Sex Drive. Susan LyonsЧитать онлайн книгу.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Okay, Jenna. Anyhow, if you’re tied up, I’ll do the wedding on my own. I mean, with Kat’s help,” I amended quickly.
“Yeah, right. You hate it when we try to help. All you can do is criticize.”
“I like things to be done right,” I muttered.
“Your idea of right, Ms. Perfectionist.”
Why could we never act like rational adults? “Let’s not argue. We all said we wanted to give Merilee a great wedding, so we need to cooperate. I’ll set up a project plan and work out the tasks, then we can figure out who does what.”
“Yeah, sure, a project plan,” she said disdainfully. “Whatever.”
“Of course, you can’t actually do anything until you get to Vancouver,” I added.
She sighed. “I’m trying. Honest, Tree.” Jenna was the only one who used nicknames. I was Tree because that’s how she’d first pronounced my name. “But it’s not easy. I need to raise some money.”
“Money?”
“Yeah, like to fly home?”
“You don’t have money for the flight?” Hadn’t she been working?
“The peregrine falcon survey is volunteer work. I’ve been waitressing some evenings, but I’m not making a lot.”
How could she live like that, especially now she was turning thirty? Normally I wouldn’t have bailed her out, but damn it, Merilee was getting married. “When I get to Vancouver tomorrow, I’ll book a flight for you and I’ll pay.”
“Shit, Theresa, I don’t need your charity.”
Couldn’t she just say “thank you”? Annoyed, I sniped back. “Sounds to me like you do. Or, if you won’t take it from me, call Mom and Dad. I’m sure they’ll pay to fly you home.”
“Not going to happen.”
Damn her. Ninety-nine percent of the time she was easygoing, but every once in a while—at the most inconvenient moments—she got stubborn. “So, what’s your plan?” My guess was, she didn’t have one. “It’ll break Merilee’s heart if you’re not home for the wedding.”
“I’ll be there! Honest to God, Theresa, lay off. I’ll figure it out.”
My headache was returning. “Well, if you have any brilliant ideas about the wedding, give me a call or drop me an e-mail.”
“You’ve got the location booked, right?”
“No, I don’t. I haven’t even started the project plan. Since Merilee called, I’ve been kind of busy. Booking a flight, reorganizing my schedule, getting someone else to monitor exams, packing. I’ll find a location as soon as I get home.”
“A location? You know where it has to be, don’t you?”
I’d barely given it a moment’s thought. “Where?”
“VanDusen Gardens.”
“Why do you…Oh. Oh, yeah.” Our gran, Mom’s mother—who unfortunately now suffered from Alzheimer’s—used to take us girls on an outing every Sunday afternoon. Science World, the Aquarium, the beach at Spanish Banks, VanDusen Gardens. Merilee had always loved the rambling, naturally landscaped gardens. I did remember her saying she wanted to get married there. How could I have forgotten?
Could it have something to do with the fact that Merilee, the late addition to our three-pack of sisters, had rarely been the focus of my attention? Or Mom’s or Dad’s, or Kat’s or Jenna’s, for that matter. By the time Merilee came along, we were wrapped up in our own lives.
“It’s June,” I said. “It’ll be booked on a Saturday.”
“It’s a big place. I bet they could squeeze us in.”
To put it kindly, Jenna was an eternal optimist. To put it more accurately, she tended to ignore reality. “I’ll ask.” There might be a last-minute cancellation. Merilee would be so excited if we could hold the wedding at VanDusen. “And if not, maybe one of the other gardens Gran used to take us to.”
“Talk to Mom and Dad,” Jenna said. “They must know someone who can make it happen. Play the guilt card.”
“The guilt card. That’s a thought.” Our father, who worked at the University of British Columbia, was one of Canada’s leaders in researching genetic links to cancer, and was busy with the final draft of a report. Mom was a prominent personal injury lawyer and right now she was preparing to present an appeal in the Supreme Court of Canada next week. Neither had time to help with wedding preparations, yet I knew they wanted Merilee to have a wonderful wedding. They wouldn’t mind spending a few minutes pulling strings. Grudgingly I said, “Good idea.”
“I’m sure you’d have come up with it eventually.” There was a smirk in Jenna’s voice when she added, “Once you started typing up that project plan.”
Jenna wouldn’t know a plan if it bit her on the behind, but I decided to take the higher road and not comment. Instead, I mused, “What if it rains? We’d need tents or something.”
“It’ll be sunny for M&M. Just wait and see.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you put in a request with the weather gods, and I’ll work out a contingency plan.”
Noises from the aisle made me turn, to see Carmen serving people a couple rows ahead of us. “Jenna, I have to go.”
“Me, too.”
“Call Kat, would you? In a couple hours, when she’s up? And e-mail us when you know your travel plans.”
There was no response. “Jenna? Oh damn, did you hang up on me?”
Day opened his eyes and grinned as I hung up the phone less than gently. “Man, am I glad I don’t have siblings. Is it always like that?”
“Usually. We love each other, but…” I shrugged. “My secretary says her sister’s her best friend. I haven’t a clue what that’s like.” Of course, I didn’t actually have a best friend. Colleagues and grad students I enjoyed talking to, but no buddies.
I’d once thought Jeffrey was my best friend. After, I’d decided I didn’t need one.
Day’s hand stroked the aching knot in my temple. “You need to learn some relaxation techniques, Theresa.”
The tension eased. “Actually, I kind of like this one. Your hands are magic.” Yes, I said the words deliberately. When he touched me, I wanted more. Wow, here I was, flirting with a man I knew next to nothing about. Maybe I was wilder than I’d ever imagined.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he murmured.
I believed him, if he was referring to his hands. They were so nonacademic. Strong, dark, masculine, yet gentle and sensitive. Hands that made a woman melt and burn under their touch. Oh yes, I was coming to believe I could be wild.
Carmen arrived, bearing nicely set trays: appetizers, cloth napkins, fresh glasses. She presented a wine bottle so we could see the Lenton Brae label, then poured for us. “Enjoy,” she said flatly.
“She hates us,” I told Day. “You realize we’re going to have marginal service for the whole trip.”
“That’s better than a boob in the face.”
“Give me a break. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”
“Okay, I’m male. What can I say?” He glanced at my chest as if he was wondering what my breast would feel like.
He made me aware of the thin V-necked sweater I wore and the flesh-colored bra designed for comfort, not display. And of the way my nipples