Wedding the Bad Boy: A Bedding the Bachelors Novella Page 4

  “A little,” Grace replied.

  “Have Lucy and Melina decided?”

  “We found a few contenders today but nothing that felt as perfect as the formal dresses we found in the bridal shop,” Grace said, relieved to just be able to tell the whole truth and not have to lie about anything.

  Grace shook out a sweater and folded it neatly.

  “Cool. I was thinking about something today while you were gone,” he said, his voice making that deep rumble that always hit her straight in the panties.

  “Hmm?” she asked, pairing socks.

  “I was thinking about being able to introduce you as my wife.”

  Grace went still. She dropped her hands into her lap and looked up at Max. He was casually reclined in the chair, but his gaze was electric. He watched every movement she made. Grace’s heart swelled and her breath escalated.

  His wife.

  Max Dalton’s wife.

  God, that sounded good. It sounded so good. But what if the results of the medical tests showed that she indeed had the autoimmune disorder? What then? Would Max still want to marry her knowing she’d have trouble conceiving a baby? He insisted that he loved her, only wanted her and nobody else, but that was assuming she could provide him with a child.

  What if…what if she couldn’t?

  Grace swallowed softly. “What exactly were you thinking about it?” she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice light.

  “I was thinking how much I’m going to love being able to claim you like that. How proud I’ll be.”

  Emotion clogged Grace’s throat. “Aw, that’s so sweet, Max,” she forced herself to say.

  Guilt overcame her. Not only were the results of the blood tests unknown at this point, but Grace couldn’t even be sure she’d get the results before she and Max were supposed to be married in a week. How could she possibly marry him when she wasn’t sure what her future held? That would be completely unfair to him. As much as she wanted to marry him, she needed to feel at peace first before committing. She needed to be sure she could give Max his every dream the same way he wanted her every dream to come true as well.

  Max bounded up from his chair and kissed her on the top of her head. “I need to get some paperwork finished up before the tour. And then, after that, my gorgeous woman, I’m going take you out to dinner.” He shot her a wink and that smile that she loved so much.

  This was going to hurt her more than it hurt him.

  She couldn’t let him go on planning their immediate future, but she wasn’t ready to tell him what was going on either. Not quite yet.

  He was halfway across the room when the words exploded out of her. “I can’t marry you, Max.”

  * * *

  Max froze in place. There wasn’t enough air in the world. For a moment he thought, This. This is what it feels like when nightmares come true. Then he wiped that thought from his mind. No. He couldn’t allow negativity to drive him. Grace obviously needed to say something. At least she was finally getting it—whatever it was—off her chest. Whatever it was, they would get through this together. There was no other option.

  He forced air into his chest. Even though it felt like swallowing a knife, it got his brain working again. He turned to face Grace. “What do you mean, Dixie?”

  She looked so small. So pale. So hurt. Had something happened to her when he hadn’t been looking? Had someone gotten in her ear and made her get cold feet? Whoever it was, he’d find them, for sure, and when he did, he’d choke the shit out of them. Nobody came between them—nobody.

  Her hands fluttered in the air like tiny lost birds. “I—I’m sorry…what I mean is…” She laughed sheepishly. “I mean that I can’t marry you in a week, Max. It’s too much. Too rushed. I…” She looked around, as if searching for an explanation to appear out of thin air. “After shopping for dresses with the girls, I realized how much I’m enjoying planning everything, and I just don’t want to rush anything for a quickie ceremony I’ll later regret. Can’t we just take our time?”

  An image of Grace in his arms yesterday flashed across his mind. She’d been laughing and exploding with happiness and light. She’d been thrilled to be married in a week. Had she been faking that happiness? What had happened between then and now?

  Something had changed. Something was different. Had it all been an act?

  He wanted to ask questions. About the doctor’s appointment. To demand answers and—fuck, yes—reassurance. Max scoured his memory, trying to think if Grace had been concerned about anything, and all he could come up with was her headaches. She’s been getting a few of them, but she’d brushed off his concerns. Had the doctor’s appointment revealed a tumor or brain cancer?

  No. Stop it. She’d told him she wasn’t dying. That they had a long future together.

  But she was worried about something. Maybe it was the same thing that had caused Melina to doubt Rhys’s love for her so long ago. The fear that she wasn’t enough to keep the attention of a former playboy and current celebrity magician. It was the farthest thing from the truth—for both Rhys and Melina, and Max and Grace—and part of Max wished he’d been destined to be a damn accountant rather than a magician. He hated the thought that his past actions or choice of career might cause Grace to doubt their future together again, something that had already happened once before they’d gotten engaged. But he thought they’d worked past all that.

  His inner reasoning told him to keep calm, retain control, as she was obviously barely holding on to her own. She looked panicky, and Max feared that a single wrong word would have her running.

  If this was average, run-of-the-mill cold feet, he desperately wanted to dispel her fears about their marriage, but something told him nothing he could say or do would truly do that. No, his Dixie was struggling with something, and he needed to give her time to work it out in her head and talk to him about it whenever she was ready. He didn’t know how much time he could give her—it might not be the days he’d been thinking he could—but he knew one thing: he would make sure she knew where he stood.

  And that was with her—one hundred percent.

  Max crossed the room slowly but with purpose. He took her hand in his and pressed the palm to his lips for just a second. He felt encouraged when her eyes fluttered closed, her love for him emanating from every pore. Good, so love wasn’t the problem. This wasn’t about her feelings for him. It had to be something else.

  “Grace, I would marry you in scuba suits. In our underwear. I’ll marry you today. I’ll marry you in the middle of the Super Bowl. All I want is: one, to marry you at some point, and two, for you to be thrilled with the way it all turns out. Anything you want, Dixie.”

  Her eyes widened in appreciation, her shoulders relaxed, and her breathing eased. Whereas she’d looked panicked just seconds before, she now looked relieved.

  “If you want to wait until we get back from Europe, then that’s totally fine by me,” he continued on, though he was admittedly disappointed that his vision wouldn’t be coming true. He’d been so sure that Grace would be all for it.

  She took her hand from his and brushed it over the top of her still damp braid. “I don’t think it’s a great idea for me to go to Europe either.”

  Max felt his world shift a bit—okay, a lot. It wasn’t flipped on its head, but it was definitely moved enough for everything to be sliding across the table. “Dixie—”

  She rushed on. “I just think it’s a critical time in the wedding planning stage. And if I left, then I’d be sticking Lucy and Melina with so much of the work. Too much. And I want to plan the details of our wedding myself. We only get married once, Max, and I want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

  “Dixie,” Max said, lifting her chin with one finger. “You want to skip a European getaway vacation with the love of your life so that you can stay home and pick out linens for our wedding? Come on, babe.” He could hear the skepticism in his voice but he couldn’t help it. She was scrabbling for excuses instead of te
lling him the truth.

  But then she looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes, lips pressed together. God, she was so beautiful. Tears trembled on her thick lashes, and somehow her eyes looked even bluer than before. Her face, so perfect, so painfully beautiful was caught in a shaft of light, shadowing her as if she were a portrait.

  The first tear rolled down her face and Max instantly brushed it away with his thumb. Then the next. Then the next.

  “Hey, hey,” he murmured, pulling her into his chest. “Slow down, Dixie. You’re alright.” He stroked a hand over her back and he was immensely relieved when she arched into it like an affection-needy cat. At least she was letting him comfort her, and that was something. A good thing, since he now felt like a complete dickhead for making her cry. “Are you sure it’s only because of the wedding planning?” He peered deep into her eyes. Now was her chance to come clean.

  She wrung her hands, and Max knew for a fact that there was more.

  “Max, I just need a little bit of time to myself. That’s all I’m asking. I mean, yes, Europe sounds amazing, but we’re going to be together all the time soon, day in day out, and all I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

  She had a good point—they would be together soon enough, and those words alone soothed his soul for the moment. They meant she had every intention of staying. So whatever it was that was bothering her was just a bump in the road.

  He smiled and took her hands. “Look, Grace. You’ve got your reasons. I can respect that. Just promise me that you’ll tell me those reasons at some point.”

  Grace nodded, pulling her head away from her chest and looking up at him. “I promise.”

  “In the meantime,” Max said, taking her by the chin. Something primal inside of him had to make sure she understood that she belonged to him, that whatever the problem, they could work this out. “Let me just make one thing as clear as I possibly can.”

  Her eyes were so clear and trusting it was like seeing diamonds at the bottom of a fountain. He hooked his hands around her waist and pulled her into him. Leaning down he gave her a brief open-mouth kiss on one side of her neck and then the other. She shifted on her feet and made a small, feline sound in the back of her throat.

  “No matter what happens, Dixie,” he said, one of his hands making its way under her sweater, drawing a seductive circle over the small of her back, unclipping her bra. She belonged to him. He had to safeguard his future. “No matter what happens in your world, or in mine, we always meet right back here.”

  He lifted her sweater off her in one smooth move, then shucked her bra to one side. Next went her pants. Until she stood in front of him in just a scrap of sky blue satin. He took a step back and admired her while ripping off his own shirt. His belt hissed as he whipped it out of his belt loops.

  Grace trembled in front of him. With lust, but also emotion. He stepped over to her, tipped her head back with one hand and took her mouth. Her perfect mouth. He kept the kiss calm at first, almost chaste. But she shifted against him, her breasts glancing over his chest, and the kiss spun out, a delicious slide of their tongues. A nip on her bottom lip.

  He broke away only long enough to grab her by the backs of her legs, and lift her up. He walked them to the couch, and laid her down gently, then he reared up over her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Grace?”

  “Yes…” Her eyes were bleary, heavy with lust for him, almost like she wished he could scoop the emotional pain right off of her and make it disappear like he did in his magic shows.

  He leaned down and traced her body with both hands, roughly molding her curves. “Right here? Nothing matters but you and me. The world means nothing here.” He knelt and roughly closed his mouth over her breast. She arched and clawed his back, tossing one leg over his hip, trying to draw him even closer. But he wouldn’t be distracted.

  He impatiently hooked her panties in one finger and dragged them off. He traced her seam with his middle finger. Grace tossed her head to one side, and spread her legs even further. She belonged to him, and he needed to make sure that she knew it. No matter what happened.

  Max wasted no more time. Not one more precious, pulsing second. He plunged a finger into her and Grace arched, her body coming up off the couch. “Nothing that happens out there affects this, Dixie,” he growled, working her clit with his thumb, ruthlessly ripping her toward the peak. He loved making her come, loved making her scream from pure bliss, and God knew he was scared he’d lose her. He had to seal his presence in her life. “The world doesn’t come between us.”

  Her eyes went white, unseeing, as her fingers clawed his back, and she gripped him harder than she ever had before. She was both pliant and tense as her orgasm overtook her. Max didn’t wait for it to end, didn’t indulge her in a long, lazy spin. No. Halfway through her orgasm, he spread her knees even further, and plunged himself inside her. He rode her through her explosion, her mouth opening wide, his face buried in her neck. She was his…

  Looking up at her, even as she went weak under him, he demanded her eyes. “This is our world, Dixie. Yours and mine.”

  She nodded, almost as if hearing him for the first time. His strokes hardened, became more frenzied. They started to slip off the couch and he tipped them, landing on his side and rolling across the floor. First, she was on top and then he was. And then she was, then he was again. He pinned her to the ground, thrusting so hard she screamed with pleasure.

  “This is our life, Grace. This is it. Right here.” Each word was punctuated with a powerful thrust. He took her lips in something resembling kisses. But really they were just plundering each other, getting as close as possible in every way, ravaging the hell out of each other.

  “We always come back to this, Dixie,” he said again, swiveling his hips against her and making her arch in ecstasy again. “This is home.”

  This time, he came with her, pressing and pulling and groaning and smashing against her, the intensity filling his soul. This was his woman, and he could not have his woman having second thoughts. He would make her three-thousand percent his. They collapsed onto the ground, Max rolling onto his back and taking Grace with him. Their breaths punched out at the air as if they’d just run a marathon.

  He realized that though her body was sated, melting into him, her breaths were tight, almost like sobs. Lifting her head to face him again, he gently kissed her lips. “Whatever it is, Dixie. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through it. You’re mine. I’m yours. Always. Got it?”

  Slowly, she nodded and pressed her cheek against his. “Yes.”

  Chapter Four

  Grace lay on her bed, facing the wall, Max’s arms banded around her. She’d never felt safer or more scared at the same time. She could feel the even rise and fall of his breaths as the sun rose, painting the room a delicious peach pink. Soon, she’d have to wake up and face the music—at some point, she had to tell Max what was going on.

  It had been three days since she’d told him she couldn’t marry him in a week or go to Europe with him. Three torturous days for both of them. Three days of Max knowing something was wrong, with Grace being unable to tell him what it was.

  Just tell him! part of her brain screamed. He’s your fiancé!

  No, you might alarm him when nothing is wrong. Better to deal with it yourself then face him only if it’s a problem. She just couldn’t stop thinking that there would be a problem.

  It was like Life was playing a cruel joke on her. Ha, ha, soon-to-be-bride discovers she can’t ever be a mother. GAME OVER!

  Maybe, she thought. But I’m not giving up hope. Not yet.

  “Grace…” Max started, and she knew he was going to ask her. Beg her even to tell him what was going on. But before he could, she turned to face him, kissed him, and said, “Make love to me, Max.”

  He stared at her for a moment, knowledge in his eyes, but when she kissed him again, he pulled her close and did what he always did—devoted his whole self to giving her what she needed. After
ward, when he’d left for work, she lingered in bed, breathing in his scent and luxuriating in the memory of their time together, not just that morning, but in all the months before. She remembered first dates. First kisses. The first time they declared their love for one another. The first time he’d asked her to marry him.

  And the second time, not so long ago.

  Have faith in those memories, Grace. Have faith.

  With a sigh and a determined nod of her head, Grace got out of bed and went about the rest of her day. Several hours later, she got the call. Recognizing the number as coming from the doctor’s office, she cringed and nearly burst into tears with anxiety.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Sinclair, it’s Dr. Hadron,” he greeted her, going through some small talk before laying down the hammer. “Your blood tested positive for Antiphospholipid Syndrome.”

  It was like an anvil had dropped from a cliff high above right onto her head. The doctor assured her it wasn’t guaranteed that she could never have children, but she would encounter difficulties, so it was best if she came in soon to begin treatment.

  So, there it was—she had an autoimmune disorder. One that might possibly prevent her and Max from ever conceiving. Would it be fair to marry him now? Max could get any woman he wanted—any woman. Why would he want to stay with her now when having a family was such a big dream of his—of theirs?

  She was terrified and worried, and her heart was breaking.

  * * *

  Grace once again checked the time, knowing Max would be home any second now.

  What would she tell him?

  She never liked holding back, and now that there was confirmation, she knew she had to tell him the truth. She wanted everything to be clear between them, the way it had always been. Only she didn’t know how she could tell him what was going on and still be hopeful of a future with him. The more she contemplated the dreadful moment, the more she knew it would change her life with him forever.