by Anne Marsh
“You lost a really expensive piece of jewelry,” she pointed out. “There are plenty of people who’d say I came out ahead.”
He advanced on her. The predatory gleam in his eye was hot, which was why (or so she told herself) she didn’t protest fast enough when he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, going caveman firefighter-style. “They’d be wrong, because I won you.”
He pushed through the stairwell door and picked the first room they came to. A quick swipe of their bootleg key and they were inside and she was sailing gently through the air to land on the bed. A moment later and he came down over her, his knees on either side of her hips.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Wife.”
He gave her a sweet, quick kiss, his lips moving across hers.
“You want a shower first?” he asked, his mouth mere inches from hers. Too far away.
She shook her head. “I want you naked. Now.”
This close, she couldn’t miss the hunger in his eyes. She loved seeing him this way, knowing he wanted her. Seeing the heat when he looked at her, feeling all the passion in the big hands smoothing her hair away from her face.
He grinned. “I can work with that.”
He sat up and yanked his jacket off. The heavy leather hit the floor with a thud and then he swung off her and bent to remove his boots. The man made enough for a small herd of elephants.
“Shhh. Someone’s going to hear us.” She swatted his arm. If they got evicted now… well, her girl parts were going to be excruciatingly unhappy.
He gave her another long, slow look. “Boo, you’re going to be making way more noise than that. Plus, the door has a deadbolt and a chain, and I’ve used them both.”
“A man who plans ahead.” A smile played over her mouth.
“Uh-huh.” His T-shirt followed his jacket, leaving him bare-chested. That was definitely a start in the right direction because his chest was all sexy muscles and chiseled grooves. He also came with a sprinkling of scars, some from his military service, while others were more obviously from the fires he’d fought. “I’m not pretty like you.”
“You look just fine,” she breathed, meaning every word.
“Let’s compare.” He gave her a wicked grin as he made short work of her own jacket and T-shirt. She’d chosen a padded lavender bra, simple and comfortable, but it scooped her girls up into soft mounds. He ran a clearly appreciative finger over a curve and she thanked God for lingerie. “Mmmm. See? You’re definitely winning.”
“Is there a prize?” She arched up into his touch as he laid back down beside her.
“Greedy. I like that.” He trailed his fingers over the ink on her ribs, tracing a leaf. “Didn’t these hurt?”
“Hurt doesn’t have to be bad.”
***
He’d waited and waited for Mimi to make her choice. Now, independent, runs-like-hell Mimi had invited him into her bed and her heart. She’d given him two words today. I do. Now he’d give her we do. Thinking about the two of them as a couple heated him up almost as much as the sight of her bare beneath him did. The smile stretching his face had probably assumed cartoonish proportions, but she didn’t seem to mind.
His wife. Her husband. The world had better watch out now that they were paired up. He’d been looking forward to taking her back to the bayou, maybe an extended honeymoon at his cabin just as soon as fire season was over. She’d love Louisiana and his family would adore her.
She smiled up at him, her grin impish, knowing…just a little bit calculating. She’d keep him on his toes and he looked forward to every minute of their life together.
“Lost in thought, boy?” Her fingers walked down his chest as she questioned him.
“Trying to decide which piece of you is my favorite,” he said gruffly.
Her tattoo started as a tree at the small of her back, the branches curling luxuriously around her ribs and beneath her breasts. He reached beneath her, unfastening her bra. She lifted up to help him and he tugged the sexy scrap free. Her breasts were gorgeous, full and round, the nipples dark brown.
“You can touch,” she teased. “Seeing as how we’re married now and all.”
“I think our preacher forgot the part about obey.”
She snorted. “In your fantasies.”
See, now, he didn’t need fantasies when he had Mimi. He intended to show her that today. He placed his mouth against one branch. The delicate green fronds looked like some kind of tropical tree, not that he was any kind of biologist. Botanist. Damn, he didn’t even know what to call it. Tiny pink flowers feathered over her ribs. He traced each with his tongue, sliding his mouth over the leaves and earning himself a breathy moan.
“I like this one,” he whispered roughly.
A second, higher branch wrapped toward the top of her right breast, crowned by a single, lush pink flower. The teasing fronds were almost too thin to see, disappearing around the curve of her breast.
“This one too.” He covered her flower with his mouth. “I’m not sure this kind of tree exists in nature.”
“There’d be lots more botanists,” she agreed, her laugher dissolving into a moan as he kept on going, following the path that pink flower pointed out, straight to her nipple.
She arched into him, as much as she could with him pinning her down. Her position fed his primitive side. He drew her nipple into his mouth, running his hands down her arms and pinning her hands to their bed. She was his now and he’d be having her. His way.
She didn’t seem to mind. She was making those throaty whimpers he liked so much, the needy sounds firing him up. The way she reacted to him made him feel like the king of the world as her hands pulled at his, trying to draw him closer.
He could do closer. He took his mouth off her breast, and rested his cheek against the soft skin. “You have too many clothes on.”
“You too.” She was all feminine demand. Mimi never had been shy about asking for what she wanted. She tightened her legs around his hips, rocking her sweet heat against him. Perfect.
“I want you. Right now.”
So much for going slow. He’d give her slow and sweet later, but right now he just needed to be inside her.
Her hands pushed at him. “Get off me and finish getting undressed.”
He faced her with a grin. “Strip yourself.”
She popped off the bed, answering him with her own wicked smile. She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed the denim slowly down her hips and over her legs. Then she bent over and his throat went dry. Mimi definitely knew what he liked. Her thong was a naughty scrap, the red lace barely skimming her front. When she bent deeper, working the jeans over her feet, the lace disappeared between the cheeks of her ass.
“You’d better hurry,” he growled. He had plans for her. She unlaced, unbuttoned, and pulled. Boots, socks, jeans—it all disappeared until she leaned against the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a grin and her thong.
“You’re slacking, boy. Hurry it up.” Her fingers toyed with the edges of that lace panel, dipping beneath to tempt him with a glimpse of heaven.
He could do hurry. He could also do fast, hard—and, if he were honest, anything this woman wanted. For now, thought, he unbuckled and unzipped, his jeans and boxers hitting the floor in record time. Then he reached over and lifted her, swinging her back onto the bed beside him. When he rolled her beneath him, the fit was just one more perfect thing. The hotel mattress had seen plenty of action, soft in the middle like it was all worn out. He braced his arms on other side of her head, pinning her in place with his body.
“Fast enough for you?” He tucked himself at her opening, almost lost in her hot, wet welcome.
“Mmmm.” Her happy laugh filled up the empty places in him. “You can move.”
He moved a hand between them and teased her. Ran his thumb down the slick folds, rimming her opening, then reversed his path, dragging his thumb up to circle her clit.
“In. Now,” she demanded, every bit as impatient as he was.
<
br /> He rested his forehead against hers. “Mimi—”
“I’m on the pill,” she said, giving him the green light. “You’re not getting me pregnant.”
“I’m clean,” he promised, nudging inside her just a little. Heaven.
She must have thought so, too, because she cried out and pulled him closer. He liked closer. When he moved, thrusting deeper, she met him, her hips rising up and slapping against his. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his back hard enough to bruise. Demanding more.
And he gave it to her, hungry for this. Hungry for her. Suddenly waiting seemed liked one of the best—and worst—ideas he’d ever had. Being inside her was the best feeling ever. He curled his fingers into hers, pinning her hands to the pillow. Sensations stretched him, pushing him closer and closer to the erotic edge of no return. From the look in her eyes, she was right there with him. His. She tightened around him with a husky moan, her lashes fluttering closed, and there she was… he followed her over the edge.
His wife.
His Mimi.
She was his heart, his all, his everything.
Chapter Eighteen
Afternoon sex was even better than late night sex or I’m-glad-to-see-you morning sex. Okay, if she was being honest, sex anytime with Mack was out of this world spectacular. She eyed him. It was possible she’d worn him out. He lay on his stomach, face buried in the pillow. Lucky her, he was buck naked under the sheet. She didn’t think he was asleep, however. She leaned over him, pulling the hotel’s faux fur throw around her shoulders.
“You ever think about getting tattooed?” She ran a hand down the muscled sweep of his back. Her fingers itched to ink him, to create something that was even half as gorgeous as he was.
“Can’t say that I have,” he muttered, proving her hypothesis. He wasn’t asleep. Sure enough, he turned his head to look at her. She loved the sleepy, warm look in his eyes. He’d worn her out, loving on her as he put it, and then pulled her up against him for a quickie nap.
The faintest smoky, charred scent clung to him. She probably smelled the same way. They’d used up all the small bottles of hotel shampoo and that had led to more good times in the shower. She could feel another one of those smiles stretching her face. Being with Mack made her smile like a loon.
She’d had sex, plenty of times. Okay, more times than she cared to remember. That had been the point, to punish herself for all of the screw ups in her life. She’d been the bad seed and the family wild child. Every time she’d hopped into another man’s bed, she’d just proved that point once again.
Mack made her feel different. With him, she was different. He made her want to stop and stay.
She didn’t know much about staying, sticking or… she ran her hand back up the smooth expanse of skin. Saying words like I love you.
Instead, she mentally envisioned the kind of tattoo she’d give him. Mack’s tattoo would need to be strong and bold, like the man. Something fierce, that told the world that here was a warrior, a fighter.
A man who never gave up.
The man she loved. And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? She’d spent a lifetime running like hell from love and happily-ever-after. She didn’t know how to do long-term and Mack didn’t do short-term. Once he made a promise, he kept it. She just didn’t know if the words they’d exchanged on the casino floor really counted.
Even if those words had been the most beautiful she’d ever heard.
“Do you have designs on my virgin skin?” Amusement crept into his voice.
“Maybe,” she said, curling back up against him. “Would you protest?”
He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve never been one for tattoos, although I love yours.”
His fingers stroked over her ink as he spoke, his voice rough with passion and heat.
“Now what?” she asked. They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives in bed in their stolen hotel room.
“You want a play-by-play? Because I have plenty of ideas.”
“Mack—”
“Yes, Mack! Please tell me more, Mack?” His mouth moved over her throat and the soft caress felt so good that she almost forgot what she needed to say. “Because I can definitely work with either of those.”
She had that baby shower. Missing Gia’s do wasn’t optional. The girls were counting on her, and not just for free drinks. She needed to get out of bed and on with her life, even if she didn’t want to.
“I’ve got a date with Gia’s baby shower,” she whispered.
He sighed and lifted his head. “You want to get up.”
“Want is a relative term.”
“They’re counting on me,” she said, but then she had to kiss his throat.
“You’re not making your case,” he said roughly, a long minute later. “Right now, I’m not sure I’d care if Gia was popping out quintuplets on our doorstep.”
“I don’t want to screw this up too.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Too?”
“I screw everything up,” she said. “You have to have noticed that.”
“You seem pretty damn perfect to me.”
“That’s the sex talking.” This was familiar ground.
“It was great,” he agreed.
“So once the glow wears off, you’ll feel differently.”
She pulled him a little closer, because when you realize you love someone, you don’t really want him to ever wake up from the dream. Maybe she could keep Mack in bed forever. When they were having sex, everything made sense. She knew what to do, what to say. She was good at sex.
“But I’m not here for the sex,” he said gently. “No matter how great.”
Damn him. She could feel herself shaking, and not just because he made her feel so good that she wanted to come undone. Again.
“We’re married,” he said.
This was what she’d wanted to avoid.
“Maybe,” she said, her heart aching. She’d said yes because it was what he wanted and, just once, she’d wanted to be unselfish and to give what he wanted. Of course it had backfired.
“There’s no maybe about it,” he said. “I had a perfectly legal license and we’re married. We can do it again, if you want. Have a church, run off to Mexico and do it on a beach. We can do it every year if you want. I’m game.”
She could feel his smile against her skin and unfamiliar parts of her ached. Parts she hadn’t used in years, like a heart. He was right. This wasn’t just about sex and she had to tell him the truth. She opened her mouth, but he was still talking.
“No cold feet,” he said. “I’m not letting you go.”
“The license might not count,” she said, quickly, putting the words out there before she could chicken out. “Not if I was already married.”
“Mimi.” His voice was… something. Concerned. Steely. She wished she could undo what she’d said. Funny how words that took just seconds to say, words like I do, could stick so long.
“It was a long time ago,” she admitted miserably. God, if she could take it back, she would. Marrying Eddie Worthington had seemed so very right—for all of two glorious, sex-and-laughter filled days. Then reality had hit like waves slamming into the coast and their marriage had been over. She’d had regrets since then, but none like the ones that swamped her now. She hated feeling guilty. Sorry.
Wrong.
“You’re married to someone else?” He sounded disbelieving. Worse, he sat up and leaned back against the headboard, the six inches of sheet between them yawning wider than the Grand Canyon. Her ridiculous mood ring on his pinkie finger flashed a dark, angry black. She’d really done it this time.
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
She suddenly understood why childhood confessions to the priest happened with a wall between them. It was so much easier if you couldn’t see the other person’s face when you confessed your misdeeds. Not that Mack was showing much emotion on his face.
“You’re married,” he repeated.
; “Been here, done this, got the T-shirt. I was a wild child.” He knew that. Hell, she still was, except, possibly, when she was with him. “I raised hell all through high school and then I went off to college. Brown University.”
“You couldn’t have raised that much hell if you got in there.” She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“School was easy.” She rolled onto her stomach. “People? Not so much. My family and I didn’t get along. They were ritzy folks. My mother had been planning my debutante ball since I was born. She knew exactly how she was going to launch me into Chicago society. My dad had reserved a golf club membership for my future husband, whoever he was.”
She looked at Mack and wished she hadn’t. His face was tight now.
“I don’t golf, but I didn’t think that was what mattered when a man decides he’s met the woman he wants to marry.”
“No,” she said miserably. “I know that. I’m sure they did, too, but that was just how they did things. How their parents had done it. They go to law school, med school, business school. You pick it, they do it and no Hart pulls down less than a cool quarter mill a year except for me. And Auntie Belle.”
“From everything I’ve heard, she was a good woman.”
He sounded absolutely uncompromising. Worse, he was right.
“Auntie Belle was.”
She wasn’t.
“Go on,” he said.
“I went to Brown and then I dropped out because I’d met a guy. Eddie Worthington. He was a senior at the University of Chicago and I’d seen him at a few of the Chicago dos. His family had money and they were pushing him to go to law school, join the family firm. Instead, he rode motorcycles, played in a band and partied in the inner city bars. He was fun. Fuck you were his two favorite words. He drove his family crazy.”
“I can see the attraction,” Mack said. Oh, God. His voice was icy.
“We were in love.”
This didn’t sound good. Her words were tight, empty. Pleading?
“Let’s skip to the part where you decided to get married.”
“It started as a joke, but then it seemed like the right thing to do. We’d promised each other we’d never live by their rules, but we loved each other. Eddie got a license and we drove all night until we hit Vegas.”
