License to Thrill. Tori Carrington

      The outer door opened. “Yoo-hoo.”

      Melanie closed her eyes and clutched her shoes, half wishing she could climb on top of the toilet so her mother couldn’t see her stocking feet from under the door. Not that it mattered. She peeked through her eyelids to find her mother angling her head to peer through the thin crack between the hinges.

      “I’m in here, Mother.”

      “Oh!”

      She had to give her mother credit. At least she attempted to act as though she hadn’t just been gaping into a closed stall.

      She heard the door next to hers close. There was no rustling of clothes, meaning her mother wasn’t doing anything in her stall, either.

      “Mother?”

      “Yes, Melanie?”

      “Why are you so afraid I won’t go through with…well, you know, with marrying Craig?”

      There was silence, then the distinct sound of the toilet paper roll going around in circles. Melanie gave in to a sudden smile. At least her mother was attempting to make the situation look somehow normal.

      “Well…I have to admit, I am a little concerned about your unusual behavior these past couple days.” Wilhemenia paused. “I don’t know, your behavior reminds me so much of that time you came home from university for the summer and neglected to tell me you’d changed your major from business to pre-law.” She made a quiet sound. “I won’t say a word about how your choice of careers after graduation disappointed me.”

      You don’t have to say anything because you already have. Every time you want me to do something I’m against.

      Melanie propped her shoes on a metal shelf then toyed with her own toilet paper. “And do you really think hovering over me like a—” jailer? “—like a mother hen is going to prevent that from happening?”

      Another brief silence. “It’s not like that at all. I…I just want to be here if you need anyone to talk to.”

      Melanie caught herself ripping the paper to shreds, the pieces floating to land around her feet.

      “Melanie?”

      God, she was crying again. If she kept up the waterworks, she’d end up floating down the aisle on a wave of her own tears.

      Her mother spoke again. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

      Melanie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She swiped at her damp cheeks.

      Her mother cleared her throat. “If this is about that Marc character, you should just put him out of your mind right now.”

      Melanie released a long, silent sigh, the words a vivid reminder of exactly why she couldn’t talk to her mother.

      “He’s not the marrying kind, you know. More little boy than man. You’d only be miserable.”

      Melanie nodded, hating her mother’s words but agreeing with them nonetheless. She was beginning to suspect that the only thing worse than being without Marc McCoy was being with him.

      “Mom?” The shortening of the word mother should have sounded foreign, but oddly enough it didn’t. “Did you love Dad?”

      For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she had asked that. Her father had died when she was three, right after Joanie was born. What did ancient history—especially her mother’s ancient history—have to do with what was happening now?

      “Never mind. Forget I just asked that question.” Melanie got up and collected her shoes.

      “Melanie?”

      She stopped midway toward the door. “Yes?”

      “I…” Wilhemenia’s voice trailed off. “I just wanted to tell you that all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

      Some of Melanie’s tension melted away. “Marrying Craig will make me happy, Mom. Thanks.” She gestured vaguely, though her mother couldn’t see her. “Thanks for putting everything back into perspective.”

      Clutching her shoes in one hand, she opened the outer door. She skidded to a dead stop, finding herself nose-to-chin with a whole different barrier.

      Marc McCoy.

      Melanie’s breath gusted from her.

      That can’t be right. This was her rehearsal dinner. Marc shouldn’t be anywhere near the inn or the rest rooms, much less her, right now. Yet there he was, big as life and twice as tantalizing. She stumbled backward.

      “Wrong way. You want to come out.” Marc folded his fingers around her wrist and tugged her the rest of the way into the hall. Melanie’s knees felt about as substantial as baby food. She had no choice but to lean into him, causing a wave of longing to flow through her body. Suddenly, three months seemed like a very short period of time, indeed.

      “What’s going—”

      “Shh.” Marc laid a finger against her mouth. The simple action was maddeningly sensual. Her gaze was glued to his lips. But rather than kissing her, he set her purposefully away from him, confounding her even more. She moved her hand to the side of her throat, feeling her pulse thrumming wildly, her skin searingly hot.

      “Interesting conversation you and your mother were having in there,” he said.

      Melanie avoided his gaze. “You heard?”

      She didn’t realize what he was doing until he slid a mop handle through the door handle, securely barring her mother inside the ladies’ room.

      A hysterical laugh tickled Melanie’s throat. She couldn’t count the times she would have loved to lock her mother in a room. But wishful thinking was one thing; willful doing was quite another. She battled the irresponsible emotion.

      “Let’s go,” Marc said, taking her hand.

      Let’s go? Had he actually just said, “Let’s go”?

      Melanie dug in her heels as best she could, considering she wore no shoes. Her stocking feet slid across the tile as Marc hauled her toward the parking lot. She swatted at him with the lethal shoes in her free hand.

      “Hold on a minute, McCoy. Just where do you think you’re taking me?”

      He stopped. “Why, out of here, of course.”

      Melanie stared at the man who had the power to overturn every one of her well-laid plans. Her stomach pitched as she realized he intended to do just that.

      Then he had the nerve to grin. Grin! Okay, he was rubbing the spot where her spike heel had nicely connected, but otherwise there was no evidence she had done anything more than blow a strand of his rich brown hair out of place.

      “Hello, Mel. Miss me?”

      Miss him? About as much as a bad sunburn. But her heart started to murmur something else. Melanie ignored it.

      “What are you doing here? You weren’t on the guest list. I know because I drew it up.”

      “I penciled myself in.” Marc’s reflective sunglasses prevented her from seeing his brown eyes, but his smile told her more than she wanted to know. His head tilted forward as he took a languid look over the tight-fitting silk of her dress, then up to where the sleek material hugged her waist and breasts. “Put on some weight, haven’t you, Mel?”

      Scorching heat spilled over her cheeks again as she fought the desire to cover her stomach. He doesn’t know, she reminded herself.

      “Looks good on you.”

      While her physical dimensions had altered a bit since she last saw Marc, he hadn’t changed a bit. At six foot two, he was two hundred pounds of raw, muscled male. His military background was evident only in his tall posture. The easygoing grin and lazy casualness were pure Marc, as were his black T-shirt, jeans