Laws of Attraction (8 page)

As the ceremony progressed, one thought began to torment Mia.

Dallas would have to kiss her.

Her pulse slammed into overdrive. She jerked, and he looked down, a question in his glance.

Mia stared into her reluctant groom’s stormy eyes, trying without success to gauge his ire. How angry was he? Would he try to punish her?

Why on earth was she still here?

Not too late. You can still back out
.

He’d kissed her in the swing, but the brief pressure of his lips had lifted before she’d even realized his intent. However, she’d been kissed by other guys. The memory of slobbery lips and clumsy tongues provoked an involuntary grimace. But with Esteban looking on like a doting Fairy Grandfather, she had to pretend to enjoy it.

Dallas frowned and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze that did nothing to ease her anxiety.

Suffocated by growing dread, she robotically answered the minister’s questions. Her limbs went cold, her palms damp. She slid Dallas’s ring onto his finger with unsteady hands, his heated skin scorching her chilled fingers.

Then the moment she dreaded rushed to meet her.

“Dallas and Mia, I pronounce you husband and wife. Those whom God has joined together, let no one separate.” The minister paused to bestow a beaming smile. “Dallas, you may kiss your lovely bride.”

Dallas bent toward her. In spite of herself, Mia recoiled. He checked. Glossy brows furrowed. His arm slid around her waist, turning her so his body hid her from their audience, and then he lowered his head, the pause so brief their observers wouldn’t have noticed.

He bent closer. Her heart tried to hammer out of her chest as his lips met hers. Firm and warm … and not at all slobbery. He didn’t try to ram his tongue down her throat, instead, his lips lightly touched her clenched mouth.

Dallas’ hand cupped her cheek. “Relax, Mia,” he whispered. “I won’t force anything on you.”

His gentle words and even gentler touch quelled her panic, and her body went from ramrod stiff to warily tense.

He planted a tiny kiss on each corner of her mouth, then again claimed her lips. He didn’t invade. Didn’t demand. Didn’t take. His mouth cruised over hers sweetly … languidly. Whisper soft, his lips brushed hers and his warm breath feathered her mouth.

His gentleness destroyed her rigid control.

Mia’s eyelids grew heavy, drifted closed. Liquid flame flickered to life in her belly and flowed through every cell, banishing the iciness in a rush of heat. Enveloped in Dallas’ strength, his scent, and his warmth, fears and objections melted. Her lips parted, gladly opening to his gently seeking tongue.

His breathing quickening, he dipped inside, exploring, tasting … cajoling her warm rush of response with heartbreaking tenderness. His hot, compelling, taste intoxicated her, instantly addicted her. Made her yearn for more. Made her crave this shattering connection with every fiber of her being.

Mia’s fingers clutched his lapels, clinging to him. One glorious taste of Dallas McQuade wasn’t nearly enough.

When he finally eased away, a small sound of protest escaped her throat, and for a heartbeat, the same all-consuming flames that burned inside her smoldered in his eyes.

They turned as one, his palm on the small of her trembling back supporting her as he escorted her down the aisle.

Shaking like a palsy victim, legs barely functioning, Mia’s head swam. What had happened to her lifelong indifference to men, her wariness of their deceit?

Dallas’ soft, slow lips had lit the fuse on a chain reaction of stunning sensation. With
one kiss
, he’d breached all her defenses.

Made her want him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

Her chest constricted. How was she supposed to protect herself? What would stop her from falling at his feet, begging for attention like the helpless, broken female she’d vowed never to become?

Their few guests followed them to the exit, and Esteban clapped enthusiastically. “Now the honeymoon begins,
sí
?”

She tripped over her own feet, but Dallas’ sure hands shot out and saved her from falling. “No. I …” She struggled to keep her voice level. “I…can’t. We need to get back. I have work and—”

“Nonsense. You deserve a honeymoon. And the eager groom will not wish to wait to claim his bride.
Señor
Dallas, you have a hotel preference?”

Dallas glanced from Esteban’s jovial grin to Mia’s peaked face. She’d gone pale during the ceremony. Purple smudges under her eyes and her makeshift nap on the plane told their own tale. The little lady looked worn to a frazzle. Eight hours of shut-eye would do her a world of good.

And he’d definitely like some private time with his headstrong, contrary “wife.”

He intended to pry answers out of the woman who’d corralled him into marriage with the tactical ruthlessness of a four star general. Outflanked and outmaneuvered.

He had a sinking suspicion Mia thought that as his wife, she’d get to scope out Esteban’s mansion.

No question in his mind about why
he’d
married
her
. After a decade of meticulous ass-busting groundwork, with victory so close he could taste it, he wasn’t about to get fired at the beginning of his third week on Montoya’s payroll. Esteban’s quiet ultimatum had clearly communicated the threat. Marry the “expectant fiancée,” or else.

Dallas rolled his tight shoulders. No problem. Once the deal was wrapped, he’d annul this farce.

In the meantime, he’d use it to his advantage.

“Wherever you’re most secure, sir.”

Montoya chose the Venetian. Esteban and Soledad booked adjoining suites to one another so Carlos and Zane could bodyguard father and daughter. Dallas asked for a suite one floor lower for privacy—again declining Montoya’s offer to pick up the four-hundred plus tab. He’d gotten himself into this with his big mouth. And a little help from a certain intoxicating brunette he’d been trying to defend. He’d spring for the whole fiasco.

He handed over his credit card, praying the cost would only be financial. Bitter experience had taught him that a cold-blooded viper lurked behind Montoya’s kindly paternal image. Before all was said and done, Dallas might have to pay in blood.

And pay, he would. He owed a blood debt.

Check-in completed, Dallas picked up his nylon duffel and Mia’s garment bag. He slid an arm around her waist as their group wove through the crowd toward the elevators. She immediately shifted, breaking contact.

So, they were back to that. He hoped she would trust him more after the kiss in the chapel. After their unexpected, shimmering connection.

His fingers tightened on the bags. Only he knew what maintaining his control during that kiss had cost him. He’d ached to plunder her sweet mouth, and holding back had been agony. But Mia definitely hadn’t wanted the intimacy. At least not at first. Toward the end, her breaths had quickened, her lips gone soft and pliant, her warm, sweet tongue seeking his. She’d returned his kiss with breathless hunger, nearly sending him over the edge. Nearly making him forget what he had to do.

And what he
couldn’t
do.

He needed her to trust him. He needed to make her spill her secrets so he could find out exactly what she was up to.

It was the only way he could keep her from being murdered.

The entourage paused outside Dallas’ suite. Groaning inwardly at Esteban and Soledad’s expectant smiles, he scooped Mia up and carried her over the threshold.

Inside, he kicked the door shut behind them and glanced around. Decorated in muted gold, rust, and blue, the suite was welcoming and luxurious. The entry foyer had a walk-closet and a full bathroom. The sitting area—complete with wet bar, dining table, couch and fireplace—led into the bedroom and master bathroom, which he assumed contained the Jacuzzi the desk clerk had rhapsodized over. High, arched picture windows overlooked the neon strip glittering behind an enormous, canopy-draped bed. His body tightened. Plenty of room in that bed for a whole different type of maneuvers.

Too bad only Mia would be sleeping there.

“You can put me down now, cowboy,” his bride huffed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Resisting the temptation to drop her on her sassy little ass, he set her on her feet.

She strode to the nightstand, where she deposited her bouquet. Turning her back on him, she stood staring out the window at the radiant red-orange desert sunset.

He followed. “All right, Mia. What’s going on?”

“I’m looking at the sun setting over the strip, it’s spectacular. Have you ever been to Vegas before?”

“Cut the bull, sugar. Why’d you jump at the chance to marry a man you barely know?”

She turned to face him. Dainty winged brows furrowed. “I have my motives.”

“
Are
you pregnant?”

“
No
!”

The backwash of relief staggered him. “Thank the Lord for small favors.” Diplomacy evaporated in fatigue and frustration. “Why were you following Soledad?” He took a step toward her, invading her space. “How did you get into Montoya’s estate without being spotted?”

She retreated a step. “I have my ways.”

“Tell me.” He advanced.

She retreated again. “I’d rather not.”

He took another step toward her. She took another back.

He stalked her until she bumped into the wall next to the bed. Planting both hands on the wall beside her head, he leaned in close. “Keep this up, and you’re gonna get hurt.”

Her chin wobbled for a nanosecond. Then her mouth firmed. Glaring up at him, she went rigid. “Maybe. But I’ll go down fighting.”

Dallas stared at the defiant set of Mia’s jaw, the rigid line of her slender shoulders.
Slick move, dumbass. Way to get her to talk
.

He knew better. He should have waited until they’d eaten and then lulled her into lowering her defenses, not jumped on her like a bulldog on a bone the second they walked through the door. If he located his missing brain cells long enough to put them to use, he could finesse the intel from her.

Disgusted with himself, he straightened, thrusting his fingers though his hair.

Mia flinched. Pivoting, she popped a powerhouse side kick at his kneecap.

He dodged left, barely avoiding the hit. His right hand shot out to grab her wrist. “What was that for?” He spun her around to face him and hauled her close to his chest. “Simmer down.”

“Get off me!” Rearing back, she snapped her head forward, again
almost
succeeding in head-butting—and busting—his nose. He had to admit, she was good. Someone inexperienced or caught off-guard couldn’t handle her. Without his training
he’d
be hard-pressed to handle her.

Her knee pistoned up, and he twisted, avoiding debilitating damage by a millimeter. He held her immobile. “This isn’t necessary. I’m twice your size and twice as strong, what do you think you’re going to accomplish?”

He meant his words to soothe, but she only fought harder.

Fending off her attack while trying to keep from hurting her was about as easy as wrestling a gunnysack full of wildcats.

“Mia, stop.” Letting go, he crouched and spun out of range. He pointed at her. “Just stay put, and douse that hellfire temper. We don’t have to do this the hard way.”

Giving her space, Dallas strode to the closet in the entryway. Time for a reboot. He’d order dinner, a bottle of mellow Willamette Valley Cabernet, something chocolate for dessert, and let her unwind. Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he shrugged out of his rumpled suit jacket and hung it up. He worked down the knot of his tie, tugged it over his head and slung it over the wooden valet rack. He unbuckled his belt and yanked it free, intending to hang it beside the tie before taking his duffel into the bathroom to change into his Levi’s.

Mia’s strangled gasp made him turn. As he looked at her, every drop of color leeched from her face.

“Mia?”

“
No
,” she breathed. Terror stiffened her features as she stared at him, eyes huge, lips parchment white.

Concerned she was going to pass out on him, he rushed to her.

Mia cringed away. “Don’t!” Wrapping her arms around herself, she slid down the wall, folding her body into a tight ball and ducking her head protectively beneath trembling arms. “Not the belt. Don’t use the belt.”

Dallas’ chest constricted.
God Almighty
.

He dropped the belt like it burned his fingers. “I’m not going to hit you.” He made his voice low and soft. “Mia, do you understand? I’m not going to hurt you.”

She was shaking so hard her teeth were knocking together as he knelt in front of her. “Look at me, honey.”

She kept her head down, muffled a sob.

“Easy now. It’s okay.” His movements measured and careful, he put gentle hands on her quivering shoulders. She flinched, and agony knifed his heart. He rubbed her arms. “I would never hit you,
ever
. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Another small sob, bitten off.

“Mia, can you look at me? Please.”

Wide, wary amber eyes hazed with sorrow raised to his. Kicking him in the guts. Making him want to find the fucker who’d beaten her and force-feed the son-of-a-bitch the belt, piece by choking piece.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I scared you, I had no idea …”

He brushed a damp tendril from her cheek, gratified when she didn’t flinch. “You’re safe with me. I’d cut my hand off before I’d raise it to you in violence.”

She sucked in a quivery breath.

He stroked her hair. “You’re safe, Mia. I won’t let
anybody
hurt you.”

“Too late,” she whispered. Her bottom lip quivered … and he was lost.

He gathered her into his arms. Cradling her head in his palm, he lowered his mouth to hers, offering gentle solace.

He tasted the salt of her tears and the honey of her unique, heady essence. He breathed her in, sun-warmed rose petals and delicious, tantalizing woman.

He wanted to devour her. Instead, he sipped, nibbled … savored the rare delicacy. Warm and silky, Mia’s lips parted beneath his coaxing. He eased his tongue inside the moist satin of her mouth, tenderly exploring. Giving comfort, sharing pleasure.