A Cowboy's Woman (18 page)

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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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Greta felt a sick feeling welling up inside her. “You think that's what's happening to me.”
Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “I know you've developed a real thing for this guy. Anyone can see that. In fact, I think that's why the toasts were so optimistic and why your marriage is now getting the seal of approval from practically everyone. When you walked down the aisle to Shane and you looked at him the way you did, and he looked at you the way he did—if that was acting, kiddo, it was an Academy Award performance.”
“Only I can't really act, we both know that,” Greta murmured, distressed.
“Right. So...?” Beau let the sentence trail off.
So Shane could. He could carry any prank to the absolute limit. Could and had. Which left her where? As much as Greta hated to admit it, she knew Beau was right. She had been wearing her heart on her sleeve. She wasn't sure she could say the same for Shane.
“I'm not saying that you shouldn't just go for this, if it's right for you,” Beau continued seriously, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze..He gave her a sober, heartfelt look. “I just want you to make sure that you protect yourself, that's all.”
 
“LOOKS TO ME AS IF THOSE TWO are pretty darn cozy,” Bonnie Sue murmured to Shane from the other side of the dance floor.
Shane refused to get jealous for no reason, even though something about Bucklehead Chamberwaist and his movie-star aura and his protective attitude toward
Greta really irked him to no end. “They're just friends,” Shane told Bonnie Sue, wondering why in the world he had ever dated Bonnie Sue for six years, anyway. Had it been habit? Or just the fact he'd been too stubborn and too lazy to correct his mistake? And it had been a mistake. He could see now how self-centered and witchy Bonnie Sue was at heart.
Bonnie Sue batted her eyelashes at him coquettishly as she moved in closer, pressing her slender body against his. “Is that what she told you?”
Shane pulled his torso away discreetly because he didn't want to cause a scene. Using his grip on her waist and wrist and a judicious angling of his knee, Shane kept Bonnie Sue Baxter at a respectable distance as they continued to dance. He would cut Bonnie Sue loose now, except that he knew if he didn't hear her out, she'd go straight to Greta to finish whatever it was she felt she had to say. He didn't want Greta suffering through that. “What's your point, Bonnie Sue?” he asked with thinly veiled impatience.
“You have only to look at the two of them while they're dancing to see Beau's awfully concerned about her.”
As much as he was loath to admit it, Shane knew that was true. And that rankled, too. He was Greta's husband now. He was clearly the only one who should be watching over her.
“Everyone knows Beauregard Chamberlain's first wife put him through hell—to where he said he'd never marry again. Since then he's paid attention to only two women. Our own Laramie native, film critic, Dani Lockhart—whose blood feud with him is fast becoming legendary. And Greta, the only woman he's dated in the two years since he became single again.”
Shane shoved aside the memories of the videotape of Greta and Beau attending all those glamour-filled movie premieres and award shows. “So?”
“So?” Bonnie Sue smiled cattily. “Has it occurred to you that in marrying Greta right beneath Beau's nose, so to speak, that you might have done some damage to Beau's hunky reputation? Damage that a movie star like him can't afford?”
Shane could see how Beau's ego might be hurting. He hadn't thought about the press angle, though. He glanced back at Beau and Greta. Was that what their bent heads were all about? It was apparent they were talking about something intimate. And serious.
Shane paused, irritated to discover how much the idea of Greta with any other guy, other than a friend, of course, rankled. Telling himself the two of them were just friends—he had absolutely nothing to be jealous over—'cause there was nothing going on between Greta and Beau behind Shane's back—Shane shrugged his broad shoulders aimlessly and turned back to Bonnie Sue. “So he's a movie star. That just means he could probably have any woman he wants.”
“And the woman he's wanted consistently since his divorce is Greta,” Bonnie Sue put in smugly.
Shane knew what Bonnie Sue was trying to imply. That he was being cuckolded again—or was about to be. He was not buying it. He was not putting Greta in the same class with Bonnie Sue Baxter. Sure, he'd been naive about Bonnie Sue and her “study partner.” He wasn't naive about Greta. “They're not having an affair,” Shane told Bonnie Sue firmly.
“Are you sure about that?” Bonnie Sue asked, smiling thoughtfully over at Greta with something akin to awe. “If they're not, if she's been holding out for marriage
all this time, then more power to her,” Bonnie Sue murmured with respect.
Shane wondered what the two of them could be talking about for so long. “You sound as though you want Greta to be with him again,” Shane murmured. Whereas Shane couldn't bear the thought of seeing Greta become Beau's steady date again.
Bonnie Sue gave an indignant sniff. “I don't deny I think they're probably a better match than you and Greta. Just as I don't deny the possibility—much as it pains me to admit it—that Greta might be using you to give Beau Chamberlain a wake-up call, to make him realize he does want to marry her after all.”
Bonnie Sue's assertion hit Shane like a right uppercut to the jaw. No way was Greta in love with Beau. No way was she in love with anyone, except maybe him. Otherwise he would have sensed it. Wouldn't he? Aware he'd been blindsided before by what had been staring him in the face, Shane felt himself tense. “Only one problem with that theory,” Shane said dryly, calling on his customary self-assurance. He looked down at Bonnie Sue sternly, wordlessly warning her against sharing her theories with anyone else there. “Greta's already married to me.”
Bonnie Sue lifted a brow and inclined her head in the direction of Greta and Beau, who were dancing on the other side of the wooden floor that had been erected on the lawn. “But for how long,” Bonnie Sue asked smugly, “if Beau comes to his senses and proposes to her?”
 
“SHE WANTS YOU BACK, doesn't she?”
Shane carried Greta over the threshold, nodded at their limo driver, letting him know it was okay to leave, then
shut the door behind him with his foot. Greta still cradled in his arms, he headed up the stairs to the bedroom. “Who?”
“Bonnie Sue.”
Shane set Greta down gently on their brand-new king-size bed, which, thanks to the fact they'd spent the previous night making love in the stables, had yet to be used. But it was ready to go. The crisp mint-green sheets and thick and fluffy patchwork quilt had been turned back, the half dozen or so pillows arranged invitingly. “What makes you think that?” Shane asked.
Greta glided over to the table that had been set up next to the window. It was set with a postwedding feast. A magnum of champagne on ice, a platter of fruit, cheese and crackers. Veggies and dip. Tiny quiches. Finger sandwiches. Olives. Nuts. Pretzels. Slices of wedding cake.
“The fact that she showed up at our wedding tonight and then immediately went after my ex-boyfriend.” Greta fingered the card from their parents, wishing them a happy “first night” together as man and wife. She handed it to him. Shane glanced at it—made a mental note to thank both sets of parents for all they'd done—then handed it back to Greta.
“I thought he wasn't your boyfriend.”
Greta blew out an exasperated breath and dropped the card with a thud. “You know what I mean.” Her expression impatient, she turned her face up to his. “So what was she saying to you?”
The jealousy in her low voice pleased Shane. He reached for the bottle of champagne and began working off the cork. “She thinks my marrying you has put a dent in Beau Chamberlain's hunky-movie-star reputation.”
Greta shrugged and, petticoats swishing softly, continued to pace. “I'm sure he'd prefer I were still available to attend the award shows with him. There's something to be said for not having to worry about getting a date, you know.”
Shane popped the cork. He held the overflowing bottle over the bucket. “Did you tell him we intend to stay married?” Wiping off the excess with a towel, Shane filled two long-stemmed champagne flutes.
“For a couple of weeks,” Greta admitted, accepting the drink he gave her. “He thought the whole thing was a bad idea. And I've got to tell you, after seeing our parents' faces tonight, I have to agree with him.”
Shane linked arms with Greta. Silently they toasted each other, then sipped the delicious golden liquid. “What do you mean?” Shane's glance narrowed curiously.
Greta swallowed, looking suddenly miserable as they disengaged arms and she took off her veil. “They think we're in love with each other, Shane.”
And maybe, just maybe, Shane thought, undoing his bow tie with one hand, they were.
But he could tell that Greta would never believe him if he said it to her now. Not after everything that had happened, and the cockeyed way their romance had begun. The truth was he had gone about this courtship with her all wrong. It would take time—and a lot of effort on his part—to undo all that. But it could be done. Shane was sure of that. All he needed was time and opportunity. Because if there was one thing his conversation with Bonnie Sue tonight had taught him, it was that he didn't want to lose Greta. And if his instincts were right on this, Greta didn't want to lose him, either. He just
had to help her realize that. And the best way to do that, was not through talk, but through action.
Not giving her a chance to debate, Shane took her in his arms. He gave her a cocky smile, saw her eyes turn stormy with desire. Lowering his head, he eased her closer and pressed his lips to hers. Aware he'd never wanted a woman the way he wanted Greta, he kissed her the way he had wanted to kiss her from the moment he'd helped her into her wedding dress. Greta moaned, a soft, helpless little sound in the back of her throat that sent his senses swimming. With a surge of desperation, he deepened the kiss even more. Her mouth was pliant beneath his, warm and sexy, her body soft, supple, surrendering. Her arms lifted, wreathed around his neck, pulled him closer yet. Loving the way she responded to him, the way she trembled when she realized they were going to make love, Shane put everything he had into the kiss. He was determined this night would be every bit as memorable as their first time. Even more so. Her mouth opened and his tongue delved deep, tasting, caressing.
“Shane—” Greta whispered.
“Don't say no to me, Greta,” Shane whispered, raining kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and the uppermost swell of her breasts. “Don't say no to us.” Because nothing...nothing...had ever seemed as right as this.
Greta hitched in a breath and brought his lips back to hers; it was all the answer he needed. He reached behind her and unbuttoned and unzipped his way down her back, kissing her all the while. Her caution fading as swiftly as it had appeared, she clung to him, kissing him back, plundering his mouth with voracious intensity, in a way that let him know she did want this, too. Had for
hours. And yet, Shane realized in frustration, his kiss both sweeter and harder than he'd intended, there was still so much between them—layers and layers of clothing.
His whole body throbbing, Shane broke off the kiss. “Greta, honey,” he told her breathlessly, still cupping her face between his hands, “we've got to get you out of this dress.”
Greta looked up at him, her eyes a soft, misty blue. Smiling, she stepped back. No longer the shy wallflower he recalled from his youth, but the fearless woman—the sexy, loving, inherently adventurous and inventive wife—she'd become, she parted her soft lips in an inherently mysterious smile. “Okay, cowboy, I'll go first,” she quipped, her eyes wide, the irises mischievously bright, as if she had suddenly thought up something deliciously naughty. Lovingly she splayed her hands across his chest. “But just so you know—” she stood on tiptoe and kissed him provocatively, not stopping till he pulsed and groaned “—you're next.”
Still smiling like a woman head-over-heels in love with him, she offered him her back.” Not caring they hadn't said the words yet. Might never say the words. He slipped the dress down over her shoulders, her arms, past her waist, until it could go no farther without ripping. Scowling in mounting frustration—he wanted her naked, beneath him—Shane paused to size up the situation. With her petticoat still on there was no graceful or easy way to get her wedding gown past it. Who would have thought getting her out of the dress would be a lot harder than getting her in it? ”Wrong way, huh?” Shane asked.
Greta turned to face him, perversely pleased to see she was getting to him the same way he was getting to
her. “Appears so,” she drawled. “What do you say, shall we try again?”
“Gonna have to,” Shane answered, aware he was already hard as a rock, and all they'd done was kiss.

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