Heather followed, her back straight, her hands graceful on her rose. She exchanged a smile with Natalie, who sat watching dreamily beside her new husband.
It occurred to Quent that he should have slipped the pianist an extra twenty to speed up the procession. He could hardly wait to see Amy, who had refused to show him her dress in advance.
After an eon, he heard the strains of “Here Comes the Bride.” Down the staircase floated Amy on her father’s arm. Loretta moved forward to snap a few shots before taking her seat.
The first thing Quent noticed about his bride-to-be were her legs, nicely displayed by the elegant dress. She had great calves, long and slim. All brides ought to wear mid-length gowns if they looked as good in them as Amy did.
The lacy fabric swished tantalizingly around her knees and clung to her slender waist. Spaghetti straps showed off her bare shoulders, and through her dark hair wove a magical array of flowers and silver sparkles.
A soft light diffused across her face. Quent’s breath caught in his throat. Radiant, that’s how she looked.
Even if he hadn’t rehearsed the night before, he would instinctively have stepped forward and offered his arm. Behind him, he heard the pastor ask, “Who gives this woman to be married?”
“I do.” Pride beamed from her father as he handed over his daughter.
The rest of the ceremony blurred in Quent’s mind. All he could focus on was Amy. Her light perfume awakened images of canopied beds and silken sheets, yet there was an air of innocence about her today, too. Something about a wedding transformed the bride into a young girl about to experience love for the first time.
What would it be like if he were the man to awaken her? To be her first lover, her entire world of experience? Quent couldn’t imagine. Besides, he preferred Amy the way she was.
He stirred from his reverie to accept the ring from Greg. With only a slight tug, it slid onto Amy’s finger, where the diamonds twinkled like living stars.
“Wow!” the little boy said loudly, then clapped his hand over his mouth. An amused murmur rose from their guests.
“It’s okay,” Amy told the child in a stage whisper. “I think it’s pretty, too.”
After they said their vows, they turned to face their friends with Greg between them. Tara, who’d grown wiggly on her chair, squirmed onto the floor and toddled over.
“I now present to you Dr. and Mrs. Ladd, and children,” said the minister.
Applause erupted. Quent scooped up his daughter, Amy took Greg’s hand, and down the aisle they went.
On any other occasion, he’d have relished the surge of friends and the delicious food in the dining room. You’d have had to pry him away with a crowbar.
Today, he wanted to whisk Amy out to his flower-trimmed SUV. It was a two-hour drive to their hotel in Palm Springs, and he could hardly wait.
WEDDING-NIGHT JITTERS. Thirty-three-year-old women weren’t supposed to get them. Especially not if they were marriage counselors.
Amy knew the facts. What she didn’t know was how they were going to get from point A to point B, or how Quent would react when he discovered his smart-talking bride was clueless in the bedroom.
The advantage of wearing a cocktail dress was that she didn’t have to put on fresh clothes before they left the reception. Otherwise, judging by Quent’s eagerness to get her alone, she suspected he’d have trotted upstairs and insisted on helping her change. As it was, he sent Kitty to fetch her suitcase, bade everyone farewell as soon as politeness allowed, and broke the speed limit all the way to Palm Springs.
“I’m sure the kids will have a great time with Aunt Mary,” Amy said as they waited for the registration clerk to process his credit card. “She’s going to take them to an amusement park tomorrow.”
“Did I mention how much I like those flowers in your hair?” In his dark suit, Quent looked dashing. And sexy. And incredibly romantic. “I love when you wear it loose that way, like a cloud.”
“You can brush it out for me.” The image of him touching and stroking her made Amy’s stockings feel too tight. She searched for a topic more suitable to discuss in a hotel lobby. “It was nice of Dr. Fingger to cover for you this weekend.”
“I have to return the favor by being on call after ten o’clock Christmas Eve,” Quent said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be able to go to the Barrs’ yacht party.” He ran a finger across her cheekbone, sending shimmers down Amy’s spine. Every instinct urged her to fling her arms around him and cuddle up close. Very close.
“Here you are, sir.” The clerk returned the credit card. “Would you like a porter?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Quent accepted their keys and hoisted his bag along with Amy’s. They’d packed lightly, since they were only staying one night. On such short notice, it had been impossible to steal even one extra day from a workweek already shortened by the Christmas holiday.
They’d make up for their abbreviated honeymoon next summer. Quent had offered to take her to Hawaii for a whole week. His expectations of marriage might not be traditional, Amy reflected, but they were definitely amorous.
When he escorted her into their room, she gave a little cry of appreciation. “It’s a suite. How beautiful!”
Pale pastel fabrics swathed an outer chamber furnished with low couches and a cozy dining table. The creamy carpet ended at a set of steps that led up to a whirlpool spa, ready for action beside a pile of white towels. The bedroom lay beyond, out of sight. But not out of mind.
“Only the best for my wife,” Quent said. “Wait a minute. I want to carry you in.”
“I’m kind of tall for that, aren’t I?” she asked regretfully. “I don’t want my groom spraining his back before we get to first base.”
“What do you take me for, a wimp?” After flinging their bags inside, Quent whipped around and picked her up. Amy clung to him, enjoying his strength. She wished she could lie here forever, suspended next to this wonderful, unpredictable man.
He stepped across the threshold and held her for a moment, his mouth brushing hers with a promise of more to come. Amy wanted it right now.
Quent set her down as lightly as if she were made of gossamer. “How did I do?”
“Magnificently.”
She wished he’d take her back into his arms. Thirty-three years of waiting were coalescing into an intense longing to become Quent’s wife in every way, right this instant.
He, however, seemed more interested in exploring their suite, especially after he spotted champagne cooling in a bucket. “I propose a toast. To best friends becoming lovers.”
“You don’t need to get me drunk for that!” Amy didn’t want to come right out and tell him to forget the champagne, though, when he’d obviously gone to so much trouble to please her.
He set to work opening the bottle. “No headlong rush for my beautiful bride. I want this night to be unforgettable.”
How could she argue with that? “Champagne sounds fabulous.” Tamping down her impatience, Amy curled on the couch and prepared to let Quent wine and dine her.
A WOMAN’S wedding night was extremely important. Despite his eagerness to make steamy, nonstop love to Amy, Quent was determined to do this right, and that meant paying attention to details.
After making sure of her preferences, he’d ordered a meal of seafood and baby vegetables, scalloped potatoes, crusty French bread and a salad with raspberry dressing, plus a fine selection of tortes for dessert. Romantic music played from the stereo system as they were served in the privacy of their room by a waiter who knew how to keep his presence unobtrusive.
After the man left them alone, Quent switched on the jets in the spa and went into the bathroom to don his swimming trunks. He wanted to arouse Amy gradually, as she was no doubt accustomed to. The hints she’d dropped had given him the picture of a woman who expected skill and artfulness from her men.
It wasn’t going to be easy to take it slow. All afternoon, he’d become more and more attuned to her femininit
y, her responsiveness, her sweetness. He had to keep a tight grip on himself tonight or risk disappointing her.
When he emerged, Quent found his new bride already in the spa. He nearly choked as he noticed her lacy peach bra and matching panties. The lingerie looked great on her, even better than he’d dreamed.
What a slim figure she had, its hint of shy sensuality forming an alluring contrast to her athletic tone. His wife was going to be full of surprises, Quent suspected, and he could hardly wait to discover them.
He eased into the pool across from her. If he stretched out his legs, he could tangle them with hers.
Take it easy, buster. You’ve got to watch yourself or you’ll rip those skimpy clothes off her.
“I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit.” Amy gave him a mysterious smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I wear this.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t mind at all.”
Heat surged around them. The swirling water caressed her breasts and fanned her hair across the ripples. The woman was a born temptress, Quent thought, closing his eyes and hovering near the edge of meltdown.
“You know,” Amy said in a throaty voice, “I don’t think people are required to wear anything at all in a spa.”
“I didn’t see any rules posted.” With a grin, he dared to regard her again.
She leaned forward, dark tendrils playing around her breasts. Her gaze met his, daring him to make the next move.
Quent reached to finger a long strand and pulled her gently toward him. Amy’s tongue touched her lips in what almost appeared to be hesitation. She was attuned to the most alluring subtleties, he thought admiringly.
At such close range, he could almost taste her. Was she as eager as he was? Or might she be mentally critiquing his style? He’d better play it safe.
“You must be stiff from the drive.” He slipped one arm around Amy, offering his shoulder as a pillow. “Let’s relax for a while.”
“I don’t want to relax. Do you?” She placed one palm against his chest and sighed as if thrilled by the mere sensation of touching him. Slowly she stroked downward, closer and closer to his rapidly responding male core. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
Catching her waist, Quent swirled her onto his lap and slanted a kiss onto her luscious mouth. Amy kissed him back, long and deep. If she kept this up, he’d be all over her in a few seconds, and what would she think of him then?
Keeping a tight rein on his masculine drive, Quent lifted his head and smiled lazily. “What next? I want to do this your way.”
“Well…” After nibbling her lip for a moment, Amy slid the bra strap off one shoulder and, catching his other hand, held it to her breast. The nub was hard and responsive. “Is this what you mean?”
“It’s perfect.” He eased off the other strap and cupped both breasts. Instantly, Quent’s body hardened into one long lustful ache. The most exciting part was Amy’s rapt expression, as if she were already in ecstasy.
Seeing her so lost in the moment, he trailed kisses along her neck and seized each nipple in turn between his lips. Moans tore from her, intensifying his desire. The moment Quent released her, she shot him a look of pure mischief and pulled off her panties, which she tossed onto the tile. “How’s that?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He could hardly talk.
“Guess I’m doing okay so far, huh?”
“Better than okay. Better than…never mind.”
The last shred of restraint vanished. Quent was yanking off his trunks when his bride pushed him onto the bench and straddled him. The warm, billowing water cushioned their movements.
“Hey, you caught me off guard!” he said with a smile. “I was going to do that to you first.”
“I always wanted to win a wrestling match with you,” Amy murmured close to his ear.
“Honey, you can win every match from now on.”
He loved the way she knelt atop him, caressing his skin and sliding her body over his. “You’re really, really good at this,” he rasped.
“Am I?”
“As if you didn’t know!” He smoothed his hands down to her rounded derriere and pulled her against his hardness. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.”
“Who asked you to?” Her laugh had a low, sexy hoarseness.
Quent played one palm lightly across Amy’s heated center. Hungrily, she opened herself to him.
With pleasure so keen it bordered on agony, he pressed inside her. Oddly, he felt a moment of resistance, but it scarcely registered before he claimed her.
Amy gasped. Quent, too, let out a moan as her enticing movements inflamed him. He drew her along him, in and out, and she caught his rhythm, quickening it almost to the point of no return. Abruptly, she stopped.
“Too fast,” she whispered.
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
Kneeling on the narrow bench, Amy straightened herself atop Quent with him still inside her. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful, like a nymph as her bare breasts and narrow waist broke clear of the foam.
Even Quent’s imagination hadn’t prepared him for the splendor of making love with her. She’d brought a lifetime of experience to their marriage, and he relished it.
Above him, Amy began to sway. “This is amazing,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s do it some more.”
“I don’t know how I survived without it.”
“You never made love in a spa before?” Quent asked.
She shook her head.
“Neither did I.” He groaned, because she’d reached down and taken him in her hands below their joining. When she heightened her movements, rational thought disappeared.
Grasping her hips, Quent plunged upward. Suffused in heat, he thrust into Amy until she gave a shudder of pure pleasure. Volcanic satisfaction erupted through him, again and again, while time froze into an eternal instant of bliss.
Gradually, as they half-floated in the swirling water, rapture faded into languor. Sinking onto the bench beside him, Amy leaned back. “I never realized it could be like that.”
“Really?” Quent was glad their connection had been as exhilarating for her as it had for him. “Arrogant as I am, I still wasn’t sure I’d live up to your expectations.”
“It hurt a little at first, but Heather warned me…” She stopped at seeing his startled expression.
“What do you mean?” Quent tried to make sense of her words. “Heather warned you about what?”
“You didn’t realize I was a virgin? I thought it was obvious.”
His brain, befogged by champagne and great sex, slowly slotted the pieces into place. The initial resistance. Her wondering aloud how she’d lived without this.
His bride, a virgin? Impossible. Confusing. “What about those stories you told me?” As he sat up, cold air prickled across his torso.
Nervously, Amy traced one finger along the edge of the tile. “When we first got to be friends, you assumed I was experienced because I’m older than you. I was too embarrassed to admit I wasn’t.”
“What about the wrestler who wore your pink sweatshirt? The guy who whisked you off to Tahiti? The men who got down on their knees to propose?”
“Consider them a form of entertainment,” Amy said. “I was trying to turn the whole thing into a joke by making the most outrageous claims I could.”
“Just now, you knew what you were doing. You can’t tell me that was pure instinct.” He waited, expecting her to give him a triumphant grin and admit she was kidding.
“It was. Honest.” She watched him from beneath her delicate winged eyebrows. “Is it a problem?”
“Not exactly.” Quent didn’t know why he felt so uncomfortable. Men used to want their brides to be innocent, didn’t they? He’d even speculated about it himself. “I wish you’d been straight with me, though.”
“I’m sorry.” Amy ducked her head. “It never occurred to me, when we started being buddies, that we would reach this point. When you proposed, I figured it
didn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t.” He wished there was more conviction in his voice.
“I felt as if being a virgin meant that no one wanted me,” Amy said.
“That’s ridiculous.” Where had she come up with that idea? “If the men in Serene Beach weren’t pursuing you in droves, they must all have their heads stuck in the ground.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
They sat for a while longer, neither of them finding anything to say. Finally Quent got up and turned off the jets. After handing Amy a towel, he wrapped one around his waist.
He remembered one morning at her condo, when he’d run to check on Tara while clutching a towel to his midsection. The casual way Amy had poked fun at him, he’d assumed she’d seen plenty of men in this state or worse. What had really been going through her mind?
A lot of his memories didn’t quite click anymore. It was as if he’d married a woman he scarcely knew.
How was that possible? This was Amy, his best friend!
Even after he brushed his teeth and got into the king-size bed, Quent’s brain wouldn’t stop rehashing the matter. If Amy was a virgin, this marriage was a bigger commitment on her part than he’d understood.
He’d believed they could keep things light. Sure, he knew their relationship would change with time, but only when they were both ready.
What did she expect of him? He didn’t want to have that discussion now. Or anytime soon. It bothered him, though, to see her watching him worriedly. Even when he rolled over and faced the other way, Quent could feel Amy’s discomfort.
He wanted to offer some reassurance, but he didn’t know how. If only they could go back to the way things had been. Fun and games. An easygoing flirtation. Friends who talked readily. Of course, he didn’t want to give up being lovers or living together, just to lose this edgy, restless anxiety, as if he’d drawn Amy closer to a void from which he didn’t know how to protect her.
They were married and there was no going back. Surely things would work themselves out, Quent thought. With luck, by tomorrow they’d be their old selves again.
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