I Wish You Were Mine
Page 1
Prologue
Mollie Carrington was twenty the first time she fell in love.
She’d had crushes before, obviously.
One did not survive high school without at least a handful of those sweaty-palmed, what-if-he-talks-to-me moments. And college, thus far, had even resulted in a couple of short-lived boyfriends.
But it wasn’t until she was twenty, dressed in a blush-colored bridesmaid gown at her sister’s wedding, that she fell really, truly in love.
It was a beautiful evening in late May. Of course it was; the sky wouldn’t dare release a raindrop on Madison Carrington’s wedding day.
The reception was being held at Raven’s Lodge—a sprawling estate with lush green foliage, fragrant flowers, and more twinkle lights than the mall at Christmas.
But while the rest of the wedding guests were gathered under a massive white tent singing along with the band’s rendition of “Oh What a Night,” Mollie had found her way to a quiet bench next to a small fountain where a stone mermaid seemed to be spouting water from her…breasts? Was that right?
Mollie was peering closer trying to figure out what the heck was going on with this poor mermaid when a male voice came from behind her.
“A little old to just now be getting curious about the female body, aren’t you?”
Mollie jumped, putting a hand over her thumping chest as she turned and saw him.
She should be used to his good looks by now, but Jackson Burke wasn’t just run-of-the-mill good-looking. No, he was underwear-model, sexiest-man-alive, face-of-the-NFL gorgeous.
At twenty-seven, he had all the cockiness of a star quarterback in his prime but with just enough life experience under his belt to have a quietness to his confidence. As though he was barely aware of his Super Bowl rings or the magazine covers or the modeling contracts.
But Mollie was aware. Heck, all women were aware.
Jackson Burke was six feet three inches of perfect man. His light brown hair was just a little bit long and effortlessly wavy. The hazel eyes were fringed by unfairly long, dark lashes. A strong jaw had just the slightest cleft. And there was the dimple. Just to the left of his mouth, there was a tiny little dimple that flickered when he grinned, hinting at an easygoing sense of humor underneath all the testosterone.
Not that Mollie had been studying him or anything.
And if she’d thought the man was dangerous in a football uniform, he was positively lethal in a tux.
Jackson tilted his head to the side with a little smile, and Mollie winced as she realized she’d been staring.
Sitting back, Mollie pointed at the fountain. “The water’s coming out of her breasts. It makes no sense.”
Her face promptly flooded with heat when she realized what she’d said, but instead of laughing, Jackson merely leaned forward to get a better look.
He stood back and nodded solemnly. “So it is. Maybe the lactation made her mermaid shells uncomfortable, so she got rid of them.”
Mollie let out a surprised laugh that Jackson Burke, starting quarterback for the Texas Redhawks, had just uttered the word “lactation.”
He winked and held out one of the two glasses of champagne he was holding.
She hesitated a moment, and Jackson grinned. “I won’t tell your sister if you won’t tell her I’m providing champagne to a minor.”
“I’ll be twenty-one next month,” she said, accepting the champagne.
“Yeah?” He jerked his chin toward a spot on the bench next to her, and she scooted over.
He sat beside her, and although there were several respectable inches separating them, Mollie could feel him. It had been like that for a while now—this strange awareness of the man.
She tried to tell herself that it was just normal starstruck nonsense; that plenty of females felt this way around a man whose face was on everything from ESPN to E! to GQ ads.
But when he was this close, with just the two of them and a topless, lactating mermaid, it felt like so much more of a crush.
It felt dangerous. Forbidden.
“I thought I might find you out here,” he said quietly as he took a sip of his own champagne.
Mollie snuck a look out of the corner of her eye. He’d come looking for her? She hadn’t thought anyone had noticed she’d slipped away.
“I messed up the toast,” she said quietly.
“Nah,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him and slouching down a bit to get comfortable. “Just think how many people you educated on the mating ritual of parasitic worms. They should be thanking you.”
Mollie groaned. “It was supposed to be romantic. I did a paper about them for my systematics and biotics diversity final. They’re unusual because they’re bonded for life. Most organisms sleep around or, you know, the male dies after mating—”
Jackson winced, and Mollie wished she could wither and die just like a male bee.
Mollie knew she had lots of useless trivia in her head, but she didn’t normally go spouting it out like this. Not that she was a smooth talker or anything, but she was usually pretty quiet and normal, if a bit nerdy.
But tonight she felt…off. Starting with the fact that the dress Madison had picked for her was the exact color of Mollie’s complexion, so she looked like a mole rat. And then there was the fact that she’d tripped a bit as she’d been going down the aisle, courtesy of the five-inch stilettos her sister had insisted on.
Add in an awkward maid-of-honor speech where she’d gone on for a good five minutes about Schistosoma mansoni worms and how they mated for life, just like the bride and groom, and…oh God. Why had nobody stopped her?
Mollie Carrington was twenty the first time she fell in love.
She’d had crushes before, obviously.
One did not survive high school without at least a handful of those sweaty-palmed, what-if-he-talks-to-me moments. And college, thus far, had even resulted in a couple of short-lived boyfriends.
But it wasn’t until she was twenty, dressed in a blush-colored bridesmaid gown at her sister’s wedding, that she fell really, truly in love.
It was a beautiful evening in late May. Of course it was; the sky wouldn’t dare release a raindrop on Madison Carrington’s wedding day.
The reception was being held at Raven’s Lodge—a sprawling estate with lush green foliage, fragrant flowers, and more twinkle lights than the mall at Christmas.
But while the rest of the wedding guests were gathered under a massive white tent singing along with the band’s rendition of “Oh What a Night,” Mollie had found her way to a quiet bench next to a small fountain where a stone mermaid seemed to be spouting water from her…breasts? Was that right?
Mollie was peering closer trying to figure out what the heck was going on with this poor mermaid when a male voice came from behind her.
“A little old to just now be getting curious about the female body, aren’t you?”
Mollie jumped, putting a hand over her thumping chest as she turned and saw him.
She should be used to his good looks by now, but Jackson Burke wasn’t just run-of-the-mill good-looking. No, he was underwear-model, sexiest-man-alive, face-of-the-NFL gorgeous.
At twenty-seven, he had all the cockiness of a star quarterback in his prime but with just enough life experience under his belt to have a quietness to his confidence. As though he was barely aware of his Super Bowl rings or the magazine covers or the modeling contracts.
But Mollie was aware. Heck, all women were aware.
Jackson Burke was six feet three inches of perfect man. His light brown hair was just a little bit long and effortlessly wavy. The hazel eyes were fringed by unfairly long, dark lashes. A strong jaw had just the slightest cleft. And there was the dimple. Just to the left of his mouth, there was a tiny little dimple that flickered when he grinned, hinting at an easygoing sense of humor underneath all the testosterone.
Not that Mollie had been studying him or anything.
And if she’d thought the man was dangerous in a football uniform, he was positively lethal in a tux.
Jackson tilted his head to the side with a little smile, and Mollie winced as she realized she’d been staring.
Sitting back, Mollie pointed at the fountain. “The water’s coming out of her breasts. It makes no sense.”
Her face promptly flooded with heat when she realized what she’d said, but instead of laughing, Jackson merely leaned forward to get a better look.
He stood back and nodded solemnly. “So it is. Maybe the lactation made her mermaid shells uncomfortable, so she got rid of them.”
Mollie let out a surprised laugh that Jackson Burke, starting quarterback for the Texas Redhawks, had just uttered the word “lactation.”
He winked and held out one of the two glasses of champagne he was holding.
She hesitated a moment, and Jackson grinned. “I won’t tell your sister if you won’t tell her I’m providing champagne to a minor.”
“I’ll be twenty-one next month,” she said, accepting the champagne.
“Yeah?” He jerked his chin toward a spot on the bench next to her, and she scooted over.
He sat beside her, and although there were several respectable inches separating them, Mollie could feel him. It had been like that for a while now—this strange awareness of the man.
She tried to tell herself that it was just normal starstruck nonsense; that plenty of females felt this way around a man whose face was on everything from ESPN to E! to GQ ads.
But when he was this close, with just the two of them and a topless, lactating mermaid, it felt like so much more of a crush.
It felt dangerous. Forbidden.
“I thought I might find you out here,” he said quietly as he took a sip of his own champagne.
Mollie snuck a look out of the corner of her eye. He’d come looking for her? She hadn’t thought anyone had noticed she’d slipped away.
“I messed up the toast,” she said quietly.
“Nah,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him and slouching down a bit to get comfortable. “Just think how many people you educated on the mating ritual of parasitic worms. They should be thanking you.”
Mollie groaned. “It was supposed to be romantic. I did a paper about them for my systematics and biotics diversity final. They’re unusual because they’re bonded for life. Most organisms sleep around or, you know, the male dies after mating—”
Jackson winced, and Mollie wished she could wither and die just like a male bee.
Mollie knew she had lots of useless trivia in her head, but she didn’t normally go spouting it out like this. Not that she was a smooth talker or anything, but she was usually pretty quiet and normal, if a bit nerdy.
But tonight she felt…off. Starting with the fact that the dress Madison had picked for her was the exact color of Mollie’s complexion, so she looked like a mole rat. And then there was the fact that she’d tripped a bit as she’d been going down the aisle, courtesy of the five-inch stilettos her sister had insisted on.
Add in an awkward maid-of-honor speech where she’d gone on for a good five minutes about Schistosoma mansoni worms and how they mated for life, just like the bride and groom, and…oh God. Why had nobody stopped her?
