I chose the dog."

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