“I don’t know. Kiss me or something.”
A wide smile brightened his face. He drew her gently into his arms, bringing his lips down on hers in an exquisitely tender kiss that went on and on.
Darby’s heart sang with happiness. She clung tightly to him, every fiber of her being telling her this was where she belonged.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. “I’ll marry you, Seth.”
He lifted her right up off the ground, twirling her in the air, kissing her all over again.
“How soon?” he asked.
Epilogue
Darby had never expected to have a big wedding. But when the mayor got married, there was a very long list of must-invite people. So they took their vows in the city’s largest church, then used every square inch of the mayor’s mansion’s public area for the reception, including a big, heated tent on the grounds for dancing.
Darby met Seth’s parents, who welcomed her into the family with open arms. They seemed genuinely thrilled to learn about Sierra Hotel, and agreed that the old homesite was the perfect spot to build.
Marta was maid of honor, while Travis was best man. Darby wore a simple, off the shoulder, white silk dress, with a slender, full-length skirt. Her neck was adorned with a diamond-and-sapphire necklace that Seth had presented her with the night before. It matched her custom-designed engagement ring.
Sawyer hovered over the now very pregnant Abigail. Katrina was a vision in frills and lace, while Mandy had gone for a basic burgundy cocktail dress. Still, her husband Caleb had hungrily watched her every move.
Travis gave a funny, heartfelt toast. And then he was the life of the dance, until Danielle slapped his face.
Darby had wondered if they should step in and break up the fight. But Seth had just laughed and said his brother could take care of himself. It hadn’t been Travis whom Darby was worried about, but one look at Danielle’s expression told Darby nobody was going to mess with her.
They’d gone with French vanilla cake and buttercream icing. It was eminently edible, and Darby had enjoyed every last bite. For a formal event, it had become very laid back and fun as the night wore on.
Finally, Seth had escorted a very happy but tired Darby upstairs to the mayor’s private suite. He pushed open the door and lifted her into his arms.
Darby couldn’t help but laugh. “I feel like a princess.”
“You’re supposed to feel like a princess,” he rumbled in her ear.
“I never expected to have anything remotely like this for a wedding.” Then her eyes focused on the living room, seeing the fire, the candles and a table set for two with a white linen cloth, flowers, hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of champagne. “Oh, Seth.”
“For my bride,” he whispered, setting her down. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I am,” she agreed. “It’s been a long night.”
“You want to slip into something more comfortable?”
“I’d like that.” Her dress was beautiful, but a little tight, and the stays in the bodice were digging into her ribs.
There was a glimmer in his eyes. “I put something out on the bed that I think you might like.”
She grinned. “That I might like, or that you might like?”
“Oh, I’ll like it a lot,” he admitted.
She stroked his cheek with her palm. “One wedding-night ensemble, coming up.”
“I’ll open the champagne,” he called as she walked away.
Moving to the bedroom, she pulled the pins and flowers out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She reached around to the zipper, sighing as the tight bodice fell away. Then she stepped out of the dress and hung it in the closet.
When she looked at the bed, she burst out laughing. She’d expected satin and lace, something short and naughty. What she got was a blue tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants.
She returned to the living room and did a pirouette in front of Seth.
“You opted for comfortable?” she asked.
“Are you comfortable?” he returned.
“Completely.”
“Good.” He handed her a glass of champagne. He had stripped down to his slacks and dress shirt, rolling up the sleeves. “Tonight’s about you, not about me. I think you’re beautiful in anything.
“Plus—” he clinked their two glasses together “—I’m planning to take it off you later, anyway.”
“I love you, Seth,” she told him before sipping the sweet, bubbly liquid.
“I adore you, Darby. Mrs. Jacobs.” His tone went husky, and his arm slipped around her waist. “My wife.”
He gave her a kiss. “I have one more present for you.”
She drew back. “What? Are you kidding? I didn’t get you anything.”
“You’ve already given me everything. There’s nothing else I need.”
“But that’s not fair,” she protested, even as he extracted a long, cardboard tube from the corner desk.
He handed it to her with a flourish.
“It’s not even wrapped,” she joked.
“How soon you get spoiled.”
She bopped him gently on the head with the tube, and he laughed. Then she pried off the plastic end and peered into the darkness. “What is it?”
“Architectural drawings.” He pulled out several large sheets of paper. “Three options for Sierra Hotel. If you like one of them, we can break ground tomorrow.”
“Seriously?” she asked, crossing to the desk where they could roll the plans out.
“If we pour the foundation before freeze-up, the contractor can work all winter. By the time construction starts on the railway in the spring, you’ll have a whole new home.”
She paged through the drawings, liking all of them.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she told him in awe.
“I did,” he responded, stroking her hair. “It’s my fault you lost your family home.”
“I have a new family home. And a new family.”
“You do.” He kissed the delicate spot beside her ear. “You’ll never be alone again.”
* * * * *
If you loved A COWBOY’S TEMPTATION, don’t miss a single COLORADO CATTLE BARONS novel:
A COWBOY COMES HOME
A COWBOY IN MANHATTAN
AN INTIMATE BARGAIN
MILLIONAIRE IN A STETSON
A COWBOY’S TEMPTATION
All available now from USA TODAY bestselling author Barbara Dunlop and Harlequin Desire!
Keep reading for an excerpt from COUNTERING HIS CLAIM by Rachel Bailey.
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One
With a final, fond look at the Melbourne skyline, Della Walsh stepped onto the boarding bridge of the Cora Mae, the luxury cruise liner she called home.
Ahead on the deck, she spotted a group of people in business suits clustered around a tall man with his back to her. She hesitated, assessing the crowd. All she could see of the man in the center was broad shoulders encased in a tailored business jacket, a straight confident bearing and hair of darkest blond that tapered in against his neck. But that was enough to draw her attention and keep it there. The ship’s captain stood beside him and from various vantage points, beyond the grand foyer, groups of curious staff intently watched the interaction.
Which meant, most likely, the man in the middle of the action was him.
Luke Marlow, the man about to inherit the Cora Mae, had arrived.
Curiosity nibbling, she stepped into the foyer. Many senior crew members, including herself, had been invited to the reading of Patrick Marlow’s will today, and all of them had one question uppermost in their minds—what would his nephew and heir, Luke Marlow, do with the ship once he had control? Sell? Refurbish? Interfere with the day-to-day running?
Della was probably more interested in their guest than most—she’d been hearing snippets of Luke’s life from Patrick for years. It was possible she knew more about this man than she knew about some of her friends.
As she drew closer to the small crowd, she could hear Captain Tynan say, “We’ll get that cut seen to straight away.”
Luke Marlow held up a hand wrapped in what looked like a blue handkerchief. “No need. I’ll run it under the tap and throw on a bandage.”
The captain spotted Della. “Dr. Walsh! Good timing. Mr. Marlow has a cut that might need a couple of stitches.”
She pasted a smile on her face, and stepped forward, prepared to offer medical assistance as if he was any other patient, not the man who would soon be her boss. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marlow. If you’ll follow me to the medical suite, we’ll take a look at your hand.”
As she spoke, Luke Marlow slowly turned to her, his steel-gray gaze scanning her face before coming to land on her eyes. The air seemed to sizzle and spark; a wave of goose bumps rushed across her skin. Was she nervous because he held her future in the palm of his hand? Or was it his fallen angel’s face—sculpted cheekbones, strong straight nose and sensual lips—that unsettled her? Whatever it was, the effect was unwelcome and she squashed it.
“Now that you mention it,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes not wavering from hers, “I think it might need stitches.”
The captain nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take care of your staff and a purser will collect you from Dr. Walsh’s office and bring you to us when you’re done.”
As if in slow motion, the crowd parted and Luke Marlow covered the distance between them. He stood within touching distance, looking at her expectantly, and her heart thumped hard and erratically. Tall and charismatic, he filled her vision, making her breath come too fast, as if casting a spell over her….
Her smile slipped. This couldn’t be happening. She’d vowed never to let herself feel attraction to a man again. Ever. And this man was about to become her boss. Perhaps determine her future. Refusing to give in to her body’s blind response, she pulled herself to her full height—which leveled out in the vicinity of Luke’s chin—and found that professional smile again.
“This way,” she said, indicating the direction with her hand.
Luke inclined his head and stepped away from the dissipating crowd. When they walked farther into the foyer with its elaborate furnishings and chandeliers, she wondered if he noticed the eyes following him from every direction.
“Tell me something, Dr. Walsh,” he said, his voice pitched somewhere between sexy-low and curiosity.
Steeling herself against the shiver that threatened to run down her spine at the timbre of his voice, she led him through the foyer, to the bank of elevators. “If I can.”
“Is there always a group that size waiting to greet guests?”
The elevator arrived and after they stepped in, she pressed the button for the third deck. “No, but then you’re not an average guest.”
He arched an eyebrow several shades darker than his hair. “What sort of guest am I?”
The only guest who’s made my knees go weak. She paused for a long moment. He wasn’t merely the only guest who’d affected her this strongly, he was the only man who had since… She shied away from the thought and schooled her features into casual ambivalence. “We’ve heard you’ll likely inherit the Cora Mae today.”
“Ah,” he said and sank his good hand into his pocket.
He’d thought they wouldn’t know? Patrick Marlow had made no secret over the years that he considered his nephew his heir. “Rumors travel quickly around a ship.”
“Rumors?” That eyebrow rose again. “There’s more than one?”
Three hundred and thirty people lived and worked on the Cora Mae. Some were seasonal staff who wanted to see the world. They tended to work hard and party harder. But there was a solid core of people who did more than merely live on board—they’d formed a community. This ship was their home. And both groups were alive with speculation and snippets of information about Luke Marlow. Patrick had often spoken to her about his only nephew, mentioning his privileged background, his success with Marlow Hotels and the respect he garnered in the business world. But those stories from a proud uncle hadn’t prepared her for the toe-curling effect Luke had in person.
The elevator doors slid open and she led the way down a narrow, carpeted corridor while the man in question waited patiently for his answer. “Several rumors,” she acknowledged, “most of which probably have no basis in fact.”
“Humor me.”
She allowed herself a small smile at the idea of telling the man who would soon control both her career and home about the gossip doing the rounds. “I don’t think so.”
They arrived at the medical suite and Della stopped at the reception desk just inside the door to speak to the duty nurse. “Jody, is Dr. Bateman in?”
Something about Luke Marlow affected her. Perhaps it was his power over her future as her boss. Or the strange magnetism he had as a man. Or simply her unsettled nerves about the reading of Patrick’s will in an hour and the accompanying sharp reminder of her friend’s death only twelve days ago. Regardless, she knew if she didn’t feel 100 percent comfortable, it would be more appropriate to hand him to a colleague for treatment.
Hearing his name, Cal Bateman stepped into the reception room and Della’s shoulders loosened in relief.
“Cal, Mr. Marlow might need some sutures in his hand.” She turned to their patient. “Dr. Bateman will take care of you.”
But when she turned to go, Luke’s smooth, deep voice stopped her. “No.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she swiveled slowly back around. “Pardon?”
Luke stood facing her, dominating the room with his height and presence, his expression neither stern nor encouraging. “If I need stitches, I’d like you to handle them, Dr. Walsh.”
Puzzled, she looked at him. Why should it matter to him which doctor he saw? “I assure you, Dr. Bateman’s surgical skills are second to none. He did some advanced training in plastic surgery, so he’ll leave less of a scar than I would.”
“I don’t mind a scar,” Luke said, unconcerned. “I want you, Dr. Walsh.”
Her chest tightened. Was he flirting with her? No man had tried since…her husband. She deliberately cultivated an unapproachable aura to prevent it. Though, Luke Marlow didn’t seem the sort of man who bothered taking notice of such things. She held back a sigh. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was a professional. She’d treat Patrick’s nephew, a man who made her pulse jump, and she’d do a g
ood job of it.
“Of course,” she said. She led him into her consulting room and began collecting the supplies she’d need. “Take a seat over here, please, Mr. Marlow.”
“Luke,” he said and sank into the patient chair.
“I’d rather keep to Mr. Marlow if it’s all the same to you.” She took her white coat from the hook behind the door and thrust her arms through the sleeves before turning back to him. “Chances are you’ll be my boss in a few hours.”
“It’s not all the same to me. You’re about to pierce my skin with a sharp needle and I’d feel more comfortable if we moved past formalities.”
Della regarded him for a moment as he stretched out in the black vinyl chair, shoulders relaxed. He wasn’t nervous, sutures or no sutures. But since he’d be inheriting the Cora Mae, he called the shots. She nodded once. “Luke, then.”
He looked at the badge attached to her white coat. “Dr. Adele Walsh,” he read. “Can I call you Adele?”
She held back the flinch. Only her husband had called her Adele. An image of Shane’s dear face rose up in her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. She focused on Luke. “I prefer Della.”
“Della.” He blinked languidly as he regarded her. “I like it. Now that we’re on more intimate footing, tell me what the other rumors are.”
Before she could restrain it, a chuckle escaped at the way he’d maneuvered. “Well played, Luke.” She leaned back on the sink and folded her arms under her breasts. “Do you really want to waste time here talking about rumors?”
He met her gaze directly, deep gravity in his silver-gray eyes. “I suppose not. But there is something I would like to ask.”
For less than an instant, her breathing stalled—she could guess what his question would be about. Still, the topic was bound to be raised sometime; better to have it dealt with before the will reading.
She took a breath and found a reassuring smile. “Ask whatever you’d like.”
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