The Best Bride (52 page)

She felt the color flaring again on her cheeks. “I'm not the type who inspires grand passion.”

He grabbed her hand and brought it to the fly of his jeans. She could feel the hard length pressing against her. “Who do you think inspired this?” he asked.

She squeezed him gently. Maybe it
was
real, she thought to herself. Maybe he did think she was attractive and maybe he really did want to make love with her. Maybe it was going to be all right. He certainly wasn't lying about his desire. It was hard to fake that large an arousal.

She rubbed her palm up and down the length of him. She swayed toward him, suddenly eager to find out how he would feel inside of her.

He groaned, then pulled her hand away. “I have two things to say.”

She could feel the desire lapping at her body. It was faint at first, the slightest of tugs, but as she stood in front of him, staring at his perfect body, it grew until it was a riptide threatening to pull her under.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Why was he talking so much?

“First, I haven't been with lots of women. Some. A few. In this day and age, it would be crazy to be indiscriminate. Second, I'm using protection.”

She blinked. The desire faded in the reality of his pragmatic statement. “Protection?” Oh, God, she'd forgotten. After Nichole had been born, Thomas had taken care of birth control permanently. She hadn't had to think about it anymore. But Kyle wasn't Thomas and this was the nineties. “Protection?”

“You just said that.”

She turned from him and started for the door. “I can't do this.”

She got all the way to the entrance to the kitchen before she realized he wasn't going to stop her. She paused and glanced back at him. He was still standing where she'd left him, in front of the fireplace. Her gaze lowered to his bare feet. While he'd been pouring the champagne, he must have also taken off his cowboy boots. She'd never thought of a
man's feet as sexy before, but she liked Kyle's. They were broad and strong. Like him.

On the coffee table, bubbles floated to the surface of the tulip-shaped glasses. She looked at him. He was waiting. Patiently. It was her decision.

“You'd let me walk out?” she asked.

“If that's what you want. No being swept away this time, Sandy. No excuses. If you want to make love with me, stay. If you're not sure, you should go.” With that, he picked up the two glasses and carried them into the bedroom.

At least she assumed it was the bedroom. She'd never explored his house before. She stood there in silence, wondering when she'd become such a wimp. This wasn't a difficult decision. Of course she wanted Kyle. All that was holding her back were her own insecurities. And a faint voice that whispered she would be in big trouble if she was foolish enough to fall for him.

She was a grown woman. In all her thirty-two years, she'd never reacted to a man the way she reacted to him. No one had ever left her breathless before. She'd spent her whole life playing it safe, doing the right thing, the expected thing. For once, she'd promised herself to walk on the wild side. She raised her chin slightly and started after him.

There was a short hallway. On one side was an open door leading to a bathroom. On the other, a second door stood open. From where she was standing, she could see a dresser and the foot of a brass bed. Light filtered in through open-weave drapes of blue and rust. She stepped into the room.

It was a man's room. Large pieces of wooden furniture lined the wall. A dresser, a highboy and two nightstands. An overstuffed blue chair filled one corner. A rust-colored comforter had been pulled back, exposing cream-colored
sheets. Kyle sat on one side of the king-size bed. He'd removed his shirt. Sunlight caught the smooth skin of his bare shoulders and highlighted the hair on his chest. Sandy's fingers curled into her palms.

He reached for the two glasses he'd left on the nightstand and handed her one. She crossed the room and took it from him. He didn't want her swept away. He wanted her aware of everything that was going on. Her breath caught in her throat. That wasn't going to be difficult. No way she could think about anything else.

She took a sip of the cool liquid. Bubbles tickled her nose and the back of her throat. She'd forgotten how much she liked champagne. He drank also. She watched his throat as he swallowed. The air in the room heated, as if someone had turned on the furnace. Or maybe it was just being so close to him.

Her gaze traveled over his bare chest. She wanted to touch him, taste him. She wanted to feel him next to her without the encumbrances of clothing, or worrying about privacy or interruptions. Her breathing increased.

Kyle took the glass from her and set it down next to his. Before she could figure out what he was going to do, he'd already reached for the hem of her T-shirt and was gently tugging the garment over her head. Thank goodness she'd had the foresight to put on her best underwear. Her bra and panties matched, probably for the first time in her life. They were both a pale pink with a print of roses woven into the fabric. The bra gave her a little extra support and made her looked chesty. She hoped Kyle appreciated her silhouette. She hadn't had dessert since she'd decided to send the children to camp and then indulge with Kyle. She'd been doing sit-ups, but doubted two weeks of diligence made up for years of neglect.

With practiced ease, without even turning her around or
glancing behind her, he reached for the button and zipper of her denim skirt and unfastened them. A quick tug had that garment pooling around her feet.

“You've done this before,” she said without thinking.

He grinned at her. “Once or twice.”

Then he reached for her bra. She wanted to stop him. Her breasts weren't as perky as they had been when he'd fantasized about them sixteen years ago. If he even had fantasized about them. Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Wouldn't you rather I was lying down?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

She realized what she'd said and wanted to die. Right now. If the floor would just open up and swallow her. But it didn't. “What I meant was…”

He waited, watching her, grinning that damn knowing smile of his.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth and reached for the back fastener. “I'll just take it off. But don't say I didn't warn you.” She unhooked the bra, slid it off her arms, and glared at him. Then she bent over and jerked her panties down to her ankles, then stepped out of them.

“Are you happy?” she asked. “Look.” She brushed her palm against her belly. There were faint lines from her pregnancies. “I'm marked, wrinkled—” She pointed to her breasts. “Definitely past perky. I could probably stand to lose ten pounds.”

This was awful. The most embarrassing moment of her life. “I'm going home now,” she said and started for the door.

“Naked?” Kyle asked.

She reached the doorway and stopped. “You're supposed to stop me. You're supposed to lie and say all those
things don't matter, that I'm really the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.”

As if her humiliation wasn't complete, she could feel tears burning in her eyes. She
never
cried. She refused to start now. About this.

“Are you done?” he asked.

She sniffed. “I think so.”

“Good.”

She shrieked as he came up behind her and lifted her in his arms. She supposed most women reacted well to being carried, however she didn't like the feeling of being up in the air. She clung to Kyle's neck until she was probably choking the poor man, and kicked her feet as if that would help propel them the short distance to the bed.

He knelt on the mattress and lowered her. When her head touched the pillow, he stretched out beside her. “What happened to Sensible Sandy?” he asked.

“I think she got packed with the kids' stuff by accident.”

“I like this Sandy, too.”

“Really?” Her mouth twisted. “You're just saying that because you're afraid I'm going to cry.”

“Are you?”

His dark eyes promised her the world, yet she was afraid. “Maybe.”

“Only tears of joy,” he said quietly and reached for the champagne.

She expected him to take a sip, or offer her one. Instead, he held the glass over her midsection and tipped it until a stream of bubbly liquid poured onto her belly. The shock of cold made her jump.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “It's wet.”

He grinned.

Kyle rose to his knees, then bent over her. He licked at the champagne. She stared at him in disbelief, then
collapsed back on the pillows. It was a contrast of temperatures and textures. The bubbles tickled, his mouth was smooth. The champagne cooled her skin, his tongue heated her to melting. He drank the liquid from her belly, licking the last drops from around her hipbones, then he moved between her knees and stared down at her.

“You still doubt,” he said, then held out his hands. She glanced at his fingers, then looked closer. They trembled.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because it's you. It's always been you.”

The beauty of his face made her heart beat faster. He was male to her female, experienced to her awkwardness, and she wanted him more than she wanted to draw her next breath. For some reason she would never understand, he also wanted her. He thought she was special. Perhaps it was the past, or some combination of chemistry. Perhaps it was just dumb luck. Whatever the reason, she, an ordinary woman with nothing special to set her apart from the thousands of other ordinary women in this world, had worked magic on him. She made him tremble. Saggy breasts and stretch marks, three kids and a slight need to organize the world. She was done trying to explain it away. If he wanted her that much, far be it from her to deny him.

She opened her arms and spoke his name.

She was all he'd dreamed she would be, Kyle thought as he lowered himself to kiss her. She tasted of champagne and promises. She was hot and willing, tentative and bold, all things. She was his world.

He angled his mouth and sought entrance to hers. She parted for him. When his tongue touched hers, he felt the jolt clear down to his groin. His arousal surged painfully against the fly of his jeans. He would keep them on until the very end. He'd been ready since the moment she'd agreed to send her kids to camp. He'd been anticipating
this moment since he'd woken up that morning. He had a bad feeling that if he took his jeans off, he would be compelled to plunge inside of her and explode like an adolescent. He wanted more than that for her. He wanted to be perfect.

To that end, he kissed her slowly. He touched her shoulders and her arms, rubbing his palms up and down on her smooth skin. She was softer than he'd imagined any woman could be. Her curves yielded to him.

He kissed her mouth, then her jaw and her ear. Her hands clutched at his back. He liked the way she held on to him as if she feared he would go away. If only she knew the truth. He had no other world save her.

After licking her earlobe and making her giggle and squirm beneath him, he trailed his mouth down her neck to her chest. Her breathing increased. Her body tightened in anticipation. He moved his hands from her arms to her waist, then slipped them higher, up her rib cage to her breasts.

She arched into his touch. Her hips came up off the bed and her fingers dug into his back. He raised his head slightly so he could see what he was doing.

His long tanned fingers contrasted with her pale skin. Her nipples were dark pink and already hard. He cupped her breasts, learning their shape and texture. They moved in his hands, soft and supple. She writhed beneath him, her legs tangling with his, her hips rising to meet him and taunt him with a brief caress. Around and around, he circled, close to the taut peaks, but not touching. Then he released her and reached for the champagne.

Her eyes opened and she watched him take a sip. Her lips parted. He bent down and took her right nipple in his mouth. She gasped. The liquid had cooled his skin slightly.
He suckled her, loving the taste of her. She was sweeter than the champagne, more intoxicating.

He repeated the procedure, this time filling his mouth with the liquid and then letting the bubbles explode against her nipples. She called his name. Her arms fell to her sides and she clawed at the sheet. He traced a trail of dampness to her belly button, then back to her breasts. He loved her there, over and over, until her breath came in pants and her hips were permanently plastered against him.

He taunted them both by moving back and forth against her center. Several times he had to stop because he was about to explode. He could feel the pressure building, so he backed off.

He bathed her thighs in champagne, then licked her clean. He dipped her fingers into the slender glass and suckled them. Her eyes glazed over, her head tossed from side to side. At last, when perspiration coated her body and she had drawn her knees back to expose her most secret place to him, he reached between them and touched her there.

Just once. Very lightly. The tip of his index finger found her center and rubbed it. Then again. She gasped. Her eyes opened, but she couldn't seem to focus.

“What are you doing?” she asked weakly.

“Trying to drive you crazy. How am I doing?”

She smiled. “Great. Except you lied to me.”

“When?”

“You said it wasn't going to be different.” She blinked and looked at him. “It is. It's wonderful. Why are you being so good to me?”

Because you mean everything to me.
Only he didn't say that. Instead, he touched her again, in her most feminine place, and she forgot the question. He touched her over and over until she was begging him for release. He bent over her and kissed her breasts, even as his fingers moved faster
and faster, even as her hips began to rotate in the age-old rhythm of desire.