Her Book Of Pleasure. Marie DonovanЧитать онлайн книгу.
Her Book of Pleasure
Marie Donovan
MILLS & BOON
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To my sister Kate:
best friend, brain stormer and
cheerleader extraordinaire
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Coming Next Month
1
“NO WAY. I AM NOT interested.” Megan Michiko O’Malley stared at her friend in horror.
“Chicken?”
“I mean it. If you had any kindness in your heart, you wouldn’t do that to me.”
It wasn’t every day Meg saw an elegantly gowned bride cluck and flap her elbows. After one last loud hen imitation, Rey Martinson grinned. “Superstitious, are we?”
“No!” Meg busied herself with shoving the detritus left by the other bridesmaids into one big pile on the vanity table. They could sort out their own lipsticks and eye shadows. “It’s only a little bouquet of flowers, not a magic wand to conjure Mr. Perfect.”
“There is someone for you, Meg. And he’ll probably appear out of thin air when you don’t expect him.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “It’s been so long, I’ll probably forget what to do with him.”
“Call me if you can’t remember.” Rey laughed. “But not tonight. It’s my wedding night.”
“So I guess we have to get you married first.” Meg took a deep breath. She’d just grin and bear it like a good maid of honor. “And then the bouquet toss at the reception.”
“Great! Stand in the front row, and I’ll throw it straight to you. But watch out for my cousin, Inga. She played field hockey in boarding school.”
“Jeez, Rey. Should I get a mouthguard so she doesn’t knock my teeth loose?”
“You’re much shorter than Inga, so I’ll toss it low.”
Meg grimaced, picturing herself rolling around on the ballroom floor, pulling hair and clawing with her French-manicured acrylic nail tips. Pro wrestlers would get stomped into the parquet by a crowd of desperate single women at a bouquet toss.
“Promise me you’ll try to catch the bouquet. I want you to have it.” Rey caught her gaze in the mirror, her wide blue eyes pleading.
Meg sighed. It was a waste of flowers, since she had no prospective groom on her horizon. But Rey was in the sappy, syrupy stage of bridal bliss and Meg couldn’t pour cold water over her. “I promise.”
“Thanks, Meg.”
The wedding coordinator popped his head in the door. “Ten minutes, ladies.”
Meg checked the back of her friend’s gown to make sure the satin buttons were all fastened. “You look beautiful.” It was true. Rey Martinson stood almost six feet tall in her strapless white sheath dress. She fit perfectly with what Meg called the three B’s: blonde, blue-eyed and big-boobed. Or was that four B’s?
Anyway, Meg did love her dearly enough to wedge herself into a bridesmaid dress that she’d only wear today before donating it to the local resale shop. Some short, big-hipped, flat-chested girl would have a great prom.
Unfortunately, Meg’s only B’s were brunette, big-bottomed and blotchy. She’d inherited her short stature from her Japanese mother and her green eyes from her Irish-American dad. Everything else was a peculiar mix. Her hair was dark brown with reddish highlights, currently pulled into a complicated French twist that matched the bride’s. She moved from behind Rey to check her own dress and makeup. “My freckles are still showing,” she complained.
“Don’t worry. It’s not like your mother’s here to nag you about them.” Rey, of course, had skin like fresh cream thanks to her Swedish heritage.
“She and my father were sorry they couldn’t come today. Dad is in the middle of some complicated deal and Mom won’t travel outside Japan on her own.” Although her traditionally minded mother had taken to the Internet like an oshidori duck to water and regularly pecked at her via e-mail.
“Be sure to thank them for the beautiful red silk brocade kimono. The golden embroidery is exquisite.”
“It’s an Uchikake kimono and it’s traditionally worn at the wedding reception.” Her mother had bought two Uchikake kimonos, telling Meg that one was reserved for her. Never mind that Meg hadn’t even gone on a date in four months thanks to her teaching schedule at the university. Maybe things would lighten up now that the semester was over.
Rey’s mother Brigitte glided into the dressing room on a cloud of expensive French perfume, her beaded silk champagne suit swishing. “Darling, it’s time.”
Rey stared at her reflection in such a fog of happiness that Meg had to touch her elbow. A wistful ache settled over Meg at how happy her friend looked, preparing to marry the man she loved.
Brigitte kissed her daughter on each cheek and fussed with the spray of tiny white rosebuds in her hair. Meg handed Rey the bridal bouquet, fragrant with large white roses and one pink hibiscus, a tribute to her groom’s Cuban roots. Meg grabbed her own smaller bouquet of roses, the pink flowers contrasting nicely against her pale green dress. The color reminded her of a piece of jade in her father’s collection and the sash circling her waist looked vaguely like the obi that belted a kimono. Rey had a great eye for details, being a wonderful painter and sculptor. She considered keeping the dress, but where on earth would she wear a floor-length green satin dress?
“Thank you for being with me on my wedding day.” Rey reached a satin-gloved hand out and squeezed Meg’s hand.
Meg opened her eyes wide and blinked to keep the sudden tears from smearing her makeup. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Come, darling, you don’t want to keep Marco waiting,” Brigitte urged.
“Oh, Mother, Marco’s used to waiting for me.” She grinned at Meg, who rolled her eyes. Rey got so focused on her art that she often forgot what day it was.
Her mother smiled and kissed her cheek. “He loves you enough to wait for you forever.”