by Lori Wilde
No one had ever held her feet to the fire like this.
She danced away from the question, away from him. Picked up their coffee cups, took them to the sink, washed them out.
Rhett would not be dismissed. He followed, hovered over her as she hunched her shoulders and squirted liquid soap into the cups. “Tara?”
What did he want from her? She swished the soap with water and a kitchen cloth, cleaning as if her life depended on it.
“Tea.” He had a hand on her forearm. “What do you need?”
The heat of his hand stilled her movements and she hitched in a jagged breath. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What do you need from this relationship?”
“I told you. To be with Julie. To help you stay in the PBR—”
Gently, he removed the soapy cup from her hand, set it in the sink, took her by the shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Tara.” He said her name in a kindly chiding way.
“I love taking care of people. I really do. It’s what I really love.” She stood there, her hands dripping soapy water, her heart beating like crazy.
He handed her a towel. She busied herself with drying off her hands, one finger at a time, avoided looking at him.
With a click of his tongue, he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m not going to take advantage of your goodness, Tara. I’ve watched people do that to you your whole life. They usually didn’t do it consciously. They were clueless as to how they were abusing your giving nature, or selfishly didn’t reciprocate your gifts, but I see you. I understand you.”
I understand you.
Wonderful words she wanted so badly to believe in. “And what is it that you understand?”
“You think if you just do enough for people they’ll recognize how lovable you are and do stuff for you in return.”
His insight was a sword straight through her gut. How did he know?
“But people don’t always return your love the way you expect them to.”
A sudden rush of emotion pushed up her throat, tasted salty. He’d nailed it and rendered her speechless. Rhett Lockhart was much more than a kick-ass bull rider with a handsome face. He possessed unexplored depths. It made her itch to don a wet suit and do some diving.
He took her hand in his, rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. “I promise you, Tara Lynn Alzate, I won’t take advantage of you. I appreciate everything you are doing for me and Julie. For the sacrifices you are making, and I swear to be the best husband I can be.”
Yes, but will you love me?
The thought was blinding, and it dropped from nowhere and scared Tara to her roots. Unnerved, she gently pulled her hand away, painted on a can-do smile, and said, “Cowboy, I think you just wrote your wedding vows.”
Chapter 18
Free hand: The hand a bull rider does not use to grip the bull rope during a ride.
Pumped with enthusiasm, Aria put the wedding together in ten days. At this late date they weren’t able to reserve either the family church or the wedding chapel Duke had built on the Silver Feather for Vivi’s wedding venue business.
Instead, they held the wedding at Duke and Vivi’s sprawling mansion. Father Dubanowski was willing to rearrange his schedule to officiate; after all, he’d known both Tara and Rhett from birth. The ceremony was in the garden grotto near the elaborate backyard pool, with just their families and closest friends in attendance.
They stood in front of the altar Archer had built, listening to the rock waterfall burbling in the background. It felt close-knit, communal, and slightly claustrophobic.
Standing beside Tara, Rhett looked so breathtakingly handsome, she felt drab in comparison. No matter where they went, he would attract attention like a rooster, cock-of-the-walk.
His smile was shaky, but so were Tara’s hands. This was it. She was about to get married. This man would soon be her husband.
It’s not real. Don’t romanticize this.
But it felt real when Father Dubanowski prompted her to look into Rhett’s eyes and vow to honor and cherish him to the end of her days.
“Do you have the rings?” Father Dubanowski asked.
They’d bought plain matching gold bands—no point spending a lot of money on a marriage that wouldn’t last—and Tara forwent an engagement ring. Which had caused a murmur of disappointment in her family, but whatever. She wasn’t doing any of this for them. Julie was her sole concern. Besides, Rhett couldn’t wear the ring when he was on the circuit. He could get his finger ripped off if the ring caught on anything during a ride.
Tara darted a quick gaze toward her mother, who was holding a parasol over Julie’s baby carriage situated next to her and Dad. Mom was going to keep Julie for the evening. At their families’ insistence, they would spend the night at the nicest hotel in Marfa. Tara wanted to skip the wedding night plans, but Mom and Dad had paid for the honeymoon suite at the Sebastian as a surprise wedding gift.
“I know you’re marrying him just to be Julie’s mom,” her mother had said when she’d given Tara the greeting card with the hotel reservations inside. “But you both deserve a night to remember.”
Tara mumbled thanks and told her mother she appreciated the gesture, but it meant a night alone with Rhett in a swanky hotel room. She was not looking forward to it.
Ridge, who was standing behind Rhett as his best man, pulled out the golden band meant for Tara and handed it to him, while Kaia passed Rhett’s wedding band to Tara.
“Rhett, repeat after me,” Father Dubanowski said. “With this ring, I do thee wed.”
Rhett took Tara’s hand. His palm was as sweaty as her own. Together, the two of them could double as a Slip ’N Slide.
“With this ring, I do thee wed.” His eyes latched on to hers, hooked her in like a cross stitch. He eased the ring onto her finger. The sunlight caught it, sent a golden shimmer over her skin.
Tara’s heart slammed into her chest. This was no joke. Marriage of convenience it might be, but it was a legally binding union. Her knees wobbled, and she might have turned and bolted if not for the look on Rhett’s face.
His smile beamed bright as a red helium balloon against a gloomy gray sky, looking all googly-eyed and happy, and she thought of puppies and birthday cake and Fourth of July fireworks, and her doubts just exploded.
Poof!
“With this ring, I do thee wed,” she whispered, and took his hand, slipped on the ring. Now they were holding opposite hands, arms crossed in front of each other.
“By the power invested in me,” Father Dubanowski said, “I now pronounce you man and wife.” He closed his Bible. “Rhett, you may now kiss your bride.”
Here it was. The moment Tara had been dreading since she’d cooked up this farcical idea. She’d made him promise to dole out nothing but a mere hint of a kiss, the barest brushing, the smallest increment of lip touching that they could get away with.
He’d promised.
She trusted him.
He leaned in.
She braced herself, locking her knees. Hang on. It’ll be over in an instant.
His head dipped.
She tipped her chin up.
Rhett’s mouth came down on hers, and for a second, he was playing by the rules and she sighed with relief, and thought, Wow, this is nice . . .
But the thought was premature.
Her lips parted involuntarily, and she closed her eyes and sank against him. Well and completely lost.
Rhett did not hesitate to take full advantage of the opening. He pushed straight for the edge. His lips soft, but firm. A deep, rumbling laugh of delight slipped from his throat.
His mouth was so sweet that Tara thought of honey, thick like treacle, and in that dizzying suspension of time and place, she completely forgot where she was and what she was doing.
Her breathing shortened, quickening against the electrical charge pulsating from him to her and back again.
She simmered inside, her body a cauldron of sensation. Th
e kiss was an instant combustion of glitter and glory. Spiking crucial sexual pointers down her body. Hardening her nipples and softening her tender flesh. Igniting a rapid trail of rolling wildfire.
Her head whirred.
At first it was a teeny-tiny vibration, low and deep in the center of her brain. Gradually it gathered in speed, growing in intensity. A noise quite unlike anything she’d ever heard before. A vibrant drone of a million honeybees all humming at once.
Hum. Hum. Hum.
High-voltage and mind-boggling. Snappy and smart. The sound seemed to emanate from deep within the center of her head and spread throughout her body. All of it stirred and fed by Rhett’s amazing mouth and tongue. Which, at the moment, were doing strange and wondrous things to her.
Overwhelmed, she sucked in her breath, trying to pull in more air, but all she got was more him.
Rhett. His flavor. His smell. His body heat.
Oh, this was a mistake. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name, but she would not stop him.
Instead, she pressed closer, her hips ironed against his. And the buzzing in her head grew louder still. A riotous, joyful noise.
It was true! All true!
Granny Blue’s legendary humming. No denying the escalating crescendo. The noise engulfed her. Swarmed her. Along with the heat of his lips, the taste of his mouth. Kissing him was far more disorienting than she could ever have imagined.
And satisfying.
So damn satisfying.
She opened her eyes, stared into his pupils gone gigantic with lust. She curled her fingers around his biceps, bulky beneath his tuxedo. Everything about him glowed shiny and magnificent.
His kiss certainly lived up to his reputation. Mind blown.
Kablewy!
He lightened the kiss and started to straighten.
Terrified that he was going to break contact, Tara grabbed him by the collar and tugged him back down. She could feel him smiling against her mouth. She sighed and parted her teeth. He slipped his tongue right in as if it belonged there. As if it had always belonged there.
Tara craved him. Ached for more.
The humming in her head was a sweet hallelujah. She couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to explain. All she wanted was to keep on kissing him forever and ever and ever.
Crooked thoughts. Wild and dangerous as the Chihuahuan Desert at midnight.
Starved for his vibrant touch, she drank him in like fine wine, tipsy with possibilities. He smelled so good, earthy and rich. His hazy heat seeped into her. He was hard and lean and magnificent. His hair sunlight-bleached, a beachy buckwheat brown.
A dull, relentless ache urged her to run her fingers through those silky locks. Hammered at her to pull him into the shadowy depths of poolside foliage, kiss him until both their lips were raw.
The humming in her head spurred her murky, wayward thoughts. A hubbub of sound. Turbulent and tingly.
She wanted to put on ballet shoes and pirouette around the guests on knotty toes, singing along with the intoxicating tune like some frenzied actor in a Broadway musical.
His hand moved to her nape, his fingers threading up through her hair pinned in a crisp updo. He held her close and plundered her mouth so thoroughly, their audience broke out in catcalls.
Ripped to her senses, Tara tumbled away from him. The humming faded the second his lips were gone, settling into a slow, hissing sizzle. Hummmmmmmmm. Until it was nothing more than a faint whisper.
She stared at his lips, gasping, her fingers pressed to her mouth. Her eyes drilling into him as he drilled into her.
People were up out of their seats, coming toward them. Clapping their backs. Shaking their hands. Offering heartfelt congratulations.
Stunned, Tara stood there, unmoving, trying to figure out what had happened to her.
Aria took her elbow, bustled her aside, while Rhett’s three brothers, Ridge, Ranger, and Remington, tugged him in the opposite direction.
His gaze linked with hers again and he offered an apologetic smile across the distance and her hopes just leaped . . . him.
He was THE ONE.
The mate fated just for her. So said Granny’s legend. So said the humming in her head. So said the riotous song in her heart.
She loved him.
Loved Rhett Lockhart with unbounded zeal. Had, in fact, loved him from the moment she saw him cradle his baby girl in her living room in El Paso.
This new knowledge swept through her, a brushfire of realization, burning up everything she thought she knew to be true about life and the world. Leaving her with one trembling, cockeyed thought. She’d sewed herself into marriage with a man who simply wanted someone to take care of his child while he chased the rodeo. She could have been anyone. She wasn’t special to him beyond her nursing skills, her family, and her desire to help.
And that was the cross Tara seemed doomed to bear. In love with a man who’d not ever shown the slightest capacity for happily-ever-after.
Two hours later, following the reception at Rhett and Kaia’s house, Tara sat far to the opposite side of the limo, staring out her window, tension undulating off her like heat waves.
Rhett studied the back of her head. She’d yanked off the wedding veil and knotted it in her fist, clutched the fluffy lace tightly in her lap.
Her dark hair was swept up, revealing her long neck and her straight, graceful shoulders. Between them a bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket filled with ice. Neither of them was inclined to pop the cork.
There was nothing to celebrate. Not yet. Not until he . . . er . . . they . . . got full custody of Julie. That’s what this was about, after all.
Rhett’s gaze dropped to Tara’s left hand, which was holding on to the wedding veil with a death grip. The plain gold band looked cheap and dull against her bronze skin. She deserved a big diamond. A honking sparkler to show off to her friends. A ring that said, I belong to my man.
He’d wanted to give her such a ring, had almost bought a three-carat marquis-cut diamond behind her back. But she’d told him that was silly and impractical. He needed to save his money for things that mattered.
As if she didn’t matter.
That got to him. Her practicality. Her selflessness. He wished he was more like her.
She turned her head slightly, giving him a splendid view of her profile. Straight slender nose, cheekbones cut high, smooth unlined forehead. No one would guess she was thirty-two. In fact, she looked four years younger than he, not four years older. Such good genes. What a shame that she could not have children of her own.
His heart ached for her. He imagined her pregnant, belly rounded with child, and he got the strangest feeling inside him. An intense kind of yearning he’d never experienced. It threw him more than the meanest bulls on the circuit.
Watching her, reality sank in with a weird kind of leery joy.
She was his wife.
They were married.
Wife. Married. Alien words when applied to him.
Her legs were crossed at the ankle, the hem of her wedding dress rode up to reveal those smooth, shapely calves. Her delicate feet encased in bling-studded shoes that would have sent Cinderella dissolving into fits of happiness.
Except this was no fairy tale, and he was no Prince Charming.
Tara cut such a beautiful image. Any man would have been proud. He should have been proud. And happy. Today was his wedding day, and yet he felt as isolated as if he were stranded on a deserted island. Lonely.
Why? This was a business arrangement, efficient and uncomplicated. No emotions. No fuss. No long-term commitment. Just a mutual agreement and a binding contract, with an easy-out clause. Lamar had suggested a one-year time period and then it would be over if they wanted to end it then.
They could walk away unscathed by romance and expectations.
So why wasn’t he happy?
His mind went back to the moment when Father Dubanowski had pronounced them man and wife and he’d kissed her. Her eyes had wi
dened, and she’d pulled away roughly, as if she’d been shocked by a bolt of electricity. Granny Blue had been watching them with eagle eyes, no doubt assessing the kiss for soul mate potential.
He didn’t blame Tara for distancing herself from him after the kiss. Huddling with her family, avoiding him. There was a lot of pressure. Honestly, he’d been relieved she’d put space between them. Because being that close to her stirred him in ways that he didn’t fully understand. Not smart at all for a man in a sham marriage.
The limo pulled up at the Hotel Saint Sebastian in Marfa. The driver lowered the partition. Announcing the obvious to the silent backseat, he said, “We have arrived at your destination.”
For the first time since they’d slid into the limousine at the Silver Feather, Tara turned to face fully forward. “Thank you.”
Rhett passed the driver a tip large enough to raise Tara’s eyebrows.
“Thank you,” the man enthused.
Rhett sprang from the limo before the driver had a chance to unbuckle his seat belt, and he opened the door for his new bride. “Welcome to your honeymoon, Tara Alzate.”
“Fake honeymoon,” she mumbled under her breath as both the doorman and the valet hovered behind him, anxious to get in on the extravagant tips.
“We can still have a good time.” He held his hand out for her, and she looked reluctant to take it.
“I bet you’d love that.” She let go of his hand as soon as she was out of the limo.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you?” Her tone was barbed. “I saw the way you were staring at me in the limo.”
“How? You never once looked at me. You got eyes in the back of your head?” Playfully, he moved to examine her fancy hairdo as if searching for a second set of eyes.
She swatted him away. “Stop it,” she hissed.
“Image, image,” he chided. “Don’t forget you’re a bride on her wedding day.”
She forced a smile then, but she came off looking a bit like a shark bearing down on chum. “You’re working the hell out of this.”
“Getting married was your idea,” he reminded her.