The Bride Wore Denim

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Pretty sure. Do you see anyone else in the room who’d take you?”

  She watched his reflection again, as he bent his head and placed his lips at the side of her reflection’s neck. The hot, throaty chuckle that filled her real ear and, the soft, exploring lips that touched her skin against her throat sent chills lancing through her body. The ethereal picture of them in the glass juxtaposed with the physical sensations on her body tantalized like a sensual optical illusion. The magic set her aflame. She watched herself sink on wobbly knees deeper into his hold before she closed her eyes and spun from the vision into the reality of his embrace.

  “For a minute I thought you were my imagination,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Thank the good Lord you’re not.”

  “Believe me, I’m not. Let me get rid of that ghost for you.”

  He strode quickly across the room, flicked off the light, and the room went dark, until the city outside the window sent its glittering play of lights upward and turned the darkness to soft shadows. He returned and their reflections in the window were gone. All they could see were the diamond-bright lights of Chicago.

  The time of languorous build-up had passed. Every fiber of Harper’s body begged for him, and the heat from the park flared anew. She pushed his fleece-lined jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. Her boring gray wool car coat followed his to the floor.

  Feverishly she worked the buttons on his dress shirt through their holes. As soon as the shirt hung open, he followed her lead, making short work of her sweater by slipping it over her head with a flourish.

  His shirt and T-shirt hit the carpeting. Her bra took the ride as well.

  “Gorgeous,” he whispered when they stood skin to skin clad only in jeans and shoes. “Harper, you’re so—” He cut himself off by leaning sideways and dipping his head to her breast. She gasped in delight at the scrape of his teeth and the wet heat of his tongue circling first one tip and then the other. He didn’t hurry nor did he linger, as if his mission was to carefully but quickly lay the fuse that would bring a final implosion to all the perfect places.

  He sank to his knees and reached her navel with his kisses. She giggled and then shivered violently as he worked the button and zipper of the jeans she’d worn in honor of his visit. He turned her in place, and she could see out the window again while he worked the jeans halfway down her hips and reached around her to slip a long, hard-fingered hand down the soft part of her belly and beneath the waistband of her panties. Farther and deeper he sought heat, and found it. She moaned at the first explosive shudder from his intimate touch.

  “No, please, I want to do this together!” She wasn’t above begging.

  “Hush,” he replied softly. He pressed up against her from the back, pushing her into his oh-so-talented fingers. “We are together, I promise. This might be more for me than it is for you.”

  “Not possible.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes it is. Are you ready?”

  Colors burst as the full explosion hit first in one special spot and then spread like seismic waves along every nerve and into every bone and muscle. His hand moved and the aftershocks slammed her—brilliant, strength sapping, and exquisite.

  “No,” she whispered when she could form the sound. “That was all for me. Sorry.”

  She opened her eyes and for a moment the world in front of her was nothing but neon fairy lights. Then she was in Cole’s arms and the lights faded away, replaced by the beautiful shadowed planes of his face. She rubbed his cheek. “Thanks for that, cowboy.”

  He snorted a laugh and nuzzled the palm of her hand. “Never thank me for that, honey. Then I’d have to thank you. We’d be thanking each other all night and there’s too much left to do to waste time jabbering.’ ”

  “Such a practical cowboy,” she murmured, her pulse finally coming back down from the stratosphere.

  COLE SCOOPED HARPER into his arms and let her feet touch the floor only long enough so he could throw back the bedspread on the California King and drag down the neatly tucked sheets. He dug into his pocket and tossed two foil packets on the table beside the bed. His body ached and begged him to hurry, but he forced himself to show the last vestiges of restraint and dregs of chivalry by cradling Harper once more in his arms and setting her gently in the middle of the bed.

  She weighed nothing in his arms, and she still vibrated like a guitar string, with a note that belonged only to him. “Together,” she’d said. Leave it to her to want that rather than pleasure for herself. He’d almost felt guilty because all he’d wanted was to feel her fall apart in his arms. Like some macho caveman who could force the girl to tremble.

  He’d gotten his fantasy and then some.

  But his body wasn’t impressed. It wanted more.

  “Okay, mister, now it’s my turn.” Her voice startled him, and her soft smile sent a bolt of anticipation through his stomach and deep into the base of his spine. “I know you like denim, but there’s far too much of it between us.”

  He nearly lost it then and there when she set to work on his fly button, resting her hands on the aching length of his hard-on, tracing the zipper before she found the tab. The rasping of the metal teeth was nearly the sound of his undoing.

  She literally stood up on the mattress then and balanced on first on leg then the other while she removed her soft, chic, city boots and then wriggled out of her jeans. His eyes went wide, and his throat went dry when she stood there with nothing on but the scrap of silk that he’d already invaded once.

  It took her no time to sit back down, pull off his boots and socks, and then direct him to rid himself of his jeans. If he’d thought for a minute she was going to be a timid or reticent lover, she dispelled that notion the moment he lay open to her admiring eyes.

  “That is nothing less than impressive, cowboy,” she said, and took the foil packet from the bedside table herself. When she’d taken care of it and him, she slid her body up the length of his. She locked their kiss and drove her tongue deep into his mouth, searching and stroking, mimicking intimately what his body so badly needed.

  He pulled her against him and groaned in surrender.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But this isn’t going to be all soft and slow and romance-y.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  He flipped them effortlessly and bracketed her head with his hands, arching above her. “Tell me if you’re not ready.”

  She adjusted beneath him and wrapped his hips with her legs. “I’m more than ready.”

  Her eyes closed and her head tilted back as he slipped into her, and she moaned through a smile of pleasure. He sank deeper and groaned at the perfect fit of her around him and the pure fulfillment simply being one with her brought.

  The satisfaction lasted three seconds. Then she moved and quiet pleasure disintegrated.

  For several giddy, uncoordinated strokes they looked for a rhythm—new lovers unfamiliar with each other’s likes. But what could have been awkward became a sensual game of discovery under Harper’s patient humor and skillful movements. One moment they struggled, the next they soared into a synchronization that took them far past exploration.

  Three strokes, four, and Cole was thrown over the brink, his breath lost, his awareness gone, his body quaking with release. From far below, a gentle, feminine cry followed him into space, or wherever he’d come to ride out the waves of pleasure. Harper. With utter satisfaction he knew this had been her moment, too.

  SHE LAY CURLED in his arms, the last of her emotional tears dried, the power that had blasted her into another orgasm dissipated, and the sense of safety and warmth wrapping her like a cocoon.

  “I was right,” she said. “I’ll never survive you leaving.”

  “Aww, you will.” He laughed. “You got me roped and hog-tied, too, and you don’t hear me whining.” He squeezed her tightly.

  “Oh, that’s real romantic.”

  “Purebred lady killer. That’s me.”

  “And we call you a cowboy
poet. Brother. Give him a little lovin’ and the romance flies out the window. So, now what?”

  “Now you give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll show you romance.”

  “Only fifteen? After what you just did to me? I won’t be ready that fast.”

  “Sweetheart.” He pulled from their embrace with a snort. “Know what? I’m going to start right now proving you don’t know yourself.”

  His lips found the hollow beneath her ear and used it as the quivering starting point for an inexorable journey back down her body. He started on the way back up when a wailing version of “Folsom Prison Blues” made them both nearly jump from each other’s arms. Cole’s eyes flew open and every ounce of languor drained from their shadowed blue depths.

  “That’s Leif,” he said, worry immediately replacing sleepy sex in his voice. “It’s nearly eleven here. He wouldn’t call at any time much less now unless something was wrong.”

  Harper’s pulse danced with fear, and she let him sit, biting her lip at the sight of his muscled seat as he rolled from the bed to find the phone in his jeans pocket.

  “Leif?” he answered. When he spoke a minute later his voice sent cold chills through Harper’s heart. “Oh shit, Leif, are you sure? Where have you looked?”

  “What?” she asked drawing up behind him and pressing her cheek to his back.

  He took one of the hands she had snaked beneath his arms and patted it. “Look, I’m with Harper now. Let me talk to her and see if she has any ideas. I’ll call you back in five minutes, okay? . . . Yes I will. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Talk to you in a few.”

  He punched the soft keys on his phone and spun in Harper’s arms.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Skylar disappeared. She seems to have taken her horse and run off. The pup is missing, too.”

  “What?” Fresh panic struck. “Why would she do that? She should be on top of the world.”

  “Long story.” His voice turned grim “Turns out, the first time Melanie ever saw Sky’s painting was at the art show. Skylar wanted to surprise them. But, now, Melanie won’t give permission for the painting to be hung at the VA. She says it’s too explicit for a fourteen-year-old. She wouldn’t even have let her enter it had she known.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Panic was replaced by complete disbelief.

  What in the world was wrong with Melanie?

  “Skylar left sometime in the middle of last night and hasn’t been back. It’s been almost twenty hours, it’s dark now, and they’re starting to panic. They’ve called everyone she knows and searched all her regular hangouts around the ranch. Leif thought maybe she’d said something to one of us that might give them a clue.”

  Harper’s brain spun trying to think of anything the teen might have said. “Did they try your house?”

  “Good thought.”

  They moved around the room gathering their strewn clothing and brainstorming ideas about places on Paradise land that could conceal a teen, a puppy, and a horse from diligently searching adults. The longer they talked, the crazier the ideas forming in Harper’s brain became. When they were dressed and Cole grabbed the phone to call Leif back, Harper stopped him.

  “We need to go back.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she could tell he was calculating the practicality of that plan.

  “They could find her any second, honey. It might be a done deal by the time we could get back.”

  “Then I’ll believe with all my heart it was buying tickets home that proved lucky. I’ll pray that’s exactly what happens.”

  “I thought you had some social obligations two days from now.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Harper . . . ” His voice trailed off, leaving his concern unspoken.

  But she knew why she had to go back. Skylar had done exactly what it had taken Harper nineteen years to do—leave home because nobody understood her. In her own teenage years, Harper hadn’t had anyone to take her part. That couldn’t happen to Sky. This had to be settled now, even if Harper had to shake her friend Melanie into understanding what she’d done to cause this. It wasn’t her business to tell Melanie and Bjorn how to raise their daughter, but they had to understand what Skylar needed from them.

  Aside from stupid, archaic, pious rules.

  “Tell Leif we’ll be home as soon as we can get there. I’ll find the next available flight. I’ll pay for your ticket switch.”

  “For crying out loud, that’s not the issue.”

  She stopped ranting and took a deep breath, floating her fingers down his cheek. “I know.”

  IT WAS BETTER to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

  Harper intoned that to herself over and over during the hour flight to Minneapolis, the first leg of their flight home. Timing made it impossible to tell Cecelia the new plans before they left. This flight would land in Salt Lake City at five in the morning, and they’d booked a small commuter flight that would get them to Jackson by six thirty. They’d be to Paradise before seven. She’d call Cecelia then and face the consequences, but with the grace of God the trip would prove to have been unnecessary, and she could fly right back.

  If this was insanity, so be it. Harper knew she’d make this decision a hundred more impractical times if it meant Skylar was safe and Harper could hug the reckless girl to her heart. Cole never once questioned the rash decision. Men were supposedly the logical, practical sex, but if this made no sense to him, he didn’t say so. His forbearance only heightened the love still spilling over from their quick first night together and made her crave more.

  Cole’s Range Rover awaited them at Jackson Hole Airport mere hours after leaving Chicago. Harper called Leif, Bjorn, and Mia, but nobody answered. Frustrated, she texted everyone and finally got a short answer from Raquel: “Out checking the trail, little coverage, be back home in an hour. No sign of Skylar.”

  She read the message with a groan. “Oh, Cole, this is not good.”

  Her heart had sunk to what felt like her stomach and sat there like a boulder. Cole took her hand. She appreciated, a little perversely, that he didn’t make false promises.

  “Call Cecelia,” he said gently. “Get it over with. Once we’re home, we’ll be too busy to think about Chicago.”

  Home.

  She took in the scenery flying past them. The Teton massifs—Grand and Middle Teton, Mount Owen, Mount Moran—names and silhouettes Harper had learned in the crib. She drank in the unusual geology that made mountains look as if they’d been set mid-prairie like the blocks of giants’ children, with no foothills, just the stunning valley landscape leading her . . . home.

  Skylar was missing, but at least here Harper could think and breathe and believe they would find her. She grimaced at her phone, found Cecelia’s number, and dialed.

  “Harper, darling!” Cecelia didn’t bother with the standard hello. “This is a lovely way to start the morning.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, too,” Harper replied. She took a fortifying breath. “But I’m afraid this call is going to disappoint you, and I’m sorry.”

  “Oh? How could you possibly disappoint me?”

  “I left Chicago last night, and I’m back in Wyoming.”

  “Oh dear! Has something happened to your sister or your mother?”

  “No. Not this time. It’s little Skylar. I told you about her—the budding artist. She’s run off from home and has been missing for almost thirty-six hours.”

  Cecelia let silence hang for several seconds. “You flew back for someone who isn’t your family? When are you coming back?”

  It was the first remotely uncharitable thing Cecelia had ever said.

  “I came back to help look for her, yes. I’m sorry, Cecelia, it’s something I had to do. I feel very connected to this girl. She’s as close as family, and I want to be here for her the way you’ve been there for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If she’s found today I’ll try and get back for the party tomorrow. But I hope you understa
nd that I have to stay until we know she’s all right.”

  Once again silence met her explanation. When Cecelia spoke, her tone was cooler. “Of course I understand you wanting to help a young girl. I’d be more sympathetic if she were a relative. I’ve made a lot of preparations for this gathering, and many people are expecting to meet you.”

  “I am sorry.” She truly was. “I’ll try my very best to get back on time. I promise. I’ll send Tristan in my place if I can’t. He’s wonderful with people, and I’ll make sure he has a greeting and heartfelt apology to pass on to the guests.”

  “I hope the child is found safely, you know that. I am disappointed, however, just as you suspected. I hope this won’t be a habit, Harper, dear. I do have a lot invested in you.”

  This was a side of Cecelia she hadn’t seen, and even though she understood her benefactor’s unhappiness, Harper fought down a quick flash of resentment. She’d braced herself to apologize yet again when Cole’s fingers closed over hers. His encouraging smile boosted her certainty in what they were doing.

  “I know you do, Cecelia,” she said into the phone. “And please don’t think I’m taking this lightly. I’m so sorry. But forgive me; I was hoping you’d be sympathetic. I didn’t understand your amazing generosity would cost all my personal freedom. You see, I’d like to be a tiny bit like you. Support Skylar the way you have me. I’m worried about her.”

  “Really, Harper, I do understand—”

  “I’m sorry, Cecelia, we’re arriving home. I need to check in with my family. I promise to call you tonight and let you know what’s happening.”

  “All right.” A heavy sigh came over the phone. “I’ll wait to hear all is well.”

  When Harper ended the call, she dropped the phone like a hot branding iron into her lap, and her hands began to shake. To stop them, she covered her face.

  “She was pissed. What have I done?”

  “Hey.” Cole’s voice commanded that she look at him. “You stood up for what’s right. You stood up for yourself. Well done.”

  “She’s right, though. She’s invested a lot in me.”