by Stacy Gail
“You don’t know that—”
“Between my own parents there have been eight marriages, Claire. Eight. And yeah, it always starts out with flowery talk of love and happily ever after, but within months of promising love everlasting, the shouting matches begin. Before you know it you’re divvying up the CD collection and squabbling over who gets to keep the dog. Believe me, that’s not what Matt wants.”
“That’s not what anyone wants,” she shot back, though there seemed to be a softening in the lethality of her basilisk-like glower. “This may be hard for someone like you to believe, but that is not what marriage is all about.”
“Oh, I know what marriage is about,” he drawled. “But that heat doesn’t last.”
“Heat,” she repeated, the killer glower revving up again. “You mean sex.”
“I mean sex,” Ryder agreed succinctly. He turned to face her, one arm on the bar, while he braced his free hand against the back of her stool, and all at once her diminutive size had him feeling as masculine as any conquering barbarian. “I mean that slow, unending burn of animal awareness that throbs in your veins and heats up your insides until you can hardly walk right. I mean that edgy hunger that makes your eyes linger on the one person you can’t get out of your head. I mean the crazy relief of at last touching skin to skin, mouth on mouth, tongue against tongue and still it’s not enough to satiate the need. I mean this.”
He dropped his mouth to hers, but somehow he was the one who wasn’t prepared. Wasn’t prepared for the feel of her, the taste of her, the heavenly response that was all Claire. He may have been the one who started the kiss, but as his heart suddenly thundered in his chest, he was the one who was seduced.
The floor vanished from beneath his feet as her lips formed against his like melted wax, almost as if she had been waiting to fit against him. Her hand came up to flatten against his chest as if intent on pushing him away, but instead her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. Her head tipped back to complete the fit, and all at once Ryder found he could no longer think, or breathe, or move. This wasn’t just a kiss. This was the only real kiss he’d ever had in his life. This was…
Everything.
He couldn’t have stopped the rumble of pleasure that escaped him if his life depended on it. Desperate, he plowed his fingers into her hair, holding her still as he deepened the kiss. Time and space faded away until he was only aware of Claire—her lips nuzzling with an ardent friction against his. Her body melding against him with an agonizing slowness. Her tongue, coy and seductive, stroking such an erotic rhythm against his that he trembled at her sensual prowess.
Claire.
For a moment that lasted an eternity, she was all he knew.
From far away, Ryder heard a trembling breath as Claire slowly drew back, and in a disconnected way he realized it came from him. But it didn’t matter. When those melted-chocolate eyes were caressing him like a lover’s touch, nothing in the universe mattered except she keep looking at him.
“Well,” she said, and he almost hated her for sounding so damned unruffled. “If that’s what marriage is all about, it’s no wonder it’s so popular.”
“Fair point.” Ryder didn’t want to agree with her, but he could still feel her on his lips. Surely, in the long history of kissing, there had never been a more perfect kiss. He wasn’t much of a believer in perfection, but from the first moment he’d seen her, this woman had him rethinking his stance. She might look like a coolly elegant package, but inside she was pure dynamite. No wonder he was reeling.
“But I still maintain passion isn’t all that marriage is about.” Looking as though an explosion of passion hadn’t just rocked her world—the way it had with him—Claire shouldered her purse. “If you spent even one day in my shoes, you would see what it is that makes people want to spend the rest of their lives together.”
“If that’s a challenge, I accept,” he heard himself say before he thought better of it. “Just as long as I’m allowed the opportunity to show you that a relationship doesn’t have to have notary approval to work in this day and age.”
The widening of her eyes spoke volumes of her surprise before her chin lifted. “Fine. Let me know when you have the time and we’ll—”
“I have a couple weeks off, with no plans to speak of.” Ryder stood as well and discovered in the span of a heartbeat that tiny women turned him on in all the right ways. “Let’s start tomorrow.”
“Fine.” As if uncomfortable with him looming over her, Claire retreated. “Wear your running shoes. I move fast and never allow anything to slow me down.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up,” he assured her.
I have to be out of my mind, Claire thought for the umpteenth time as she went about opening the office the next morning. She had the Great Hall of Hogwarts to create at the locally famous Majestic Theatre downtown, complete with a thousand battery-operated candles suspended by wires overhead, plus two hundred school robes to pick up for the guests to wear for the Jefferson-Gomez wedding. The last thing she needed was Ryder Price hovering around as a distraction.
And that’s exactly what he was, in more ways than one.
A disturbed breath huffed out of Claire as she booted up the laptop and opened her calendar to see what was scheduled for the day. She was confident she’d done a fair job of covering up how completely her world had been blown apart by Ryder’s kiss, but the problem was she hadn’t been able to think of anything else since then. The exquisite feel of his silk-and-steel lips sliding over hers had worked on her like an addictive intoxicant. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t forget how he’d coaxed her mouth open so he could explore it so deeply it mirrored the act of sex itself.
Claire sighed again, staring at the laptop’s bright screen without seeing it. Was it any wonder she’d agreed to his ridiculous suggestion? In that moment all she had wanted was an excuse to see him again. To drink him in, to bathe in the seductive glory of those silver eyes as they caressed over her and made her stomach tighten in anticipation of a kiss that would knock the breath from her and make delicious heat bloom between her legs…
With a soundless groan, she closed her eyes. Good grief, what a masochist she was. Why the hell was she fantasizing about the likes of Ryder Price? It was obvious they were incompatible. She was an idiot to waste even a second of her life on someone who didn’t believe in marriage, love or devotion. If she even mentioned such concepts to him, he’d undoubtedly break out in a rash, scream bloody murder and run for the nearest exit before his head exploded.
Not that it was entirely his fault his outlook was so screwed up, she thought, softening. Even one divorce in a family could rock a person’s faith in love and marriage, but eight… Claire shook her head. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising Ryder believed happily ever after was nothing more than an absurd fairy tale.
Her heart catapulted into her throat when the door opened, then meekly settled back down where it belonged when Mari walked through the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she blurted before she thought to check it, putting a hand to her spastic heart. Heaven only knew where that sort of insane reaction came from, but if she didn’t get a handle on it soon it was going to be a long day. “Good morning, Mari.”
“Good morning.” Mari gave her an odd look as she put away her purse. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, I’m…” Having an inexplicable nervous breakdown. Nothing to worry about. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“Ah.” Mari looked around expectantly. “The Pelly-Guthrie couple. How did the dinner meeting go last night?”
It took a tremendous effort for Claire to not put her fingers to her mouth. Damn the man for having a kiss as red hot as any branding iron. “I don’t have an answer for that, which probably explains why I’m so jumpy,” she rationalized with such determination she almost believed it. “It’s up to Matt and Rachel now to decide which way they want to go—together and happy for the rest of their lives, or forever
apart.”
Mari made a sound of sympathy. “If my Elliot had ever tried to call off our wedding, I would have skinned him and used him for carpet.”
“We should have that made up into a banner.” Claire snorted, and wondered what sort of groom Ryder Price would make. When nothing but a rooster-tail of dust came to mind, she could only shake her head. She had to stop thinking about him. “I am worried, though. I haven’t heard a peep out of them since last night, so—” At that moment her phone bleeped, and one glance at the display had her brows shooting up. “Speak of the devil.”
Across the room, Mari held up a pair of crossed fingers.
With a nod of agreement, Claire hit the right button. “Good morning, Rachel. What can I do for you?” She waited a moment before shooting a smile at Mari. “We’ll send those invitations out today. Give Matt my best, okay? And Rachel, congratulations—again.”
“Whew.” Mari laughed, doing a little dance.
Claire laughed as well while a weight the size of an elephant vanished off her chest. “Once again, the power of love triumphs over the evil forces of doubt, uncertainty and meddlesome best men.”
The front door swung open as she spoke, and the meddlesome best man, Ryder Price, strolled in.
Chapter Five
Having Ryder around wasn’t as horrific as she’d imagined, Claire decided an hour later as she wrapped up an initial consult with new clients looking to organize a late-summer wedding. He hadn’t gotten in her way, or scoffed over her new clients’ dream wedding—a Southfork Ranch ceremony that would be the exact recreation of Lucy’s wedding on the old 80s TV show, Dallas. Nor had he made any smartass run for it comments as she’d half-feared he would when the groom had wanted a detailed explanation of the ceremony cancellation fee. Instead, Ryder had wandered away to disappear into the myriad display rooms she had in back that housed the portrait gallery and studio a photographer sublet from her, floral arrangements and a small boutique of her own designs.
When the happy couple finally left with a packet of information in hand and their signatures drying on the contract, Claire left Mari to tackle the booking of Southfork Ranch in Dallas while she went in search of Ryder. Her acrobatic heart twisted itself into a pretzel when she found him in the display room appropriately named Wedding Night, a richly carpeted room decorated in crimson red and displaying her more intimate lingerie collection.
Naturally. Where else would a man like Ryder be?
“I wasn’t kidding when I said you’ll need running shoes to keep up with me,” she said, doing her best to sound unaffected as he idly browsed through the delicate wisps of silk and lace. “Mari and I have to be downtown in half an hour, so if you’re still intent on tagging along…”
“‘Claire’s Creations’,” he read off the label. Selecting a barely there chiffon baby-doll, bra and thong set, he held it up. “Your designs?”
“Of course. French lace,” she added, coming closer to run her fingers down the fragile detailing. “Thai silk in every conceivable color. If you’re looking for polyester, you won’t find it here. Do you like it?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” Putting the set back on the rack, he turned his attention to a zebra-striped demi-bra. “But I am surprised. Don’t you find this a little hypocritical?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this whole room is dedicated to one thing and one thing only—sex.” His gaze flicked unexpectedly to her, and she found herself held hostage by that one smoldering look. “And not just any kind of sex. It’s dedicated to the no-sheets and lights-on, falling-off-the-bed-and-onto-the-floor, hot-and-sweaty-grinding sex, Claire. That’s what’s in this room. Yet last night you tried to spin it like sex wasn’t important when it came to the lifetime commitment of marriage.”
“Your mind works in mysterious ways.” Claire congratulated herself for sounding unmoved when his words painted a thoroughly inappropriate—but utterly delightful—mental image of them together, two sweat-slick bodies straining hard against each other as they drove in mindless harmony toward the heady rush of ecstasy… She sucked in a sharp breath and tried to remember what it was to be a professional. “I never once said sex wasn’t important.”
His light eyes darkened. Burned. “You implied it.”
“Like I’ve pointed out before, you don’t really know women. And you definitely don’t know me.”
“Convince me, then.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, the swell of her breasts, before slowly sliding back up. And every place he looked, she felt the delicious heat of ravishment. “Convince me you believe sex is important.”
Damn him for toying with her, she thought with uncharacteristic savagery. And damn her for not being able to just leave well enough alone.
“Sex,” she gritted from between clenched teeth, all the while wrestling with the sense that he was playing her like a violin, “is vital to a healthy marriage, as is chemistry, imagination, seduction, trust and love. When you combine sex with those components, not even a dozen lifetimes together would burn that passion out.”
“You think?” As if he were only vaguely paying attention, he turned to an open antique armoire displaying chocolates from her new chocolatier, including jars of edible body paint. “Have you ever been married, Claire?”
“No. But when I do find the right man we’ll be together forever.”
“There is no such thing as forever.”
“Then I’ll make him wish there were,” she shot back, suddenly and irrationally furious Ryder would never be the sort of man she dreamed of. “When I find the man who’s destined to be my husband you can be damn sure he’ll know just how lucky he is to have me by his side during the day and warming his bed at night. When he needs someone to talk to, I’ll listen and I’ll support no matter what. When he feels like the world is closing in, I will be his safe harbor. When he needs someone to hold, I’ll be no more than an arm’s reach away. I’ll be his best friend and closest confidante, and when it comes to sex, just look around you,” she invited with an angry sweep of her hand. “Every last detail in this room came from the most intimate side of who I really am, so I’ll let you judge if the man I choose would be happy to spend forever with me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to get back to. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
“Not so fast.” Before she had taken one step, his fingers were around her wrist like a living shackle. She didn’t have to tug against it to know it was unbreakable. “You can’t just leave after saying I can do whatever I want.”
Confusion brought her brows together before her eyes widened. “Ryder—”
“You’ve never said my name before today,” he went on, talking over her until she stopped. Lifting his free hand, he traced a slow, exploring finger along the edge of her lower lip before coming to rest at the corner of her mouth. “I can’t believe how much I like to hear it coming from your lips. Say my name, Claire.”
How could this horribly incompatible man melt her from the inside out? Where in the world was her backbone? “I’m too busy for this.”
“That’s not my name.” He bent to where his finger rested, replacing it with the alluring brush of his lips, a butterfly-light touch that made her turn toward him on instinct. But his mouth slid away like a dream, gliding a gentle caress along the smooth warmth of her cheek, all the way to her ear. “Say it.”
The voice of caution whispered through her even as her traitorous bones threatened imminent meltdown. She should step away while she could still think, she knew that. Ryder Price was a fabulous male specimen, the kind of man who could trip the trigger of any female with a pulse. But in no conceivable way was he her type. He would never be her type, and to mess with him now was stupid. It was masochistic and pointless. It was…it was…
Delicious.
But really, she had to step away from him. And she would.
Any minute now.
“Claire.” Teasing, as light as a whisper, his lips feathered over her ear before
they closed on the lobe, the wet suction of his mouth so delightful it made her eyes drift shut. “Say my name. Say it, or I’ll make you say it.”
Step away. Step away.
His tongue toyed with the lobe held with exquisite gentleness between his teeth before he moved on, his mouth sliding farther down her neck. Her breath caught in the heavy stillness, a fractured sound of arousal she had no hope of containing. A faint tremor shook him in response, and his teeth sank into the throbbing cord at her neck, his tongue drawing hungry little whorls over her heated flesh.
Step…
At some point he had let her wrist go. Claire never noticed, instead bracing her hands on his slim hips as her knees liquefied like warm honey. Her breasts brushed against his muscle-padded torso, and the contact was like being stroked with a live wire. She shivered, a soundless breath escaping her even as she rubbed against him once more to revel in the exquisite tightening of her nipples.
Closer.
“Kiss me.” Her plea should have shocked her. This kind of man was poison to a woman like her, after all. But her voice was a velvet purr full of a desire she couldn’t control, and the only thing that surprised her now was how she had managed to go so long without his mouth making love with hers. “Kiss me, damn you…”
“Not yet.” Though the words were teasing, his voice was as unrecognizable as hers, weighed down with a ragged breathlessness that spoke volumes of tenuous control. “I want you to think of this moment whenever you hear my name, Claire. I want you to feel what you’re feeling now whenever my name touches your lips. And when you finally find that man you think you can settle down with forever, I want my name to be the one that haunts you.”
A flurry of unease warred with a terrifyingly resigned acceptance that this would probably be the case. “Ry—”
