She laughed, nervously. “I have a friend who’s engaged. She wanted to see the dress and impulsively I put it on.”
“She can’t look as beautiful in it as you do.”
Again Samara’s body was suffused with heat. “Stay here, I’ll take it off.”
“I could help,” he said.
The air between them turned electric. Samara forgot everything she’d thought of saying. Justin took a step toward her. Just as his arms reached for her, the phone rang a second time.
Diana gasped when Samara opened the door. “You’re wearing the dress?” Her hand went to her mouth and she took a step back as if some evil spell would touch her.
Samara looked down. Since Justin arrived, she’d been thrown into confusion.
“I thought you said it was bad luck,” Diana said. She came into the apartment, walking straight into the living room, then stopped when Justin stood up.
“Hello,” she said. “I didn’t know Samara had company.”
“This is Justin Beckett,” Samara introduced. “Justin, my friend Diana Quade. She’s the one getting married.”
“And Samara is apparently my model.” Diana glanced at Samara.
Diana shook hands with Justin. Samara was relieved when Diana didn’t make a fuss over meeting him.
“Congratulations,” Justin said.
“Thank you.” Diana smiled and blushed.
“Where’s Greg? I thought he was with you,” Samara asked.
“He’s in the lobby. He said he shouldn’t see the gown. And if he waited, I wouldn’t stay long.”
Samara smiled, acknowledging Greg’s technique for keeping Diana on time. She often got caught up in whatever she was doing, and clocks didn’t seem to exist in her world. Samara was sure that it would be up to the bridesmaids to make sure she got to the ceremony on time.
“We’re on our way to dinner. Why don’t you two join us?” Diana looked from Samara to Justin and back.
“We’d love to,” Justin answered her. “I’ve been trying to buy her a meal for months.”
Diana turned and winked at Samara. “She does look a little on the thin side. Maybe that’s how she got into that dress. I can see it’s way too small for me.”
“Diana, the dress can be altered if you like it. Personally, I don’t think it’s your style.”
Diana agreed with her. “But on you, it looks fantastic. Turn around.” Diana used her hand to make a circle.
Samara twirled in the gown. The bottom ballooned out and the train fell into perfect folds.
“What do you think, Justin?” Diana asked.
“I think it’s perfect.”
“You know Samara is never going to marry.”
“Diana!” Samara warned. “Justin isn’t interested…”
“She says that marriage only ends in divorce, so why bother. It just messes up two people’s lives, if you’re lucky.”
“Let me guess,” Justin said. “Divorced parents?”
“No,” Samara answered. “Just about everyone else I know.”
“Including me,” Justin added.
“Well, you are divorced,” Samara countered.
“But I’m not down on the entire practice.”
“Neither am I. It’s just not for me.”
She didn’t want to discuss this now and wanted to throttle Diana for bringing up the subject.
“I’m going to change now. Diana, get Justin something to drink while I put something else on.”
“Sure.”
Samara went toward her bedroom as Diana hummed the Wedding March.
“Diana sure has marriage on her brain,” Justin commented after dinner and waving good-night to Greg and Diana. “By all the comments on falling in love and getting married. Only I had the feeling she wasn’t talking about herself.”
“She wasn’t,” Samara admitted. “They were messages for me, thinly veiled, but I understood them.”
“What do they mean?”
“You already know this,” Samara told Justin. “I’ve already outlined my beliefs to you.”
“About never getting married.”
She tossed her head. “I have no desire and no need to marry. I can support myself and I don’t need or believe I need anyone else to fulfill my life.”
“And the probability of divorce is high.”
“That, too.”
“Samara, that is such a defeatist attitude. People fall in love and marry every day.”
Justin started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. The lights of the District reflected off the various museums and monuments.
“I’m simply not going to fall in love,” she told him.
“You have no control over that.”
“You mean, your chemistry theory?” she asked.
“Somewhat, but not totally. Chemistry only gives you biology. Love is what bonds two people together. And unless you imprison yourself in a tower on some deserted island, you can’t stop love from finding you.”
“Your attitude is rather strange,” Samara argued. “You were married. You loved your wife when you took your vows, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“Look what happened to that.”
“But at least we tried. You’re deciding not to try something because of statistics. Why did you go for your job at the Archives? The odds of you not getting it had to be pretty high. Yet you beat them.”
“You can’t compare a job to marriage,” she dismissed.
“Why not? Both of them require work—a lot of work. Hard work. And it’s got to be done every day. But if the two people are right for each other, it’s worth it.”
Samara thought of her sister, Cinnamon, and Mac. They were perfect for each other. Samara’s parents had gone through some rocky times. They were still married, but Samara wasn’t sure they were the best match. Her dad had once been married to Cinnamon’s mother. No two people were ever so mismatched as her sister’s mother and her own father, but in the back of Samara’s mind, she believed they each were the love of the other’s life.
How could she put herself through something like that? How was it possible to know the right man? Find him? Out of all the people in the universe, how was it possible to settle on one man you could love, respect and spend your life with? The statistics told her. It was too impossible to know.
“Why did you put that dress on today?” Justin interrupted her thoughts.
“What?”
“Why did you put on a wedding gown today?”
“I—I was cleaning when Diana called and said she wanted to see the gown, so I took it out of the trunk. I just put it on. There was no other motive.”
“No?” He raised his eyebrows.
At P Street he turned left, the opposite direction from her apartment.
“You admit the gown is beautiful?” he asked.
“Yes,” she agreed, refusing to let him know she thought the dress was gorgeous and Samara felt wonderful wearing it.
“Did you feel like a bride?”
“What? Why this third degree over a dress?”
“Because it isn’t just a dress. It represents a marriage, a combining of two lives, two families, the wedding of two people who love each other. And you wanted to feel those things when you put it on.”
“So every model who walks down a runway wearing a wedding gown is secretly yearning for home and hearth?”
“You weren’t a model. Models wear clothes as a profession. That was not what you were doing today.”
“I could have been. Just for your information, Geri is opening a bridal shop and she’s asked me to model in a fashion show to mark the store’s premiere.”
“And you’re going to model that dress?”
“Can we drop this? I feel like I’m on some witness stand, explaining something that needs no explanation.”
“All right,” he said.
Samara looked out the window. They were on Wisconsin Avenue near the Cathedral.
“Where are we go
ing?” she asked.
“Nowhere,” he said. “We’re here.”
He parked the car in front of a large house on a side street that was lined with trees. Getting out, he came around and opened the door for her.
“Where is here?”
“This is where I live. I thought you’d like to see it.”
“What’s your ulterior motive?” she asked, standing on the pavement.
“Turnabout is fair play.”
“I don’t understand.”
His hand went to the small of her back and, giving her a slight push, he led her up the walkway.
“When I think of you, I can imagine you in a specific place. When you think of me, you have no boundaries, no space that reflects who I am or how I live. This is it.”
He opened the front door and they stepped inside a large foyer.
“You assume that I think of you,” she said.
“It’s more than an assumption.” He kicked the door closed and turned her into his arms.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
Chapter 7
Justin watch Samara open her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes locked with hers. Desire flared within him, hot and hungry. She’d been on his mind since he left her in her bedroom a day and a half ago. He’d spent most of that time at the office, but she was never more than a microsecond from his consciousness.
And now she was in his arms. In his home.
“Isn’t it unusual for a single man to live in a house?” she asked. “District living is apartment living.”
“If you’re asking if I lived here with my ex-wife, the answer is no. We lived in Maryland. After the divorce, I bought this place. It was closer to work and I’d become used to living in a house.”
“Show me around,” she said. “I am supposed to be able to picture you in a specific place, right?”
Justin walked her through the living room, dining room and kitchen. He showed her the great room and a small home office.
“There are three bedrooms upstairs,” he said. He didn’t take her there because he knew where that would lead.
They returned to the great room. She sat on the sofa in front of the huge fireplace. “Would you like something to drink? Juice, coffee, wine, anything?”
“Trying to get me drunk?”
“It was an innocent question, Samara.”
“Wine,” she said, with apology in her voice. “White.”
He poured them each a glass and handed her one. Sitting down next to her, he said, “I like your friends, Diana and Greg. They make a good couple.”
Samara nodded. “I’ve known Diana since I moved to the District. She met Greg about two years ago. They’ve been inseparable since.”
“That was about the same time we met.”
She nodded slowly. He knew she understood the inference.
“Justin, I think you should take me home now.”
Her comment was almost an assault. He hadn’t expected her to say that. “Why?”
“Obviously, there isn’t going to be a you and me. I think you should drop me and find someone more suitable to focus your attention on.”
“Why don’t you think that person is you?”
“I don’t want it to be,” she said.
He was amazed the air was still going in and out of his lungs. She intrigued him more than any woman ever had and that included his ex-wife. He’d never known anyone so sure of herself, even if he felt her assurance was misplaced.
“I have a hard time believing that,” he said.
“Why?”
“A couple of nights ago, when we were rolling around on the sheets, I would have bet money that was more the truth than your words.”
Her skin was light enough for him to see the color inch into her face.
“You’d be wrong,” she said.
“Really?” he asked.
She stared at him steadily, no thought of wavering that he could see.
“Really.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“It wasn’t.”
He set his glass on the coffee table. Then reached for hers. She resisted slightly, then let go of the glass. Placing it next to his, he turned back to her.
“Say that again.”
Samara didn’t say anything. He stared at her, his body aroused. She had no idea how much she affected him. Thoughts of her could produce physical awareness. With her present, within reach, he was apt to spontaneously combust.
Justin moved closer. His mouth nearly touched hers. His arms went around her waist and he pulled her into his arms. She came without resistance. Dressed in a soft white blouse and dark skirt she’d had on at dinner, Justin caressed her. He liked the feel of the fabric. It was as soft as the skin it covered. His hands skimmed over it, over her. His eyes surveyed her features. Her face was close enough for him to savor the perfection nature had given her.
He wanted Samara. He was in no doubt of that. He wanted to touch her all over. Sitting on the sofa was too confining. Justin stood up, pulling Samara her to her feet, too. His mouth took hers, and he kissed her hard. He wanted to devour her, to make her his. Too blot from her mind all the misconceptions and beliefs that there was no future for them.
His hands roved freely, up and down her back, into her hair, angling her mouth to his as if they were seared together.
“I think it’s time you saw the bedroom,” he whispered against her lips.
“Is this part of the challenge?”
“Definitely,” he answered.
Unlike her apartment, where the bedroom was only a door away, his was upstairs. He needed her now, wanted her in his bed. The bedroom was a floor away, almost at the other end of the house. He didn’t know if he could make it, didn’t know if the force that both pulled them together and kept them in individual bodies would allow him to get that far. Reluctant to let her go, Justin slipped his arms around her and together they crossed to the stairs. His mouth crushed hers as they slowly mounted each step.
It was almost a dance, them turning and swirling, kissing and releasing, as they moved up one step at time. Their hands touched, fondled. Heads bobbed, teeth clashed, bodies meshed.
Samara felt good in his arms. He couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. He wondered, why her? Why did he keep coming back to her when she’d asked him to go? It could be the challenge. He could rarely resist a challenge, but he wouldn’t keep coming back if there wasn’t something in it he wanted. Why did his arms know the exact circle of her waist, his hands the curvature of her arms, the moon-shape of her buttocks? But it was his mind that she held prisoner. She’d seeped into his brain, into the minute crevices of his being and taken up residence. And he didn’t want a change of address. He wanted her to want the same.
Inside the bedroom door, Justin allowed space between them. With his back against the door, he traced the neckline of her blouse. His fingers, brushing against her skin, was the only contact their bodies made. Fire danced through his hands, but for the moment he only looked at her, drank in her features. She stared back.
Moonlight streaked across this part of the room, cutting a path over her eyes and leaving the remainder of her face in semidarkness. Desire lurked in their depths.
Justin ran his hand down her cheek. Slowly he bent toward her. Her features blurred as he moved closer and closer. His mouth touched hers. They melted into each other. Need grew until he was bending her backward and fighting to control his desire to push her to the floor and take her there.
She pushed him away, taking several steps back until there was space enough for him to see her entire body. With unhurried movements, Justin watched as Samara crossed her arms, gathering the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Her hair, pulled upward with the blouse, spilled back to her shoulders as if in slow motion, the action played back frame by frame. Her hands moved to the zipper on her skirt and guided it downward until it reached the end. Pushing the skirt down, it fell to the floor in a silent heap.
/> Stepping out if it, she walked toward him. He watched her hips sway from side to side, her body tight and hard, his mind bewitched as it focused on every nuance of her movement, himself a camera and she the principal subject of his mental movie.
Pushing away from the door and moving to meet her, he undid the buttons on his shirt and left it behind him. Her hands met his and together they released his belt. His mouth took hers again with the same desperation as that of a starving man.
Her skin was hot and moist where his hands touched. He caught one of her legs and raised it to his waist. Then the other joined it until her held her, wrapped to him. He walked to the bed, holding her. She slid down his body, forcing a groan from his throat as her hips collided with his erection.
In a flash he removed the rest of his clothes and covered himself with a condom. He kissed her neck and worked his way down her body, removing any vestige of clothing she was still wearing. They fell onto the bed.
Justin wrapped himself around her, drawing her to him, pulling her inward as if he needed her to be part of his makeup, part of him, inside the same skin, sharing the same heartbeat.
He heard her sounds, listened to the rapid beating of her heart, felt her taut, swollen nipples that seemed perfect for his mouth. Unable to wait any longer, he entered her. Her body sheathed him, strong muscles tightening and holding him before relaxing and beginning the routine again.
The rhythm began like drum beats, not in his head, but in his entire being. Faster and faster they sounded, pushing him into her, as if his life depended on it.
Samara met him with a force he’d never known. His tongue dipped deeply into her mouth, plunging, mating, dancing, fighting, dominating. Sounds smacked as their heads moved, shifted, their lips seeking each other’s. Justin’s arms welded her to him. She was soft, like cotton candy, a pure confection that could evaporate on touch, but she remained solid in his arms.
In a moment, she pushed him over, reversing positions. He pulled her closer, his body going to heaven at the way her hips pumped into him. Justin ran his hands down her body, starting with the area right above her breasts. He felt her pounding heartbeat, and heard the hitch in her throat when his fingers encountered her puckered nipples. Stopping at her waist, he held on to her, riding the curve of her hips until he was sure they would explode.
The Right Wedding Gown Page 8
