McFarlane's Perfect Bride

by Christine Rimmer

  His desire, carefully banked until then, flared high. “You are so beautiful.”

  “Take me in your arms, Connor,” she whispered, lifting on tiptoe, her breasts brushing his chest, making the flare of desire burn all the hotter. “Take me in your arms and hold me all night long.”

  Chapter Six

  Connor’s newfound conscience urged him to argue with her, to tell her she ought to think twice about this, to grab her by the shoulders and put her firmly away from him, to speak reasonably about taking their time, to remind her again about not rushing into anything she might regret later.

  But she had it right, after all. They didn’t have a lot of time. Just one short summer.

  And wasting a minute of it, now they were both on the same page about where they were going?

  Uh-uh. No way.

  He wrapped his arms around her, good and tight. And he kissed her, deeply. Endlessly. His mouth locked to hers, drinking her in, he bent to scoop her up high in his arms.

  She pulled her soft lips from his just long enough to fling out a hand in the general direction of the great room and to whisper, “That way…”

  He claimed her mouth again and started walking, carrying her out of the kitchen, across the great room, to her bedroom not far from the entryway. The door was wide open. He went in.

  At the side of the bed, he lowered her feet to the rug. Dizzy with the scent of her, with the taste of her, and the soft, arousing feel of her body so close to him, somehow he still managed to break the incredible kiss.

  He knew that they had to be at least a little bit responsible. “I should have thought of this.”

  “Of what?”

  “I don’t have condoms…”

  She surged up, caught his mouth in a swift, hot kiss, and then sank back to her heels again. “It’s okay.” She rested her small hands, palms flat, against his chest. “I have them.” Her dreamy gaze turned rueful. “I always wanted to be ready, in case it ever felt right with someone. It never did—not in the whole time I’ve lived in Thunder Canyon. Not until tonight…”

  “Well.” He ran his palms down the silky skin of her arms. So smooth. And she smelled so good. Like fresh, ripe strawberries and sugared lemons, both at the same time. “Okay, then.”

  “Just okay?” she teased him.

  He chuckled. “Better than okay. Way, way better.”

  “Then kiss me, Connor.” Her eyes were mossy green at that moment, and shining so bright. “Kiss me again…”

  He didn’t have to be told a third time. He caught her sweet lips and she opened for him, letting his tongue in to play with hers. And as he kissed her, she turned slightly, moving them both around, until the backs of his legs touched the side of the bed.

  She guided him, gently pushing him back, until he lay across the tangled white sheets. And she came down with him, soft and sighing, her mouth so wet and sweet. He couldn’t get enough of her kisses, couldn’t get enough of her.

  But then she pulled away and rose up on an elbow. She gazed down at him, her lips soft and swollen, her eyes making tempting erotic promises as she tugged on his shirttail, sliding her fingers beneath the knit fabric to caress him.

  He groaned at her touch, at the way her soft fingers glided over his flesh, tenderly, teasingly. And he wanted to feel her, all of her, skin to skin. So he sat up, kissed her once, hard and fast, and ripped his shirt up and over his head. Swiftly, he yanked off his boots and got rid of his socks. He undid the button at the top of his fly, and tugged the zipper down. Lifting his hips, he shoved the jeans and his boxer briefs halfway down his thighs.

  She helped him, getting hold of the jeans and the briefs, sliding them off the rest of the way, tossing them over the edge of the bed.

  At last, he was naked. He felt her gaze on him, sweeping upward over his body to meet his waiting eyes.

  She breathed his name on a long sigh. “Connor…” And she swayed against him.

  Magic, the feel of her smooth skin pressed to his. He caught her, pulling her close, tucking her tightly to his bare chest, reveling in the silky feel of her hair against his flesh, in the delicacy of her body, the way it curved into his, in the scent of her, so fresh and clean and sweet.

  “Tori.” Her name sounded so good on his tongue.

  She tipped her head back to him with a questioning sound.

  “Tori…” He kissed her. And that time, while he kissed her, he touched her, clasping her slim upper arm, palming the firm curve of her shoulder.

  Such soft, tempting skin, and all of it his to caress. He traced a finger inward, skimming the bows that held her nightgown in place. And then up, along the velvety skin of her neck, until he reached the heated flutter of her pulse, waiting there for him, in the vulnerable cove at the side of her throat.

  He laid his whole hand, flat, against the satiny warmth of her upper chest. Lower still, he curved his fingers around a high, firm breast. She moaned when he did that, and moaned again as he found her nipple through the thin cloth of her nightgown and teased it, rolling it tenderly between his thumb and forefinger.

  Those sweet little bows at her shoulders? By then he couldn’t resist them. He made short work of them, pulling the end of one and then the other. They fell apart, taking the top of her flimsy little gown down with them.

  Her breasts were revealed to him, round and firm, compact, the skin so fine, the delicate blue veins showing faintly beneath. He eased her to her back, bent his head and took her pretty pink nipple into his mouth. She groaned deep in her chest when he did that, and pulled him close to her. He drew on her breast, strongly, and she bowed her slim torso toward him, lifting her breasts, offering him more of her.

  The hem of her short gown rode high on her smooth thighs. He reached down, guided it higher.

  She wore nothing beneath. He touched her belly, stroking, loving the feel of her, enjoying the eager way she gave herself, so openly, without holding anything of herself away from him. She groaned and clutched his head even tighter to her breast.

  And he let his hand wander lower, over the warm silk of her lower belly, to the place where the soft curls were waiting. She lifted toward him, urging him on.

  He touched her, dipping a finger into the feminine heart of her. She was wet. Hot. He explored the silky folds and she encouraged him with tender little moans and sighs, as she lifted her hips, opening her thighs to him, so eager. Hungry for more.

  So he gave her more. He kissed his way down her body, sliding her gown even higher, until it was no more than a tangled, satin band around her waist. He kissed her belly, dipped his tongue into her navel, and breathed in the musky, sweet scent of her excitement.

  He had to taste her. Now. Immediately. He kissed the silky red-gold curls and lower, putting his mouth where his wet fingers had been.

  She was writhing by then, her hands clutching his head, fingers speared in his hair, urging him onward. He ran his tongue along the slick wetness, drinking in the taste of her, driving her higher, finding that it aroused him beyond all reason to be giving her pleasure, to know that she liked it, that she wanted him to kiss her in this most intimate way.

  And then, all at once, she was crying out his name. She broke, shuddering. He tasted her completion, felt it pulse against his tongue.

  Her satisfaction drove him higher, gave him something so good, so right. Something he had never known he craved, something hot and bright and beautiful. Something good and true.

  Who knew it could be like this?

  Not Connor.

  He had never been what anyone would call an attentive lover. With his wife, the sex didn’t matter anyway, except for the necessity of producing his son. And with the women he’d dated in the past year, he’d been utterly selfish. He saw that now. They gave him pleasure in the form of sexual release. And he took them out to the best restaurants, showered then with pricey gifts.

  But with Tori…

  Everything was different.

  He got pleasure from her pleasure, took satis
faction from knowing she was satisfied.

  She sighed, and a little laugh escaped her. “Oh, Connor.” Her fingers, now, were gentle in his hair. “Who knew?” Good question. He certainly hadn’t. She whispered, “Come up here, up here to me…”

  One last press of his lips against those wet red-gold curls and he obeyed her, kissing his way up the middle of her body, over her soft, tempting belly, between her small, perfect breasts. He paused to dip his tongue into the groove at the base of her throat. Never would he get enough of the taste of her, sweet and slightly salty now, with the sweat of their lovemaking.

  He kissed her throat, her chin, and finally, with a sigh, he settled his mouth over hers and tasted her more deeply. He was aching, aching in a good way, hard and ready, needing her so bad.

  She caught his face in her two soft hands. “The drawer, in the nightstand…”

  He reached for it, his mouth still locked with hers. Finding the knob, he pulled it open, felt around inside, his fingers closing over a pen, a notepad, a small flashlight. But nothing that felt like the condom he was groping for.

  She pushed gently at his shoulders. “Let me,” she suggested.

  Reluctantly, he let her up, and sank back against the pillows. He admired the gorgeous curve of her slim back as she got up on her folded knees and slid the drawer all the way open.

  “Got it.” She pulled out a box from way in back and swiftly peeled the lid wide, taking out a single sealed pouch. She held it up.

  He reached for it.

  But she only laughed and snatched it away and looked at him from under her thick lashes. “Let me. Please.”

  He settled back against the pillow again and folded his hands behind his head. “Absolutely. Be my guest.” He spoke teasingly, though he wanted only to grab her, roll her under him and bury himself deep in her waiting softness.

  She was kind. She didn’t fool around. She had the pouch open and the condom sliding down over him within seconds. The touch of her hand as she guided it into place, snugging it neatly, evenly, at the base, almost undid him.

  But not quite. She bent over him, so her lips were no more than a breath away from his. “Good?”

  He refused to move. If she wanted to take control, so be it. “Excellent.”

  She slid a leg over him and went up on her knees astride him, but away from him. Her eyes weren’t so teasing anymore. They were hungry. Ready.

  He resisted the powerful urge to grab her hips and surge up into her.

  She bent close, though she didn’t lower herself down onto his waiting hardness. She whispered, “You’re gritting your teeth.”

  “And you’re driving me wild.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that.” She kissed him, slowly, a brushing kiss that turned deeper—and then deeper still.

  “Come down to me, Tori. Now…”

  Impossibly, miraculously, she actually obeyed him. He felt her against him—there, where he needed her—and then he slipped inside.

  She was wet and hot and, oh, so welcoming. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her then. He took her hips and pulled her down onto him.

  She moaned then. So did he.

  And she rode him, kissing him, her hips working in a rhythm that shattered him, that broke him into a thousand tiny pieces—and then somehow put him back together again.

  At the last minute, as he knew he was losing it, he grabbed her more firmly by the round curves of her bottom and he rolled her, so he was on top. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, holding him, rocking him, murmuring his name.

  He muttered, “Tori,” and then again, “Tori,” as the world spun away. He saw utter darkness behind his eyes. And then, at the last possible moment, as she turned him inside out, the darkness turned to shimmering light.

  They must have slept.

  When he woke, the bedside clock said it was almost five. Tori lay beside him, her face so innocent and sweet in the light of the lamp they’d left on, her strawberry hair bright as sunshine spilled across the pillow.

  He tried to slide his arm out from under her head without waking her. But her eyes drifted open.

  “Connor…”

  “Um?”

  “What time…?”

  “Five to five.”

  “You have to go?”

  “Unfortunately.” He bent close, brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Tonight I’m going out to the Douglas Ranch. Caleb invited me to dinner.”

  She made a low, knowing sound. “More hush-hush negotiating, huh?”

  “We aren’t quite at that point yet. Want to come with me?”

  She shook her head. “I think I’ll just stay out of that, if you don’t mind.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Tuesday, then? I’ll take you to dinner.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “What could be better than you, me and dinner?”

  “You, me, CJ, Ryan, Jerilyn…and dinner.”

  He groaned. “Dinner with the kids. Not exactly the romantic evening I had in mind.”

  She chided him, “You know it’s a good idea.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it is.” He planted a kiss on her sweet mouth and slid his arm out from under her. “Okay. Tuesday. Dinner with the kids—and I have to go.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed his briefs and his jeans. When he was fully dressed, he bent close to her for a final kiss. “Every summer should start this way.”

  She twined her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “You didn’t.” Allaire wore an expression of total disbelief. She sent a quick glance around the Tottering Teapot, clearly worried that someone might have heard what Tori had just said.

  “Yeah,” Tori answered, after savoring a slow bite of her avocado and swiss sandwich with sprouts. “I did. We did. And it was wonderful.”

  Allaire leaned closer across the lace tablecloth and pitched her voice barely above a whisper. “But you said yourself he admitted he’s buying out the resort—and then leaving town.”

  “I like him. I like him a lot. I want to be with him, for as long as it lasts.”

  A look of concern crossed Allaire’s face. “I just don’t want to see you hurt, Tori.”

  “I know you don’t. And I realize that I might be hurt.”

  “Might?” Allaire demanded.

  Tori busted to the truth. “Okay. I guess it’s likely, in the end. But I want to be with him more than I want to protect myself against heartbreak. Sometimes you just have to go for it, you know? Go for it and not count the cost.”

  Connor couldn’t stay away from Tori.

  She drew him like a bee to a flower, a kid to a cookie jar. He stopped by her house that afternoon and confessed that he couldn’t bear to keep away. Tori said she understood completely, that she felt the same.

  That night, he went out to the Douglas Ranch, as planned. Riley Douglas, who was Caleb and Adele’s son and Grant Clifton’s partner in running the resort, showed up, too. Riley was silent through most of the meal—silent and watchful. When Caleb and Connor discussed the resort, Riley said that he was sure he and Grant could turn things around, given time.

  Caleb looked at his son and said in a weary tone, “Money’s tight. You know that. And time is the one thing I don’t have a lot of.”

  “Just don’t rush into anything,” Riley warned.

  “I’m not rushing,” Caleb replied, sending Connor a telling glance. “I’m considering the options, son. Considering them fully.”

  When he left the Douglas Ranch, Connor went straight to Tori’s. She didn’t ask if Caleb had offered to sell him the resort—or anything about what had happened during his visit with the Douglases. He knew she didn’t want to know.

  And he was more than content to say nothing of his meeting with Caleb. He only wanted to take her in his arms, to feel her soft body pressed close to his.

  Tuesday morning after he took CJ and Jerilyn out to Melanie’s, he got a call from Grant Clifton. Gr
ant wanted to speak with him alone.

  Connor drove up toward the resort, stopping off at the office complex down the mountain from the main lodge. Grant led him to his private office and shut the door.

  Grant was furious, Connor could see that in the tightness of his square jaw. He said he’d talked to Riley Douglas that morning.

  “Riley clued me in. I get the picture now, and I don’t much like what I see. You want the resort and when you get it, people who matter to me, people who have worked hard here, are going to be without their jobs.”

  “Grant, come on. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “I liked you,” Grant said with deadly softness. “I heard you were here to be with your son, to smooth over past differences with your sister. I admired that. Yeah, I also heard the rumors that you were interested in the resort. I didn’t listen to what they said.”

  “Grant, there’s no reason for—”

  “You’re right.” Clifton cut him off. “Getting you here in my office and reaming you a new one isn’t a very smart thing for me to do. But I’m just pissed off enough that I don’t give a damn what’s smart. I just want you to know that I know now you’re not who I thought you were. You’re no better than a vulture, McFarlane. And I wanted to say that to your face.”

  Connor said nothing. With a curt nod, he turned for the door. Grant made no move to stop him.

  As he drove down the mountain, Connor tried to remind himself that he’d been called worse things than a vulture. In the past, he’d never cared. He went after what he wanted and he got it and what people said didn’t mean a thing.

  Now, strangely, Grant Clifton’s harsh words rankled. And he found himself worrying about Melanie and Russ, about their reaction when they learned he had plans for the resort. Tori had warned him he’d better tell Melanie what he was up to.

  So he detoured to the Hopping H. He found Melanie in the kitchen, baking cookies. The kids, she said, were out in the barn with Russ.

  She took a sheet of great-smelling snickerdoodles from the oven and set them on top of the stove. And she turned to him. She frowned when she saw his face. “What? You look like somebody stole your dog.”