McFarlane's Perfect Bride (6 page)

Except that, well, what kind of relationship would they have, if he couldn't even be honest with her about his real intentions? It all had to start with honesty, and with trust, too. If they didn't have honesty and trust, they had nothing.

Time crawled by. She tried not to look at her bedside clock. It only reminded her how miserable she was—and how little sleep she was getting.

And then, out of nowhere, at ten after one, the doorbell rang.

At the unexpected sound, her pulse started booming in her ears. And her chest felt so tight, it hurt to breathe.
Either it was Connor, unable to wait to tell her he wanted to work it out with her. Or it was some awful disaster that couldn't be put off till daylight: a fire; Jerilyn with bad news about her dad…

Terrible dread and impossible hope warring for prominence in her heart, Tori yanked on her robe and ran to answer. Breathless, frantic, she pulled the door wide—and when she saw who was on the other side, her pulse thudded all the louder.

Connor.

He stood there on her doorstep in the same jeans and fancy boots he'd worn that afternoon, her picnic basket in his hand, looking exhausted—but determined, too. She realized as she gaped at him that he was the handsomest man she'd ever known.

“You left this in my SUV.” He held out the basket. “And yes, I'm planning to buy the resort.”

 

Connor waited, his stomach in a knot and his throat locked up tight. He had no idea what would happen next. She just might grab the basket and shut the door in his face.

But no. Those amazing hazel eyes had gone misty. That had to be a good sign, right?

And then she stepped back and tipped her head toward the great room, inviting him in.

He cleared his throat. He felt he owed her…something. A more thorough confession.

What the hell was happening to him? He wished he knew.

He found his voice. “I've been walking the floor half the night, thinking about you—” And then it was like a damn bursting. The words came tumbling out of him.
“Thinking about how I've never met anyone like you and I can't stand to think it's over with us when it never even got started. I decided at least fifty times that I would come over here—after which I decided not to, that in the end, I would be leaving when the summer is over, so what was the point, since I know you want more than a summer romance?”

She gazed up at him, her eyes so soft. “Connor.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you please come in so that I can shut the door?”

He frowned, wanting—
needing
—her to be certain about letting him into her house. It was insane. Where had these silly scruples come from? He'd never been troubled by them before. “You're, uh, sure?”

She only looked at him, still misty-eyed, and slowly nodded her red-gold head.

So he stepped over the threshold. She shut the door behind him and turned the lock. And then she took the picnic basket from him and set it on the narrow entry-area table.

“Come on.” She turned. He followed her through the great room to her cozy kitchen at the back of the house. “Sit down.” She gestured at the table.

He sat, hardly daring to believe he was actually here in her kitchen again, that not only had he come here in the middle of the night, she had answered the door. She had let him in.

Maybe it wasn't over, after all.

He watched, dumbfounded, as she put water on for the tea she liked and loaded up the coffeemaker for him. She looked more beautiful than ever, he thought, with her hair a little wild, her face scrubbed clean of makeup,
wearing a lightweight yellow robe that revealed a lot of sleek bare leg and adorable bare feet with toenails painted the color of a ripe plum.

She pushed the brew button on the coffeemaker and took the chair across from him. “What else?”

“Uh. Excuse me?”

“It seemed as though you had more to say.”

“I did. I do.”

She folded her hands on the tabletop. “I'm listening.”

He raked his fingers back through his hair. “It's only…I'm sorry, but I can't give you more than this summer. This, right now, that's all I'm ready for. I'm not…cut out for anything more.”

Her red-kissed brows drew together and he knew he wasn't making much sense.

He confessed, “I, well, I was a lousy husband, you know?”

“No. I didn't know.”

“I was. Just lousy. All that really mattered to me was my work. I wanted to take what my father and grandfather had started and make it
more.
New, exciting locations, each one-of-a-kind, each a luxury boutique hotel with stylish rooms, signature restaurants, bars and destination spas. I considered marriage and children as no more than something that was expected of me, something I needed to get out of the way so I could focus on my work, on growing the McFarlane House brand. So I fulfilled what I saw as my obligation to acquire a spouse, to procreate. I found a beautiful woman with the right pedigree and I married her.”

“You…you didn't care for her at all?”

He shrugged. “Looking back, I think I told myself I
cared. But really, being brutally honest now, I didn't care enough. Yes, I told my ex-wife I loved her, but it was just because I knew it was something I was supposed to say. And it's only by necessity that I'm trying to figure out how to be a halfway decent dad for CJ.”

“But, Connor, you
are
trying. That's what matters.”

“No. I'm doing what I have to do, fulfilling my responsibility to my son. Period. I live for my work, and I'm not husband material. I can't see that changing. I'm just not a family man.”

She caught her lower lip between her even white teeth—and then let it go. “Clearly, it's not going to do any good to tell you that you're a better man than you think you are.”

He stuck with the truth, painful as it was to reveal. “I think you
want
me to be a better man.”

She gazed at him for a long time. And then, finally, she conceded, “Yes. That may be true, to an extent. I would like you to be the best you can be. Tonight, though, I see that you already are a good man. A man capable of honesty. Of trust. And I understand what you're telling me. I already knew—or at least, I knew the part about how you're not up for anything long-lasting. We talked about it before, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I remember everything. Every look. Every smile. Every word we said.” He swore low. “I sound like an idiot, some hopeless fool…”

“No. You don't.” She reached out her hand to him. He met her halfway, in the middle of the table. Palm to palm, they wove their fingers together. “You don't sound like a fool, not in the least.” Her soft mouth trembled on a smile. “I'm so glad that you're here. That it's not over, after all.”

He shoved back his chair and stood. She stood with him. And then, hands still joined, in unison they stepped toward each other around the table. Once she was close enough, he reeled her in. She felt like heaven in his arms.

“No, it's not over,” he said, staring down into those beautiful misty eyes. “Not yet…”

“Not yet…” she echoed, lifting her mouth to him. He took it. Wrapping her tighter, closer, he kissed her deeply, learning all the sweet, wet surfaces behind her parted lips.

When he lifted his head, it was only to slant it the other way and claim her lips again. He could have stood there in her kitchen, holding her, kissing her, until the sun came up.

But then the kettle whistled and the coffeemaker beeped. He let her go so she could brew her tea and pour his coffee.

They sat across from each other again.

He stared at his untouched mug, at the fragrant curl of steam rising from it. “Jerilyn told CJ what happened Saturday, the crisis with Jerilyn's father. He said your dad flew in from Denver to help. Jerilyn says she has hope now, that things will be all right.”

“CJ told you what Jerilyn told him?”

“He did.”

“I think I would call that actual communication—and the beginnings of trust, as well.”

“So would I. Due in large part to you, Tori. I'm trying, I really am, to take your advice, to let him know I'm on his side, that he can count on me. I think it just may be working—at least a little.”

“I'm so glad.”

“You haven't touched your tea.”

She tipped her head to the side the way she always did when she was studying him. “And you aren't drinking your coffee.”

He confessed, “I'm thinking about holding you in my arms again. And I'm also thinking that if I start kissing you, I won't want to stop.”

“Would that be…so bad?” Her voice was shy, hesitant. Her eyes were anything but.

“Uh-uh. Not bad at all. It would be really, really good. But I don't want to rush you into anything you might regret.”

Her smile was full of feminine intent. “How long do you plan to stay here in town?”

“I have to leave Wednesday, for meetings in Philadelphia. But I'll be back by Friday afternoon.”

Steadily, she held his gaze. “I meant, how long are you planning to be living in town? When will you be leaving for good?”

“If the resort deal works out, I'll be here into the winter, at least. But after CJ returns to school, I'll make my home base back east, and only be in Thunder Canyon on and off.”

“And CJ starts school…?”

“At the end of August.”

“A little over two months from now.”

“That's right. Is that somehow significant?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Because?”

She pushed her chair back again, leaving her tea still untouched. “Because two months will go by too fast. And it seems to me that we shouldn't waste a day, an hour, another
minute
of the time we have together.”

He stared at her. And then, slowly, he rose to his feet. They faced each other, with only the round kitchen table between them. He asked, rough and low, “What are telling me, Tori?”

She approached him slowly, untying the sash of her robe as she came. When she reached him, she dropped the sash to the floor and eased the robe from her shoulders. It fell away without a sound. Underneath she wore a short summer nightgown with tiny satin straps that tied in charming little bows at her shoulders. That nightgown revealed a lot more than it covered.

His desire, carefully banked until then, flared high. “You are so beautiful.”

“Take me in your arms, Connor,” she whispered, lifting on tiptoe, her breasts brushing his chest, making the flare of desire burn all the hotter. “Take me in your arms and hold me all night long.”

C
onnor's newfound conscience urged him to argue with her, to tell her she ought to think twice about this, to grab her by the shoulders and put her firmly away from him, to speak reasonably about taking their time, to remind her again about not rushing into anything she might regret later.

But she had it right, after all. They didn't have a lot of time. Just one short summer.

And wasting a minute of it, now they were both on the same page about where they were going?

Uh-uh. No way.

He wrapped his arms around her, good and tight. And he kissed her, deeply. Endlessly. His mouth locked to hers, drinking her in, he bent to scoop her up high in his arms.

She pulled her soft lips from his just long enough
to fling out a hand in the general direction of the great room and to whisper, “That way…”

He claimed her mouth again and started walking, carrying her out of the kitchen, across the great room, to her bedroom not far from the entryway. The door was wide open. He went in.

At the side of the bed, he lowered her feet to the rug. Dizzy with the scent of her, with the taste of her, and the soft, arousing feel of her body so close to him, somehow he still managed to break the incredible kiss.

He knew that they had to be at least a little bit responsible. “I should have thought of this.”

“Of what?”

“I don't have condoms…”

She surged up, caught his mouth in a swift, hot kiss, and then sank back to her heels again. “It's okay.” She rested her small hands, palms flat, against his chest. “I have them.” Her dreamy gaze turned rueful. “I always wanted to be ready, in case it ever felt right with someone. It never did—not in the whole time I've lived in Thunder Canyon. Not until tonight…”

“Well.” He ran his palms down the silky skin of her arms. So smooth. And she smelled so good. Like fresh, ripe strawberries and sugared lemons, both at the same time. “Okay, then.”

“Just okay?” she teased him.

He chuckled. “Better than okay. Way, way better.”

“Then kiss me, Connor.” Her eyes were mossy green at that moment, and shining so bright. “Kiss me again…”

He didn't have to be told a third time. He caught her sweet lips and she opened for him, letting his tongue in to play with hers. And as he kissed her, she turned
slightly, moving them both around, until the backs of his legs touched the side of the bed.

She guided him, gently pushing him back, until he lay across the tangled white sheets. And she came down with him, soft and sighing, her mouth so wet and sweet. He couldn't get enough of her kisses, couldn't get enough of
her.

But then she pulled away and rose up on an elbow. She gazed down at him, her lips soft and swollen, her eyes making tempting erotic promises as she tugged on his shirttail, sliding her fingers beneath the knit fabric to caress him.

He groaned at her touch, at the way her soft fingers glided over his flesh, tenderly, teasingly. And he wanted to feel her, all of her, skin to skin. So he sat up, kissed her once, hard and fast, and ripped his shirt up and over his head. Swiftly, he yanked off his boots and got rid of his socks. He undid the button at the top of his fly, and tugged the zipper down. Lifting his hips, he shoved the jeans and his boxer briefs halfway down his thighs.

She helped him, getting hold of the jeans and the briefs, sliding them off the rest of the way, tossing them over the edge of the bed.

At last, he was naked. He felt her gaze on him, sweeping upward over his body to meet his waiting eyes.

She breathed his name on a long sigh. “Connor…” And she swayed against him.

Magic, the feel of her smooth skin pressed to his. He caught her, pulling her close, tucking her tightly to his bare chest, reveling in the silky feel of her hair against his flesh, in the delicacy of her body, the way it curved into his, in the scent of her, so fresh and clean and sweet.

“Tori.” Her name sounded so good on his tongue.

She tipped her head back to him with a questioning sound.

“Tori…” He kissed her. And that time, while he kissed her, he touched her, clasping her slim upper arm, palming the firm curve of her shoulder.

Such soft, tempting skin, and all of it his to caress. He traced a finger inward, skimming the bows that held her nightgown in place. And then up, along the velvety skin of her neck, until he reached the heated flutter of her pulse, waiting there for him, in the vulnerable cove at the side of her throat.

He laid his whole hand, flat, against the satiny warmth of her upper chest. Lower still, he curved his fingers around a high, firm breast. She moaned when he did that, and moaned again as he found her nipple through the thin cloth of her nightgown and teased it, rolling it tenderly between his thumb and forefinger.

Those sweet little bows at her shoulders? By then he couldn't resist them. He made short work of them, pulling the end of one and then the other. They fell apart, taking the top of her flimsy little gown down with them.

Her breasts were revealed to him, round and firm, compact, the skin so fine, the delicate blue veins showing faintly beneath. He eased her to her back, bent his head and took her pretty pink nipple into his mouth. She groaned deep in her chest when he did that, and pulled him close to her. He drew on her breast, strongly, and she bowed her slim torso toward him, lifting her breasts, offering him more of her.

The hem of her short gown rode high on her smooth thighs. He reached down, guided it higher.

She wore nothing beneath. He touched her belly, stroking, loving the feel of her, enjoying the eager way she gave herself, so openly, without holding anything of herself away from him. She groaned and clutched his head even tighter to her breast.

And he let his hand wander lower, over the warm silk of her lower belly, to the place where the soft curls were waiting. She lifted toward him, urging him on.

He touched her, dipping a finger into the feminine heart of her. She was wet. Hot. He explored the silky folds and she encouraged him with tender little moans and sighs, as she lifted her hips, opening her thighs to him, so eager. Hungry for more.

So he gave her more. He kissed his way down her body, sliding her gown even higher, until it was no more than a tangled, satin band around her waist. He kissed her belly, dipped his tongue into her navel, and breathed in the musky, sweet scent of her excitement.

He had to taste her. Now. Immediately. He kissed the silky red-gold curls and lower, putting his mouth where his wet fingers had been.

She was writhing by then, her hands clutching his head, fingers speared in his hair, urging him onward. He ran his tongue along the slick wetness, drinking in the taste of her, driving her higher, finding that it aroused him beyond all reason to be giving her pleasure, to know that she liked it, that she wanted him to kiss her in this most intimate way.

And then, all at once, she was crying out his name. She broke, shuddering. He tasted her completion, felt it pulse against his tongue.

Her satisfaction drove him higher, gave him something so good, so right. Something he had never known
he craved, something hot and bright and beautiful. Something good and true.

Who knew it could be like this?

Not Connor.

He had never been what anyone would call an attentive lover. With his wife, the sex didn't matter anyway, except for the necessity of producing his son. And with the women he'd dated in the past year, he'd been utterly selfish. He saw that now. They gave him pleasure in the form of sexual release. And he took them out to the best restaurants, showered then with pricey gifts.

But with Tori…

Everything was different.

He got pleasure from
her
pleasure, took satisfaction from knowing she was satisfied.

She sighed, and a little laugh escaped her. “Oh, Connor.” Her fingers, now, were gentle in his hair. “Who knew?” Good question. He certainly hadn't. She whispered, “Come up here, up here to me…”

One last press of his lips against those wet red-gold curls and he obeyed her, kissing his way up the middle of her body, over her soft, tempting belly, between her small, perfect breasts. He paused to dip his tongue into the groove at the base of her throat. Never would he get enough of the taste of her, sweet and slightly salty now, with the sweat of their lovemaking.

He kissed her throat, her chin, and finally, with a sigh, he settled his mouth over hers and tasted her more deeply. He was aching, aching in a good way, hard and ready, needing her so bad.

She caught his face in her two soft hands. “The drawer, in the nightstand…”

He reached for it, his mouth still locked with hers.
Finding the knob, he pulled it open, felt around inside, his fingers closing over a pen, a notepad, a small flashlight. But nothing that felt like the condom he was groping for.

She pushed gently at his shoulders. “Let me,” she suggested.

Reluctantly, he let her up, and sank back against the pillows. He admired the gorgeous curve of her slim back as she got up on her folded knees and slid the drawer all the way open.

“Got it.” She pulled out a box from way in back and swiftly peeled the lid wide, taking out a single sealed pouch. She held it up.

He reached for it.

But she only laughed and snatched it away and looked at him from under her thick lashes. “Let me. Please.”

He settled back against the pillow again and folded his hands behind his head. “Absolutely. Be my guest.” He spoke teasingly, though he wanted only to grab her, roll her under him and bury himself deep in her waiting softness.

She was kind. She didn't fool around. She had the pouch open and the condom sliding down over him within seconds. The touch of her hand as she guided it into place, snugging it neatly, evenly, at the base, almost undid him.

But not quite. She bent over him, so her lips were no more than a breath away from his. “Good?”

He refused to move. If she wanted to take control, so be it. “Excellent.”

She slid a leg over him and went up on her knees astride him, but away from him. Her eyes weren't so teasing anymore. They were hungry. Ready.

He resisted the powerful urge to grab her hips and surge up into her.

She bent close, though she didn't lower herself down onto his waiting hardness. She whispered, “You're gritting your teeth.”

“And you're driving me wild.”

“I'm so glad to hear that.” She kissed him, slowly, a brushing kiss that turned deeper—and then deeper still.

“Come down to me, Tori. Now…”

Impossibly, miraculously, she actually obeyed him. He felt her against him—there, where he needed her—and then he slipped inside.

She was wet and hot and, oh, so welcoming. He couldn't stop himself from reaching for her then. He took her hips and pulled her down onto him.

She moaned then. So did he.

And she rode him, kissing him, her hips working in a rhythm that shattered him, that broke him into a thousand tiny pieces—and then somehow put him back together again.

At the last minute, as he knew he was losing it, he grabbed her more firmly by the round curves of her bottom and he rolled her, so he was on top. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, holding him, rocking him, murmuring his name.

He muttered, “Tori,” and then again, “Tori,” as the world spun away. He saw utter darkness behind his eyes. And then, at the last possible moment, as she turned him inside out, the darkness turned to shimmering light.

 

They must have slept.

When he woke, the bedside clock said it was almost
five. Tori lay beside him, her face so innocent and sweet in the light of the lamp they'd left on, her strawberry hair bright as sunshine spilled across the pillow.

He tried to slide his arm out from under her head without waking her. But her eyes drifted open.

“Connor…”

“Um?”

“What time…?”

“Five to five.”

“You have to go?”

“Unfortunately.” He bent close, brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Tonight I'm going out to the Douglas Ranch. Caleb invited me to dinner.”

She made a low, knowing sound. “More hush-hush negotiating, huh?”

“We aren't quite at that point yet. Want to come with me?”

She shook her head. “I think I'll just stay out of that, if you don't mind.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Tuesday, then? I'll take you to dinner.”

“I have a better idea.”

“What could be better than you, me and dinner?”

“You, me, CJ, Ryan, Jerilyn…and dinner.”

He groaned. “Dinner with the kids. Not exactly the romantic evening I had in mind.”

She chided him, “You know it's a good idea.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He planted a kiss on her sweet mouth and slid his arm out from under her. “Okay. Tuesday. Dinner with the kids—and I have to go.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed his briefs and his jeans. When he was fully dressed, he bent close to her for a final kiss. “Every summer should start this way.”

She twined her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his. “I couldn't agree with you more.”

 

“You
didn't.
” Allaire wore an expression of total disbelief. She sent a quick glance around the Tottering Teapot, clearly worried that someone might have heard what Tori had just said.

“Yeah,” Tori answered, after savoring a slow bite of her avocado and swiss sandwich with sprouts. “I did.
We
did. And it was wonderful.”

Allaire leaned closer across the lace tablecloth and pitched her voice barely above a whisper. “But you said yourself he admitted he's buying out the resort—and then leaving town.”

“I like him. I like him a lot. I want to be with him, for as long as it lasts.”

A look of concern crossed Allaire's face. “I just don't want to see you hurt, Tori.”