This Changes Everything (16 page)

Just as she hit the sky, she had a moment of perfect clarity. She saw herself, she saw Sly, she saw the universe and their place in it. They were nobody important, but they were in the heart of the world.

C
leo had never been
alive like this before.

And then he was there, holding her shoulders and guiding her down onto the cushions. Legs trembling, she let him help her. They faced each other on their knees, gazing into each other’s eyes. Still dazed from her climax, she clung to him and waited for her pulse to return to a manageable rate.

“Christ, Cleo,” he said roughly. “Or whoever you are. You’re beautiful when you come.”

Not wasting time on words, she caught the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down his hips.

Oh, my.
Her pulse never had a chance.

As a general principle, she always tried to avoid judging another person’s body, especially their most intimate parts, but…

Lord, he was beautiful. All over. And there was a lot of all over.

“Hello,” she said, reaching out to feel him. Never looking away from his face, she wrapped her fingers around him. His nostrils flared. High on power, she slowly tightened her grip. With a groan, he tilted his head back, exposing the muscles of his neck. It reminded her of when he’d fall asleep on her couch in front of the TV, except now he was throbbing in her hand.

She had to kiss him. “Sly,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest and inhaling as she stroked. His hair was springy under her tongue, thick the way she liked it, damp with sweat. She nibbled a strand between her teeth and heard him suck in a sudden, pained breath.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, drawing back.

“You’re killing me.” He pushed her away and onto the cushions. “I can’t wait any longer. God knows I’ve been patient.” He slid an arm under her legs and tipped her onto her back. The padded fabric was soft under her bottom and shoulders, reminding her she was naked. He climbed on top of her, ducking his head to kiss her hard on the mouth. “God knows,” he growled against her lips.

Fresh desire exploded inside her. All at once, she felt the years of deprivation, the nights alone. All at once, she recognized the longing she’d had for him when she’d sat at his side, laughed with him, enjoyed his company. Now she let the lust engulf her. She spread her legs and hooked her ankles around his hips, drinking in the feel of his bare skin sliding along hers. She explored the contours of his lean, muscled body with both hands. Licking his nipple until it hardened under her mouth, she knew she was losing control and didn’t care. “I want you inside me,” she said. “Sly. I want you.”

“I’m working on it, beautiful,” he said, pushing away from her. A foil packet appeared in his hands. He fumbled with it, breathing heavily. “Stupid thing won’t open.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Got it.” He tossed the foil aside. “My hands were shaking. Good thing I’m not a surgeon.”

“You can play doctor on me anytime.”

Anytime.

He looked at her in surprise, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She wouldn’t think about the implied lack of an expiration date on her offer.
From now on
, she was saying,
I’m yours
.

City lights shimmered across his dark, muscled torso as he put on the condom. She reached up and caressed the trail of hair dusting his abdomen. How could somebody so perfect ever…?

She wouldn’t think about it.
I don’t care about what happens after tonight
, she told herself,
so long as I can have him right now.

Dropping her hand, she leaned back and watched him stroke himself as his gaze slid up and down her body. Heat blasted through her. What did he see? Heart pounding, she let her legs fall open and waited, letting go of the last of her fear.

His eyes were hungry but gentle. Loving. They’d cared about each other for a long time, but this…

He climbed on top of her and pressed his mouth against hers in a hard, openmouthed kiss. Their tongues came together, rushed and tangled, as his hands explored her body. One hand claimed her breast, the other dove between her legs. Kissing his way down her neck to nuzzle and lick her other breast, he forced her legs wider apart and settled between them.

Her back arched, inviting him, wanting him, demanding him. “Now, Sly, do it.”

His hand stroked her wetness. “You want me?” His voice was low and ragged.

She nodded her head, unable to breathe.

“I want you,” he said. “I want you really bad.”

“Take me. For God’s sake, take me.”

Bracing himself on one elbow, he positioned himself and looked into her eyes. “Say my name.”

She slid her hands up and down his muscled back, frantic for him to enter her. “Sly,” she whispered. “Please.”

Closing his eyes, he thrust into her with a loud exhale. She cried out, not expecting so much pressure all at once, but the pain quickly turned into intense, sweet heaven.

“Cleo, God, Cleo,” he moaned, pulling out, thrusting again harder. She rose up to meet him and take him deeper, and they fell into a frenzied rhythm, perfectly in sync, their cheeks pressed against each other, then their lips, their tongues, matching the pace of their hips.

He came with a shout. She held his face in her hands and watched him wonderingly for a second before she felt her own body join him.

S
he was gone
.

The curtains were open, and the dawn light shining into the suite left Sly no doubt that he was alone.

He fell back on the bed, a wave of unease washing over him.

Last night, after the first spike of triumph he’d felt after finally having her, another feeling had crept up on him and taken hold in the front of his thoughts. Well, after he’d had his fill of her and he’d had any thoughts worthy of the name.

Fear
. Where was this going to go? Were they dating, like he and Teresa had—a few months or a year of shared meals, social events, and a bed and then, finally, a breakup?

Or were they just friends with benefits, just great pals who got naked and had great sex while the rest of their life happened elsewhere, later?

Were they even friends at all?

He’d pursued her because that’s what he always did after setting his sights on something. He was a goal-oriented guy. Because of his persistence, he’d made a fortune and a name for himself by his early thirties. He’d never been the type to give up just because it was hard or even question the decision to go for something in the first place. During the pursuit, you couldn’t question yourself or you’d make excuses and succumb to failure. He’d decided he was going to prove to Cleo that this attraction lurked between them and he had.

Now what?

Now he couldn’t breathe. He felt like Frank Sinatra himself was standing on his chest, using him as a stage, grinding him into the empty bed with his well-shined shoes. He should be relieved that she’d probably run away to the other room, maybe even to the airport, and saved them both from an agonizingly awkward morning after.

But he wasn’t relieved. He was having a panic attack. She couldn’t leave him again. He had to—

“Look what I found.” Cleo stood in the bedroom doorway with a wheeled cart laden with covered plates, a white vase with a single red rose, coffeepot and cups, various cutlery, and the paper. “They left it at our front door. I could get used to this.” She lifted a strawberry as big as a plum and admired it for a moment before sliding it between her lips.

The air rushed back into his lungs. He sat up to drink in the sight of her in a hotel robe, barefoot, with her blond hair cascading down her shoulders and her cheeks flushed.

Thank God
. His relief made him dizzy.

And then another emotion struck him: lust.

He jumped out of bed and strode over to her, catching her in a kiss before she’d swallowed the strawberry. With a choked laugh, then a gulp, she returned the kiss, a little more cautiously than he’d hoped.

She tasted better than a ripe berry. “Morning,” he said, then kissed her again while he unfastened the belt of her robe and pulled her against him, reuniting their bodies, skin against skin.

“Did you order this?” she asked.

He made a show of looking down at her body. Cupping her breast in his palm, he smiled and nodded. “I did, but I wasn’t sure it would come.”

“Oh, she came all right.” Smiling, she flushed and tried to pull away.

He held her. Her bottom was soft and yielding under his roving hands. When she sighed, high-pitched and erotic, he moved his hands up to her shoulders and pushed the robe down, making her as naked as he was but far more beautiful.

His breath caught. “Look at you,” he whispered.

“I’d rather look at you,” she said, sighing again. “I’m tempted to take pictures for later.”

“I’m game.” He grinned.

“God, just what my career needs. When people search online for piano teachers, they’ll get me. Butt naked.”

“Not that I’d upload the pictures,” he said, raising his voice when she squawked in protest, “but if I did, you’d see a surge in business.”

“The kind that uses little cards to hand out on the Strip.”

“No, no. You’d be teaching piano, just… in the buff. I’d find it quite inspiring. I might even practice.” Slipping his hand between her legs, he lowered his voice. “I’d practice all the time. Every hour. Every day. Over and over and over, as hard as I could. Thinking about how to make my teacher happy.”

“With one hand, you mean.”

“There’s a lot you can do with one hand.” Gently, he explored with his fingers, wiggling as if on the keys.

“Mmm,” she said, melting into him. “Practice makes perfect.”

He lowered his head and kissed the side of her neck, nibbling softly and blowing against the damp skin while his hand stroked and circled between her legs.

When her knees buckled, he guided her onto the bed, pushed her onto her back, swallowing her sighs with his mouth, and climbed on top of her, suddenly desperate to make love to her again as soon as possible.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it, kissing his way down her throat to her breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth. Her body arched beneath him, responsive and welcoming, and he didn’t hear anything other than the little moans in her throat after that.

Until a few moments later, when he was feeling her other nipple pebble under his tongue, the phone began ringing again.

“Answer it or turn it off,” she said, running her hands through his hair. “Please.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, rose, and staggered over to his pants. “Sorry,” he said to her, slapping at the fabric for the offending device. Why the hell hadn’t he turned it off last night? Or thrown it out a window?

Hugo’s face was on the screen.

“What?” Sly barked.

But it was Trixie who answered. “We need your help. You and Cleo.”

“We’re busy.” Sly cleared his throat. “Sorry, but we are.”

“What kind of busy?” Trixie asked. But she didn’t sound like her playful, impish self. More serious.

“Just sitting down to breakfast,” he said.

“So you’re up,” she said. “We need you to meet us here.”

Cleo was watching him with a questioning expression.

“I’m very sorry, but it’ll have to wait,” he said. “We’re about to eat.” He flashed Cleo a wolfish grin.

“We’ll eat together,” Trixie said. “Please.”

“We could do that, but it’ll have to be later.” His gaze took in Cleo, deliciously ready on the bed from her beautiful head to her lovely toes. “Two hours.” He tilted his head to get a better angle. “Maybe three.”

“We need you now. It’s about to start.” Trixie began talking away from the phone.

Suddenly it was Hugo talking. “We’re getting married, and she wants you as witnesses,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “I’d rather like it if you came as well. I’ve texted you the name of the place. Get here as soon as you can.”

Sly helped Cleo out of the taxi, not believing they were standing in front of a bubblegum-pink building with a drive-through window, flashing neon lights, and architecture painfully reminiscent of a Taco Bell. They should be back in bed at the hotel.

“It’s not too late,” he said. “We can talk them out of it.”

“Why?”

He frowned at her, surprised. Given her messy divorce, she was the last person he would’ve thought would approve of a rushed marriage. “Because, until yesterday, Trixie was only pretending to like Hugo for our sakes?”

“She’s not pretending. I think she really likes him. She must. Look where we are.”

He raised an eyebrow. “
This
convinces you? The Taco Chapel?”

“Why are you so upset? Hugo’s been in love with her for years.” She looked around for the entrance, then saw something in the front window and clapped her hands together. “He’s here!”

“Alone, hopefully. It’s going to break his heart when Trixie wants an annulment next week.”

“Not Hugo,” she said, patting his arm. “Elvis.”

“I hate Elvis.”

She gaped at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“The same thing that should be the matter with you,” he grumbled.

Grabbing his hand, she led him to the front door, which was painted gold and covered with faded plastic flowers. “You just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“I got the same as you.”

“You did more of the work,” she said, shooting him a naughty smile that made him resent his uncle even more. They could be in bed at that very minute, not walking into a converted fast-food joint to greet a white-suited Elvis impersonator holding a ukulele.

Sly groaned inwardly. Cleo would never criticize any event that featured a ukulele. They’d probably end up getting married themselves.

He tripped over something on the carpet. Looking down, he saw his own feet and nothing else. But he paused a moment to calm himself, recognizing he was upset.

Of course he and Cleo weren’t going to get married, ukulele or no. He glanced at Cleo. She wouldn’t want to. Not today, not for a long, long time.

The queasiness that had come over him when he’d woken in an empty bed settled over him again.

Cleo might not be able to imagine settling down again, but
he
didn’t mind the idea of living together for an extended, indefinite period…

Which only made his stomach clench more tightly. The idea
should
be unthinkable. Minguez men made terrible husbands. He cared too much about her to inflict his innate workaholic nature on someone as sensitive and affectionate as she was. She deserved a guy who cared more about her than his career, a guy who woke her every morning with a kiss and went to bed with her in his arms. Every woman he’d ever dated had complained about how often he’d been in a different time zone. You couldn’t Skype your marriage.

He wouldn’t do that to her. But he could help her get over her first husband so that she’d be ready for the right guy when he came along. They’d already crossed the line. There was no going back. Might as well get as much out of it, within reason, as they could.

Trixie rushed over from a side door. She wore an ivory peasant dress and had flowers—real ones, not plastic—pinned in her hair. “You made it. Thank you. We want to get it over with before I change my mind.”

“If you think you might—” Sly began.

Hugo smacked him on the shoulder. “Did you bring the ring?”

“What ring?” Sly asked, startled to think that he’d screwed up somehow. Then sanity reasserted itself. “Of course I didn’t bring a ring. I didn’t know you were getting married.”

“I told you an hour ago.” Hugo reached down and captured Sly’s right hand. “Don’t worry, you’ve got it. I’ll get you a new one later.” He began unscrewing the heavy gold band that Sly wore on his third finger. It had come to him after his grandfather’s death several years earlier.

“Dad’s not going to be happy,” Sly said. “He’d wanted me to have that.”

Hugo’s voice dropped low enough that only the two of them could hear it. “I need it more than you. Your grandparents were married for over sixty years. I’m going to need all the luck I can get.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’re not the marrying kind,” Hugo said.

Although his uncle’s words echoed his own thoughts, Sly was annoyed. “I don’t know that.”

“Trixie will be glad to hear it.” With a low chuckle, Hugo turned Sly’s hand over and pressed his grandfather’s ring, as well as a smaller one, into his palm. “Hold onto these until the big moment.”

“You’re seriously doing this?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” His craggy face split into a smile. “But not seriously. We’ve got Elvis.”

Trixie was talking to Cleo. “I’m so glad we’ll have music for the ceremony. He usually plays guitar, but I asked for the uke. As a thank-you to my maid of honor.” Trixie smiled, but it was strained.

They couldn’t let them go through with this. Sly tried to catch Cleo’s eye, but she was staring at Elvis, who was strumming the ukulele and singing “Let’s Get This Party Started.”

“That one’s so seldom attributed to the King,” Cleo said.

“Well, none of this will be quite the way I might’ve done it if I weren’t in such a hurry,” Trixie said, pushing back her shoulders. “We’ll have to make the best of it.”

Sly raised his voice. “But why do it now? If you love Hu—”

Hugo hit him again. When Sly spun on him, his uncle replied, “There was a scorpion on your shoulder. It’s dangerous here in the desert.”

“Right,” Sly said, rubbing the point of impact. Years of handling unruly pets had given Hugo quick impulses.

“Let’s get this party started,” Hugo said. “Right, sugar?”

“We’re not getting any younger.” Trixie marched forward a few steps, then looked over her shoulder at Hugo, who’d frozen in place. “Change your mind already? I’ve got a flask in my purse if you need a little more courage. I just had a hit myself.”

Hugo met Sly’s pained glance, shrugged, and jogged over to Trixie. “I’ll save mine for the honeymoon.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

A fortysomething showgirl with stunning legs, a feather boa, and a clipboard appeared behind the altar and picked up a microphone. “Dearly beloved, are you ready?”

“You all go up there,” Trixie told them. “Elvis is going to walk me down the aisle. It’s part of the package.”

Elvis, giving her a playful, characteristic sneer, joined Trixie, and before Sly could stop them, Hugo and Cleo walked to the altar and turned, waiting for the arrival of the bride.

“Come on,” Cleo mouthed to him.

What else could he do? With a shrug, he trotted down the narrow aisle past the flimsy fiberboard pews and stood next to Hugo. “You aren’t really going to do this, are you?” he muttered.

“Wait until you hear him. He’s really good.” Hugo spoke as if the event’s musical accompaniment had been Sly’s primary objection.

“Mark’s going to kill me,” Sly said. “Letting his mom marry you without even a phone call.”

“You can call. Just wait a few minutes.” Hugo’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

“What if she regrets this and hates you?”

“She won’t,” Hugo said calmly. “It was all her idea.”

Sly was going to continue to argue with him, but Elvis began to sing “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and somehow, impossibly, the campy atmosphere turned serious.

The guy was actually good. His voice was rich and powerful, and even his playing on the ukulele seemed flawless. Sly saw Cleo’s eyebrows rise in admiration.

Fools rush in
, he thought. Hugo had waited almost twenty years to marry again. Was it really a rush?