ONCE UPON A WEDDING

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "Hi," she said softly, and then realized that she was staring at him like one of those moonstruck courtroom groupies Tyler had teased him about more than once. "Uh, where's the baby?"

  "Cait took her inside." He jerked his chin at the sky, and she noticed the way his eyes took on the same turbulent texture of the clouds. "Wind's picking up. Temperature's dropping."

  "Is it? I didn't notice." Not when she was securely sheltered in the heat of his body.

  "No wonder." His expression turned teasing as he pulled her closer. "You're such a hit, I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get near you again."

  The thought of his coming nearer still sent a shiver through her. "How about some cake?" she murmured.

  His eyebrows rose. "Chocolate?"

  "Of course," she said archly. "What else?"

  The look she gave him was pure imp with just enough spice to rile his blood but good. Intended or not, it was an invitation he could no more resist than he could stop breathing.

  Jess bent his head and took her mouth, his tongue plunging between lips she'd parted in surprise, lips that she was suddenly allowing to soften and cling.

  She tasted like the wind, but she made him think of hot summer sunshine and a young man who'd been high on life and eager to chase a dream.

  Her hands wound around his neck, and he forgot he'd given her the choice of whether or not to invite him into her bed. With her warmth seeping into him and her small hands kneading the bow-taut tendons of his neck, keeping his word didn't quite matter as much as it should.

  Not when he was feeling the softness of her breasts against his shirt and tasting the sweetness of desire on the soft lips moving so responsively under his.

  He revered logic, but not when his blood was heating and his body hardening. He rigorously kept his promises, but that didn't stop him from imagining her naked and quivering and desperate with desire, her smooth, pale skin on fire for him.

  Wanting, needing – those were the things driving him, things he'd worked long and hard to contain. As punishing as any track, as frustrating as any obstacle he'd faced.

  Feeling her move, feeling her yield, suddenly made this real, and he dragged his mouth from hers. She made a small sound like a whimper, and then her eyes were fluttering open.

  "My goodness," she murmured, her voice shaky and her lips swollen and pink.

  Before Jess could apologize, he heard the sound of cheering. Jerking his gaze toward the sound, he saw a ring of beaming faces aimed their way.

  As soon as his eyes met his brother's, Garrett grinned like the tormenting devil he'd been as a kid and broke into loud applause.

  "Not bad for the practice lap," he shouted. "But don't you think you'd better wait for the green flag to drop before you start the race?"

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  «^»

  Blurry taillights faded into the fog, leaving the street in front of Hazel's house empty. The McClanes had been the last of the guests to leave, and they'd taken Francey with them.

  Hazel swung the door closed and hoped Jess didn't notice the trembling of her hands or hear the pounding of her heart.

  "It was nice of Cait and Ty to take Francey, wasn't it?" She snapped off the porch light and made certain the door was locked before turning to face Jess, who was busy removing his tie. His jacket was already draped over one of the chairs in the dining room.

  Since they'd been caught kissing on the patio, his mood had gotten steadily worse. And the more his brother had teased him, the more withdrawn he'd become. Like a grizzly facing winter and a long, lonely hibernation.

  Jess looped the loosely knotted tie over the newel post, then used his hand to smooth his hair. "Yeah, well, Ty's got this burr up … this notion that we need a honeymoon."

  "Of course, you explained why that was … unnecessary."

  "I gave it a shot, yeah, but the man's gone soft in the head since he talked Cait into marrying him. Thinks every marriage is a match made in heaven like his."

  "Which, of course, ours isn't," Hazel said, smiling at her husband of four hours.

  "Damn right it isn't."

  "Still, I've been thinking that it wouldn't do for too many people to know the truth about our, er, agreement. Because of Francey, I mean. Especially if things don't work out and we divorce. We wouldn't want her to think that it was her fault, would we?"

  "No."

  His mouth flattened. He didn't look like a man who needed pampering and petting and enough tenderness to fill a house, but she'd felt all of those needs and more in his kiss. And that, simply and in a nutshell, was why she'd asked Cait to take Francey for the night.

  She'd never seduced a man before, and she had a feeling she was going to need most of her concentration – and all of her nerve.

  "Make yourself at home," she said, extending a hand toward the parlor. "I need to check on the caterer."

  "Problems?"

  "No, everything went very smoothly. Everyone seemed to have a good time."

  Particularly his good-for-nothing brother, Jess thought sourly as he watched her breeze past him on her way to the kitchen.

  Garrett had hung around Hazel as if he was the groom and couldn't wait for the guests to leave so he could hustle her upstairs. Over fifty and he was still a horny bastard.

  Ticked at his brother and ticked at himself, he stalked into the living room and switched on a couple of lights at random.

  Nudging back the lacy curtain, he looked out at the deserted street. It wasn't late, barely seven, but the thickening fog hid the sunset and lent an air of isolation to the old house.

  "Isn't it a great night? All cozy and mysterious."

  Jess glanced over his shoulder, a scowl fighting with a hot, sinking feeling in his belly. She'd exchanged the silky dress that he'd been taking off her in his mind all afternoon for a shimmering wisp of a nightie that had his hormones cooking on high and his imagination going crazy.

  "I thought you were checking on the caterers," he said when he could trust his voice again.

  "I was. They're paid off, tipped generously and on their way."

  She came toward him slowly, her gown swirling around the ripe curves he'd been doing his best to ignore all day. In a desperate effort to keep his sanity, Jess fastened his attention on the glasses in her hand and told himself that a man could survive anything if he kept himself under control.

  "What's that, champagne?"

  "Mmm. I asked the caterer to leave an extra bottle. I thought a toast to launch our … partnership might be appropriate. Only I just now realized I hadn't given much thought to the toast itself."

  She handed him a glass, then raised her own, her eyes focusing on his expectantly. "Any suggestions?"

  Jess felt slightly off kilter, as though he'd found himself in the middle of a race where he didn't know the rules and wasn't sure he could keep himself under control long enough to find out.

  "To Francisca Silvia O'Connor Dante," he said, his voice unexpectedly rough.

  Her mouth trembled slightly as she smiled. "And to Silvia," she added softly. "I hope she's finally found the peace she deserved."

  They drank together and in silence.

  Lowering her glass, Hazel stood motionless, her expression pensive. "Do you think she knows we're married?" she asked quietly, as though wondering aloud.

  Jess shrugged. "If you're asking me if I believe in heaven, the answer is no. When you're dead, you're dead. Period."

  A sad-angel smile played over her face. "I think she knows, and I think she's grateful."

  Jess wanted to tell her that thinking like that belonged in fairy tales and bad movies. Instead, he simply shrugged and changed the subject.

  "I got a call from a deputy D.A. in Hargrove. He thinks they have enough against Yoder to take it to the grand jury, but only one count."

  "Cleve Junior?"

  Jess nodded. The details still made him sick, and he decided to spare her an exact repetition. "Seems Yoder caught the
boy speaking Spanish to some of his friends and found out Silvia had been the one to teach him, even though Yoder had expressly forbidden her ever to speak Spanish again."

  "What a horrible man!" Hazel shuddered as though suddenly chilled, and Jess frowned.

  "Cold?"

  "No, disgusted."

  She stared into her glass for a moment before lifting it to her lips again. Jess watched her throat work as she swallowed, severely testing his determination to give them both time to get used to each other before he worked on that invitation to her bedroom.

  He thought about the case notes piled high on his desk and the depositions he had scheduled for the next few weeks. It didn't help.

  She had a slender neck, delicate bone structure and a generous mouth that didn't quite fit the rest of her small face.

  Too bad, too, he thought, because she would have been a stunningly beautiful woman if it hadn't been for that one flaw, then found himself remembering the way her mouth had softened under his.

  "It was a nice wedding, wasn't it?"

  "Sure." Nice and short, which was all he remembered about it – until Henry Pollard had given him the okay to kiss his bride. That he remembered in vivid, and very disturbing, detail.

  Jess had barely touched his champagne. Now he found himself pouring a good half of it down his throat.

  "I liked Judge Pollard." Hazel settled herself in the corner of the love seat, her legs curled comfortably and her eyes half-closed. "He seems like a sweet man."

  Sweet? Hanging Henry Pollard? "About as sweet as a rattler."

  "He told me right before he left that he and his wife had been married for forty years before she died last year."

  One thin strap had slipped from her shoulders, revealing the generous curve of her breast. Jess kept his gaze on her face, but his thoughts were on that patch of smooth creamy skin, and his mouth went dry.

  Jess drained his glass in one swallow and suddenly wanted more. Shooting to his feet, he excused himself brusquely.

  "Where are you going?" Hazel asked, her alarm far too blatant to be ignored.

  "To get good and drunk and do my damnedest to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about this damn mess I got myself into this time." Furious, he headed for the kitchen and the magnum of champagne he hoped to hell he would find there.

  * * *

  Hazel stomped into her room and slammed the door. Her cheeks were burning, and her stomach was far from steady.

  "I knew it was a stupid idea," she muttered. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

  She wasn't cut out to be a femme fatale. One good look in the mirror should have told her that.

  Avoiding the mirror over the dresser, she crossed to the bed and perched on the edge. Okay, so she'd made a fool of herself, but it wouldn't kill her. She'd survived worse agonies with only a few permanent scars, and she would survive this.

  And okay, this was just one night. The first night of her marriage. There would be other nights. Jess wasn't made of stone, although he wanted to think he was.

  He could guard his words and ration his smiles, even disconnect his emotions. But, like it or not, Dante was a very lusty, very passionate man under all that hard-hewn reserve. A man who'd convinced himself he had no use for love.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong, she stormed silently, flopping backward and turning her head to keep the tears pooling in her eyes from falling. Jess needed loving so badly it hurt her to think how much.

  Hazel groaned and closed her eyes. Maybe a cold shower would help or a walk in the fog. Something, anything…

  "Where do you keep your aspirin?" Jess was standing by the door, his hand propped against the jamb and a prodigious frown on his face.

  Heart in her throat, she stared at him. His jaw was tight, his shirt flapping outside his trousers, and his feet were bare.

  "In the medicine chest in my bathroom, and for the record, you scared the bejabbers out of me."

  "You're the one who told me not to knock, remember?" he all but growled. "Mi casa es su casa."

  He had to pass the bed to get to the bathroom, and Hazel watched every step until he disappeared, her heart racing and her breathing rushed.

  He didn't look drunk. Not even tipsy. He did, however, look all male and extremely put out about something.

  A shivery tension beyond her control coiled and uncoiled inside her. She was still sitting perfectly still when he reappeared, the aspirin bottle in his hand, impatience in his face.

  "I can use my teeth or you can pry this sucker open," he grated. "Your choice."

  Hazel blinked, then understood. The childproof cap would be impossible to manage one-handed. Stowing her sympathy for another day, she held out her hand. It was her room and her aspirin.

  "I'll do it. Teeth marks can be so unsightly."

  Surprise drove some of the black frustration from his eyes. "I hate to tell you this, O'Connor, but you'd better get used to them," he said as he handed over the aspirin bottle. "That or follow me around whenever I'm on the premises."

  On the premises, but not at home. Hazel wondered if his choice of words was deliberate, and then decided that it was. As Jess had once told her, he made his living with words.

  "How many do you want?" she asked when the cap popped free.

  "A couple should do it."

  She shook out two tablets and dropped them into his cupped palm. "Do you have a headache?"

  "Yeah, a real bitch." He tossed the tablets into his mouth and swallowed without chewing.

  "Too much champagne?" she asked sweetly.

  "Not enough to eat."

  "Well, whose fault was that? The table was practically sagging from all the food the caterer set out."

  He gave her a pained look. "I didn't say there wasn't food," he said in his cool attorney's voice. "I said I didn't eat any."

  "Oh." She bunched her eyebrows and sought an explanation in his face. "Why ever not?"

  "Because I was too busy trying to figure out how come a guy smart enough to get through law school was dumb enough to think he could live in the same house with you and not take you to bed."

  Hazel blinked. "And did you? Figure it out, I mean?"

  He shook his head. "I tried, but I always ended up thinking about you parading around with nothing under that slinky nightie but perfume and kept losing my train of thought."

  Hazel tilted her head in order to see him better. His eyes weren't as shadowed now. Nor were they indifferent.

  "If my nightie bothers you so much, I could change into something else."

  He took a lock of hair between his fingers. "True, or you could take it off entirely."

  He let his fingers brush her throat, and Hazel's pulse went crazy. "A possibility, I agree. I'll give it some thought."

  The pads of his fingers played with the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. She shivered, her head going to one side involuntarily, like a kitten being stroked.

  "How about a suggestion from … a friend?"

  He flattened his hand and skimmed the palm along the curve of her bare shoulder. Encountering the gossamer strap holding the gown's bodice, his fingers hesitated, then slipped beneath the slender scrap of satin.

  "A bit … inappropriate for such an intimate decision, don't you think?" It was impossible to keep the ragged shiver of pleasure from her voice.

  "Your husband, then?"

  Slowly, deftly, he slipped the strap free of her shoulder. Instead of releasing her, however, his big hand molded to the curve of her upper arm, holding her captive as he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the warm flesh just above the swell of her breast.

  Hazel fought to suppress the moan already forming in her throat. "I … you seem to have made up your mind already."

  "Any objections?" His breath warmed her skin as he spoke, and she detected a flush along the hard ridge of his cheekbone.

  "I can't think of a one so far."

  She thought she heard him chuckle, and then she felt the slow flick of his tongue against her skin.
This time she couldn't keep herself from gasping.

  As though her response was all he'd been waiting for, Jess pulled her to her feet, and his mouth crashed down on hers.

  Desperate, almost angry at first, his mouth gentled quickly, cajoling a response instead of demanding, teasing instead of taking.

  Hazel gave herself into his care, willing to go wherever he would take her. Winding her arms around his neck, she arched as high as she could, eager to feel as much of his body against hers as possible.

  Relaxing his mouth, he caressed her lips with the tip of his tongue, causing them to tremble. His palm pressed against her back, his fingers firm and warm, the pads rough against her skin.

  And then he was slipping the other strap free of her shoulder while his mouth skipped with shivery slowness to her ear. His tongue stroked and darted. His teeth gently nipped her earlobe, drawing a long slow moan from her parted lips.

  Heat rushed through her body, and her knees were unsteady. Needing to hold on, her fingers clutched at his shirt and encountered the hard slab of his belly.

  Slowly he drew back enough to allow the bodice of her gown to slip past her breasts. Satin brushed skin, and her nipples shivered erect and at the same time, sent warm little needles of sensation into the swelling flesh of her breasts.

  Jess inhaled fiercely, and his eyes narrowed as though he were enduring intense pain. Slowly he raised his head until his gaze locked with hers.

  "Any complaints?" she whispered tremulously.

  His eyes shone with a sudden fire. "Not a one."

  "Good." She leaned forward until her breasts were pressing against his chest and her mouth was fitted to the hollow of his throat.

  His skin was smooth under her lips and exuded a potent heat scented faintly with soap. His shirt collar brushed her ear as she used her tongue on him this time, exploring the vulnerable triangle where a hard, heavy pulse was beating visibly. He groaned, his breath shuddering.

  "Just let me hold you a minute," he murmured, his arm tightening until she was held fast against him, unable to move.

  Hazel murmured a protest, then realized that he, too, was standing motionless, his body swollen and rigid behind the fly of his trousers.