The Man She'll Marry

by Ann Roth

  He was rock-hard now, and she must have felt it. He cleared his throat. “That sounds like something you’d do, all right.”

  “How would you decide?” she asked, shifting her hips close.

  That one small movement nearly did him in. He knew then that he’d lost the battle. One signal from her and he’d take her home. This time he’d make love to her, consequences be damned.

  Somebody tapped his shoulder. Nick turned his head to find Claude standing there.

  “Mind if I cut in?” he asked, a sly look on his face.

  What was that about?

  “Yeah, I do,” Nick growled, pulling Cinnamon closer.

  Claude shrugged and grinned. “Can’t fault a man for trying.” He jerked his chin at two other men from the factory. “Couple of my buddies want a chance to dance with Cinnamon.”

  Nick scowled at the men, who shifted nervously. “You’re out of luck.”

  “I do like a man who knows what he wants,” Cinnamon teased. “Guess what I want?” She flicked her tongue over her lips.

  Have mercy. Nick barely stifled a groan. “Believe me, that’s all I can think of.” He stared into her eyes. “But I don’t want to hurt you the way that other guy did.”

  “The only way that’ll happen is if you turn me down again.” Her eyes were big and dark. “If that happens, I’m afraid I’ll die.”

  Blood pounded in his head. “Wouldn’t want that to happen.” Bending low he placed his mouth against her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nick pulled the truck into the carport and shut off the ignition. He opened the door and jumped from the cab. In the sudden silence Cinnamon’s thudding heart seemed so loud she was sure the entire neighborhood heard it. Her body felt tight and sensitive, and her mind hummed so that she barely registered the yellow light over the porch or the small, fenced yard.

  But as she opened her door, she heard the ocean and smelled the sea air. An instant later Nick grasped her waist and helped her out. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she slid down his solid body, holding him tight.

  Groaning, he kissed her. Liquid heat raced through her body, and she returned the kiss with all the need inside her. A moment later he tore his mouth from hers.

  “Not here,” he breathed, grabbing her hand and pulling her up the stone walkway toward the door. His hands were cold, but so were hers.

  A full, silvery moon peeked through the clouds and reflected brightly on the water. In a daze, she stared at the sight. “You never said you lived on the ocean.”

  “My place isn’t much, just a cabin,” he said, sounding apologetic.

  “I don’t care,” Cinnamon said, and at the moment she didn’t. Standing on the front step of the rustic cabin while Nick unlocked the door, she stared at the moon’s reflection. “It’s a beautiful setting.”

  Nick opened the door and turned to her. “You’re beautiful. And I want you so much.”

  Cupping her face, he kissed her again. This time a sweet, nibbling kiss that left her panting for more. She parted her lips and tangled her tongue with his. His hand slipped under her coat and cupped her breast, and she wanted to melt right there on the step.

  Just when her knees gave way, he pulled her inside. He kicked the door shut, at the same time tugging her coat off her shoulders. It landed on the sofa.

  In the dim light of the table lamp she undid his tie and tossed it aside.

  Nick unfastened his top button, then shrugged out of his sports coat and tossed it by her coat. Smiling into her eyes, he asked, “Where were we?”

  Cinnamon placed his hand on her aching breast. “Here, I think.”

  He made a low, guttural sound and kissed her savagely.

  She stepped out of her heels and hooked her foot around his calf—or tried. Her skirt was too tight for that. Breathing hard, she reached behind her to unzip the dress.

  “Turn around and let me.”

  She did. His fingers shook as he pulled down the zipper. Or was she the one trembling? Feeling both excited and self-conscious, she pivoted slowly toward him.

  The burning desire in Nick’s eyes made her feel sexy and potent and her shyness dissolved. Licking her lips suggestively, she shimmied out of the dress, revealing a red lace bra and panties and thigh high stockings.

  A purr of satisfaction rolled from his throat. “Have mercy.”

  “Not tonight,” she teased, reaching for him.

  Expression both intense and tender, he bent down and suckled her nipple through the lace. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, and her bones lost their strength.

  “I’m about to keel over,” she murmured.

  “Can’t have that. Bedroom’s this way.”

  Nick jerked her toward a narrow hallway. They didn’t get very far before he stopped to kiss her passionately. Each kiss, each touch, primed her for their joining. Along the way her bra disappeared, along with Nick’s shirt. Somewhere in the hallway he pushed her against the wall. His soft chest hair rasping over her swollen nipples felt like heaven. Cupping her bottom, he lifted her. She wrapped her thighs around his hips, and he thrust against her. A picture fell, crashing to the floor.

  “Oh, dear,” Cinnamon murmured against his mouth.

  He didn’t seem to notice or hear her. “Come on,” he said, carrying her to the bedroom.

  Light from the hall spilled into the otherwise dark room. She barely had time to note the Indian print bedspread before he ripped it off the neatly made bed. He peeled back the blankets and gently tumbled her onto the mattress.

  “Sexy as those panties and hose are, they have to go,” he said.

  Cinnamon closed her eyes and savored the feel of his warm hands peeling off her stockings and panties.

  The mattress dipped. Then he was kissing her face, her neck, her breasts, licking and suckling until she writhed under him.

  “Like that, do you?”

  She nodded wordlessly, and his mouth quirked.

  “Just you wait,” he said, trailing openmouthed kisses down her belly, moving lower and lower.

  Aching with anticipation, Cinnamon trembled and caught her breath. Finally he reached the apex of her thighs.

  “Open for me,” he coaxed.

  She did. Soft, whiskery kisses on her tender inner thighs prolonged the agony. Whimpering with need, she at last felt his hot breath on her pulsing nub of desire. Parting her folds, he tasted her. Pleasure spiraled through her, sending her higher and higher. Teetering on the edge of control, she pulled back.

  “Stop,” she said, breathless. “This time you’re coming with me. Take off your pants and lie down on your back.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes dark and intense, he complied.

  He was as perfect as she’d imagined, all hard muscle. His need jutted out, huge and magnificent. Cinnamon cupped the taut, smooth shaft and stroked, as she’d longed to do forever.

  A groan of need rumbled from Nick’s chest, and he clasped her wrist. “Keep that up and I’ll embarrass myself.” He flipped her onto her back and poised himself over her.

  Need pounded low in her belly. “Please, Nick,” she begged, lifting her hips.

  “Is this what you want?” He thrust into her.

  Shuddering pleasure pulsed through her. “Oh, yes. That feels good.” Body and soul focused on Nick, she gripped his hips with her thighs. “Again.”

  “Like this?” He plunged so deep she no longer knew where he ended and she began.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pulled out and drove home, then again, faster and harder. Suddenly the world disappeared in a climax so intense her whole body shook.

  “Cinnamon,” he cried, swiftly joining her.

  When the world stopped spinning, she was sprawled beside him, her head on his chest and his hand on her hip. Under her ear his heart beat furiously, the fast but steady rhythm somehow reassuring. She felt warm and full, and for the first time in her life, whole.

  She loved him, she
realized. Nick had been right—she wasn’t a “just sex” woman. Frightened by the intensity of her feelings, she struggled to untangle herself.

  “Where you going?” Nuzzling her shoulder, he pulled her closer. “You are so hot.”

  Hot was fine, but he didn’t want love, would run the other way if he even suspected. Well, he’d never know.

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” Carefully masking her feelings, Cinnamon lifted her head to look at him and smiled in a performance worthy of an Oscar.

  She ought to leave now, before she did something foolish and ruined everything by blurting out her feelings. She opened her mouth to tell him she wanted to go.

  “I’m thinking,” he said, his deep, brown eyes warm and aware. “We ought to make love again, to see how we do the second time.” His hand slipped between her legs.

  Desire melted her resolve…and her common sense along with it. She could no more leave than stop breathing. She licked her lips, then nipped his taut nipple. “I like the way you think.”

  SATED AND AT PEACE, Nick nestled Cinnamon closer and kissed the top of her head. “The second time was every bit as hot as the first. We’re great in bed.”

  “Mmm,” she mumbled.

  She was almost asleep. Drowsy himself, Nick adjusted the covers, then closed his eyes. He liked lying here with Cinnamon. He liked the smell of sex and woman and the feel of her soft behind under his palm.

  Warm breath slipped from her lips, fanning his chest. Shifting, she looped her leg over his groin. Just like that he wanted her again.

  He scoffed at his new arousal. And here he’d thought once or twice would get her out of his system. Instead he wanted her more than ever.

  As if she’d heard his thoughts she kissed his chest. Chuckling softly, he slid his hand up to her breast.

  She made that throaty sound he liked. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Scaring him spitless.

  “No, you don’t.”

  Pulling his arms and legs free, he sat up. Then turned on the bedside lamp, blinking in the stark light.

  Looking every bit as scared, Cinnamon followed him up, pulling the covers with her. Resting against the headboard, she tucked the blanket under her armpits.

  “I never meant to fall in love with you, but tonight…” The words trailed off, and her hands moved restlessly over the wool, smoothing it needlessly. “I wasn’t going to say it, but I was half-asleep, and the words slipped out. I can’t help how I feel, Nick, and I can’t lie about it, either. I love you.”

  Dazzled by her statement, he basked in the knowledge for one bright moment. Until a voice in his head cautioned him. Get real. She’d change her mind fast if she found out you can’t read. That hurt too much to think about.

  He couldn’t tell her, not now. Not ever.

  “I’m not asking you to love me back,” she said, her big, cinnamon-colored eyes looking straight into his soul.

  That was a relief. Nick nodded. Unable to bear those searching eyes one more second, he jerked his attention to the clock on the bedside table. “It’s two in the morning—time I took you back to the Oceanside.”

  He swung his legs over the bed and stood. Cinnamon’s panties were on the floor, a vivid speck of red on the beige rug. Averting his eyes he tossed them onto the bed. Her bra and dress were someplace else—the living room or hall—so he stalked out, retrieved them both and brought them to her.

  “Shouldn’t we talk?” she asked, still holding the blanket.

  “Nothing to say.”

  He turned his back while she dressed. Grabbed his boxers from the floor and stepped into them. Ignoring his dress slacks, he pulled clean jeans and a T-shirt from his dresser.

  Fully clothed, he spun toward Cinnamon. “Let’s go.”

  Perched on his bed, wearing her bra and panties but not the dress, arms folded, legs stretched in front of her and crossed at the ankle, she shook her head. “Not until you tell me what you’re afraid of.”

  What in hell? “I’m not scared of anything.” Which was a big, fat lie.

  “Prove it,” she taunted, eyes shrewdly narrowed. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”

  With her jaw set in determination and the fiery glint in her eyes, any fool could see she wasn’t going anyplace until she got some kind of explanation.

  Suddenly tired, he sat down on the lone chair, well out of reach of the bed. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he searched for something that would get her off his case. Anything but the truth.

  “You deserve better than me,” he said at last. Which was God’s honest truth.

  For several long seconds she stared expectantly at him, wanting more. Well, she wasn’t getting another word. Matching her body language he crossed his arms and set his jaw.

  Finally she threw up her hands. “Never mind, Nick.” She jerked the dress over her head. “Just take me home.”

  “DON’T GET ME WRONG,” Fran told Cinnamon as she coaxed two smoldering logs into flames late Sunday afternoon. “I thoroughly enjoy taking care of my guests, but after all that work organizing and setting up for the art show and the dance, plus cooking for a full house, I’m glad they’ve gone.”

  Cinnamon agreed. “They were a nice group of people,” she said, propping her sock-covered feet on the ottoman.

  But after a restless night—what had been left of it—and a full day of silent brooding over last night’s disaster with Nick, she was more than ready to confide in her friend.

  “Every group is nice.” Brushing her hands together, Fran moved from the fireplace to the love seat. With a sigh she sank onto the cushions. “Now, I’m ready to put up my feet, relax and wait for that pizza we ordered.” She lifted her wineglass from the driftwood-top coffee table, sipped, and then leaned intently toward Cinnamon. “So keep the wine flowing and tell me everything.”

  No need to ask what she meant. Everyone from the clerk at the grocery to the recently departed guests seemed to know she’d gone home last night with Nick.

  But nobody knew about her frustration or her broken heart.

  She tasted her merlot, hoping the rich, smooth flavor would dull the pain. Holding the stem of the goblet, she bit her lip. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

  “Have I ever betrayed a confidence?” Her friend tipped her glass in a toast and winked. “Mum’s the word.”

  “It’s not good,” Cinnamon warned.

  The anticipatory gleam faded from Fran’s eyes. “You mean he’s lousy in bed?”

  The only thing to do was laugh, and Cinnamon did. “Actually, he’s quite good.”

  And then some. Despite her broken heart, her well-loved body still purred with satisfaction.

  “Then what’s the trouble?”

  Cinnamon stretched her toes toward the fire, savoring the warmth, and sipped more wine. “For starters, want to or not, I’ve fallen in love with him.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Fran enthused. “But I thought you wanted an executive.”

  “I changed my mind. Not that it matters, since Nick isn’t in love with me.”

  Her friend shot her an incredulous look. “After the way he looked at you at the dance and refused to let anyone cut in, I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe it.”

  How else to explain his less-than-thrilled reaction to her confession, followed by his unwillingness to talk? And if his desperation to get her out of his bed and his house didn’t speak volumes…

  “Here I thought Nick wasn’t what I wanted. Instead, apparently, I’m not the woman for him.” She mustered a cardboard smile. “The joke’s on me.”

  Indignation bristled through Fran. “The man’s clearly out of his mind,” she said with heat. “I’d be happy to knock some sense into him for you. Just say the word.”

  “Please don’t.” Cinnamon shot her a warning frown. “He made his choice. I just wish he’d explain himself. He’s hiding something, but he refuses to talk about it.” She stared into the deep red liquid in her glass, as opaque as N
ick’s secrets.

  “Foolish man.” Picking up the half-empty wine bottle, Fran refilled both glasses. “I suppose this means you’re leaning toward taking the job in Boston?”

  Cinnamon nodded. “I love this town, and really was tempted to take the general manager’s job. But now how can I? The possibility of running into Nick anytime, anywhere would be uncomfortable at best. Plus, I truly want to meet someone, get married and start a family. There aren’t a lot of eligible males around here.” Even if there were, the only man she wanted was Nick.

  “Well, fudge.” Fran blew out a defeated sigh. “The mayor and everyone else will truly be sorry to lose you. We all love you.”

  “Not everybody,” Cinnamon said. “First thing tomorrow, I’m calling Boston to accept their offer.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Monday afternoon Sharon barged into the workshop behind Nick’s bungalow without knocking. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” she said as he slid off the adjustable bar stool he’d converted to a workseat. “Where have you been?”

  “Where do you think?” Scowling, he gestured at the machine parts spread on his worktable.

  She gestured at the phone. “You could have answered my calls.”

  In no mood to see or talk with anyone, he’d unplugged it. “I’ve been too busy for that.”

  She gave a tense nod, her eyes upset and her face pale. Worry tightened his gut. “Did something happen to Abby? She was okay when I dropped her at school this morning.”

  “She’s fine.”

  He heaved a relieved sigh. “Then what’s the trouble?” he asked, pushing the stool toward his sister. The legs scraped unpleasantly, and he made a mental note to pick up some rubber tips.

  Ignoring the invitation to sit down, she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, between the pegged tool board and a bin of spare parts. “Did you know Cinnamon took the job in Boston?”

  Since he’d kept to himself all day, he hadn’t heard. “Did she?”

  He sounded as calm as the sea when the tide was out, but he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Grabbing a broom from beside the lone window he began to sweep the concrete floor.