Bride in Trouble

by Serenity Woods

  He pursed his lips. “What’s going through your mind?”

  “Personal private thoughts,” she said.

  “So, something sexy then?”

  “Maybe.” She finished off the Tiramisu. She was so sexed up, she felt as if her hair was lifting around her head with static. “Come on, Masters. Finish your drink and let’s get going.”

  He chuckled, and they paid and headed for the car park. “I’ll meet you back home,” he said, heading for his own car.

  Phoebe drove the short distance to their house, barely remembering the drive, only just registering the increasing wind that buffeted the car as the cyclone clipped the New Zealand coast. Every cell in her body seemed focused on the guy in the car behind her. By the time they pulled up at the house, she was in a fog of desire, unable to think about anything except Rafe and all the things he’d said that evening.

  He opened the front door, and Phoebe went in, then turned as he closed the door and pushed him up against it. Sliding her hands up his body and into his hair, she pulled his head down and kissed him.

  Rafe sighed and kissed her back, resting his hands on her butt and pulling her to him so she could feel that he was aroused too. But after a minute he lifted his head and carefully removed her hands from his hair.

  “Let’s get in the door,” he said. “I need a drink.” He walked off into the kitchen.

  Phoebe leaned on the doorjamb and watched him take a heavy-bottomed glass out of the cupboard, toss a few ice cubes in it, then pour over them a glug of pale yellow whisky. When he’d done, he turned and leaned against the counter, facing her, and took a large mouthful from the glass. He swallowed it and sighed, and she imagined that heat searing through him, the way it was through her without any alcohol at all.

  They watched each other for a moment. Eventually, he gave a short laugh. “Am I going to make it out of here alive?”

  She pushed off the doorjamb and walked into the room, coming to stand before him. “Do you want to?”

  He tipped his head from side to side as if he was thinking about it, then smiled. “Come into the bedroom?”

  Phoebe slid her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt. All evening, he’d played her, using his knowledge of their sexual history to unsettle and shock her. It was time she took some of the control back.

  “I want you naked,” she said, pulling up the top.

  “In the kitchen?” He put his glass down, lifted his arms, and let her remove the tee.

  She dropped it to the floor and placed her hands on his bare chest. “Yes.” It was the first time she’d done this, and she fanned out her hands and brushed them across his pecs. “You have hair.”

  “Most men do,” he said, amused.

  “You have an amazing body.” She was breathless with admiration.

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean it.” She trailed her fingers down, over his defined abdominal muscles. “You look like a Greek god.” Her fingers reached the button of his jeans, and she flicked it open.

  He leaned his hands on the edge of the counter, not stopping her, although he looked a little wary, as if wondering what she had in mind.

  Keeping her gaze on his, she slid down the zipper of his jeans carefully and pushed them down his legs. He toed off his Converses and stepped out of the jeans, and she kicked them away.

  Then she dropped her gaze to his boxer-briefs. They fit snugly to his slim waist, muscular butt, and thighs. His erection strained against the black cotton, begging her to set it free.

  Hooking her fingers in the elastic at the top, she pulled the underwear over his erection and down his thighs. Rafe let her, his eyelids lowering to half-mast as he stepped out of them.

  Phoebe dropped the boxers on top of his jeans and stepped back to admire him. Mmm. Wow. Old Phoebe had really done a good job in picking the man she was going to marry. This guy was going to be hers, to have and to hold, for the rest of her life. She’d be waking up beside him every morning and going to bed next to him every night. She could make love with him all day, every day, if she wanted. She was the luckiest woman in the world.

  She lifted her gaze to his. His lips had curved up.

  “It’s all yours,” he said.

  “Yum.” She licked her lips, and he chuckled.

  Leaning forward, she reached past him and picked up a small jar. He looked down as she unscrewed the top and raised an eyebrow. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head, took a teaspoon out of the drawer, and dipped the tip into the jar of Nutella. Taking it out, she touched it to his nose. He gave her an exasperated look, and she giggled and leaned forward to lick it off.

  “Have I done this before?” she asked him, dipping the spoon back in the jar.

  “No,” he murmured.

  “Good.” She took the spoon out and this time touched it to his lips. Automatically, he licked them, but she shook her head, then leaned forward to do it for him.

  Ooh, he tasted good, and she brushed her tongue into his mouth, enjoying the slick slide of it, the heat that spread through her as he returned the kiss with enough passion to convince her that he was holding back, letting her proceed at her own pace.

  She dipped the spoon again, and this time touched the back of it to each of his nipples. Rafe gave a patient sigh, and she smiled as she bent to lick the chocolate spread off, taking her time to trace the tip of her tongue around each nipple.

  When she’d done, she moved back and stripped off her dress in one swift move. His eyes widened, but when he stepped forward she pushed him back against the counter, dropped to her knees, and picked up the jar again.

  “Oh jeez,” he said.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, scooped up a big spoonful of the spread, which had turned almost runny in the heat of the kitchen, and then held it over the top of his erection. It drizzled over his skin, running down the shaft.

  “Are you trying to give me a yeast infection—aaahhh!” He inhaled sharply as she lowered her mouth over the end, brushing her tongue across the sensitive skin. Groaning, he dropped his head back, and she felt a surge of smug pleasure as she proceeded to lick off all the chocolate.

  Ohhh… he tasted good, and she loved the way he swelled in her hand as she stroked him. She didn’t remember doing this before, and yet somehow she knew what to do; she knew how to wrap her lips over her teeth, and that he liked her taking him as deep as she could, sucking hard.

  She stroked and sucked, stroked and sucked, and even though she wanted him inside her, part of her wanted him to come in her mouth, to make him lose control. But just when she thought she was getting somewhere, he extricated himself carefully, and then slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her.

  “Hey,” she grumbled. “I was enjoying that.”

  He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed and kissed her, turning to push her up against the counter, and as she lifted her arms around his neck she felt his hands behind her back, undoing her bra. He slid the straps down her arms and dropped it onto the floor, and her panties followed soon after. Now they were both naked, and her body warmed as he pressed his against it. It was the contrast she loved—he was all flat planes and hard surfaces and tanned skin, and she was smooth and curvy and pale.

  “You’re filling out,” he said as if reading her mind, cupping her face. “The hollows have gone beneath your cheeks.”

  “You don’t like me thin?” she whispered.

  “I love you every way,” he said, but something told her he was lying. He didn’t like what she’d become, all her training, the physical demands she’d put on her body.

  Bending, he kissed down her neck to her breasts and covered a nipple with his mouth, and she dropped her head back, sinking a hand into his hair. She’d been turned on all evening, but this fine-tuned her desire, teasing her a little more toward the edge with every lick and suck of h
er sensitive skin.

  “Rafe,” she whispered, aching for him, but in reply he just dropped to his knees the same way she’d done, pushed her legs apart, and sank his mouth into her.

  She gasped at the sensation of his tongue sliding into her folds, shocked and excited at the same time. He lifted her leg over his shoulder, giving himself better access, and she felt him slide his fingers inside her, as his tongue continued to swirl over her clit.

  Oh God, she wasn’t going to last long like this. “Stop,” she whispered, “I’m going to come,” but he didn’t, holding her tightly as he sucked on her clit, and she gave in and came, clamping around his fingers and crying out with each delightful pulse.

  When she’d done, he withdrew his fingers and got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, disheveled and disappointed it was over so quickly. “I wanted it to last longer.”

  “That was just the hors d’oeuvres.” He put his hands under her butt and lifted her onto the worktop. “This is the main course.” He pushed her knees wide, tugged her to the edge, and guided the tip of his erection into her folds. Slowly, he slid inside her.

  Phoebe closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation of being so close to him, so intimate. She could feel him all the way up, right to the top.

  She opened her eyes as he began to move, and kept her gaze on his as he thrust. She was wet and swollen from her orgasm, super-sensitive, and the feeling of him sliding inside her was bliss.

  “You feel good,” he said, his voice husky, and he kissed her leisurely, taking his time to brush his tongue over her lips, to tease them with his teeth, and to stroke his tongue against hers.

  “You too,” she whispered back.

  “Marry me,” he murmured. It was the first time he’d asked her since she laid eyes on him at the hospital. He’d obviously decided to wait a while, but now, inside her, the two of them moving like clockwork, he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Be my wife. Let me do this with you every night for the rest of our lives.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I love you.” She hadn’t meant to say it, but she wasn’t surprised when the words left her lips. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t recall their past. Her feelings for him hadn’t changed. Somehow, her body remembered the love they’d shared, and she wasn’t going to throw it away.

  He stopped moving and cupped her face. He looked genuinely choked with emotion. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded and blinked away sudden tears. “Of course I am. I’m crazy about you, Rafe. Can’t you tell? I want to spend the rest of my life getting to know you all over again.”

  A frown flickered on his brow, and he looked as if he was about to say something. But then he smiled, and he lowered his head and kissed her, the sweetest, most tender kiss she thought she’d probably ever had.

  She swallowed hard. “Okay, enough being soppy.” She met his gaze and lifted her chin. “Now fuck me. Hard as you like.”

  He raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Yeah, you’ve not changed.” To her surprise, he withdrew, but before she could complain, he picked her up in his arms and carried her through to the bedroom.

  “I like the kitchen,” she grumbled.

  “Me too, but you still have a head injury, and I want you to be comfortable when I screw you senseless.” Laughing at the look on her face, he tossed her gently onto the bed. “Get on your front.”

  She wriggled up to the pillows and lay on her back. “No.”

  He climbed on the bed and rolled her over easily. She fought him, but in seconds he’d parted her legs, lowered on top of her, and slid inside her.

  “Aaahhh…” She buried her face in the pillow.

  “I’m going to make you come again now,” he stated, sliding a hand beneath her and brushing a finger over her clit.

  She moaned, pinned there by his weight, unable to do anything but lie there as he began to move, his hips meeting her butt with a smack every time he thrust. Ohhh… this way was animal and base and feral, and oh dear God he was so good at it. She thought she’d started in control, but now she realized it was only because he’d let her. Her body was his to command, and right now he was going to take his pleasure from her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  She came again, brought to the brink as much by the thought of him possessing her as by his physical touch, but still he thrust, and she opened her thighs wide and just let him, loving every minute, happy to be the object of his lust. His breathing turned ragged, and he lifted up and pressed her into the pillows with a hand on her back as he gave those final few thrusts, and she shuddered as he came, feeling him spurting inside her as he groaned.

  One day they’d make a baby. Suddenly, she wanted it more than anything, the fierce desire taking her by surprise. There was nothing about this that wasn’t physical and instinctive, born out of a natural urge to mate and procreate. Why were they waiting? She wanted to make a child with him, to bind him to her, so she’d always have a little piece of him to hold that she’d never lose.

  He kissed her neck, her hair, the wound on the back of her head, her shoulders, her neck again, and then carefully withdrew and pulled her into his arms. Her thighs were wet, but she was too tired to do anything about it. He moved, though, leaning across to the bedside table, and she heard him take a tissue out of the box, then felt his hand between her thighs, mopping up the moisture before drying himself. He tossed the tissue aside, and she curled up against him.

  “I want a baby,” she whispered.

  He went still. She lifted up and looked at him.

  Tears glistened on his lashes. “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too.” She lowered back down and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  Her thoughts wandered lazily, images looming in her mind and then fading away again, like colored balloons floating around in the sky. Night was falling, and she could hear a morepork—a native owl—hooting somewhere in the bush. Rafe was breathing evenly, and she thought he might have dozed off already. She smiled and closed her eyes.

  It was only as sleep settled over her that she realized she’d still not gotten to the bottom of her earlier unease. Rafe had kept her distracted all evening, quite skillfully, she thought, by bringing every conversation back to sex as if he’d known that while she was hazy with desire, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

  She wanted to think about it more, but she was too tired, and she soon fell asleep.

  *

  Rafe felt Phoebe relax against him, and knew she’d finally dozed off.

  I want a baby. Her words had almost made him cry. He wanted to laugh, to dance, to celebrate the fact that she wanted to marry him, to have a child with him, to spend the rest of her life with him.

  But as he lay there in the darkness, looking up at the ceiling, his heart was heavy, and it was a long while before sleep claimed him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next day, after Rafe had left for work, Phoebe made herself a coffee and sat at the desk in the living room overlooking the river.

  The wind had increased overnight, and now it was raining, the brief gusts throwing the droplets at the glass in angry handfuls. The weather report had said the cyclone was going to hit hardest farther down the coast, but high winds would still trouble the Bay of Islands. Inside, though, it was cozy, warm, and comfortable.

  She pulled the wedding box toward her.

  Up until now, she’d steadfastly ignored the fact that they were supposed to be getting married on Tuesday. She’d assumed she’d end up cancelling it, and she expected that everyone else thought that would be the case, too. The days since the accident had passed in a whirl, and she knew her mother had tried to give her a bit of space to let her recover, and had dealt with some of the preparations herself.

  But now it was time to sort everything out. It was Friday, just four days until the big day, and last night she’d told Rafe she was going to marry him.

  Was it still possible? It seemed craz
y to think they could go ahead so close to the date, although her mother had promised that she’d kept an eye on everything over the past few days.

  Her fingers brushed across the folder as she thought about the night before. It was true that she continued to have a niggling feeling deep down that something was awry, but she was beginning to think it was some stray neuron in her brain that was interfering with her radar. There was no big secret, no unpleasant surprise waiting to spring on her. Rafe loved her—that much was clear, and everyone seemed happy for the two of them. She would gain nothing by cancelling the wedding, and would gain everything by going ahead.

  She was going to do it—she was getting married!

  Inhaling with a sudden burst of excitement and pleasure as she thought of the look on Rafe’s face when she told him that evening that it was all going ahead, she opened the box. Rafe had told her that she hadn’t wanted a wedding planner but had wanted to do it herself. Now she questioned the idiocy of that statement, but she’d always been organized in the past, and she was relieved to see she hadn’t changed much as she took out the folders inside and began going through them.

  She spent a couple of hours reading, making notes on a pad as she went. She’d obviously arranged everything not long after Rafe had asked her to marry him, and she must have rung the companies once a month to check on the progress, because she’d written down the date of each phone call and ticked it.

  After she’d familiarized with the organization—the flowers, the venue, the cars, the photographer, the band, suit hire for Rafe and Elliot, his best man—she stopped and made herself another coffee and a plate of toast with peanut butter. Taking a bite and crunching it, she returned to the desk and made a list of all the companies she needed to call. Then she started ringing each of them in turn.

  After an hour, she took a break, pleased that she’d contacted the major companies involved and everyone was fine with it going ahead. She sat by the window for a while, watching the wind whip the palm trees, thinking about her dress and running over everything in her head.