3 Brides for 3 Bad Boys

by Lucy Monroe

  Preventing it from going off was going to take a lot of self-discipline he wasn't positive he had.

  "How do you know? You don't remember."

  "Because that's exactly how I responded to you walking into the bar today. I figure drunk or sober, my reaction is going to be pretty much the same."

  Her mouth opened and then snapped shut.

  He nodded. "That's right. You are the woman I want."

  He reached around her and turned on the water in the shower, deliberately letting his body rub against her almost naked one. She made a soft sound, but did not try to push him away. In fact, she swayed toward him infinitesimally, almost as if it had been an involuntary reaction. He took a lot longer than necessary adjusting the temperature of the water.

  When he leaned back, her glazed look had returned.

  He smiled again and slowly undid the clasp on the front of her bra. He could feel the wild beat of her heart against the back of his hand. Keeping her gaze locked with his, he peeled the fabric back millimeter by millimeter. Her lips parted, and her breath panted out in short gasps as the backs of his fingers brushed the now exposed flesh of her breasts. Her beaded nipples had turned dark pink with engorged blood.

  He put a palm against each one and rotated his hands until she was swaying again. "Do you like that?"

  "Mmmm…"

  He squeezed each creamy mound, and she arched against his hands, silently begging for more. Giving it to her was at the top of his list of priorities. He fondled her breasts until her head fell back, her eyes closed and her mouth opened on a silent, continuous moan.

  Sliding one hand around her back and down to her buttocks, he lowered his mouth to claim hers again.

  A man could get drunk on such sweetness.

  He slipped his finger between her cheeks and then lower until he could feel the humid silkiness of her arousal.

  He let his fingertip dip inside, and she went wild, arching into his body, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and locking her nails into his shoulders.

  She taunted his tongue into sparring with hers in a mating dance that had him shaking with need in no time at all. He broke away from her and started stripping off his clothes.

  When he was naked, she looked at him with an indecipherable expression in her eyes. "You are the sexiest man I have ever seen."

  She said it with such seriousness that he didn't even try to shrug it off.

  "Thank you."

  He pushed her G-string down her legs and off. "Ready for your shower?"

  "Yes."

  He propelled her into the cubicle, and then he followed, not even trying to keep their bodies separated in the small space. He'd promised not to seduce her, but he hadn't promised not to give her pleasure.

  He planned to give her lots of pleasure.

  He started by washing her hair, massaging her scalp with rhythmic motions that made her groan. "That feels so good."

  "Does it?"

  "You're pretty talented with stuff like this for a man who doesn't date much."

  Had he told her that? He supposed he had. It seems he'd told her all his secrets when he was drunk, and that was bothering him less and less.

  "With you, honey, it's pretty much instinct."

  She laughed and dropped her head back against his chest. "Right."

  How could he explain? He wanted to make her feel good; he would do anything to give her pleasure. It didn't have anything to do with what he'd done to other women in the past. "What we have is unique."

  It was the best he could do. He didn't want her arguing with him, or questioning something he himself did not understand, so he turned her around and rinsed all the suds from her long hair. He liked this position. It put her breasts right up against him, but it was also too damn dangerous if he wanted to keep his promise.

  When he was done rinsing her hair, he guided her around again, so she was facing away from him, and started soaping her body. Beginning at her neck and working his way downward, he paid special attention to her breasts and those wonderful turgid nipples.

  "You're driving me crazy, Colton…" His name faded to a snaking moan as he pinched both nipples lightly and then pulled.

  Licking the water from her ear, he whispered, "I want you insane with pleasure."

  She shivered and reached behind her to touch him. Pressed as close as they were, she could only touch his hips. Thankfully. He couldn't have kept his cool if she'd gotten her hands on his throbbing erection.

  "I want to touch you."

  "Later. Right now is for you."

  She shook her head, the wet mass of her hair rubbing against his chest and exciting him in a way he was damn sure she didn't intend or realize. He let go of her nipples, and she cried out in protest.

  It was the sweetest kind of music, and he readjusted his hold on her. With one hand pressed against her stomach, he dropped the other one to her mound. He played with the silky curls there, loving the perfectly groomed tuft. Her skin was so smooth to either side, he was sure she waxed. She'd have to in order to wear the costume he'd seen on the floor of his hotel room six weeks ago.

  He'd give pretty much anything to see it on her.

  Gently separating the folds of her lips, he pressed a finger down over her swollen clitoris, and her body jerked. He brushed the small bud once, twice, three times.

  She moaned and went lax against him, spreading her legs to rest against his, giving him nonverbal permission to do whatever he wanted.

  Such trust was darn near enough to send him over the edge, but that was not the plan for right now.

  "You're so sexy."

  He rubbed the swollen and sensitive flesh lightly, swirling his finger in a circle, then up and down motion until she was trembling and rubbing her bottom against him in blatant invitation.

  Tempted beyond reason to take her this way, to accept the invitation, he forced himself to keep his hard cock pressed against her back. He wasn't going to let her feel stupid again.

  He was going to prove to her that he could give as well as take and that he wasn't just interested in an easy score.

  He wanted a lot more.

  He wanted all of her.

  For a lifetime.

  Pleasure detonated inside of Fayre with the power of a TNT blast. Her entire body bowed, every muscle in rigor as she experienced an explosive climax.

  He didn't stop touching her, but used his fingers to ride out her orgasm until she was crying, begging him to stop.

  "It's too much."

  "No, angel, it's not enough."

  Echoes of things he had said before somehow made them real again, taking away the sting of thinking they'd all been so much baloney, because he was saying them now, sober and aware.

  He did pull back a little, just brushing her throbbing lips and not her clitoris, while he whispered stuff in her ear.

  Things about what he wanted to do to her, what he wanted her to do to him, making her hot and trembly all over again.

  And he knew it.

  He started touching her more intimately, dipping inside her body with his big finger and using the heel of his hand to upbraid the engorged tissues around her sweet spot. With each successive stroke, the pleasure built all over again until she cried out and came once more, this time going completely limp against him, her limbs unable to support her even leaning against his hard thighs.

  He held her up with one big hand and used the other to finish washing her. Then he picked her up and lifted her out of the shower. Drying her off had to be a challenge for him because she couldn't seem to make any of her muscles obey her so she could help.

  He didn't complain, though.

  He smiled. "You're so beautiful, Fayre."

  Tears filled her eyes, and she choked out, "Thank you."

  He kissed away the wetness under her eyelids and then kissed her mouth. "Thank you," he whispered against her lips.

  "For what?"

  He set her on a small bench situated against the wall beside the shower and th
en dried himself with the same towel he'd used on her.

  It seemed like such an intimate thing to do, and she felt a warm tingling low in her belly.

  "For letting me touch you."

  It took her a second to figure out what he meant. Her mind was muzzy from fatigue and pleasure.

  "I didn't do anything for you." The evidence was bobbing in front of him in semierect arousal.

  "You didn't feel the extra wetness on your back? I came the second time you did."

  So that was why he wasn't sporting a raging hard-on. She remembered his phenomenal stamina and rejuvenating powers from their wedding night. Given the slightest provocation, he could be capable of making love to her in less than five minutes.

  "You didn't seduce me." They'd made a kind of love, but he'd known and cared that she wasn't prepared for full intercourse.

  "I promised."

  "And you keep your promises?"

  "Yes." He picked her up again and carried her into the bedroom. "You have reason to doubt it, but when I make a promise, I keep it."

  He tucked her into her bed and then turned to go, his naked body gleaming in the orange glow from the sunset outside.

  "Colton."

  He stopped at the door. "Yeah?"

  "I'm not hungry right now."

  "I figured that. You can take a nap. You look wiped."

  She smiled. "From sexy to wiped. That's a pretty big comedown."

  His laughter warmed something deep inside her. "You're sexy no matter how tired you are, Fayre."

  "Are you hungry?"

  He turned completely around. "What are you asking?"

  "I want you to hold me." She felt stupid as soon as she said it, but the pathetic truth was out. She wanted to lean on his strength and draw from it for a little while.

  "I'd like that. A lot." He came back to her, pulling the covers out to climb in beside her.

  She snuggled into the warm hardness of his body. "Thank you."

  "The pleasure is mine. I promise you."

  She didn't reply as her brain shut down in sleep.

  The scent of spicy Mexican food drew Fayre from sleep. Her hand immediately went in search of Colton, but the bed beside her was empty. She kept her eyes tightly shut. This was exactly how she'd woken the day after her wedding, and it was not a good feeling. She'd reached for her new husband, and he hadn't been there.

  She'd opened her eyes, expecting to see him somewhere in the hotel room, only to see evidence of his departure.

  The spicy smells teasing her into further wakefulness told her she was not alone in the house, but still she did not want to open her eyes.

  Then a warm hand slid against hers, interlocking their fingers. "Dinner's ready, Fayre. Do you want me to bring it in here, or would you rather eat at the table?"

  She turned her head toward the sound of his voice, letting her eyes open. He was kneeling beside the bed, one hand and arm under the covers with her, the other reaching for her.

  He brushed her thick and tangled hair away from her face.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up, but I was worried about you not eating for so long. Soda crackers aren't exactly a healthy meal."

  He knew that it bothered her to wake up alone and again … he cared.

  She smiled, feeling warm and safe and hungry. "I'm starving, but I'd rather eat at the table."

  "Okay. You probably want to put clothes on, don't you?"

  She noticed that he was wearing a pair of brief shorts, but nothing else. She liked having his muscular, big body on display. "I'll just put on a wrap."

  "Thank you." He said it as though she was doing him a favor.

  In a way, she was. He'd asked her if she wanted to put clothes on with the same attitude he'd approached her the night they got married. Sort of diffident, definitely horny, and as if he'd give just about anything to see her naked.

  Which had been pretty funny as her dancer's costume had covered only slightly more than her panties and bra.

  He stood up, and she slid out of the bed, feeling his hot gaze like a touch while she crossed the room to her suitcase, then flipped it open and pulled out a short Chinese silk wrap. The purple satin had been embroidered with golden roses along the hem and a dragon in the same metallic thread on the back.

  She slipped into it and tied the belt before turning around to face him.

  His expression was so carnal, she shivered. "You said you'd made dinner?"

  He shook his head as if to clear it. "Yeah. It's warming on the stove."

  She smiled, warmth curling up her insides. He was acting a lot like he had the night they met.

  Then an awful suspicion made her frown. "You haven't been drinking while I was asleep, have you?"

  He crossed over to her and kissed her right on her still frowning mouth. "Nothing but water. Come on, let's go eat dinner."

  She followed him into the kitchen, the good smells getting stronger the closer they got.

  He pulled a chair out for her at the wooden table under one of the windows. Darkness had fallen outside, but the gentle glow of the light hanging from the ceiling made it an appealing spot to eat.

  She slid into the chair and watched in bemusement as he prepared two plates of enchiladas, rice and beans. There was a big bowl of fruit in the middle of the table already and a carafe filled with what looked like some kind of red juice.

  He put one plate in front of her and sat down, setting the other one in front of him.

  "Did you really cook this?" she asked.

  "Yes. Moonbeam could subsist on salads and these amazing grainy breads. I needed more sustenance and started cooking at a pretty early age." He was so big, she could not imagine him living on such a limited vegetarian diet and had no problem imagining him stubbornly learning to cook. "I made my first lasagna when I was nine."

  She took a bite of her enchilada and almost moaned her appreciation. Delicious. "I didn't learn to cook until I moved to Vegas when I was eighteen."

  He poured her a glass of juice. "Why was that? Did your mom have a problem with kitchen territorialism?"

  She laughed at the description but shook her head. "My mom abandoned me to foster care when I was eight years old. I don't remember living any place with a real kitchen before that, just a lot of seedy hotel rooms."

  His hand stilled in the act of taking a bite. "Did you get adopted?"

  "No. Mom didn't relinquish parental rights. She kept saying she was going to come back for me."

  "But she never came back."

  "She died when I was twelve. By then I had a major attitude problem with authority. No one wanted to adopt a hellion, and I was one."

  "It must have been rough."

  "Yeah, but something really good happened that year, too. I learned to dance. No matter where I went, what foster home I ended up in, I had my dancing. The state paid for my lessons, or got me into community programs. My social worker was a really decent lady. It wasn't her fault I was so hard to live with."

  "I can't imagine you being hard to live with."

  She laughed. "That's because you didn't know me then. I tell you what, I'm going to know every trick a sneaky teen can pull, because I pulled them."

  His gaze dropped to her waistline. There was no evidence yet of the life growing there, but she felt as though he could see into her with X-ray vision to the little baby developing in her womb. "You're going to be a really good mom, Fayre."

  "You think so?"

  "I'm positive."

  She didn't know what to say to that. If she asked why he was so sure, it might imply she didn't think she'd be a good mom, and she did. She would love her baby and would never abandon it. That meant a lot. She knew.

  Turning her attention to her plate, she took a bite.

  "So, you moved to Vegas and pursued a career in dancing."

  He didn't say it with a sneer in his voice like a lot of people did. It was easy to equate the sexiness of her stage attire with a lax attitude regarding sexual intimacy, but
that was as far from truth as you could get.

  She'd made mistakes in her choices of men, but she'd never jumped into immediate sexual intimacy … except with Colton.

  "It took a long time, but I eventually got a job dancing in the chorus."

  "You can't dance pregnant."

  "No."

  He sat back in his chair. "Does that bother you?"

  "Not really." She'd been ready to leave the competitive and sometimes cruel world of professional dance before she met Colton. Her pregnancy was just precipitating her plans. "I want to teach dancing. Maybe after the baby is born."

  "I can set you up with a studio, but you don't have to go back to work right away if you don't want to."

  He'd had the same generous attitude before. Whatever she wanted. "That's what you said the night we got married."

  He looked at her with a question in his dark eyes.

  "We talked about what we wanted out of a family, and I told you I dreamt of staying home with my babies, being a mom and loving them for a while without any distractions. You said you thought that would be great and that I could stay home as long as I wanted to. You'd never pressure me to take on a career or go back to the one I had."

  That's when she'd said yes. Not because he was willing to support her financially, but because he had been so accepting of the woman behind the professional dancer facade. His generosity had touched her deeply inside, and that was when she'd known she was irrevocably in love with him.

  "Sounds great."

  "You're assuming we'll be together."

  "We will be." Those brown eyes burned into her with such certainty she couldn't muster up an argument.

  They finished their dinner, chatting about many of the same things they had discussed the night they met. And she learned something about Colton. He might have been drunk that night and acting out of character with her, but all the core beliefs he had espoused were the real thing.

  She was falling in love all over again.

  She stood up to clear the table, but he stood, too, and stayed her hand with a light grip on her wrist. "Fayre."

  Just one word and it was all back. The sexual tension. The overwhelming masculine desire beating at her like a hot wind.