by Lori Wilde
“To help you get your daughter. That’s it. No side benefits for you.”
“Hey,” he said as she swept up the sidewalk in front of him. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She tossed her head in an I-can-and-I-do-blame-you tilt.
Whew, okay. Tonight was gonna be icy. No fun. No games. Message received. He’d had no intention of violating their agreement, but what was wrong with a little flirting? They were newlyweds, for crying out loud.
The valet grabbed their bags from the limo driver, and the doorman ran to hold the door open. Tara swept inside, haughty as a queen, leaving him to dole out more tips and bumble along after her. She was an expert at putting him in his place. The one woman who did not pull any punches with him.
He liked her all the more because of it. No twisting her around his pinkie. She was her own person.
Inside the building, she paused to glance around. The hotel was a new incarnation of the first Hotel Saint Sebastian built in 1886. Most everything inside the sleek architecture had been repurposed from reclaimed materials. The original concrete floors had been burnished to a high sheen, the walls constructed from salvaged brick; the interior featured rescued marble surfaces, overhauled steel doors and counters. The old mingling with the new—paintings, sculptures, and design from world-class local artists. Marfa was vibrant with a rich and varied artistic enclave, and it showed.
“Have you ever been here before?” Rhett asked.
“I grew up twenty miles from here. What do you think?”
Okay, dumb question. He’d asked because she was frugal and rarely splurged on herself, and the Saint Sebastian was one of the nicest hotels in the Trans-Pecos. Plus she didn’t seem like the type to have rendezvous in expensive resorts.
“With a lover?” The question popped out. Damn his impulsive tongue.
“That,” she said, “is none of your business.”
“I’ve been here too,” he said. Stop talking!
“I have no doubts about that. I’m sure you’ve been here numerous times with numerous women.”
Guilty. “Not all at the same time,” he teased.
Her mouth gaped. “What?”
“The women. I didn’t come here with more than one at a time. I’m not like that. I don’t sleep with more than one woman at a time. Not that I’m judging someone who does. I mean . . .” Shut the hell up, Lockhart.
“Oh, you paragon of virtue.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.
Crap. Rhett dragged a palm down his face. He was digging himself deeper with every word that he spoke. “I . . . um . . . er . . . I just meant that when I’m with a woman she has my full attention. One hundred percent.”
“Is it heavy?”
Puzzled, he studied her deadpan face. “What?”
“Lugging your ego around.”
Quick as a whip, he shot back. “No more than that chip on your shoulder.”
Humph. She snorted.
Rhett grinned. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”
“Mr. Lockhart, welcome back.” The desk clerk looked up from where she’d been checking in another guest and beamed at him. “No need to check in. We have your credit card on file for incidentals. Silas will show you to your room.”
“Your home away from home,” Tara muttered.
“Snide isn’t a good color on you.”
Tara rolled her eyes, and when Silas, a rangy young man in a morbid black suit, appeared with a room key in his hand, she swept after him. Leaving Rhett to cock his head, smile, and watch her walk away.
“Stop staring at my butt,” she called over her shoulder, garnering giggles from three women sitting in the lobby.
“We’re newlyweds,” he explained to the guests as he went by.
“We assumed,” said one of the women with a that’s-too-bad look in her eyes. “What with the wedding dress and tux and all.”
“Honey.” Another one of the women raised her voice to Tara as she stood waiting at the elevator beside Silas. “You’re married to him now, appreciate the fact that he enjoys looking at you while you can. The honeymoon phase doesn’t last all that long.”
“Hey,” finished the third. “If you get tired of him, you can always throw him my way. I like it when handsome men stare at my ass.”
Tara, that bold and unexpected woman, raised a middle finger over the top of her head and climbed into the elevator.
Leaving Rhett to hustle fast in order to catch up.
Chapter 19
Kissing the bull: When a cowboy’s face meets the back of the bull’s head.
Seriously? Was being married to Rhett always going to be like this? Random women feeling free to ogle her husband and comment on his hotness while she was within earshot?
Tara gritted her teeth. The marriage wouldn’t last for long. Why did she even care?
Why?
They’d agreed that they were free to have outside love interests as long as it was discreet. But that display in the lobby had been anything but discreet. They were on their honeymoon, for crying out loud. Not that it was a real honeymoon, but those voracious women didn’t know that. Plus, Tara wasn’t interested in anyone else.
Ouch. There it was, the pathetic truth.
She wanted him.
Especially after that kiss at the altar. She wanted him as her for-real husband. Dear God, why? What was wrong with her?
The hum.
She’d heard the hum.
Silliness. A legend. A fable. A fairy tale. It meant nothing.
Except all she had to do was just glance at his mouth and she’d hear the faint buzz of it starting in the center of her brain—the sweet, dizzying hum of love.
His kiss had completely blown her socks off. What would happen if . . . ? No way. Not going there.
You’re losing it, Alzate, she scolded herself. Get a grip.
Silas opened the door and announced, “The honeymoon suite.”
Without preamble, Rhett bent and scooped Tara into his arms.
“Ooh!” she cried, not expecting it and grabbing on to his shoulders for stability. “What are you doing?”
“Threshold, wedding night, newlyweds. It’s a thing.”
“But we’re not—” Silas was watching, so she shut up.
Rhett carried her over the threshold, and the bellhop followed.
“Champagne.” Silas motioned to the bucket of iced Dom Pérignon. “Compliments of your brothers. Shall I open it?”
Rhett, still holding on to her, cocked his eyebrows. “Should he?”
“You can do it.”
“I can do it,” Rhett told Silas, and set Tara on the ground. He handed a twenty-dollar tip to the bellhop. Silas thanked him profusely and scooted from the room. The door shut behind him.
Click.
Alone.
Just the two of them. There was no one else around to act as a buffer.
Their eyes met. Her heart took a running jump into her throat. “You gotta stop overtipping,” Tara said. “You need to be putting money aside for Julie.”
“It’s our honeymoon.”
Tara tapped her foot. “It’s not real, and I’m trying to make a point here.”
“So am I.”
She curled her fingers into her hips. “And what is that?”
“You only live once.”
“That attitude is what got you into a marriage of convenience.”
“Tara.” His voice was gravel. “You gotta stop lecturing me. I have my own way of doing things. They might not be your methods, but they work for me.” He slammed his gaze into hers. “Got it?”
In the moment of his manly forcefulness, she wanted nothing more than to rip his clothes off his body and ravish him. Gak! What was wrong with her?
You heard the hum. He’s yours!
Her heart took a roller-coaster loop. “I’m—”
He stepped closer, his walk loose but calculated, intentionally encroaching on her personal space. “Time and again I’ve proven to you tha
t I’ve changed, and yet you keep seeing me as the doofus kid I was and not the man I’ve become. You need to stop talking down to me.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s your default mode, I get it, but it’s time to stop that behavior.”
She felt her jaw drop. “I . . . I . . .”
“What do you want to say, woman?”
She gulped, forced a smile, and swept a hand at her dress. “I’m going to change out of this pouf.”
“I see.” He nodded, jammed his hands into his pockets, and lifted his shoulders to his ears.
Tara escaped to the bathroom before she did something she couldn’t undo. “Real mature,” she muttered at her reflection in the mirror, her heart still beating faster than it should. What on planet Earth was happening to her?
It’s the hum, darling, she heard Granny Blue’s voice in her head. When it grabs you, you’re gone and there’s nothing you can do to change it.
Oh, that couldn’t be right. She was a progressive modern woman. She did not have to believe in fables and superstitions.
She stared down at her fingernails, manicured bright red. She rarely polished her nails, usually kept them cut short. That worked best in her job as a NICU nurse. But Aria had insisted on treating her to the manicure, complete with artificial nails. She couldn’t have felt less like herself.
There was a knock on the bathroom door.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve got your suitcase here. I thought you might need something to change into, unless you’ve decided to make this into a real wedding night. Just wanted to let you know I’m game if you are.”
She flung open the door, snatched the small suitcase out of his hands, and slammed the door again. Heard him chuckle.
Trying her best to look anything but sexy, she scrubbed her face clean of makeup and unpinned her hair. The only thing remaining of her glamorous new self was the fingernails. She planned on putting on the unsexiest pajamas she could find, which she’d bought just for tonight. That ought to dampen his ardor.
But when she opened the suitcase, instead of the clothes she’d packed, Tara found pair after pair of Daisy Duke shorts. She dug deeper, pushing aside the Daisy Dukes in a myriad of denim colors—blue, purple, green, red, white.
Immediately, she knew who was behind this.
Aria.
Tara grabbed her phone, texted her sister. What did U do?
No answer.
“Argh.” Tara stabbed her fingers through her hair. Aria was so going to pay for this. She went through the suitcase again. G-string panties that she had not brought. Teeny crop tops that matched the Daisy Dukes. And absolutely nothing else. What was she supposed to sleep in?
Except, wait . . . there, something in the outside pocket.
She held her breath and unzipped the side pocket, rummaged around, felt silk. Yes! She pulled out the lingerie equivalent of Daisy Dukes. Black lace baby-doll pajamas.
“You are so dead, little sister.” She seethed.
“Did you say something?” Rhett called from the bedroom suite.
Crap! She had no choice. She had to either put the wedding dress back on, wear a pair of the Daisy Dukes and a crop top, or don the baby-doll pajamas. Maybe there were bathrobes in the closet and she could put one on when she got out of here. Why hadn’t she changed for the reception? Oh yeah, Aria had kept going on and on about how beautiful she looked, and it would be the only time she’d get to wear the wedding dress, yada, yada . . .
Tara picked up the phone again. Get over here with my clothes, right now!!!
Nothing.
Dammit. She could text her parents, but they were looking after Julie. Kaia and Ridge were putting their kids to bed, and she couldn’t expect them to drive the forty-five minutes from the Silver Feather to Marfa.
She was stuck, and Aria knew that when she’d repacked Tara’s suitcase.
Disgruntled, she texted Aria a gif of a fox squeezing a goose by the neck. The goose’s eyes were popping out.
A gentle knock at the door. “Tara? You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? You’ve been in there a long time.”
Huffing, Tara picked up a pair of Daisy Dukes and a matching crop top, dressed quickly, and yanked the door open. “Do I look okay to you?”
“Holy smokes!” Rhett took a step back, his eyes lit like a roaring forest fire. He was still in his tuxedo, but his tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was undone.
“I did not bring these.” She reached for the suitcase, grasped a handful of Daisy Dukes. “This is all the clothes I have in my suitcase.”
He wasn’t looking at the short-shorts in her hands. His gaze was fixed on her thighs at the level of the skimpy hem.
She dropped the clothes, snapped her fingers at her temple. “Excuse me? My eyes are up here.”
Like a man coming out of a fog, he blinked and met her gaze, but slid another quick glance down at her legs, before bouncing back up to her eyes again. “Aria?”
“She repacked my bag.”
He grinned.
“It’s not funny.”
He was looking at her as if she were an ice cream sundae with a cherry on top. “It’s kind of funny.”
“I can’t go around like this.”
His grin widened. “Why not?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Tea, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Mothers shouldn’t go around looking like this. I’m officially Julie’s stepmom now.” That brought a thrill and reminded Tara of why she was here in the first place.
“It’s behind closed doors. Just me and you.” His voice deepened on you.
Tara gulped. “You’ll be staring at me all night.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I’m putting the wedding dress back on.” She started to shut the door, but he quickly jammed his foot between the door and the wall. If he kept staring at her as if she were the Hope Diamond, she might end up doing something she’d regret.
“C’mon. I have the champagne poured.” He motioned to the coffee table, where two glasses of champagne bubbled effervescently. “I want to toast those legs.” He cast another wolfish grin at her thighs. “The best legs in the Trans-Pecos.”
“You have to stop flirting with me.”
“Why?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a playboy grin that set her heart pounding erratically. What would her cardiac rhythm look like on an ECG? Could too much sexy cause a myocardial infarction? Because right now, it felt as if her heart was about to pop out of her chest.
“Because we have an understanding. A rule,” she said, curt and to the point. “A no-sex clause.”
“Tea,” he drawled, his gaze bearing down on her. “You should know by now that I’m not the kind of guy who plays by the rules.”
“We . . . we had a deal.” Sweat pearled at the cute little scoop between her nose and upper lip, and he had a powerful urge to lick it off.
But he’d promised to keep his hands to himself. Never mind those little short-shorts were driving him bonkers. It wasn’t her doing. The only way he would take his new bride to bed was if she initiated it. She’d set those rules, and he’d agreed to them. She was the only one who could break them.
“There’s always room for negotiations.” He reached up and pulled his tie off, watched her track his movements. Saw her gulp.
Twice.
Oh yeah, she wanted him. He hid his smile.
“Have some champagne,” he said, nodding at the flute on the dresser beside him. “It is our wedding night.”
“No, thank you.” She hugged herself. Shivered.
“All right.” He settled down on the couch, crossed his legs at the ankle, and picked up his glass of champagne. Noticed her nipples beaded up tight beneath her shirt and bra. “More for me.”
“I trust you’ll sleep on the chaise.” She moved to stare out the window,
just as she’d done in the limo, turning her back to him. Giving him a fantastic view of her cute ass.
“Nope.”
Her shoulders marshaled up to her ears and she let out an exasperated sigh. Swiveled her head to glare at him. “You can’t go changing everything on me now. We had an agreement. No sex between us.”
“I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want me to do.”
The muscle at her jaw twitched.
“But I’m not sleeping on this hard chaise”—he put emphasis on the word “hard,” watched her jaw flicker again—“when there is a soft king-sized bed we can share.”
“I—”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t touch you.” Unless you ask me to.
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, my dear Tea, you are.”
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“What?”
“Use terms of endearment.”
“Why not?”
She nibbled a thumbnail. “I like it too much, and I know you don’t mean anything by it. We’re not a forever couple.”
“Aw,” he said. “Tea, you worry too much.”
She folded her arms, and he wondered if she knew the gesture brought her breasts up higher. He was enjoying the view, so he decided not to tell her.
“In your laid-back way,” she said, “you’re never braced for the fall when it comes. My way, if I worry about things that don’t come true, I’m relieved and don’t get blindsided.”
“And you never fully enjoy the here and now.” He held out the second glass of champagne toward her. “Enjoy the moment, Tea.”
“Bull-rider wisdom?”
“Rhett wisdom.”
“That sounds like an oxymoron to me.”
“Barb me all you want. I love that tart tongue.” He waggled the glass at her.
“I should have known that anyone dumb enough to crawl onto the back of a bull would be in love with my greatest flaw.” She snatched the champagne from his hand and downed half of it in one swallow.
Rhett was impressed. “Snippiness is not your greatest flaw.”
She leveled him a go-to-hell look.
He laughed. He knew this crusty exterior was a ruse to hide her vulnerable heart.