“Yes, I know how.” He turned his head and frowned at her. “Why? Are you planning to dive into a cow pond and try to drown?”
She frowned right back at him. “I was asking because I just finished taking a CPR course and I thought that if you didn’t know, I’d explain how it’s done.”
“Right. Like we need to practice mouth-to-mouth resuscitation out here in this haystack.”
“I didn’t say anything about practicing.”
“No, you didn’t.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his raised knees. “That thought was all my own.”
A shiver loped down her spine, shifting her focus, until all she could do was sit there and admire his muscular back and shoulders. His dark hair reflected a glint of silver, and his skin held the sheen of moonlit gold. The urge to touch him was compelling, but she resolutely curled her fingers into the straw. “Well, it was a nice thought.”
He turned his head. Their eyes met and held…and awareness wove into the very air she was still trying so hard to breathe.
“Yes,” he said finally. “A nice thought, but not a good idea.”
She nodded hastily. “Oh, right. You’re absolutely right. I hope you know I wasn’t suggesting we should…” A slightly panicked laugh escaped her. “Well, people can’t just go around practicing mouth-to-mouth, now can they? I mean, you and I know that CPR is very serious…” Her bravado deserted her and she ended with a murmured, “…stuff.”
He turned away, restoring her view of the back of his head. “We weren’t talking about CPR, Eliza.”
A second shiver rolled down her back. “We weren’t?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She knew that was the end of the discussion, but her mouth was too quick for her own good. “So if we weren’t talking about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, we must have been talking about one of those you-can’t-think-of-any-other-way-to-shut-me-up kisses. Right?”
“That would be one way of putting it,” he confirmed, his voice distant, but edgy.
“I always have talked too much.” She sighed. “Auntie Gem says that my nerves are miswired to my mouth somehow, and when I get nervous, everything goes haywire and it takes an act of God to shut me up. Not that I’m comparing your kisses to an act of God, you understand, but…well, I mean, how would I know? You didn’t really kiss me. Twice. It was just a kind of self-defense both times. At least, that’s what I thought.”
His silent stillness unnerved her even more. “You don’t have to worry, Mack. I wouldn’t misinterpret something like that. I know you’re in love with Leanne, and if Chuck hadn’t waylaid you, you’d be married and off on your honeymoon instead of here with me. You don’t have to give it another thought. I understand perfectly.”
Tension knotted his shoulders. “I’m glad you do. Because at this moment all I understand is that I am not married, I am here with you and, if you don’t stop talking, I am going to kiss you.”
She gulped as a new awareness paralyzed her vocal cords and bathed her in revealing insight. She was alone with a man who attracted her in ways no other man ever had. In a few hours, they had shared a range of emotions that now bound them in a tenuous and tenacious coalition. Their destinies had collided in the rain-wet parking lot of the Marry We Go Bridal Boutique, and the resulting whirlwind of complications had dropped them, naked, into a dust-dry hayfield in western Kansas.
Now that she thought about it, being naked probably had a lot to do with the tension she was feeling right now. And it probably had everything to do with the reason Mack wanted to kiss her. It was simple. Men and women were sexual beings. She was a woman, Mack was a man and they were naked in a haystack in the moonlight. Logic all but dictated they would be aware of each other. Human nature practically decreed that a kiss, more or less, would cross their minds.
She sighed and plopped back in the hay. “I really hate simple explanations.”
“If there is one thing simple about what is happening here, I’d like to know what it is.”
She shouldn’t answer, shouldn’t say a word. Should not open her… “Lust,” she said. “It’s that simple. Here we are, all alone. It’s night. We’re naked. Lust was bound to crop up…so to speak.”
She was conscious of his movement as he turned. She was conscious of the silent debate he waged as his gaze slid across her belly, her breasts, and traveled on to her mouth. She was conscious of the invitation she issued with the slight parting of her lips.
“You talk too much, Eliza,” Mark said decisively. His hand came to rest beside her shoulder, and on some level of awareness, she knew he was sliding down into the nest of hay beside her. But she couldn’t drag her attention from the swirl of lusty anticipation inside her any more than she could drag her gaze from the slow descent of his mouth.
“Mack,” she whispered in a dying effort to halt fate in its tracks. “I’m not insured against acts of God.”
“Shut up, Eliza.”
Chapter 7
Shut up, Eliza….
His lips sealed the command, closing over hers with a sweetness born of sublime astonishment. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. Hell, he had intended to be halfway to somewhere else by now…somewhere he could ask for and receive assistance, somewhere with telephone service, somewhere Eliza wasn’t. But here he was, in a haystack, under the spell of a waning moon, kissing her with purpose and the enthusiastic support of his body.
Lust. Well, she was right about that, anyway. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to kiss a woman until she melted with desire. But he wanted Eliza to forget that she had ever been kissed before. From this minute on, he wanted her to think of him whenever she saw a starlit sky. He wanted her to forever associate the musty-sweet smell of hay with the feel of his hand on her bare skin. He wanted her to recall the taste of his lips every time any other man touched her. He wanted any kisses she received in the future to be tainted with the memory of this one, wicked, lustful kiss.
He hoped that was simple enough for her.
He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him into the coarse, warm nest of hay. With a few deft touches, he aligned her against him and gathered her close in his arms. She came to him easily, provocatively, like a woman who knew what she wanted. Yet her hands curled lightly against his chest, as if she had no idea where to put them. The soft purling in her throat was a siren’s song of pure pleasure, but she shyly held her body away from intimacy, receptive to the pressure of his hand, but taking no initiative of her own.
Deepening the kiss, he circled her wrist with his fingers and brought her arm up around his neck. She seemed to like that idea and began to stroke his hair and neck without further encouragement. Her breasts, firm and aroused, brushed his chest with tantalizing timidity. He trailed his hand down her spine, knowing from experience how long to linger in any one spot, caressing her, then moving on, moving lower, relaxing her with a fleeting massage. And still, despite the sensual coaxing of her lips under his, despite the delightful, teasing response of her tongue to his advance, her inexperience was obvious and surprising. Maybe she’d been telling the truth when she’d said she didn’t remember how to seduce a man.
He tightened the pressure of his mouth on hers and wished he could claim she had tried to seduce him. But the responsibility for this misguided kiss of exploration and discovery was entirely his. She was innocent of everything except assuring him that he was safe with her…and of bringing lust into the equation. She wasn’t exactly innocent there.
Still, he had no right to kiss her, not like this. Not like he meant it. Not like he’d been waiting all of his life for this moment, this kiss…and her.
She pulled away suddenly, before he had quite decided the moment should end.
“What was that?” she whispered.
He found her wide-eyed surprise naively appealing. “I believe you called it lust.”
“Not that. That.”
“That?”
“Yes, that.” She lay very still and stared into h
is eyes. “There. Do you feel that?”
He felt aroused—and erect. And ashamed of himself for letting the situation get this far out of hand. “Eliza, that is the normal male reaction to…” His explanation foundered and sank like a rock as her eyes widened further with shock.
“Normal?” She breathed the word out in panic. “That can’t be normal!”
The last syllable came out in a shriek as she jerked her knee up, hitting him in the groin and clobbering every amorous thought he had ever entertained. Every muscle in his body clenched in protest against the pain that shot through him with the speed of light. With his eyes closed in agony, he rolled onto his back and let a deep, heartfelt groan ooze from his throat.
He was dimly conscious of her jerky movements and of her scramble to get her feet up and away from the edge of the slippery hay. And he was vaguely aware that she was talking to someone or something. But he was in no condition to care what she was doing or why. At least, not until her panicked whisper penetrated his anguish.
“Mack, do something.”
Strangling her seemed appropriate, but he didn’t have the strength. At the moment, he didn’t have the strength even to answer her.
Her next sound was a startled, indrawn breath. “Go away. Shoo! Don’t come any closer. Shoo!” Her hand fanned the air over his stomach. “Shoo! Mack, quick, we need a silver bullet.”
By squinting and partially lifting his head, he managed to decipher the secret code. “Silver bullet” equaled werewolf, equaled a big, fuzzy dog sniffing along the perimeter of the haystack. Its plumed tail was wagging, and the animal looked domestic and friendly. Mack dropped back on the hay, moistened his lips and managed to mutter, “Don’t…shoot. He’s…unarmed.”
“Oh, sure. You say that now, but wait until he sinks his fangs into your ankle.”
Mack struggled to sit up while still coiled in a protective position. “Did he…bite…you?”
“Shoo! Get out of here.” She waved the dog away. “He licked me.”
With a hefty and exasperated groan, Mack crumpled into the hay one more time.
Her attention switched to him. “What’s wrong? Did he lick you, too?”
Recuperating in silence was obviously not in the cards. “No,” he said. “You…hit me.”
“I did not. I heard this snuffing sound. And then I felt something warm and wet on my feet and the next thing I knew my toes were all sticky and yucky and cold and…well, I got out of the way as fast as I could. But I did not hit you. At least, not on purpose. Where does it hurt?”
The answer seemed to occur to her without his spelling it out because she answered her own question with a rush of concern. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…It was an accident. Are you going to be all right? Oh, geez, I didn’t even realize I…The dog scared me and…Oh, geez. Are you sure you’re all right? I mean, your voice sounds okay. Not too high-pitched or anything, but…Would it help if I-”
He sensed her reaching out to him. “Don’t…touch me.”
“Oh.” She withdrew as if he were a cobra coming out of a basket. “Oh, no. No, I won’t. Don’t worry.” She was quiet for one, possibly one and a half seconds. “If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, just tell me, okay? Do you need to stand up? Walk around a little? Stretch your muscles?”
“I just need to lie here.”
“Fine. Okay. I’ll be right here. Right beside you. In case you need help…or anything.”
If he had gone for help as he’d intended to do, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be lying in a dusty, scratchy, crumbly mound of hay wondering if he would ever be able to sire children, talk in his normal baritone or even walk again.
“Mack?” Her voice was a soft nudge, as if she thought he might be asleep. “Mack?”
He opened his eyes and looked up at her conciliatory smile.
“The dog is leaving.”
“That’s a relief.”
She took back the smile. “I thought you’d want to know, that’s all.”
Compressing the ache in his body into a manageable zone of discomfort, he levered himself into a sitting position. “In the interest of my future health and well-being, I need to know if you are frightened of all four-legged animals or only select groups.”
“I don’t like to be licked,” she said snippily. “And don’t even try to pretend that you wouldn’t have been startled if that dog had suddenly started licking your toes.”
“You’re right. I would have been, but there’s an obvious difference here. You see, I like to be licked.”
Her gaze swung to his and just as quickly swung away. “I’ll bet if it had been Leanne’s toes that got licked, you wouldn’t find this very funny.”
“True statement. But then, Leanne is handicapped.”
Eliza’s gaze swung back again, this time filled with concern. “She is?”
He nodded. “She was born without a funny bone.”
“If you can make bad jokes, you must be feeling better.”
He was, actually. Much better. And it seemed to have less to do with the receding discomfort in his body than with the fact that he was in a haystack in western Kansas instead of on his way to a honeymoon in the Bahamas. “If you knew Leanne, you’d know it’s no joke.”
“Of course it is,” Eliza said with confidence. “You wouldn’t be in love with her if she didn’t have at least as good a sense of humor as yours.”
“How do you know I have a sense of humor?”
“In this situation? Don’t be ridiculous. The fact that you haven’t murdered me speaks to that.”
“Thank you,” he said humbly. “I wasn’t sure you’d noticed.”
“Oh, please. I am fully aware it is my fault you’re in this itchy old haystack and not on your way to a honeymoon in some nice, sunny, nonallergenic place like Hawaii.”
“The Bahamas,” he corrected absently, wondering if he really was glad to be here rather than there or just too tired to care where he was at the moment. “Leanne hates to fly.”
Her questioning gaze slid toward him again. “Another joke, right?”
“No. We were scheduled to travel by train to Miami and take a cruise ship from there.”
“A honeymoon on a train?” She thumped him on the arm. “And you said she has no sense of humor.”
He smiled, thinking it did sound funny the way Eliza put it. But then she didn’t know just how seriously Leanne took her own comfort. “Planning the honeymoon was no laughing matter.”
“Well, weddings are stressful. I’m sure you found plenty of other things to laugh about.”
“Oh, yeah.” The memory of just how few times he’d laughed at anything during the past few months came to mind with sour solemnity. “This engagement has been a barrel of laughs.”
She shook her head sadly. “Don’t worry, Mack. It happens all the time.”
“Unfunny engagements? Or bridegrooms being rescued at the church door?”
“Couples putting so much effort into planning the wedding, that they forget to tend to each other. Once the ceremony is over, they relax and remember why they wanted to get married in the first place. And you meant ‘kidnapped.’”
“What?”
“You said ‘rescued,’ but you meant to say ‘kidnapped at the church door.’”
“Rescued” had a nice ring to it, he thought. But then, this had been a long and confusing day. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I am. Weddings are my business and I’ve seen this happen dozens of times.” Softly yawning, she lay back against the hay and put her hands behind her head. “That’s why when I have my own bridal shop, in addition to designing gowns, I’ll offer a wedding-coordinating service so couples can choose to let somebody else deal with the stress while they just enjoy the special joys of their engagement.”
“Obviously, you’ve never been engaged.” He turned his head to see if she actually believed what she’d just said. But his skepticism vanished into the trail
of moonbeams that sliced across her and divided her into angles of shadow and light. The path began in her silken, tousled hair and traveled across one narrow shoulder and pale, rounded breast, to the shadowed plane of her stomach and down the length of one long and shapely leg. His fingers curled into the haystack, seeking something to hold on to, anything to keep from reaching out and touching her.
“I haven’t been engaged,” she said. “But I know it will be a wonderful time in my life. And the wedding will be everything I’ve always imagined it would be. And the honeymoon will be—”
“Somewhere trains don’t go.”
“Heaven.”
“I think you’re safe. Last time I checked, heaven wasn’t on the schedule.”
Her laugh was a velvety rumble in her throat. “Anywhere will be heaven. Even a haystack in western Kansas will be all right with me, as long as he is there.”
“He? Do you have a particular ‘he’ in mind?”
She patted back a yawn with her fingertips. “Yes, but he could be almost anyone.”
“So this happy engagement and perfect wedding and haystack honeymoon are all a bunch of romantic folderol built around some imaginary bridegroom.” He shook his head. “Well, I believe I’m speaking for an overwhelming majority of males when I say that no self-respecting bridegroom wants to spend his honeymoon sneezing and scratching in a haystack.”
“You haven’t sneezed once.”
“But I expect to have one heck of a skin rash tomorrow.” He paused. “And we were talking about your fantasy man, not me.”
“Well, he won’t be allergic, either.” Her voice was soft, dreamy. “And since this is my fantasy, I will tell you that he is the perfect bridegroom, my best friend and my hero all rolled into one.”
It was suddenly easier not to touch her. “Illusions like that are what get women into trouble. The man you’re waiting for doesn’t exist.”
Her lips curved with the same soft, dreamy quality he’d heard in her voice. “I saw him once. Today, in fact.”
“Today?” He had a half-formed, fleeting—and flattering—idea that she meant him. “Where did you meet this paragon of manhood?”
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