The Man She'll Marry

by Ann Roth

  A warm sound purled from his chest. “Damn, you feel good.”

  She sighed. “Same here.”

  Her hips pressed close, nuzzling and tempting. Heat throbbed in his groin and he knew she felt his arousal.

  “You were right. This is dangerous,” he growled, grasping her hips. “But right now I don’t care.”

  “Neither do I.” She framed his face between her warm, incredibly sensual hands. “Kiss me, Nick.”

  He dipped his head and did just that.

  BLOOD ROARED IN NICK’S head as Cinnamon tangled her tongue with his. These kisses were even hotter than before, and he wanted to get her naked and sink into her sweetness. Now. Instead he forced himself to slow down.

  Hard and throbbing with need, he gripped her soft, round behind and pulled her tight to his erection. She made throaty little sounds, as titillating as a touch.

  “My legs are about to buckle,” she sighed against his lips.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, chest heaving, he glanced around the room. Wobbly chairs, metal desk, stained carpet. He refused to stoop that low. “Let’s try the counter—”

  “How about the counter—” she suggested at the same time.

  They both laughed, and he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the far wall.

  Cinnamon pushed the coffeemaker aside. Nick lifted her up. “Now, where were we?” he asked.

  She wrapped her thighs around his hips so that the sweetest part of her fitted against his need. “Right there, I think.”

  Her boldness turned him on even more. In a haze of desire he kissed her—deep, demanding kisses she eagerly returned. He shifted closer—as close as two fully clothed people could get. It wasn’t enough.

  Desperate to touch her, he slid his hands under her sweater and up her smooth, slender back. His trembling hands moved to her breasts.

  Catching her breath, she edged back, allowing him room to cup and hold her. Her nipples were swollen and stiff. He squeezed gently, gratified when she moaned with pleasure.

  “You are so sweet,” he murmured. “And it’s awfully hot in here. Why don’t you get rid of that sweater?”

  Eyes locked on his, she pulled the turtleneck over her head, revealing a sexy, pink lace bra that fastened in the front.

  “Nice bra,” he said, “but it has to go. I’ve been imagining what your breasts looked like since that day you fell and hurt your shin.”

  “That’s a long time.” Offering the smile of a woman fully aware of her sexual power, she unhooked the bra and removed it. He stared openly at her small but perfect breasts, the nipples sharp and a dusky pink.

  “Are they what you imagined?” she asked, cupping herself.

  Nick groaned. “Better by a long shot. I wonder if they taste as good as they look.” Bending down, he licked each taut peak, teasing his tongue slowly over the sensitive tips.

  The throaty noise started again. As he gently suckled and nipped, Cinnamon tensed and gripped his shoulders. Pleasure pounded through him, and he wanted her so much it scared him. And jerked him to his senses.

  What in hell was he doing? This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  He straightened and backed away. “Uh, that’s all the congratulations I can handle.”

  By the dazed expression on her face he wasn’t sure she understood. Her hair was wildly messy, and her face, neck, breasts and lips were flushed—as if he’d made love with her.

  And, heaven help him, he wanted to do just that.

  “Better get dressed,” he ordered in a gruff voice.

  “Right.” Gaze averted, she covered her breasts with her hands. “Please hand me my clothes.”

  He retrieved the bra and sweater from the floor. Afraid to touch her, he set them on the counter beside her.

  “What we just did…I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he said, locking his hands behind his back.

  “We’re both at fault.”

  Knowing he should apologize but not sorry for anything that had happened, he started toward the exit.

  “Don’t you dare open that door until I’m dressed.”

  “Brother,” he muttered, but she had a point. He glanced at his swollen groin and figured he ought to wait a moment, too. Facing the door, he couldn’t see her. But he heard her every move and pictured her clearly in his mind.

  Her feet hit the carpet with barely a sound. A moment later he heard the no-nonsense click of her bra, followed by the swish of her sweater as she pulled it over her head and smoothed it down.

  “All right, I’m decent.”

  He turned toward her. With or without her top, she looked like a woman thoroughly loved. “If I were you I’d comb my hair and fix my makeup,” he advised.

  “Thanks. I will.” All business now, as if that could erase what had just happened, she waved at the door. “Goodbye, Nick, and once again, congratulations on filing the patent.”

  Dipping his chin, he acknowledged her good wishes. “See you around.”

  He walked out, closing the door behind him.

  STANDING AT THE SORTER, Becky Johnson, who worked with Sharon, nudged her. “Look who just came out of Cinnamon’s office.”

  Sharon pushed the stop button, then jerked her attention across the floor. “What’s Nick doing here? He didn’t mention coming in today.” Frowning at her brother’s set jaw, she adjusted the hairnet her work required her to wear for sanitary reasons. “What do you think happened in there?”

  “I don’t know, but the man looks as if he just swallowed a pint of cranberry juice that turned to vinegar.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Sharon puzzled. “He fixed the mixer and designed us a better sorter. Other than those things he has nothing to do with this place, and as far as I know, nothing to do with Cinnamon.”

  “Well, they must have had words about something.” Hands on her ample hips, Becky shook her head, her face worried.

  Nick’s sister sighed. “You know, I dearly love my brother. I like Cinnamon, too, and I believe she’s going to save this place. For the sake of the factory and our jobs, those two had better get along.”

  “Get along?” Becky laughed. “Are you blind, girl? Have you seen the way he checks her out when she isn’t looking? Or that hungry look on her face whenever he walks into a room? Honey, they ought to get together.”

  “I don’t know,” Sharon said. “Nick doesn’t get close to anybody.”

  “Well, it’s clear as a juice bottle he wants to get close to Cinnamon. Only, maybe he doesn’t know it.”

  At the gleam in Becky’s eyes, Sharon grinned. “Hmm…We could help them along.”

  “Now we’re working on the same machine. Whatcha got in mind?”

  “I don’t know, but I think I’ll pay Fran a visit.”

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, RAIN spattered the windows of Cinnamon’s suite, and the wind howled. But the crackling fire that warmed the small living room made up for the bad weather.

  A brisk knock sounded at the door. “It’s Fran.”

  “Come in.” Sitting at the desk facing the window, Cinnamon saved the work on her laptop and twisted toward the door.

  When Fran entered, her purple overalls and tangerine turtleneck seemed to brighten up the gray day. “You look like spring.”

  “Wishful thinking. I’m about to leave for the town hall to finalize the decorations for Saturday’s Valentine’s Day dance. I’ll be gone awhile.”

  Cinnamon gestured at her laptop. “I’m sure that when you get back I’ll still be here, working.” The factory projections weren’t right, and she’d brought the spreadsheets home to rework them.

  “There’s a fresh pot of coffee downstairs if you want it.”

  “Thanks. Have fun.”

  Instead of leaving, her friend hesitated, a guilty look on her face.

  “What?” Cinnamon asked.

  “Did I mention that Nick will be here soon, to fix your ceiling fan?”

  He was the last person Cinnamon wanted to see, and she couldn’t stem an unhappy
frown.

  Fran didn’t know that. She didn’t know about those kisses and more, because Cinnamon hadn’t told her. She must have suspected something had gone wrong, though, for every time she mentioned Nick’s name, Cinnamon changed the subject. That explained the guilty expression.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming? I could have worked at the factory today.”

  And to avoid him, she would have.

  She couldn’t believe what she and Nick had done. And in her office, too, where anybody could have walked in! But one kiss and she’d forgotten everything and would have gladly made love with the man…if he hadn’t come to his senses and stopped. Thank God he had, for making love with him would have been a big mistake. They weren’t right for each other, and she already cared more than she should. Making love would only deepen her feelings.

  “Go out in this weather, when you don’t have to? Bad enough one of us is forced to brave the elements.” Fran shook her head. “For the past week you’ve spent ten hours a day at Tate’s, including last weekend. You deserve to stay right here in front of the fire. Nick won’t bite, you know.”

  Oh, but he did—light nips that set her body on fire. He sure could kiss, too. And taste and lick…

  Her body burned with longing. Three days away from the man and she ached for him. Last night she’d even clutched her pillow, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anyone.

  Not wise, and she truly did not want to see him. She closed the laptop and stood. “I think I’ll take a break.”

  Fran’s expression was wary. “You’re not going running again, are you? Your shin is barely healed, and even with the nonskid strips on the steps, you could slip.”

  She recalled Nick’s seductive words: “I’ve been imagining what your breasts looked like since that day you fell and hurt your shin.” And his expression—eyes dark and hot, mouth slightly open—before he laved her sensitive nipples…Cinnamon’s most sensitive place warmed and dampened. Heaven help her.

  Hugging herself, she shook her head. “Don’t worry, I learned my lesson about running in a downpour. I think I’ll browse the bookcase downstairs, find a good novel and lose myself in it. That way I’ll be out of Nick’s way when he shows up.”

  Given the way her common sense disappeared whenever the man was near—actually, whenever she thought about him—keeping out of his way seemed a smart plan, indeed.

  The furtive look on her friend’s face caused Cinnamon to eye her suspiciously. “What now?”

  “It’s just that you seem angry at him. This is a good opportunity for you two to talk, and straighten out whatever caused the problem.”

  “I’m not mad.” Turning toward the sliding glass doors leading to her balcony, Cinnamon stared at the foaming waves. Now, they looked angry. A heavy sigh slipped from her lips before she again faced Fran. “But there is a problem,” she admitted. “You were right. I’m starting to feel things for Nick I don’t want to feel.”

  “I knew it!”

  Cinnamon frowned. “Don’t look so darned pleased, because I don’t intend to act on my emotions.” Not as long as she kept her distance.

  “But Nick’s a terrific guy. And now, with more than one invention soon to be patented, he’ll soon meet your requirements for a man with money in the bank. Because I’m certain he’ll earn plenty.”

  Cinnamon was, too. Maybe he wasn’t the white-collar executive she pictured in her life, but he was an inventor, and creative people didn’t work regular hours.

  And why was she thinking like this? She was leaving town a week from tomorrow. Besides, Nick wasn’t right for her and she wasn’t right for him. Irritated with herself and her interfering friend, she rolled her eyes. “You missed your calling, Fran. You should be in the matchmaking business.”

  Fran widened her eyes innocently. “I’m only stating the facts. Don’t forget about the Valentine’s Day dance Saturday night. Nick will be there, and with love in the air that night, who knows what will happen?”

  Cinnamon released an exasperated sigh. “You don’t give up, do you? I’m not sure I’m going to that dance. I will be visiting the Love on Main Street outdoor art show, though. Maybe I’ll even buy something.”

  Dipping deeper into her dwindling savings would hurt, but she couldn’t imagine leaving Cranberry without some memento. At the moment she couldn’t imagine leaving Cranberry, period. What the town lacked in ammenties it more than made up for in warmth. Cranberry and many of the people in it had taken root in her heart.

  “You’ll love the art show, and I’m glad you’re going,” Fran said. “But you can’t miss the dance. It’s a huge event. Everybody in town goes, including the tourists. Since I’m one of the organizers and chair of the decorations and entertainment committees, it’d mean a lot to me if you came.” She looked sideways at Cinnamon. “Besides, we’re making a big fuss over Abby that night. You can’t miss that.”

  Cinnamon laughed. “All right, I’m sold. Just don’t expect anything to happen between Nick and me.”

  “Okay,” Fran said. “You know, you could stay longer. Unless that consulting firm in Boston hires you.”

  A few days earlier a company Cinnamon had queried via e-mail had contacted and interviewed her by phone. Happily, they seemed to care more about her skills and experience than her romantic relationship with her former boss. “I expect a job offer soon.”

  Given her attachment to Cranberry, that didn’t feel as good as it should. But without job opportunities here, she couldn’t think of staying.

  “I thought so.” Fran nodded. “I’m happy for you, but depressed for me. I’ll miss you.”

  “I know,” Cinnamon said. “But we have another full week, which is longer than I originally meant to stay.”

  “For which I and the town of Cranberry are more than grateful.” Suddenly Fran cocked her head. “I think I heard Nick come in.”

  Too late to hide now, and besides, Cinnamon was no coward. She’d say hello and then head downstairs, find that book and hide…er, read in the great room. “Please don’t tell him what I said.”

  “Never, hon. That’s up to you.” Fran moved to the door. “I’ll see you late this afternoon.” She winked. “Have fun with Nick.”

  “Fran!” Cinnamon felt her cheeks warm. “You’re impossible.”

  She barely had time to straighten her papers and fluff her hair before he appeared in her doorway.

  Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, tool belt on his hips, he carried a stepladder under his arm. Raindrops glistened in his windblown hair, and his face was ruddy from the rain, cold and wind. He easily could have posed as a model for an outdoorsmen’s calendar. In a word, he was gorgeous.

  Her body went into its now-familiar routine—nerves on edge, breasts sensitive, place between her legs pulsing. “Hello,” she said, sounding breathless to her own ears.

  “You’re not supposed to be here.” His eyes roved slowly over her face and body, as if he knew where she most wanted his touch.

  “Yes,” she murmured, hardly aware she’d spoken.

  The word put a stop to his blatant stare. He blinked, and the warmth in his eyes was gone, as if she’d imagined it. “I’m here to fix the fan,” he said without a trace of interest.

  As if he’d never kissed her, never seen her bare breasts or touched or tasted them. As if he didn’t want to, ever again.

  Oh, that hurt. Then again, this was a whole lot safer. Still her traitorous body yearned toward him, her foolish fingers itching to clasp his neck and urge his face close enough to kiss.

  Afraid she might do exactly that, she picked up her laptop and hugged it to her chest. “Don’t let me stop you,” she said, matching her cool tone to his.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You hugging that laptop because you love it, or to protect yourself?” Nick asked as he set the ladder beneath the fan.

  She was holding it like a shield, Cinnamon realized. She returned it to the desk, then raised her chin. “I don’t need protectin
g.” She lied because she clearly did—from her own misguided longings for Nick Mahoney.

  In an effort to stifle the hunger raging through her, she backed away from the man.

  “Relax,” he said, misinterpreting her action. “I’m not about to kiss you again.” His neutral expression said he meant that.

  “That’s a relief.” Another lie.

  Disappointment settled heavily in her chest, but at least she knew the truth—she was out of Nick’s system. Too bad he wasn’t out of hers.

  He unbuckled the tool belt, the casual act somehow so intimate she blushed clear to her toes. “Wh-what are you doing?” she asked as he laid it on the carpet.

  “Looking at that fan—” he pointed upward “—I see that I don’t need my tools to take it down, just my hands.”

  He flexed his fingers, big and callused, but so very skilled at stroking and fondling….

  Her breasts tightened, craving his touch. “I see.” Fighting the urge to invite him to take up where he’d left off two days ago, she glanced around the room. “You did a nice job with the paint touch-ups. And the windows sparkle. Fran’s Valentine’s Day guests are sure to be impressed.”

  Months ago, a couple eager to spend the holiday weekend here had reserved the Orca suite. For that matter, every room in the Oceanside was booked.

  Nick nodded. “This suite is always rented.”

  “That’s understandable,” Cinnamon said, glancing around. “This is a place for lovers.”

  The word hung in the air between them, a painful reminder of her sexual desire. If only she could call it back.

  Nick swallowed hard, as if his throat were dry. With his mouth tight and his eyes narrowed, he chipped at a paint stain on the ladder. “With every room taken over the Valentine’s Day weekend, where will you stay?”

  “Starting tomorrow night I’ll be sleeping in Fran’s spare bedroom. Monday, after the guests check out and the room is cleaned, I’ll move back up here.”

  Leaving the paint stain alone, he nodded. Cinnamon couldn’t read his expression, but the tension radiating from him was as real as the ladder.