AFTERGLOW (26 page)

"No, love. It was great between us. Don't you agree?"

"We …
we made love?"

"Chelsea," he said, trying to sound hurt, "did you drink all that much?"

"No! That is, I remember the white wine and then
…"
Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her palms against the sides of her head.

"Chelsea, are you serious? You really don't remember what we did?"

She shook her head.

"You insisted that we get married right away. Nevada seemed like the best place. I managed to buy you that wedding band."

Slowly, as if her hand belonged to someone else, Chelsea lowered it and stared at the simple gold band. She started shaking her head. "No, it can't be true…"

She sounded so bewildered and so frightened that he was ready to confess everything. He opened his mouth, but she forestalled him.

"I asked you to marry me?"

He made a noncommittal gesture that she took for an affirmative.

"And you did? Here in Las Vegas?"

"You don't remember the preacher?" he asked, unwilling to lie directly anymore.

She shook her head, looking even more miserable.

I'm simply not a Mark I hero who's ruthless and outrageous, he decided, and said, "Chelsea—"

Chelsea turned toward him at that moment and pressed herself against him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. He stared down at her tousled head and very tentatively closed his arms around her back.

"I remember now," Chelsea said, frowning against his throat. "At least, I think I do. Didn't you tell me that you loved me, David?"

I've just fallen down the rabbit hole, David thought. "Yes," he said. "I love you. I will love you in six months and in thirty years."

"Will you make love to me again?" She raised her face, and David very willingly began kissing her. "You're not too tired?"

He groaned softly against her mouth. "It's been too bloody long," he said. "I've missed you, Chelsea."

She giggled. "Too long? Have you already forgotten last night, husband?"

"Yes," he said with great honesty.
"I
guess I have. It's a sign that I can't get enough of you. Come here, you crazy woman."

He pulled the towel away and smiled. She felt so damned good against him. He decided not to think about any consequences that he was certain would eventually plague him to perdition. "I've missed your bottom."

"And I've missed your—" She smiled, closing her fingers around him. "My, my," she said, giving him nipping kisses on his chin, "such enthusiasm! I'm glad you didn't drink as much as I did."

"Never," he said, his hand moving from her bottom to caress her belly. "I love you, Chelsea, and I don't ever want you to forget it."

"Why should I? You're such a gentleman, David. If another drunk woman asks you to marry her in the future, I'll just have to make certain that you're too exhausted to carry through."

He laughed softly against her temple. "Fair enough. Now, wife, let me show you the depths of my enthusiasm."

She quivered at the mental image of him on top of her, deep inside her. "David," she whispered, "I think we'll only be able to
feel
the depths of your enthusiasm."

How, he wondered as he tried to gain a modicum of control, was he not to fall on her and ravish her in a minute flat? It had been so long, so bloody long. He pulled her very inquisitive hand away and pushed her onto her back. "Lie still a moment. I want to see what I've got for the next fifty years."

He lightly held her wrists together above her head. "Very nice," he said, his eyes traveling over her body.

"Very nice, indeed." He lowered his head and gently nipped at her breast. "Warm velvet. Is that what one of your heroes would say?"

"Yes," Chelsea gasped. "With maybe a soft and a pink thrown in."

"And wet?" he asked, his tongue gently lapping over her.

"Probably just damp. Wet sounds almost too explicit, more realistic than romantic."

"Let me check that out," he said. "In a romantic way, of course." He released her wrists, moved on top of her and slid down her body. Her legs parted for him, and he eased comfortably between them, resting his head on her soft belly for a moment. She felt his mouth caressing her scar, what she called her moped memento.

Chelsea felt his marvelous fingers stroking up her thigh and discovered that she was holding her breath. She expelled it when she felt him touching her. "Wet," he said, great satisfaction in his voice. "And soft and inviting and—"

He felt her hands tugging at his hair. "More evidence is needed," he said, and moved down.

Chelsea jerked upward when his warm mouth closed over her. She felt his fingers splayed over her stomach, pressing her back. "And very sweet," he said against her, and she quivered wildly.

She felt his finger ease inside her, felt his mouth warm and demanding, and she cried out. She shouted his name as her legs stiffened. Pleasure crashed through her. Small gasps of feeling continued, and when he entered her, slow and deep, she lifted her hips, tugging at his shoulders.

"David," she said, her voice trembling, "I'm so glad I asked you to marry me. It was the best idea I've ever had in my life." Then she moaned as his fingers slipped between them and found her. "I was so stupid not to grab you by the hair and drag you to my cave when you first asked
…
ah, David
…
me."

"Once again, Chelsea," he said, and she willingly obeyed him.

With great enthusiasm.

"What would a Mark I hero say about that gorgeous, sexy bottom of yours?" he asked some minutes later. He was lying on his back now, and Chelsea was covering him like his own personal blanket.

"Impudent? Sedentary?"

His hands kneaded her buttocks. "Hmmmm," he said. "How about gorgeous and sexy?"

"My heroes would never have to use the same words twice."

"Even when they're close to death from satiation?"

She giggled, raised her face and looked down at him. "You're the gorgeous one, David."

"Are you talking about my bottom? How about soft and white and a marvelous handful?"

"You or me?"

"You, turkey. I'm lean and muscled and virile. And I don't have a bottom. I have hard, sculpted buttocks."

"You read too much," she said, tugging on his earlobe. "Now if you really want to get crazy and euphemistic, how about hard and pulsing and throbbing?"

"Lord, not now, lady. Behold a limp being."

"I'll keep you, limp and everything. David, thank you for marrying me. If I hadn't gotten a tad tipsy I might not have had the courage to ask you."

He refused to think about the century's greatest lie, at least not now, on his
…
honeymoon.

"Then why didn't you want to talk to me, Chels? I was the world's most miserable bastard."

She ducked her face down and buried it in the hollow of his neck. "I was scared."

"Of me?"

"Of marriage. And me."

His hands moved again over her bottom. "I need a bit of explanation for that one."

"I'm twenty-eight, David. I was really beginning to think that marriage wasn't for me. And you and I haven't always gotten along, you know."

He chewed that over a bit, then said, "But your heroes and heroines don't get along right away, do they? No, I know they don't. As a member of Chelsea Lattimer's fan club I know for a fact that they fight like wombats and hummingbirds."

"That's …
different. I've always had the niggling suspicion that women tend to equate sexual satisfaction with love. After all, we're not simple like you men are. I was afraid that I was talking myself right into my own theory."

"And what do you think now?" Oddly, he was tense as he asked her that question.

"I think that I'm the luckiest woman alive. If you continue to make love with me, say, twice a day for the next fifty years I probably won't give it much more thought."

"Fair enough," he said. "How many times a night?"

She laughed, hugged him, kissed his chin. "I'm so glad I asked you to marry me!" She arched back and picked up his left hand.

Frowning, she said, "Where's your wedding ring?"

Oh damn! Well, if one had to commit perjury, one might as well do it with panache. "You were in too much of a hurry. Don't you remember? You grabbed this wedding band, then yanked me out of the pawnshop. I think I remember the owner muttering about poor beleaguered men and insatiable women."

"You're lying!"

"Well, maybe just a bit, a tad, a veritable diddling amount."

She kissed him, thoroughly. "This," she said, giving him a very sexy look, "is our honeymoon."

"Yes," he said, his eyes darkening with pleasure, "it most certainly is. Do you want to gamble?"

"You've already won the wager, Dr. Winter!"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I have, haven't I?"

The consequences of their marriage didn't occur to Chelsea until they were seated cross-legged on the bed, eating a delayed breakfast.

"The children!" she said. "My parents. Your parents. George and Elliot. Cynthia and John. The world."

He chewed on a piece of bacon, gaining great satisfaction from watching the curve of her breasts beneath the pale violet camisole. He managed to pull himself from his fond contemplation. "That sounds like a whole bunch of folks," he said.

"David! No one knows we're married!"

"True enough," he said. He grinned at the thought of Delbert, Angelo and Maurice.

"What will your children think?" She groaned.

"They love you." That was something else to feel guilty about, he thought. "Chelsea," he began slowly, "you do like Mark and Taylor, don't you?"

"Of course I do. It's not me
I'm
worried about."

"You don't mind being a stepmother to those two little hellions?"

"Not at all. Don't you remember Evangeline, one of my Regency heroines? She adored the hero's little boy, Edward. And don't forget Giana, who became Leah's stepmother."

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she said, smiling, "I suppose it does. As for my parents, they'll be dancing for joy. I can't understand why they thought you, of all men, practically walked on water."

"But they do," David said smoothly. He suddenly paled. "Chels, birth control." He smacked his palm against his forehead. "I'm not using anything and you were
…
well, you were so excited about getting me to the preacher, you didn't use anything, either."

She was silent for a long moment. "We're married, right?"

"Yes," he said, watching her with a fascinated eye.

"Then I can say whatever is in my head, right?"

"Yes," he said again, his fascination growing by leaps and bounds.

"I mean, even if something was embarrassing to me before, now that we're married I shouldn't be reluctant about saying anything I want to?"

"Absolutely."

"All right. I told you I was erratic. Well,
I'm
not, not usually at any rate.
I'm
probably due before the end of our honeymoon."

"Bummer," he said.

"Finish your toast, David," she said, wriggling out of her camisole. "Time's awasting."

Chapter 16

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^
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I
t
occurred to Chelsea only after she'd fastened her seat belt on the flight from Las Vegas back to San Francisco. "David?"

"Yes, love?"

"How did we get to Las Vegas?"

She wasn't certain, but she thought he flushed just a bit. No, she thought, smiling, that was silly. Perhaps he was just one of those people who were white-knuckled until after the plane was in the air.