Going All the Way (Kiss the Bride #1)

by Cynthia Cooke

  She rolled over, lying on top of him, taking his nipple into her mouth. His erection rubbed against her even as she sucked and stroked, and brought a deep moaning gasp from his lips. His hands moved, his fingers slipping easily inside her from behind. She wanted him so bad, she was more than ready for him.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again as she leaned forward to kiss his lips.

  Could he possibly have any doubt she wasn’t? Or maybe the doubts were his. This was her last chance to come clean. To take a breather and tell him everything. And have him walk away. Could she take that chance? She wanted this, wanted him, more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and he rolled her back over. After quickly sheathing himself with the condom, he moved on top of her. His weight was exquisite, his scent all male, all wonderful. She lifted her legs, pulling him in and holding on tight. He entered her slowly. He felt so good, each stroke making her realize what she’d been missing for so long. This connection with another person, this warmth. Each thrust made her want more, and ignited an itch that couldn’t completely be scratched.

  She clung to him, her hands sweeping down the smooth skin of his back and stopping on his biceps. They were bulging and hard, like steel encased in velvet. She licked her lips and met him, movement for movement, her back arching, her hips lifting, her fingers grasping as she pulled him deeper and deeper. She breathed deep his rich scent, heady, male. She held the breath inside her, savoring it.

  It had been so long since she’d had a man in her bed. But the truth was, she didn’t want any man, she wanted this man. With him she could almost imagine letting go of her fears, her tightly held control, and letting him into her life. His warm hand moved up her stomach to her breast and cupped it, stroking, rubbing his thumb over her nipple as he continued to move within her. He knew just how to touch her, kiss her. His lips found hers and she bit back a moan as his tongue swept into her mouth.

  Almost there, almost, yes, right there. Yes. No! Hold back. Make it last. She was in sweet agony as the pressure within her built to the breaking point. God, he was good. He was perfect—sweet, handsome, loving…She threw her head back and let loose a deep throaty groan as she reached her climax. He held her tight, wrapping his arms around her body, practically lifting her off the bed, burying his head in her hair as he stiffened, cried out, and then found his own release.

  They lay like that for a long moment, each clutching the other as they tried to find their breath and come back down from the rush. Their hearts beat in a fever pitch, and for one fleeting second she wanted to stay like that, lost in his arms.

  Always.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carrie woke up relaxed and well rested, which was unusual for her. She stretched out and opened her eyes. She spotted Riley’s fur pressed against the crack beneath the door and smiled. He must have slept there all night wanting to be close to them. How had this furry little guy wormed his way into her heart?

  And what about his dad? She could feel him lying behind her, his warmth comforting her as much as the rhythmic sound of his soft breathing. She was at once terrified and happy. She didn’t want a relationship. The last thing she needed was to lean on someone. To let someone in and give them that power to hurt her. But damn, he felt good in her bed.

  She’d take it one step, one day, at a time and find out what made her happy. And right now, she was very happy, from her head down to her toes.

  Ryan’s hand snaked around her waist. “Guess what,” he murmured against her back, his lips pressing sweet kisses against her skin.

  “What?”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “That it is.”

  “No work.”

  “No work,” she agreed with a smile. And luckily for her, that was every day. At least for the time being.

  “So, Riley loves the beach,” he continued.

  Carrie smiled. “He does or you do?” Riley whined at the sound of their voices. “Let me put him out and I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the bed and let Riley out in the back yard. In a flash she was sliding back between the sheets, back up against Ryan’s warmth.

  “How about we take him?” Ryan continued, snuggling closer.

  “Together?” She liked the idea of spending the day with them, the sand between her toes, the sunshine on her face. He stroked his hand down her back and around the curve of her hips. Her heartbeat started to speed up, her breathing quickened just from the casual feel of his fingers, the heat of his breath on her back, and the softness of his tongue.

  His erection was growing and pushing against her thigh. His hand moved to her breast, slowly circling. She smiled, and trailed her fingers down his stomach.

  “What do you like to do at the beach?” she asked as her fingers reached their goal and lightly stroked his velvety skin, loving that she had more control of him right now than he had over himself.

  He followed suit, lazily moving his hand down between her legs. She sucked in a breath as his finger slipped inside her wet heat.

  “I like to lay on the sand and feel the sun warming my skin,” he said.

  “No shell hunting? Swimming?”

  “I like heat,” he whispered, sheathing himself. He shifted her under him and entered her, moving with slow, languid strokes.

  “Mmm,” she murmured.

  “So you game? It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

  She gasped a breath as he pulled her legs up around him and plunged in deeper. “You mean you want to spend the whole day together?” she asked in a ragged voice as pleasure spread through her, building. Tensing.

  “Yes,” he breathed.

  “But what would we talk about?” she teased. It was getting harder and harder to hold her train of thought. The way he was moving within her—slow, steady, deep—was making it almost impossible.

  “Talk?” he said, shifting, pulling out, pausing a torturous second before plunging all the way back in.

  “Oh, yeah. Right there.”

  “Are you saying we don’t have anything in common?” His mouth fell over her breast.

  She sucked in a breath as his tongue played at its sweet torment. Oh, God. “Do we?”

  “Yes.” He sucked and flicked, and nipped.

  “You mean other than great sex?” she asked, with a touch of innocence.

  He began to move faster, the tension building higher. Yes, great, really, really great sex.

  “Well, there’s that, too,” he said.

  “What else is there?” she asked, because now she couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, could only feel as she lost herself in the rush of sensations moving through her.

  And then he was all business, concentration filling the lines on his face as he thrust harder and pushed deeper inside her, hitting her sweet spot and making her cry her release. He was quick to follow. Stiffening. Yelling out until he collapsed on top of her, and they each tried to catch their breath.

  She lay there for a moment, quiet, enjoying the sound of his breathing and the warm rush of her orgasmic aftershock rolling through body. God, this man was good.

  “I think we have a great deal in common,” he said after a long moment. He smiled, and kissed her neck. “We have a good time together, and we have Riley.”

  She laughed. “There is Riley.”

  “So what do you say? Want to take him to the beach?” He kissed her shoulder.

  She gave him a wicked grin. “Why not? I don’t have anything better to do.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  She tweaked his nipple. “I’m teasing. I would love to spend the day with you.” She should slow this train down in case she needed to jump off, but she didn’t want to. She was tingling in all the right places, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this relaxed, this good.

  He pulled her into his arms. “And maybe even the night, too.”

  She grinned. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

  …

  Ryan co
uldn’t help smiling as Carrie snuggled up under his chin. She felt really good. And he felt really good. A week ago he was alone, stressing about his company, about the Costas account, and lying right here, right now, he wasn’t stressed about a thing. Maybe Celeste was right. Maybe it was time to settle down, find someone special to decompress and have a little fun with. Could Carrie be that someone? He was beginning to think so. She was warm and smart, incredible in bed, but most of all she knew how to laugh. She trailed her fingers down his chest, sending sparks lighting through him. He sighed. And more than anything else, she was sexy as hell.

  She leaned down and kissed him, then climbed out of the bed. He admired her heart-shaped butt as she walked toward the bathroom. Yep, a beautiful woman and one he was looking forward to spending the day with. He got up to pull on his pants so he could go home and shower when he saw a familiar file lying on the nightstand. He sat back down and picked it up. It was the Costas file. He flipped through it, recognizing Stu’s distinctive script written in the margins of the ideas he and the rest of the team had been coming up with all week. And from what Stu had written about them, apparently things were worse than he thought. His heart sunk.

  But the real question was, why did Carrie have Stu’s file?

  He looked around her room as if seeing it for the first time. The closet full of shirts and blouses, jackets and scarves. Women’s high heel shoes were lined up by color across the floor. All high-end, all business attire. This was the closet of an executive. I can assure you taking care of big furry people is not on my resume. Her words came back to haunt him. She’d said she was a professional; she had even worked in advertising. Had Stu hired her too?

  Carrie came out of the bathroom, pulling on a robe. She saw the file in his hand and froze. A look of guilt darkened her face, telling him everything he needed to know. He felt like a first class idiot. He never let his barriers down around a woman this quickly, especially since he’d only known her a few days. Yet with her, he had.

  “Why do you have this file?” he asked, still unable to comprehend how she could have gotten it and what it meant that she had.

  She took a deep breath. “Stu gave it to me.”

  “Stu Steinhem?” Disbelief coursed through him and hardened his veins. Had Stu hired her to double-check him? To replace him? Different scenarios flipped through his mind, none of them good. “How do you know Stu Steinhem? And why on earth would he give you the Costas file?”

  She sat on the bed next to him.

  Instinctively, he shifted away.

  “Stu gave me the file because he wanted my help with the Costas account. He asked me to look it over and give him my thoughts.”

  “Your help?” He stared at her with incredulity. He remembered seeing Stu leaving the park yesterday. Had he been there to meet her? How long had they been ‘meeting’ each other? Was she seeing him too? If so, why hadn’t she told him? He stood as the thoughts raced through his mind. “But why? Are you dating him?”

  “Stu is my ex-husband,” she said, dropping a bombshell that reverberated through the room. “We started Steinhem Company together. I used to be the Director of Advertising.”

  He stared at her in total disbelief. “Carrie Steinhem.” He turned toward the window. “I’ve heard talk of you. How important you were to the company. To Stu.”

  “Ryan—”

  He rounded on her. “Does he know?”

  “What?” A look of incomprehension filled her face.

  “Does Stu know about me? About us? About this?” He gestured toward the bed.

  “No, of course not. Who I sleep with is none of Stu’s business.”

  “And yet you have the account I’m working on right next to your bed?” The bed they’d just had incredible sex in.

  “Yes, he gave it to me to read.”

  “Don’t you think the fact you were once married to my client, to my boss, might be something we should have discussed?”

  “Yes.” She stood and faced him. “But I didn’t want that between us. I wanted you to myself.”

  “What? My job?” It was his turn to be confused.

  “I wanted last night to be about us. I didn’t want Stu in the bedroom with us. I didn’t want either of us to be thinking about him or the Costas account.”

  He didn’t believe her. He’d heard the rumors at work, heard what she meant to Stu. What they’d meant to each other. The dream team gone bad. “Does Stu still love you? Does he want you back?” What’s more, did she want him?

  “Of course not.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  Outrage crossed her face.

  “If you didn’t want Stu in the bedroom with us, then why leave the file next to your bed?”

  She took a deep breath. “Ryan, it’s not like that.”

  “When I told you I worked for Stu, the right thing to do would be to tell me who you were. You know that, and yet you didn’t. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Was it because you didn’t want him to know about us, or because you didn’t want me to know about the two of you?”

  “Ryan!”

  “Perhaps you should figure that out.” He turned his back and strode across the room, and the door cracked shut behind him.

  He’d only spent one night with her and she’d already complicated the hell out of his life. Just like he knew she would.

  Chapter Twelve

  Carrie stormed back into her room, picked up the file and hurled it at the wall. Damn him and damn Stu, too! She stripped off her robe and climbed into the shower. She never should have told Stu she would look at that file. She knew better, knew getting sucked back into his world would not work well for her. Still, she took the file. And the worse part was, she hadn’t told Ryan about it. She knew better, but she chose not to. That was her choice. Her fuck-up. Not Stu’s. So how was she going to fix it?

  After taking an overly long hot shower, she did her daily routine and then decided to paint and try her best to forget about them both, at least for now. But even as she dipped her brush into her paints, angry tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away. She had really been looking forward to taking Riley to the beach. She and Ryan had only had one night of bliss before everything went to shit. What else was new? Maybe she shouldn’t have come back to San Francisco. Maybe she should have gone to Florida, Hawaii, anywhere but here.

  How could she start over, start fresh, with Stu here? He would always need her to help him, to fix his problems, and she always jumped right in. She couldn’t concentrate. She had to stop thinking about him. She put down her paints, and went into her office/studio to peruse the pictures of Riley hanging on her wall. She didn’t know which she was sadder about: no longer seeing Ryan, or not spending time with his dog. She sighed. Ryan, of course. Though Riley was a damned good dog. Perfect. She looked at each picture, smiling as she remembered his joy at loping through that pond and chasing those ducks. It had been a good day.

  She walked back into the bedroom and bent to pick up the pages that were spread out in an unholy mess across her floor. She saw Ryan’s name several times in the print and handwritten scrawl in the margins before she sat on the floor and actually started reading the pages. First a paragraph, then a page, and finally the whole file. Ryan was right; things weren’t going well with the Costas account. The ideas they came up with were stale and overused. There was nothing fresh. Nothing different.

  How had she let herself get sucked into all this drama? Into helping Stu? Even being around him? Because he needed her, and even though the last place she wanted to be was anywhere near Steinhem Company, she still wanted to help. She still cared about Steinhem. Only now, her relationship with Ryan was trashed. Who was she kidding? She hadn’t had a relationship with Ryan anyway. He hadn’t even known or asked her for her last name. All they had was great sex. She swatted away the tears and wished Riley were there to hug.

  She put down the file and went back to her canvas, to start wor
king on a new painting of Riley. First big sweeping brush strokes, then getting into the details by adding tiny strokes to his fur, a soft dab of white to add a twinkle to his eyes, all the while letting her mind wander over the Costas problem.

  Obviously, she sucked at love. But she was good at her job. That was the one area in her life she could control. The creating was the part of her career that she always loved. Taking a germ of an idea, feeding it and watching it grow. Breathing life into it, whether it was a painting, a sketch, or an ad campaign. It was the creation process that got her jazzed. Not all the rest of it—running departments, giving presentations, managing people. Ryan had been right about that.

  Maybe there was a way she could continue doing what she loved, on her terms. Maybe he was right about that, too. She needed to do what made her happy. And if she had to make a list, it would be a short one—painting, creating, and running in the park with Riley. And Ryan? Definitely sex with Ryan. She grinned. But one couldn’t always have everything they wanted.

  Could they?

  Should they?

  And then she got an idea. Maybe if she could find a way to help him with this Costas problem, he could find a way to forgive her. She put down her paintbrushes and picked up her sketchpad and pencils, the graphite flying across the paper as ideas came to her—one after another, quick as lightning. She’d forgotten how much she loved this part of the job. She turned one idea after another into words and images. As she flipped through her sketchbook after she thought of Ryan, of Riley, and tears once more swam in her eyes. She cared about him. A lot, and she’d blown it. Somehow she had to make it right.

  Several hours later, she took her sketches over to Ryan’s. Perhaps he’d had enough time to cool down, to hear her apology, and to give them another chance. She rang the bell, but he was either not home or he didn’t answer. She heard Riley whining on the other side of the door.

  Had Ryan left without asking her to watch him? Would he never ask her again? Her heart ached at the thought. Slowly, she walked back home. Could they be over before they even got started? She thought she hadn’t wanted any complications, wanted to do things on her own, but she’d been wrong. Ryan just might have been perfect, everything she wanted and exactly what she needed—and she blew it. She stood inside her front door and stared around her small apartment. Suddenly her place seemed too empty, too quiet. She picked up Riley’s toys and put them in his bed, wondering if she should carry them over to Ryan’s and leave them on his porch. But she decided not to. She would hold out hope, just in case.