On the Verge of I Do Read online

  Ten minutes later, he was standing on the stoop of her yellow chiffon row house, raising a hand to the brass knocker on the black lacquered door. The building itself was a couple of hundred years old, but showed no signs of wear. It had been kept up well by the prior owners, and Kara had done quite a bit of work herself to see it fully restored.

  Even though most of the trim was painted white, the shutters and wrought-iron window dressings were black to match the front door. Fire-engine-red azaleas sat in giant pots on either side of the steps and hung from every windowsill, bringing the house to bright and summery life.

  At least during the day. At night, they simply added more contrast to the already shadowed street.

  To be safe, Eli glanced up at the front of the house, not letting the knocker fall until he spotted lights on in an upstairs window. Even then, he didn’t knock too loudly in case she’d fallen asleep. If she was awake, he wanted to talk to her, but if she wasn’t, he didn’t want to disturb her.

  The seconds ticked by while he waited, debating whether to knock again. Just as he’d decided to turn around and go home to his empty apartment, the outdoor sconces flipped on. Another beat passed, then he heard the scratch and click of locks being turned and unlatched, and the door swung open.

  Kara stood less than a foot away, the yellow cast of light from the front stoop and the far-off upstairs hallway at her back causing a halo effect all around her. Her generous curves were encased in a silky, pearl-white robe covered with purple violets, her chestnut hair falling around her shoulders in a veil of loose, natural curls. A few inches below the hem of her robe, her feet were adorably bare, the nails painted a shimmering shade of seashell pink.

  Attraction, sharp and immediate, hit him point-blank in the solar plexus. Knocked the air from his lungs. Damn near rocked him back on his heels. When he could draw a breath, he did, hoping his instant and unexpected lust wasn’t written all over his face—not to mention other parts of his body.

  Maybe he’d had too much to drink, after all. Wasn’t that the only logical excuse for such an intense reaction to his ex- fiancée’s sister? Especially when that fiancée was only an ex by a handful of hours.

  Then again, maybe his response to the sight of Kara ready for bed was purely that of a man who’d gone too long without the pleasures of a woman’s body. And Kara’s lush body was one to make any man sit up and take notice.

  “Eli,” Kara greeted him softly, tiny lines crinkling over her nose as she frowned in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  Resting a hand on the jamb and leaning slightly in that direction, he said, “I’m sorry. It’s too late to be dropping by, isn’t it?”

  She studied him for a moment, raking her gaze from the top of what he suspected was his tousled head, over his tired face, down the line of his disheveled shirt, jacket and dress slacks, and back again.

  “Please tell me you didn’t drive over here after drinking,” she chastised, eyes narrowing with disapproval.

  He held up the middle three fingers of his free hand. “Three Scotches. But that was more than three hours ago, and I’ve had dinner and several cups of coffee since. I’m sober, I swear.” This time, he held his hand up as though taking an oath on a Bible in a court of law.

  She considered that for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and taking a step back into the foyer. “You’d better get in here before my neighbors get suspicious,” she told him, opening the door wider to allow him entry.

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he moved inside, waiting for her to close and lock the door behind them. When she turned to face him again, he knew without a doubt that she knew. She knew and felt sorry for him.

  “I talked to Laurel,” she admitted in little more than a whisper, her gaze hovering somewhere around his chin rather than meeting his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  Dammit, he didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. And if this was the reaction his own almost-sister-in-law had, he could only imagine how awful it would be to deal with all of his other friends and acquaintances once they found out Laurel had dumped him.

  “Christ,” he swore in a manner he almost never did, especially in a lady’s presence. “I don’t need this.”

  Running a rough hand through his hair, he started to pace the length of her entryway. His steps tapped out a brusque, staccato trail back and forth across the glossy hardwood floor. “I don’t need the rumors or the sympathy or the negative attention this is going to draw. I don’t care that she called off the wedding,” he charged to no one in particular, “but I damn well don’t need the fallout it’s going to cause.”

  He was driving his fingers through his hair again, working himself into a good huff, when Kara touched his arm. That one light touch halted him in his tracks and brought his head around until he met her gaze.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen,” she told him in a gentle voice. “I’ll make us some tea, or even pour you another glass of Scotch, as long as you promise to spend the night here instead of trying to drive yourself home.”

  And just like that, his tension leeched away. He followed her past the stairwell leading to the second floor and down a long, narrow hallway to the kitchen that ran nearly the entire width of the back of the house.

  This wasn’t his first time wandering around Kara’s home, and not because he’d been here so often recently to discuss wedding plans. When she’d first moved in, the entire family and a few friends—Eli included—had come by to help her unpack. Then later, she’d thrown a housewarming party to show off “her baby” and given everyone the grand tour.

  It had been a while, though, since he’d been farther inside than the office she used for Prestige Events at the front of the house, and he had to admit he liked what she’d done with the place. Not only was it neat as a pin, but the decor looked like something that should grace the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or Garden & Gun.

  He wondered briefly if she’d decorated it herself, or hired someone. And then that if she’d done it herself, she could make a hell of a fall-back career for herself if she ever gave up event coordination. Or maybe she could consider expanding Prestige Events into Prestige Events and Interior Design. Lord knew he’d paid an arm and two legs to the woman who had styled his apartment, and it was only about one-third the size of Kara’s house.

  Leading him into the state-of-the-art kitchen, she glanced at him over her shoulder, sending her curls bouncing. “So what’s it going to be—tea or Scotch?”

  His mouth opened, but she stopped him from getting a word out with an upheld hand. “Before you answer, I should probably warn you that I don’t think I even have Scotch. It’s never been my drink of choice. I maybe have a bit of vodka or some gin, but aside from that, your hard liquor choices are somewhat limited.”

  “If you didn’t have Scotch,” he said slowly, “why did you offer?”

  She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug. “I wanted you to stay, and didn’t know if you would otherwise.”

  Eli smiled, and he was surprised by how easily his lips curved, how much better he felt just being here with her. “Well, then…tea, it is.”

  With a short nod, she turned to collect a stainless steel teapot, fill it with water, and put it on to boil. Enjoying the gentle sway of her hips and occasional bounce of her breasts as she moved, he made his way to the island in the middle of the room and pulled out one of the oak stools to take a seat.

  Next she collected a delicate china tea service—cups and saucers, teapot, creamer, sugar bowl, a plate for lemon wedges—and set it all on the island in front of him.

  “You don’t have to go to all this bother,” he told her.

  She shot him a crooked grin. “This is how tea is done in Charleston, no matter the day or the hour. Mama would faint dead away if she found out I was doing it any other way.”

  “So no convenient, pre-packaged tea bags dipped into mugs of microwaved water, huh?”

  “Hush your mouth,” she chastised,
letting her natural Southern accent go even deeper. Going to a nearby cupboard, she removed a fancy tin full of loose tea leaves, shaking them at him for emphasis.

  Ten minutes later, she was perched on the stool next to him, facing him on the same side of the champagne-marble-topped island. She crossed her legs while she poured the tea, causing her robe to slide open and reveal a long expanse of smooth, alabaster skin from knee to thigh. Eli’s gaze zeroed in on that strip of sleek flesh, making his groin tighten and his mouth go dry.

  “Something tells me you’re not much for tea, no matter how it’s prepared,” she remarked, handing him a steaming cup on a matching saucer before filling her own.

  “Guilty,” he admitted. “I’m definitely more of a black coffee kind of guy.” Even so, he took a sip of the hot, dark brew. “But I’ve sat through my fair share of afternoon teas with Mom, so I can hold my own when I need to.”

  Kara smiled, distractedly rearranging the folds of her robe to cover her legs. More’s the pity.

  Long moments ticked by in companionable silence, the only sound in the room the ticking of the wall clock hanging over the bank of ovens.

  “I really am sorry about what Laurel did,” she said suddenly, dragging him straight back down to earth with an unpleasant thud.

  He was starting to feel like a broken record, having had a similar conversation with Rakin less than an hour before, but he carefully returned his cup to its saucer and told her the truth. “I’m not. Not really.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, as though his response surprised her…or she didn’t quite believe him.

  Making sure to hold her gaze so she could see that he was sincere, he said, “I mean it. I don’t want Laurel to marry me if she doesn’t want to be married to me. That’s a recipe for disaster, and the fastest way I can think of for us to end up miserable.”

  Kara lowered her gaze, using one fingertip to trace around the rim of her tea cup. “But the two of you made such a lovely couple,” she murmured. “I know things are kind of crazy with our family right now, but that didn’t seem to bother you, and if Laurel loved you…if you loved each other…”

  She trailed off, her voice growing to little more than a whisper. Then she lifted her chin, her eyes locking with his. “If you love each other, I wouldn’t think there was anything that could keep you from getting married.”

  Three

  Kara didn’t know why she’d said that. It was none of her business, and the last thing she wanted to consider too closely was Laurel and Eli’s romantic relationship.

  Bad enough she’d been writhing with guilt for months over her secret attraction to her sister’s fiancé. Now she was bouncing like a Ping-Pong ball between feeling genuinely sorry the engagement had come to an end and being almost relieved, because it meant she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life watching Laurel and Eli living their happily ever after together.

  It would be better for her to keep her mouth shut and play the role of the concerned, but not overly invested wedding planner rather than sister to the ex-bride-to-be and friend to the ex-groom-to-be. She should be more focused on the unraveling of all the wheels that had already been set in motion for the coordination of the Big Day itself than in the myriad emotions involved in the dissolution of such an event.

  But she wasn’t just any wedding planner. She was also a sister. She was also a friend. And it would be selfish of her to pretend otherwise when Eli, and probably her sister, needed her support and understanding.

  The very idea, though, had her stomach in knots. How could she commiserate with Eli when Laurel was her sister? Or with her sister when she was secretly glad Laurel had called off the wedding?

  Grabbing her cup, she brought it to her lips and swallowed the piping hot tea in one giant gulp, wishing it were laced with a dash or two of that Scotch Eli had mentioned. Since it wasn’t, she reached for the teapot and poured herself another serving…for all the good it would do.

  “I think that might be the sticking point,” Eli said, toying with his tea more than he was drinking it.

  She could feel his eyes drilling into her, willing her to return his gaze. Stomach churning, she wiped her damp palms on her robe and forced herself to do just that.

  As always when she looked at him straight-on, her heart did a little swan dive behind her rib cage. She imagined herself having to sit across from him every week at the Kincaids’ Sunday family dinners while he was married to Laurel, while he started a family with Laurel…and the small prick of guilt that lived inside her grew to a full-blown cottonwood tree.

  Because she was glad those encounters were no longer a part of her projected future. She was glad that the rare times Eli joined the family for Sunday dinner—he’d had a standing invitation since they were teens, thanks to her mother—it wouldn’t be as Laurel’s husband.

  “We were the perfect couple on paper,” he continued. “Both successful. Both from good families, Charleston-born-and-bred. Well, you know…” he said, alluding to his foster child status with a self-deprecating grin. “We would have looked wonderful in all the photographs for the paper and Garden & Gun. Our children would have been frighteningly beautiful.”

  Laurel and Eli’s children. Oh, yes, Kara had imagined those, as well. And they would have been frighteningly beautiful; anything else was a genetic impossibility, given their parents’ striking good looks.

  It was enough to make her want to cry.

  “But at best, Laurel and I would have had a good partnership. Almost akin to a savvy business partnership.”

  Kara frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said, feeling as though she’d missed something.

  “Laurel doesn’t love me,” he told her point-blank. “Not as more than a friend, at any rate.”

  Now that he said it, Kara could see the truth of the statement. It explained her sister’s disinterest in the details of her own wedding. The dress, the flowers, the guest list, the date…Kara had had to press for decisions and lead Laurel by the hand through every step of the process, something she wouldn’t have had to do if Laurel’s heart had truly been in it.

  Which meant her betrothal to Eli had been one-sided, with all of the love and emotion needed to keep a relationship afloat coming from him.

  Oh, this night just kept getting better and better.

  Licking her lips, she forced herself to whisper the words she was far from feeling. “I’m sorry.”

  Eli gave a sharp shake of his head. “Don’t be. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m better off coming to terms with this now instead of a couple years into the marriage.”

  A short pause and then, “What did Laurel say when she told you?”

  “Just that the wedding was called off,” she answered honestly. “By her, because of everything that’s going on with Mama, and Daddy’s murder investigation, et cetera. She didn’t seem inclined to say more, and I didn’t press.”

  She took a sip from her second cup of tea before it grew cold, then offered him a weak smile. “This is new territory for me, and I’m afraid I’m not quite sure how to properly balance the fine line between sister and wedding planner. Or friend and wedding planner, either.”

  He returned her lopsided grin with one of his own. “Have you ever had to deal with a situation like this before in your line of work?”

  Kara shook her head so hard and so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. “I’ve dealt with demanding brides and even more demanding mothers-of-the-bride. Grooms with cold feet. I’ve had bar mitzvahs canceled or anniversary parties rescheduled at the last minute. But this…this is all very new to me. Until now, all of the weddings I’ve been involved with have gone off with only the usual number of minor, to-be-expected hitches. Which is maybe why I should have recused myself from planning this one from the beginning.”

  “Recused yourself?” he repeated, poking fun at her choice of words.

  “You know what I mean,” she told him. Her tone was light, the same as his, and for the first time all nigh
t, she felt her chest loosen, some of the tension in the room ease. “I should have recommended another wedding planner and just stuck with being a bridesmaid.”

  Eli quirked one coffee-colored brow. “But then I’d be sitting in some other woman’s kitchen, and I’ll bet she wouldn’t know how to pull off a proper Southern tea service.”

  His tone was low and suggestive, at least to Kara’s ears, rolling through her veins like warm honey. Lord have mercy, the man was a danger to female hormones everywhere.

  Once she found her tongue and thought she could speak without sounding like she lived deep, deep in the bayou, she said, “Well, I’m glad you felt comfortable coming here. Even if we both know you’d prefer Scotch over a cup of hot tea.”

  She flashed him a tentative grin, and was rewarded by a chuckle of agreement.

  “I do have sweet tea,” she told him, “if you’d prefer that.”

  Leaning back an inch or two, he glanced at the bit of china as though it were a tightly coiled snake, then at her. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Not at all.” She hopped off her stool and rounded the island to retrieve a glass from the cupboard, then ice cubes and a pitcher of chilled sweet tea from the stainless steel refrigerator.

  “I’ve seen lots of things more transparent than you,” she added as she set the filled glass and pitcher in front of him. “Windows. Water. Cellophane…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You can read me like a book.” He downed half the glass in one long swallow, then released a satisfied sigh before returning it to the countertop with a soft clink. “But I really am glad you’re our event coordinator. It will be a lot easier to go through the process of dismantling everything with you than with a near-stranger.”

  She inclined her head. She’d never had to completely undo all the plans for such a large event, but she would do everything she could to see that it went smoothly, and that it had as little impact on Eli and Laurel as possible.