Had she changed her mind about “not giving him a wedding night?”
Good heavens … had she?
“N-no,” she managed to reply. “Of course I haven’t.”
“Then take fair warning, ma’am.” His husky, southern-soft whisper and heated green gaze warmed her like the finest brandy. “I intend to change your mind.”
Her heart raced. Wicked anticipation flared in her stomach. Before she had a chance to douse it, the vestibule’s inner doors swung open.
A gray-haired minister in flowing golden robes halted in clear surprise. “Oh, there you are,” he said to Tess with a smile. “I was worried you weren’t going to make it.” He included Cole in his gaze. “I believe your witnesses are growing impatient. Shall we begin the ceremony?”
Feeling as if they’d been caught in some carnal act, Tess murmured in embarrassed consent. Could the preacher tell that he’d interrupted a blazingly sensual moment? And since when did she, Tess McCrary, indulge in blazingly sensual moments with Cole Westcott? Worst of all—why should the knowledge that he wanted to make love to her thrill the very breath out of her?
With an annoyingly poised nod to the preacher, Cole returned her hand to its earlier place on his arm and urged her into a smooth stride behind the preacher. Trying to ignore the warm, muscled hardness she felt beneath the fine wool of his suit, Tess kept her head high and her gaze staunchly away from Cole as they marched down the aisle between gleaming wooden pews.
In an attempt to calm her jangled nerves, she breathed in the scent of ancient wood and stone, burning candles and freshly cut flowers. Even if lovemaking never entered the picture—which it definitely wouldn’t!—she was marrying Cole Westcott. Marrying him! Though she knew the pragmatic purpose behind it, the concept still awed her. She’d never been a wife before. And she’d certainly never had a husband.
Don’t romanticize it, Tess. This marriage is nothing more than a technicality. Part of a business plan. Cole wouldn’t really be her husband, but a business partner. Her pulse continued to clamor, anyway.
Candles glowed amid flowers on altars at the front and sides of the chapel. Two distinguished, middle-aged gentlemen in three-piece suits rose from a front pew. With cordial greetings for her and a few congenial words to Cole, the men accompanied them to the chapel’s podium.
The preacher donned a pair of glasses and opened a book to a ribbon-marked page. “Ahh, here we are,” he murmured, lifting a fatherly gaze to them. “Are you ready to begin?”
Tess gripped her bouquet in a stranglehold, but nodded.
“One question, Reverend.” Cole’s deep, calm voice echoed in the small but cavernous chapel. “Is that part still in the ceremony about ‘you may now kiss the bride’?”
The preacher’s bushy brows jutted above his glasses. “Yes, of course.”
Cole turned to Tess with a pleased air that garnered smiles from everyone. Everyone, that was, except Tess. The disturbing heat still lingered too potently in his stare. “Good.”
The sensuality he’d provoked earlier now stirred and glowed within her like embers. She considered asking for that part of the ceremony to be skipped, but the preacher had begun his solemn intonation, and the two witnesses were eyeing her and Cole with discreet but palpable interest.
She wasn’t sure who these men were. Unless she wanted word to spread that she was marrying Cole only for the money—an image she didn’t want to project—she couldn’t very well refuse to kiss him.
And if she were being perfectly honest with herself, she would have to admit that an overpowering curiosity had taken hold of her—a compelling urge to experience Cole’s kiss. Just once. A brief, innocent taste. When would she ever find a safer, more appropriate time than now?
The preacher droned on about love and commitment—concepts she refused to think about too deeply, since her “vows” would be a lie before man and God. Growing more uncomfortable as the preacher edged toward those vows, she glanced at Cole from the corner of her eye.
He continued to peer at her with a subtle, understated intensity. She soon became mesmerized by that intensity … enmeshed in the most unwise fantasies … helplessly drawn to him…
“I, Cole, take you, Tess,” he was pledging solemnly, “to be my wife. To stand beside you and with you always. To love you and live with you, through good times and bad, through sickness and in health, for richer or poorer…”
A startling swell of longing tightened her throat, and when it came time for her to repeat after the preacher, she struggled to force the words out. These promises were lies. Beautiful, beautiful lies. As she said them, she wished fervently that someday she would say them again, and mean them. When, where and with whom, she couldn’t imagine.
But that wasn’t quite true, she realized with a crazy kick of her heart. At the moment, she could imagine only Cole. The pomp and ceremony were obviously affecting her in alarming ways. Why hadn’t she pictured Phillip? Disconcerted because she hadn’t, she concentrated fiercely on the ceremony, shoving all perplexities to the back of her heart until later.
The preacher, meanwhile, spoke about the wedding ring as a symbol of unending love. Cole reached into his pocket and brought out a band of brilliant, interlocking diamonds that flashed and sparkled with incredible fire. The magnificence of the ring astounded her. He’d gone to such expense—hundreds of thousands of dollars, most likely. And all for a charade.
He took her left hand in his, and with sureness and grace, slipped the exquisite diamond band onto her finger, beside the engagement ring. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
The softly uttered words and the solemn way he watched her as he said them almost undid her. She could imagine how he would search for the perfect ring, the most exquisite he could find, if the time ever came when he really meant that statement. And the ring would be a message to his bride—one that told her of how he valued the pledge between them. Tess wasn’t sure how she knew that about him—Cole Westcott, the footloose playboy, breaker of foolish hearts. But somehow she did know he was capable of great sincerity, and that he wasn’t beyond spending a fortune to show it.
She wasn’t crazy enough to believe he felt that way about her, of course. He didn’t. But the idea that he might someday be emotionally vulnerable to one special woman filled her with a tenderness that nearly moved her to tears.
No, she wasn’t that woman, but the ring was the most exquisite she’d ever seen. His assistant had probably chosen it. Not that it mattered. She’d be giving it back to Cole, along with the engagement ring, when they parted ways.
The preacher moved on to Tess’s part of the ring exchange, and with a surge of embarrassment, she realized that she hadn’t given a thought to a ring for Cole. Cole pressed something into her palm. A man’s plain gold band. She met his gaze with gratitude and apology. A ridiculous reaction. This was his deal—a business transaction to save his inheritance. Of course he hadn’t expected her to buy him a ring.
She had to get a grip on her careening emotions.
Resting his large hand across her palm, Tess slid the gold band onto his long, sturdy finger. But the ring wouldn’t move past the last knuckle. He covered her hand with his free one and helped her slide the ring into place. The contact, the joined effort, the symbolism of the ring itself, filled her with an unexpected sense of intimacy.
Before she could collect herself, the preacher looked up from the book and pronounced them husband and wife. “Now, Mr. Westcott, you may kiss your bride.”
Tess’s breath lodged in her throat. Her pulse sped up. She braced herself.
But Cole didn’t immediately kiss her. He wasn’t that merciful. He plucked the bouquet from her hands and tossed it aside. Then he gathered her to him with a firm but caressing hold on her shoulders—her bare, suddenly sensitive shoulders—and his gaze meandered across her hair and her face as if he meant to visually absorb her. By the time he reached her eyes, his stare had grown smoky and intense, and she’d become vibrantly aware of the thro
b at his temple, the rush of his pulse, the flexed muscle in his jaw.
And the intoxicating heat radiating from his very skin.
His gaze descended to her mouth. He smoothed his warm, virile hand up the sensitive curve of her neck, cupped her nape and lowered his dark, ruggedly beautiful face to hers.
And he kissed her. A soft, lush, intricate kiss. A slow, voluptuous tasting. Languid warmth spread through her, like ripples in a pond, traveling to the outer reaches. To secret, yearning places. She drew him in with mindless need, sliding her arms around his neck to bring him closer. His body molded to hers, and his hand coursed down to the small of her back and splayed there, holding her captive against muscled hardness. Making her want … and want…
The kiss slanted for deeper access. An almost inaudible groan rose in him, along with a wildness. She welcomed the wildness. Fed it. He fought to subdue it, tangling his fingers in her hair and forcing the kiss to a ruthless close. His mouth broke from hers abruptly, as if they’d been fighting rather than kissing, and their loud, labored breaths echoed like gasps in the silence of the chapel.
He didn’t immediately pull away from their embrace, but kept her close, his jaw pressed to her temple, their heartbeats pounding. Slowly, then, when she’d begun to feel that she could stand on her own, he lifted his face from hers. Withdrew from her arms.
Feeling the loss keenly, she opened her eyes … a slow, dazed lifting of her lashes. Sensuality continued to simmer within her. She felt dizzy. Hot. Disoriented. Needful.
Never had she been kissed like that! Never had she felt such an empowering rush of desire. She sought out his gaze in awe. If she should see cocky male satisfaction, or even pleased amusement, she would consider it his due. But as her eyes found his, she detected no trace of ego or masculine posturing.
Only hunger. Raw, sensual hunger.
For her.
Which only rekindled her heat.
“Let’s go home,” he breathed.
Yes. Oh, yes. Home.
But then masculine voices intruded—the witnesses, murmuring congratulations. Their words sounded oddly stilted, yet edged with amusement. The preacher’s face had reddened, and he busied himself with his book.
Comprehension dawned gradually in Tess. Had they made a spectacle of themselves? In church?
While Cole turned away to respond to a well-wisher, Tess smiled blindly at another, and a vague fear settled over her heart. Cole was much more dangerous than she’d suspected. She hadn’t stepped foot out of the chapel yet, and she’d already been halfway seduced. With a single kiss!
In a haze of anxiety, desire and confusion, she accepted the bouquet somebody handed her and allowed the preacher to guide her to a side table, where she signed her name to the marriage certificate.
Cole signed his name, paid the preacher, then turned to Tess. The mere connection of their gazes stirred her profoundly. “There’s a limo out back,” he murmured, his voice itself a caress. “We can escape the crowd.”
Before she could think clearly enough to form an alternate plan, he slipped an arm around her waist and swept her along a side corridor, holding her close to him, immersing her in his scent, his nearness.
The panic she’d tried to suppress broke to the surface. “Cole, wait.” She tried to slow their forward movement. “I can’t … I won’t … I mean, I have to…”
But Bruno and Tyrone had stepped out of the shadows, claiming his attention without slowing his pace. “The press is still out front by the other limo, boss,” reported one of them in a gruff undertone.
“I put her suitcase in the trunk, Mr. Westcott,” rumbled the other.
Tess soon found herself in a fragrant flower garden where a pearl-gray limousine awaited. A uniformed driver swung open the rear door and Cole hustled Tess inside, rescuing the folds of her gown from being caught in the door; arranging them around her with capable hands. He then settled in beside her, and the limo sped off through the chapel’s back gardens, into the encroaching golden-pink twilight of a spring evening.
Tess reluctantly rested against a soft, fragrant leather seat in a luxurious chamber with plush gray carpeting, smoked-glass tables, romantic saxophone music and champagne chilling on ice.
Cole skimmed his hand along the top of her shoulders. “Tess,” he whispered. “I thought we’d never be alone.”
“Cole,” she choked out, her skin tingling from his touch. If she didn’t stop this madness, she’d be lost. Stiffly she held herself apart from him, gaining his immediate attention. “Would you mind dropping me off at my parents’ shop? I … um … left my car there.”
He narrowed his eyes on hers and offered slowly, “I’ll send someone for your car.”
“No, I have things to do this evening.” She swallowed, unnerved by his stunned, silent, forceful disapproval. “I’ll meet you at Westcott Hall later.”
He withdrew his arm from around her and edged forward to study her more intently. “What’s wrong, Tess?”
“Wrong? Nothing. I just—”
“The kiss,” he deduced with disquieting perceptiveness. “It scared you.”
“Scared me?” She forced a scoffing laugh. “No, of course not. I … I…” The determination in his eyes stopped her from evading the issue. A bluff seemed particularly unwise. “Maybe a little.”
“Why?”
“It was a very good kiss,” she admitted in a half whisper.
“It was an incredible kiss,” he corrected. His gaze traversed her face again with a thoroughness that liquefied her spine. “I want another.”
Sensuality curled through her. “I don’t think it would be wise. Kissing like that—” she shook her head, her gaze shifting beneath his “—may lead to involvement.”
He angled his face into intimate alignment with hers. “You think so?”
“It might,” she theorized. Humor laced his heated gaze, and her heart turned over. The rogue! She wanted to give him a hardy shove. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to incite him to wildness again… “Involvement would be a mistake,” she insisted over the rapid staccato of her heart. “We have to live in the same house for months. Things would get awkward.”
“Things would get hot.”
Temptation pulsed within her. “I agreed to a marriage in name only.”
“This has nothing to do with our agreement, or any other obligation. It has to do with you and me…” he wrapped his finger in one of the curls beside her face “…and that kiss that almost embarrassed us in front of the preacher.”
“Almost?”
A smile touched his mouth. “If I hadn’t stopped it when I did … yes, ma’am, we would have embarrassed ourselves.”
Oh, how true! Mortification swamped her at the thought.
“As it was, we only embarrassed the preacher. Then again,” his voice lowered to a sultry murmur, “his flush might have been from all that heat we were throwing off.” His gaze boldly caressed her mouth. “Why shouldn’t we get ‘involved,’ Tess? We are married.” He released the tendril of her hair and gently skimmed his fingers down her cheek. “You are my wife.” He curved his palm along her jaw and brushed his thumb across her lips, stunning her with a rush of keen sensation. “And this is our wedding night.”
Desire washed through her at his touch, at the longing in his gruff whisper, and she closed her eyes beneath the sensual onslaught. She’d never wanted a man as she wanted him—with this heart-stopping, breathless intensity. Not even Phillip. How could that be? She’d loved Phillip. But she wanted Cole. And Phillip was gone, maybe forever…
“I thought you understood,” she whispered, struggling to lift her lashes beyond half-mast, but affected too strongly by the stroke of his thumb across her mouth, “that there was someone else.”
The stroking of his thumb stopped. She opened her eyes in unreasonable disappointment. He looked none too happy. He didn’t withdraw his palm from where it cradled her jaw, though. Nor did he retreat from their intimate nearness. “I’m willing to over
look that.”
A spurt of amused annoyance helped clear her mind of the drugging sensuality, and she pulled away from him. He wanted to take her to bed, and was “willing to overlook” the fact that she was in love with another man. If that wasn’t classic Cole Westcott, she didn’t know what was. “Big of you.”
“I think so. What other husband would—”
“But you’re not really my—”
“What the hell?” He lurched forward and peered beyond her, through a side window, his attention snagged.
Tess realized that the limousine had pulled past the stately front gate of Westcott Hall and was winding its way between enormous trees toward a columned, plantation-style mansion. “What’s wrong?”
Cole nodded toward a butter-yellow Lincoln Continental parked in the circular drive. “That’s my attorney’s car. What’s he doing here?”
The limo glided to a halt near the grand front stairway of Westcott Hall, and a lanky, silver-haired man in a white shirt, suit trousers, a red bow tie and suspenders climbed from the Lincoln, a pipe clenched in his teeth. As Cole and Tess alighted from the limo, he sauntered toward them. “We’ve got problems, Cole,” he drawled in an aristocratic, southern voice.
“Do they involve my father?” Tess asked anxiously.
“No, ma’am. At least, not to my knowledge.” He shifted his gaze back to Cole. “But a potentially serious situation has arisen that may require a slight change in strategy.”
Cole frowned with barely contained annoyance. “Can’t we talk strategy tomorrow, Henry? In case you haven’t noticed—” he glanced pointedly at Tess’s gown “—this happens to be our wedding night.”
Tess blushed and averted her gaze.
HOT-BLOODED HERO Page 8
