If the Stick Turns Pink... (6 page)

A lace-covered table at the front of the large room held a fountain spewing champagne and a three-tier wedding cake.

The band members were tuning instruments on the small bandstand in one corner, and the long banquet tables were filled with friends and neighbors and acquaintances.

Melanie lost Bailey as she was engulfed in dozens of hugs. She was passed like a football from arms to
arms, hugged and kissed and congratulated until the faces began to blur in her mind.

She caught a glimpse of Bailey, being slapped on the back and kissed on the cheek by well-wishers. He had the same dazed look on his face that she knew covered her own, as well.

Her mother rescued them, grabbing first Melanie by the arm, then Bailey and leading them to a table with a beautiful centerpiece. “You two sit here,” she instructed. “In just a little while the band is going to play the first dance just for the two of you.”

They both sat. “I feel like I've just been mauled by a wild pack of rabid dogs,” Bailey said as he straightened his tie.

Melanie laughed. “They all mean well.” She frowned as she saw a familiar old man making tracks toward them, a glass of champagne in each hand. “Uh-oh, here comes my uncle Jack,” she warned Bailey.

Jack Watters, while one of Melanie's favorite relatives, was also more than a little bit outspoken and eccentric. He plopped the glasses of champagne on the table before them. “Drink up,” he exclaimed. “You're several glasses behind everyone else in the room.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Bailey said and took a sip of the bubbly.

Jack clapped Bailey on the back. “If it was a hundred years ago, we wouldn't be sitting here at this reception. We'd be throwing a jamboree, beating pots
and pans outside your window while the two of you consummated your marriage. But this being the century that it is, I imagine you two have been going at it like rabbits for years.”

“Uncle Jack!” Melanie exclaimed as Bailey laughed.

“Ah, loosen up, Melanie,” Uncle Jack replied, then ambled away from their table.

That's exactly what Melanie tried to do as the party wore on. She danced the obligatory first dance with Bailey, cut the cake with him and shared a toast. But with each moment that passed, rather than loosening up, she was tightening up.

Bailey on the other hand was definitely getting more and more loose as the night wore on. She'd lost count of the number of glasses of champagne he'd drunk, but the intense sparkle in his eyes and the slight flush on his cheeks let her know he was precariously close to his limit.

She, too, had drunk more champagne than usual, but each glass she drank seemed to make her more stone-cold sober. Tonight. The thought of her and Bailey in bed together caused every nerve ending in her body to tingle with a strange kind of energy, and the sensations were only getting worse with each passing minute.

She looked out onto the dance floor where Bailey was dancing with her aunt Nancy. He'd shed his tux jacket long ago, and his shirt was unbuttoned to expose a tuft of dark chest hair.

Bailey loved to dance and he did it well, moving with a natural rhythm and grace that Melanie had always envied. She had two left feet on the dance floor and considered dancing as desirous an activity as a root canal. Bailey had already danced with nearly every woman in the room, and in the past hour the crowd had begun to thin.

Melanie thought it was protocol that the bride and groom leave the reception before the bulk of the guests did. With this thought in mind, she stood with the intention of reining in her husband and taking him home.

Her husband. Bailey's mother's ring on her finger felt cold and alien, as it had from the moment he'd slipped it on her hand.

He was her temporary husband, but also her lifetime friend, she reminded herself, and this thought dispelled some of the tension she'd been feeling about the night to come.

She stood at the edge of the dance floor until the band stopped playing and Bailey and her aunt stopped dancing, then she walked over to Bailey. “I think it's time we make an exit,” she said. “It's customary for the bride and groom to leave before the guests.”

“It is?” He cast her a big grin. “We certainly want to be customary, don't we?” He threw an arm around her shoulder, and as they made their way toward the door, telling people thank you and goodbye, she noticed he was more than a little unsteady on his feet.

“Maybe it would be best if you drive,” he said as
they approached his truck. He dug into his pocket for the car keys. “I'll be fine by the time we get to my place. I'm just feeling a little bit woozy.”

“I'll be happy to drive.”

Within minutes they were heading in the direction of Bailey's house. Bailey, apparently still functioning beneath the haze of an alcoholic buzz, was talkative, as she knew he tended to get when he drank.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked. “I had a great time,” he replied, not waiting for her to answer. “I never knew it could be so much fun to get married. Stephanie and I didn't have a reception or anything like that. Of course, if we had, she would have been totally ticked off with me for dancing with everyone. But you aren't mad, are you?”

“No, I'm not mad,” she replied, keeping her gaze focused on the road. “I know how much you love to dance.”

“That's one good thing about you and me, Mellie. We understand each other.” He reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “You're a champ, Mellie.”

She wasn't feeling like a champ. As she parked the truck in front of Bailey's house, she felt like nothing more than a mass of bunched and bundled nerves.

For years she'd dreamed of losing her virginity on her wedding night, and always in those dreams she was giving herself to a prince of a man who loved her with a depth of emotion that was overwhelming.

Instead, she'd given up those dreams and twisted
Bailey's arm into marrying her so she could have the child her heart so desired.

They got out of the truck, and Bailey staggered slightly as he took the porch stairs. “You don't really want me to carry you over the threshold, do you?” he asked.

“I would expect and demand it if this was a real marriage,” she said, although in her heart she couldn't help but think it might have been nice under different circumstances.

“You might want to check the kitchen before you come back to the bedroom,” Bailey said once they were inside.

“What did you do? Leave me dirty dishes as a wedding present?” she asked.

Bailey grinned, his eyes not quite focusing on her, then he turned and stumbled down the hallway toward the bedroom.

Melanie headed into the kitchen, surprised to discover a child's gate barring the entryway. Behind the gate, bedecked with a silver bow around his neck, tail wagging at the sight of her, was Squirt.

“Oh, Bailey,” she whispered as she reached over the gate and picked up the wiggly puppy. She knew the devastation of Champ's loss so long ago had kept Bailey from ever wanting a dog as a housemate again.

She also knew that he'd allowed Squirt into the house because he knew she'd always wanted a dog. Her parents had never allowed an animal in the house,
and when she'd moved out into her apartment, it had a no-pet policy.

She hugged the puppy to her chest for a long moment, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Suddenly she wasn't worried about making love with Bailey. All the tension that thoughts of this night had brought was gone beneath the warmth of Squirt against her and the wonder of Bailey's thoughtfulness.

Having sex with Bailey was going to be just fine. There was no reason for sex to ruin the magic of their friendship. She kissed Squirt and placed him back behind the gate, then headed for the bedroom.

She stopped in the doorway, all her hopes for the night seeping out of her. Bailey was diagonal across the bed, obviously passed out. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, as if he'd crashed to the bed in the middle of undressing.

She'd known he was drinking more than he was accustomed to, had known that he was slightly loopy on the drive home, but apparently she'd underestimated just how under-the-influence he'd been.

And why had he drunk so much? Bailey often enjoyed a beer in the evenings, but he almost never overindulged. Melanie swept into his bathroom and grabbed the nightclothes that were folded on a shelf in the linen closet.

Over the past week she'd moved most of her personal items here in preparation for their brief, but hopefully fruitful, marriage.

Clutching the nightclothes to her breast, she left the
master bedroom and went into one of the guest bedrooms. She was surprised by the well of emotion that pressed against her chest as she took off the wedding gown and slipped into the satin camisole and tap pants.

There was no denying she was disappointed. There would certainly be no hope for a baby with her sleeping in here and Bailey passed out in the next room.

But what surprised her was a niggling fear that swept into her head. As she crawled beneath the blankets on the bed, she found herself wondering if perhaps the reason Bailey had drunk so much was because he simply couldn't face having sex with her.

B
efore Bailey opened his eyes, he knew he had the hangover from hell. His head pounded with a nauseating intensity, and his mouth was achingly dry and wicked tasting.

Dear heaven, but he had tied one on the night before. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten that drunk. Certainly it had been years.

For long moments he remained on the bed, eyes closed, and thought of the night before. He'd done exactly what he'd feared he would do—he'd let Mellie down.

Anxiety had gripped him the moment he'd seen her walking down the church aisle toward him. He'd never seen her looking so…so amazing. Her coppery hair had shone with a breathtaking radiance, and the
gown had clung to curves he had never noticed she possessed.

And that night she expected him to not only make love to her but to make a baby.

What if he couldn't? Although he'd never considered it before, what if he couldn't make a baby? That anxious thought had been followed by another. What if Mellie hated the way he made love? And for that matter should he kiss her, caress her, or would that offend her?

One worry had followed another and another, and he'd found himself drinking to alleviate his concerns. He didn't even remember how they had gotten home.

He opened his eyes and sat up, grabbing the sides of his head to keep it from rolling off his spine. Lordy, but he had a headache.

And where was Mellie? He owed her a huge apology. Gingerly he stood and walked to the bedroom doorway. From his vantage point he could see directly into the guest room across the hall. Mellie's wedding dress hung on a hanger in the opened closet, and the bed wasn't made.

So, that's where she'd spent her wedding night. He grimaced as his head banged a painful beat. He definitely owed her an apology. But first…a shower.

Moments later, standing beneath a near-scalding stream of water, Bailey began to feel more like a human being again. His head stopped pounding and he was now eager to make things right with Mellie.

He dried and dressed in a pair of jeans and a
T-shirt, then headed for the kitchen, where the scent of fresh-brewed coffee rose tantalizingly in the air.

The first perk of being married, he thought to himself. The coffee was already made.

He found Mellie seated at the kitchen table, Squirt dancing at her feet. He stepped over the gate, keeping Squirt imprisoned on the tile floor, and offered an apologetic smile to Mellie.

“Am I in the doghouse?” he asked.

“No, you're in the kitchen,” she replied with a teasing smile.

Relief swept through him. Thank God Mellie wasn't the type of woman to hold a grudge. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then joined her at the table, where yellow place mats had appeared as if by magic.

“Ah, one night in my house and you're already girlifying it,” he said.

“I haven't even begun. Ever since you bought this place, I've had an itching to do a little decorating.” She took a sip of her coffee, her gaze meeting his over the rim of her mug. “So, how's the head this morning?”

“If you'd asked me fifteen minutes earlier, I would have told you to cut it off and put me out of my misery. But, after a hot shower, I'm actually not feeling too bad.” He took a drink from his mug, giving him seconds to figure out how to best make an apology to her.

He set his mug down on the place mat, but kept
his hands wrapped around it. “Mellie…about last night. I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me.”

A small smile curved her lips. “I do…about two bottles of champagne got into you.”

He smiled sheepishly, then the smile fell as he saw a glimmer of pain in her eyes. “Mellie, I know you were expecting me to begin to fulfill my end of this bargain last night, and I feel awful about getting drunk and passing out.”

“It's all right,” she replied. She looked down into her coffee cup and continued, “Bailey, I know I'm not like the women you're used to dating. I mean, I'm not blond or stunning, and I'm not…you know, that built.” She looked at him again, her cheeks more than a little bit pink. “I understand if, you know, your desire isn't really high. I just wanted you to know that maybe if we'd do it in complete darkness, then you could, like, pretend that I'm somebody else.”

Bailey stared at her, stunned by her words. “Yeah, or maybe we could just put a paper bag over your head.”

“If you think that would help,” she replied.

He was utterly astonished. “Jeez, Mellie, I was just kidding! How shallow do you think I am?”

She shrugged, her gaze once again shooting away from his. “I just know that you tend to like the Miss Dairy Cow contestant kind of woman, and we both know that's not me.”

Bailey couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd
never before realized what a lack of confidence Mellie had in her own attractiveness.

True, nobody would ever say she was breathtakingly beautiful, or heart-stoppingly stunning, but she was certainly more than pretty. Her eyes were the color of new grass, fringed with long brownish-red lashes. Her hair was a spill of curly copper that sparked with golden lights, and her mouth was a Cupid's bow of daintiness.

As he stared at her mouth, he thought of the kiss they had shared on the night of their engagement party. He'd been shocked to find her mouth so warm, so sweet and yielding. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her again…badly.

“I suppose you think I drank too much last night so I would be able to face the prospect of making love to you.”

Again she looked away from him. “The thought did enter my mind,” she admitted softly.

A rush of emotion swept through him. This woman had been at his side for every important, momentous occasion of his life. Whenever he'd fallen, she'd picked him up and brushed him off, and when he'd celebrated anything, she'd always been the most fun reveler.

And she was afraid she was so unattractive he'd have to get bombed out of his head in order to make love to her.

He stood from the table and held out his hand to her. “Mellie.”

She frowned, eyeing him curiously. “What?”

“Come here.” He took her hand and pulled her up from her chair. Without giving her a chance to react, he instantly covered her mouth with his.

For a moment she remained stiff and unyielding in his arms, but as he touched his tongue to hers, delving into the sweetness of her mouth, some of the tenseness seemed to leave her and a different kind of tension began to fill him.

She smelled like summer flowers, and through the thin material of her cotton dress he felt the soft thrust of her breasts against his chest.

It had been a long time since Bailey had been with a woman. A year ago he'd had a brief relationship with a woman named Kathryn. The relationship had sizzled for about two weeks, then fizzled and extinguished as quickly as it had begun.

But at the moment there were no thoughts of any other women in his head. All he wanted to do for Mellie was prove to her that she was attractive and desirable.

He broke the kiss and once again took her by the hand, surprised to find hers ice-cold. “Come with me,” he said.

“Where?” she asked, slightly breathless.

He smiled at her. “I think it's time I work on fulfilling my end of the bargain.”

Her eyes flared wide with panic. “But, Bailey, it's daytime.”

He quirked an eyebrow upward in amusement. “There's a rule about these things?”

“Well, no…but it might make it harder for you to pretend.”

He touched the cheek of her so-familiar face. “Mellie, I don't have to pretend.” Before she could say another word, he pulled her through the gate of the kitchen and down the hallway to his bedroom. With each step they took, her hand seemed to grow colder.

“You want to back out of our deal?” he asked softly when they stood facing each other at the foot of the bed.

“No,” she replied swiftly. “Do you?”

As an answer he claimed her mouth once again, and once again he was surprised by the sweet heat of her. He'd had no idea she was so good at kissing, and he was equally surprised by his immediate physical response.

They had been kissing for long moments before her arms raised and she tentatively wound them around his neck. He had hugged Mellie a million times in the past, but now with her body so tightly against his he became aware of things he'd never noticed before.

Heat radiated from her body, and although thin, she wasn't “skinny, minny Melanie” anymore. She had curves where women were supposed to have curves.

He moved his hands up and down her back, finally coming to rest at the top of her zipper on the back of
her dress. She gasped, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound.

He moved his mouth from hers, trailing kisses down the warm sweet flesh of her neck and throat. Again she gasped and he found his desire growing as he realized she found his touch, his kiss pleasurable.

Pulling the zipper down, he was shocked when she moved her hands and slid them up the back of his T-shirt. So, she wasn't just going to be a passive partner, but rather a willing participant.

His blood heated, and suddenly he forgot all the reasons why he'd once thought this would be a bad idea. He forgot that Mellie was his very best friend in the whole wide world.

All he knew was that he wanted her right here and right now. And unless she demurred, he was going to have her.

 

Any doubts Melanie might have entertained about this moment were swept entirely away by the passion she tasted in Bailey's kisses, the fire in his fingertips.

The clean scent of him wrapped around her, as familiar and comforting as her old flannel pajamas on a wintry night.

It surprised her somewhat, that she felt no embarrassment, no inkling of shyness. It simply felt right with him.

As he pulled her dress from her shoulders, she allowed it to fall to the floor, a puddle of coral cotton.
She stood before him clad only in a white silk demi bra and a pair of wispy white silk panties.

He stepped back from her and pulled his shirt over his head, then, eyes locked with hers, popped the button of his jeans. His eyes glittered as he lowered the zipper and pulled off the jeans, leaving him clad only in a pair of cotton briefs.

“Okay?” he asked softly.

The fact that he'd asked made her more than okay. She nodded her head, and he wrapped his arms around her and lowered her to the bed.

She'd wondered if, when they finally had sex, there would be foreplay, and now the question was answered. Bailey seemed to be in no hurry to complete the act.

As he captured her lips in another of his breathtaking kisses, his hands moved languidly up and down the bare skin of her back, as if he had all the hours in the world to explore the wonder of her skin.

By the time his fingers worked to unclasp her bra, she was ready to take the next step in their intimacy. All jittery first-time fears were gone. She knew implicitly that Bailey would be gentle and sweet and would never do anything to hurt her, either physically or emotionally.

She tried to remind herself that this had nothing to do with pleasure, but was a means to an end. A baby. That's what she wanted from Bailey and that's what this was all about. He was fulfilling his end of their bargain.

But it was difficult to focus on that aspect when pleasure soared through her at his every touch. He removed her bra and ran his hands over her breasts, causing her nipples to tauten in response.

When he captured one of her nipples in his mouth, she gasped in surprise as tingles of electricity raced through her entire body. She had never had anyone touch her with such intimacy, and once again she was grateful that it was Bailey who was introducing her into the world of sensual pleasure.

She raked her hands over his broad back, loving the feel of the play of his muscles beneath her fingertips and loving the moan that came from the back of his throat.

Sensations overwhelmed her, stealing all thought, as a deep, abiding hunger awakened inside her. When he finally touched her over the silky fabric of her panties, she didn't fight the impulse to arch up to meet him.

He stroked her gently at first, in a slow rhythm that was half maddening, and the hunger inside her became ravenous. She could think of nothing but Bailey's touch, the warmth of his body against hers, the fire he evoked in the pit of her stomach.

As he increased the rhythm of his intimate caress, a tension built inside her, a tension the likes of which she'd never known before. With each stroke of his hand, the tension grew, making her feel as if she was going to scream, shatter into pieces, melt into him and never surface again.

She reached a peak of pleasure that brought tears to her eyes, and a sweet release fluttered through her, leaving her gasping and spent.

Before she could recover, in two swift movements he'd removed her panties and his briefs. He positioned himself between her thighs and attempted to ease into her.

He stiffened, shock on his features as he was met with resistance. “Mellie?” He began to ease backward, but she grabbed his hips and pulled him back to her.

“Don't stop, Bailey,” she whispered. “It's all right. It's what I want.”

His gaze held hers for an aching, long moment, then he closed his eyes and took full possession of her. Melanie had expected pain, and there was some pain, but it was manageable.

For long moments he made no movement, as if afraid any further action might hurt her. But the initial pain had ebbed and her body reacted with instincts as old as time. She moved her hips, and he moaned, a deep, low sound that resonated inside her.

She could feel his heartbeat against her own, and she wasn't sure whose was racing faster. His moan seemed to break the spell of his inertia and gently he pulled back just a little, then gently thrust forward. Again he moaned, as if the sensation was too great to bear.

As he moved again, sweetly, devastatingly against
her, she felt the now-familiar rise of tension once again filling her up.