She moved her hips back against him, barely able to focus on his question. Was she sore? Yes. Did it matter? Not to her.
“If I say yes, are you going to stop?” she asked.
“It depends on how sore you are,” he said. “And whether or not you want me to stop.”
She jumped as she felt his lips brush over the curve of her butt. “Your legs are killing me. I want to feel you riding me, feel you wrapped around me again,” he said, the words murmured against her skin. “How sore are you?”
“Not very sore,” she lied.
He caught her hips and rearranged her, half on her side, half on her belly. Her hair fell around her veil and he caught it in his hand, brushed it away. Her mouth parted as he straddled one of her thighs and lay down against her. “Should I stop?” he said.
“Please don’t.”
Closing her eyes, she lay there, unmoving, as he reached around. She knew what he was doing when she heard the foil rip and she tried not to think about anything as he put the rubber on. But she couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the movement of his hands, the muscled length of his thighs, and then… “Oh…” the moan tripped out of her as he pressed against her.
“I’ll be slower this time.” He slid one hand up and cupped her breast as he pushed into her from behind, his thrusts slow, less deep…but still every bit as intimate and because she was still so sensitive, she felt stretched too tight and too full and she loved every long, lingering minute.
Boone made himself take his time.
He made himself bring her to a slow, easy climax despite the urge he had to pull her to her knees and drive into her, brand her, mark her. He’d never had that need with a woman. He had never known that when a night ended, he’d remember it for the rest of his life, but he knew this was a night that would haunt him.
After she was moaning and all but sobbing against him, he wrapped his forearm around her waist and gave in, riding her harder, quicker—but it didn’t take much. With five quick thrusts, he was coming, semen jetting from him in hard, vicious spurts.
Sweating and panting, he closed his eyes. An ugly curse rose in his throat and he locked it behind his teeth. It was just sex—one night of sex with a beautiful woman he’d never see again.
A beautiful virgin who’d made him smile, then made his heart catch even as he wanted to throttle any bastard who dared to hurt her—and that had all been within the first few minutes of seeing her.
Abruptly, he pulled away, his cock making a soft, sucking sound as it left the snug embrace of her vagina and he stood, hitting the lights.
She flinched as the bright lights came on but he ignored it as he strode into the bathroom.
He had to get his head together.
No. You need to get back in bed. There’s one more condom.
He was tempted to listen to the voice.
Almost even turned around.
But then he went to deal with the rubber and froze.
It had broken.
Sloane sat locked in her room.
She felt very much like an idiot.
She’d snuck away while he was in the shower.
She couldn’t help it.
She’d panicked.
He’d come storming out of the bathroom, face livid, fury all over his features.
The condom tore.
He’d thrown the words out like it was her fault.
It hadn’t taken any more than a few seconds for him to take a deep breath and now she wished she would have done the same thing, given herself a chance to calm down, but that look…
It had brought back a million insecurities from childhood.
That hadn’t been the face of a man who’d handle a child well.
Granted, it wasn’t like either of them had set out with anything like that in mind.
That was why they’d used the condoms.
He should feel a little better, at least.
She’d had an awful time with her periods ever since she was a teenager and she’d started on low dose birth control when she was in high school, so more than likely, she was protected on that front. He’d also assured her that he was healthy, had even offered to send her bloodwork from a physical he’d just had done.
She’d just stared at him.
Finally, he’d told her was going to take a shower. Then they’d…talk.
That was what he’d said.
Talk.
Sloane didn’t want to talk.
She’d made one crazy decision without thinking it through and look at what happened.
She had fabulous sex with a gorgeous stranger and the condom broke.
“So I’ll deal with it,” she said quietly, pressing her head against the glass. It wasn’t like she wasn’t able to take care a child.
A child.
Even as she thought it, something warm and sweet slid through her and she reached down, pressed a hand to her belly. It wouldn’t happen. She knew that. But even the idea of having a baby suddenly flooded her entire being with longing.
A baby…
Boone stood at the front desk, added another fifty to the one he’d already laid down.
“She was wearing a red dress. She would have just left in the past ten minutes,” he said softly. He leaned forward, not bothering to hide the menace in his voice.
She’d slipped out of the room while he was showering.
He couldn’t fucking believe it.
He’d needed five minutes—just five minutes—to get away from the bruised look he’d put in her eyes. If he’d just managed to get himself under control before he’d left the bathroom, maybe he wouldn’t be down here, trying to get water from a stone, but he needed to track her down.
Somehow.
She’d left and he still hadn’t gotten her name.
If he had to, he’d go back to the bar tonight and talk to the bartender, talk to others in the club. He’d already taken the last condom and tucked it into a plastic bag. If he had to, he’d get somebody at the DDX labs to dust it for fingerprints, although yeah, that would raise some questions.
It didn’t matter, though.
He’d track her down somehow.
“Sir.” The clerk swallowed nervously and gestured to the empty lobby. “Nobody has come through here. It stays pretty quiet in here.”
Boone rested his hands on the counter, staring hard at the skinny kid. After a few more seconds, he turned away, leaving the two fifties there as he walked away. So if she hadn’t left, then…he came up short just in front of the stairwell.
Maybe she was staying at the hotel.
Turning, he eyed the clerk again. “How many rooms you got here?”
The kid blinked. “Ah…fifty.”
“Any idea how many are booked?”
“All of them.” He didn’t even have to think before he answered. “Usually we don’t even half a third of that number booked, but there’s a big wedding…” his words trailed off and he shrugged. “We’re just busy this weekend.”
The wedding. Narrowing his eyes, Boone turned away.
Well, that would make things awkward, but he supposed it was possible he’d find her at the wedding.
Taylor just might kick his ass over it, too.
Chapter Six
“So how did it feel to hit Rodney?”
Sloane winced and met Ellen’s gaze in the mirror.
Ellen grinned at her. She sat on a low stool while her cousin coiffed and curled and combed her pale blonde curls into a confection of pearls and lustrous ringlets. She hadn’t yet put on her dress, although she wore the foundation pieces, stockings, garters, some sort of torture device that Ellen swore wasn’t uncomfortable, but Sloane knew she had to be lying. It was a corset—and a real, steel-boned corset. There was no way that could be comfortable.
All of it was in the softest, gentle shade of ivory and Ellen’s peaches and cream complexion glowed against it.
She looked beautiful, a slightly naughty angel in her stat
e of undress. And she grinned at her soon-to-be sister in law with complete and utter surety. “You’re going to spill,” Ellen said after her cousin stepped out, giving the two of them a few moments to chat. Ellen, like Sloane, had lost her mother and her dad wasn’t in the picture. The two of them had bonded, hard and fast. “I already know what happened last night. I heard—from several sources. I just want confirmation.”
I already know—
Tensing, Sloane met Ellen’s eyes, searching for signs of the secret. But it wasn’t there.
Just humor—a wicked glint of it.
“Ah…”
“Oh, come on. You only dreamed about doing it for months.”
Blood rushed to Sloane’s cheeks. “I did not!” she said. Her hands were sweating. Okay, so yeah, she’d been kind of curious about sex. Why wouldn’t she be? She was twenty-three years old and up until a few hours ago, she’d been a virgin. Curiosity was expected.
“Don’t give me that.” Ellen just sighed, shaking her head. “It had to feel good, after how he treated you.”
Sloane scowled. “What do you mean, how he treated me?”
Ellen frowned. “Are you okay? I mean, you talked about belting Rodney for months—I never did understand why you wouldn’t let your brothers do it, but then again, I didn’t have two big older brothers constantly stepping in like you did…okay, now what?”
Sloane turned away, one hand pressed to her mouth to keep the half-hysterical giggle trapped inside. She was going crazy. Delusional from lack of sleep and maybe some weird high caused by massive orgasms after a lifetime of having the pitiful excuse she’d thought were climaxes. Too much excitement could probably strain a person’s mind, she thought. And last night had been more excitement than she’d ever experienced in her life.
“Nothing,” she said, catching sight of Ellen getting of the stool where she’d been perched while they made her even more beautiful. “Look…I just…”
She decided to ride the excuse of her crazy train. “I think I went a little crazy last night. I’ve…uh…” Plastering the widest, fakest smile she could on her face, she said in an overbright voice. “I’ve decided to pretend the entire thing never happened.”
“Oh, come on.” Ellen rolled her eyes. “You can’t regret hitting him.”
“Wanna bet?” She looked down at her raw, scraped knuckles. They were swollen, but not bad. She’d put ice on them once she’d gotten in her room and she’d ended up falling asleep with the bag of ice on her hand—that ice had melted and the cold water leaking out was what had woken her, not long after dawn.
Showing her hand to Ellen, she said, “Hitting people hurts.”
“Ouch.” Ellen grimaced.
“But…” Sloane heaved out a breath and turned away, looking out the window to the gentle rolling green that stretched out all around them. The church was tucked away in one of the small valleys and Sloane, along with her brothers, had spent many a Sunday here. It was probably a bad thing to stand there, in church, and let a smile creep over her face as she thought about last night.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “It felt good.”
The entire night, she thought to herself. Right up until that panicked moment when they realized what happened with the condom.
“If it felt so good, then why do you keep disappearing off into nowhere and looking so glum?”
Looking over her shoulder at the woman who’d come to be such a good friend, she searched for an answer. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just still feeling rundown from being sick last week.”
“Uck…strep.” Ellen wrinkled her nose and turned back around. “You catch everything in that library, Sloane.”
“Nah. I don’t catch chickenpox—Pierce took care of that.” Sadness tugged at her heart and she moved up to stand behind Ellen. She bent down and hugged her soon-to-be-sister-in-law. “I wish you could have known him.”
“Me, too.” Ellen caught her forearm and squeezed. “Cheer up, honey. I don’t want you sad on my wedding day. Especially not after you popped that no-good son of a bitch right in the mouth.”
“I will.” Then she moved the door as Ellen’s cousin Amanda knocked and called out. “Now…I need to go and see if Taylor was able to come through for me. I had to ask him for a favor at the last minute.”
“Oh?” Ellen narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t worry about it.” She wiggled her fingers. “Mama had a pair of old lace gloves she kept in her jewelry box. It’s been sitting in my old bedroom for years. I used to play with them all the time. I had him grab them for me. I want to see how they’ll look with my dress…and if it will cover my hand.”
He felt like a bastard, standing there in the shadows while Taylor talked with the groomsmen, men he’d known his entire life. Boone was supposed to be his best man and when had he shown up?
Twenty minutes ago.
He had his tux. One thing Boone knew how to do was get ready for any situation and he’d been ready. He’d also told Taylor month ago that he should find somebody else—he’d used work as an excuse, tried a hundred other ways to make him see the wisdom of getting somebody else to stand up with him.
Taylor had simply said, “I’ve got two brothers, man. One by blood and I lost him. I want you there.”
Boone hadn’t been able to ignore that and even though he’d kept dodging the calls, the requests by Ellen to come in and get fitted, the one thing he couldn’t dodge was today.
He’d even been able to dodge the dress rehearsal—that had almost been excusable, even, although the boss had apologized to hell and back. “You’re the best man I got for this job—if I had any other option, I wouldn’t do this to you and Taylor.”
He’d gotten back the day of the rehearsal, but he hadn’t been able to make it to town in time. Nope, he’d driven into town about nine o’clock last night and although he’d texted Taylor and let him know, he hadn’t done anything but had himself a drink—and then…her.
He’d spent half the night brooding and kicking his own ass, and the other half planning what he’d say and how he’d say it if he found her here. While he was doing that, though, he’d been working on his back-up plan. He’d go back to Huley’s, that bar where he’d been. The bartender seemed to know her. So Boone would talk to him. If that man didn’t talk, he’d find somebody who would.
“Taylor! Your sister’s at the door!”
Boone glanced up. Sloane…son of a bitch. He’d forgotten he’d have to find her and tell her thanks for all the letters. Though they’d never met, her letters had often been a bright spot in a somewhat grim existence. Even after Pierce had died, she’d continued to write.
Even when he hadn’t shown up for the funeral.
He needed to say…
Everything in him went numb.
The slim brunette came into the room, a nervous smile on her face as she glanced around. She didn’t see him—and Boone was damn glad.
Shit.
Oh, shit—
The body was right. The slim curves were right. The grace…the dark wealth of hair, although it spilled down her back in loose curls instead of a straight, heavy fall. Maybe I’m just seeing her because I want to see her…
“Sloane, you look gorgeous,” Taylor said, reaching out to grab his sister and pick her up. He swung her around and a quick laugh bubbled out of her throat.
“Put me down, you knucklehead. If I have to fix my hair again because of you, I’ll hurt you.”
Taylor put her down, still grinning.
And Boone closed his eyes.
He’d slept with his best friend’s baby sister.
“I think that might actually worry me,” Taylor said, his voice teasing, but laden with affection. “You already decked one guy since you came home.”
From where he stood, Boone watched as Sloane went red. “He…uh. Well…”
“He asked for it,” one of the other groomsmen said.
Boone’s brain supplied the man’s name—and the quickest method
of putting him down—as Forrest Corbin came up and hugged Sloane. Hugged her too tight and did his hand have to rest—
You’ve lost your mind. Boone jerked his mind away from how low on her hip Forrest’s hand rested and tried to focus on breathing. He had to figure out—
“Hey, Boone! Get your antisocial self out of the corner and come here.”
All eyes swung toward him.
The neck of his tuxedo felt way too tight. The temperature seemed to skyrocket as he pushed off the wall, moving out of the shadows of the long, narrow room the groom and his groomsmen had been given for the wedding.
For a moment, Sloane just stared.
Taylor—for once—was too distracted to notice much of anything. “Sloane, this is Boone. Boone, my sister. You two have been writing to each other for…”
“Years,” Sloane supplied, her voice oddly steady.
Her face was flushed. Her eyes glassy.
“We’ve been writing to each other for years,” she said.
Boone braced himself. Once she told Taylor they’d already met—and Taylor figured out how—Taylor wasn’t going to be happy. This was his wedding day, though, and—
“Boone.” She stepped forward and held out a hand. Polite. Distant. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Thrown off-balance, Boone lowered his gaze to stare at her hand. The back of her knuckles were raw and scraped, still swollen. Nice to meet you…
Everybody was staring.
He shot out a hand just as Sloane went to lower hers. “Yeah. It’s…well.” He gave her a stiff nod. “Your hand…”
She tugged away. “It’s nothing.”
Then she turned away and gave him her back.
Boone felt like she’d punched him in the gut.
Sloane.
He’d spent last night with Sloane Redding.
Funny, bright Sloane—
It had been hard enough to think about handling this responsibility—and without his cock exploding every time he thought about his mystery woman from last night, but now…
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