A Bachelor For The Bride (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #2)

by Mindy Neff

  “Then step up the pace.”

  “Baby, you’re playing with fire.”

  “No. I’m on fire.”

  “Guess we’d better put it out, then.” He considered leaving his pants on; at the rate they were going, he was likely to lose control in a matter of seconds and embarrass the hell out of himself. But he pulled them off anyway, not really sure how he managed. His heart was knocking against his chest and his knees felt like spaghetti.

  He stepped up to her, felt his throat go dry as desert sand at the first touch of skin against skin. “Just stand there,” he said.

  “What?” Confusion fairly shouted.

  “I want to just kiss you for a white.” His voice thickened, as did the rest of him. “To savor.”

  Jordan went weak all over as his lips teased and tasted. Her arms felt weighted at her sides, too heavy to lift to his shoulders.

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “Just like that.” His lips cruised over her jaw, feathered over her neck. The skin of his chest against her breasts sent a hum of sensation that could well have caused sparks.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  “I’ll get to it.” Eyes open, using only his mouth, he worshiped her, made love to her from the neck up. It was a gift, the most powerfully erotic thing she’d ever experienced.

  He cupped a hand at the back of her neck, then released the clip that held her hair up. Her skin was so sensitized, she felt each individual strand as it fell past her shoulders, sweeping a path of chills in its wake.

  She could only stand there, numb, yet so wonderfully alive.

  “I’ve always loved your hair.” He lifted one of her limp hands and placed it on his shoulder. “Black as midnight.” The other hand now. “I’d see that color in my sleep, just close my eyes and shut out the world, and there you’d be. All that black hair shining and flowing, bouncing like silk in the wind when you were astride one of your ponies.”

  Feeling dizzy, thrilled, needing to hold on, she slid her arms around his neck. “You watched me?”

  “Mmm.” He toyed with her earlobe, bit down lightly.

  Body to body with him now, her skin felt on fire. She pressed against him. “Tanner?”

  “Mmm-hmm?” His knuckles skimmed the sides of her breasts.

  “I’m not sure how much longer I can breathe.”

  “Want me to stop?” Even as he said the words his palm was cupping her, his thumb passing erotically over her nipple.

  “No. I want you to hurry.”

  She felt his smile against her lips. “I aim to please.”

  No, that was her line... her ridiculous motto. And the reminder, even unknowingly couched in eroticism, made her desperation shoot into overdrive. As much as she wanted to savor, to store this memory, her body was demanding more.

  So when he backed her up to the desk, it was Jordan who swept the cluttered surface clean with an impatient swipe of her arm. Papers scattered, tack jingled and a bottle of liniment bounced onto the braided oval rug.

  He lifted her onto the desk, and bent over her. She tugged his hair loose, hardly aware that her hands were racing over him. Sensations registered through the haze of desire—smooth, sleek muscles bunched and straining, lips branding a trail of fire. Her lungs burned and she couldn’t seem to draw in air fast enough.

  With a strength born of runaway emotions, she gripped his hips and pulled him between her legs. Her body tightened like a fist and she could have sworn she saw stars. Light flashed and danced behind her closed lids.

  The power of it was too much, the wanting too huge.

  “Now, Tanner.”

  “Wait.”

  “No. I feel like I’m falling.” Her breath heaved in and out. She felt him press against her, so intimately. She wanted him inside her, could barely think past the sensations to coherency. “Catch me.”

  “I won’t let you fall.” Tanner eased inside her. “Trust me.” Blood pounded in his head like an ancient chant. Although she’d practically begged, he concentrated on using every ounce of control he possessed not to plunge mindlessly into her like an aggressive stallion covering an eager mare.

  He wanted it to last, wanted to watch every nuance of her expression, feel every point of pleasure, every flicker of sensation. He needed that; more than he needed air to breathe—needed to imprint the memory.

  But her energy and determination outmatched him, sent him straight into a frenzy. He’d have treated her like spun glass if that was what she’d needed at the moment. But she didn’t want or need gentleness.

  With her legs shackled around his waist, she urged him on, sending him perilously close to oblivion. He reeled with the power of it all, and even as his tempo increased, as his body stood poised on the brink of climax, he mustered that tiny thread of sanity, was able to look down and watch her...

  Watch the glory transform her face, the flush that stained her breasts; taste the sweet flavor of surrender on her damp skin. Her muscles squeezed him and her breath hitched in a sob that was his name.

  And it took him right over the edge. If nothing else, what they had just shared would ensure one thing—she would always remember his name.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aware of the risk of being caught—Maynard could return from the doctor any time now—they dressed in silence.

  After what had just taken place in the tiny tack room, she might have been a little embarrassed. Instead, she only felt subdued, as if she’d given a piece of herself away that she’d never recover.

  And she had. She’d given her heart and soul.

  She bent and retrieved the scattered papers, her gaze straying to Tanner’s hands as he buckled his belt. Flies buzzed and horses snorted. The puppies whined and scratched at the box, until Annie poked her nose over the side, soothing them.

  And still, she and Tanner spoke no words. The ones she ached to say would not come. Could not come.

  So she chose different ones, safer ones. “Where will you go now?”

  His eyes squinted as though avoiding smoke...or despair. She almost lost her own tenuous hold on control.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Back to the lake, to pick up the bike. Then I’ll probably head over to Modesto to check on business.”

  She didn’t ask him what business. Prolonging their parting would only rip at her heart more. So she simply nodded and walked with him out to the Jeep.

  He opened the door, paused. Turning, he laid a palm against her cheek. “Are you sure, Blackie?”

  She knew what he was asking. Was she sure she wanted to marry Randall? Was she sure there was no hope for them?

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. The tears betrayed her, slipping down her cheeks. She didn’t answer his question. Couldn’t answer it. “Take care of yourself, Tanner,” she whispered.

  For a long moment he just looked at her as though he were memorizing her features. Then he pressed his lips softly to her forehead. “Likewise, duchess.”

  This time when he called her “duchess,” there was no derision.

  Her heart knocked against her ribs and her hands trembled. As the Jeep’s engine fired to life, she stepped back and wrapped her arms around her middle, holding on.

  He didn’t look back.

  A cloud of dust billowed in the wake of the tires. Feeling numb, paralyzed, she watched the taillights disappear down the drive, watched as her love rode away in a borrowed Jeep.

  Suddenly she resented everything—her family, the horses, her own dreams.

  For a wild instant she considered loading Honor Bleu into the trailer, following Tanner, starting over somewhere else.

  Then reality intruded. She couldn’t do that to her father. Maynard Grazer had made sacrifices for her. And she was in a position to pay back those sacrifices.

  She told herself her heart would mend, promised herself she would not cheat Randall.

  She’d be a good wife. The best.

  Because when a woman had something to do, had people counting on
her, she did what had to be done.

  And did it well.

  Squaring her shoulders, she went into the house. There was a wedding to salvage, guests to contact. This time, though, they would do it according to her rules. It would be an intimate affair at the church—no fancy country-club reception.

  If Randall pitched a fit, he could foot the bill for a larger party. No longer were the Grazers going to squander money foolishly—especially to keep up appearances.

  Falling in love with Tanner had taught her one very important thing.

  Appearances didn’t mean squat.

  JORDAN RUMMAGED through the drawers of her mother’s cherry-wood secretary. Lydia Grazer was a stickler for organization and it showed in the perfectly aligned stationery, and in the individual compartments that held pens by color and pencils by number.

  So where the heck was the guest list? The blue-tabbed file marked “Wedding” was empty and though the database of names was computerized, Jordan had been sure there was a hard copy printed out somewhere.

  Voices sounded in the hallway. Her parents had returned from the doctor’s. She started to call out to her mother, to ask about the list. Then she saw a piece of paper mangled between two drawers. Carefully, she eased the sheet from where it was caught, smoothing out the accordion folds.

  Words swam in front of her face and a buzzing sounded in her ears. She dropped into the burgundy leather chair, her fingers trembling.

  Ransom.

  The word jumped out at her like a stallion rearing at the sight of a snake.

  Starting at the beginning, she read each damning word of the letter, her heart sinking, her mind going numb. For several minutes she stared at what appeared to be a discarded note outlining a nefarious scheme—written in her mother’s distinctive cursive.

  It could have been seconds or hours that she sat like a statue in that chair. The sound of an indrawn breath had her head snapping up, her mind clearing.

  Lydia Grazer stood in the doorway, her auburn hair swept into a sophisticated updo style. She looked cool and classy in a sunny yellow suit. Pure silk, Jordan knew. Tasteful, yet expensive.

  But Lydia wasn’t looking all that cool at the moment. Her green eyes were wide with panic...and guilt.

  “Mother,” Jordan said.

  Lydia drew on her innate composure, walked across the room and took the paper from Jordan’s hands. “I should have burned this.”

  “But you didn’t. I’d like an explanation.”

  “What’s to explain?”

  Jordan’s jaw dropped. “Arranging for the kidnapping of your own daughter isn’t call for explanation?”

  “It wasn’t actually a kidnapping, dear.”

  So polite. So proper. Jordan nearly screamed. “It certainly looked that way from where I was standing. That man...that short, fat one had a gun!”

  “Uncle Cyrus?” A frown marred Lydia’s chinadoll brow. “I’m sorry, dear. Of course, carrying a weapon was unfortunate and a bit dramatic. I hadn’t known.”

  “A bit?”

  “You were never in danger, darling. I can assure you of that. That’s why I contacted your Uncle Cyrus and cousin Al in the first place.”

  Jordan stared at her mother, feeling as though she’d never laid eyes on the woman before.

  “Those...those weirdos are my relatives?”

  “My aunt’s husband and son. Neither has ever amounted to much. We don’t socialize.”

  Little wonder. And though she didn’t particularly hold any fondness for the idiots who’d scared her half to death and ruined her wedding day, she also didn’t approve of her mother’s judgmental attitude. Oh, she’d always been aware of her parents’ snobbish view toward less fortunate, less wealthy people, but she’d ignored it.

  And that made her just as bad. By ignoring, she’d condoned. “Did Daddy know?”

  “Oh, no. That was the point.”

  “Which I’m missing completely. Please, start at the beginning.”

  Lydia paced for a moment—another surprise. A lady through and through, her mother never paced.

  “I didn’t know what else to do, Jordan. You see what the financial stress has done to your father’s health. And I knew in my heart that you didn’t really want to marry Randall.”

  Jordan’s back teeth were beginning to ache. “How does having me kidnapped fix Daddy’s finances and get me out of marrying Randall?”

  “Don’t you see?” Lydia’s expertly made-up eyes welled with tears and she reached for Jordan’s hands. “I did it for you, and for your father. Randall had money. The note was to be delivered to him. He would have paid for your return, Cyrus would have taken his cut and handed over the funds to me. I would have, in turn, given the money to your father, and he would not have had to grovel for a loan from those bank people.”

  Lydia released Jordan’s hands and resumed pacing.

  Jordan shook her head, still as confused as ever. “If Daddy wasn’t in on it, where were you going to tell him you’d gotten your hands on this windfall? Wouldn’t it be a little obvious after Randall had paid a demand and then you and Daddy had suddenly fallen into a fortune?”

  “That’s just it. Cousin Al would have delivered a document stating just such a thing—that I’d received an inheritance.” Lydia sniffed. “It’s well-known that my family has money.”

  “Then why didn’t you just ask them for it?”

  “Your father has his pride, dear.”

  “Pride?” she echoed, feeling as though she’d just executed a tricky jump and found out there was no solid ground on the other side of the fence.

  “Really, Jordan. There’s no need to raise your voice. I love you. I was thinking of you. You’ve always taken so many responsibilities on your shoulders, and I knew you’d agreed to marry Randall because of what he could do for your father. You gave your word, and it was tearing you up inside.”

  But that didn’t excuse this harebrained plot. And Jordan didn’t want to consider the legalities of the matter. The feds had a tendency to frown on such things. Besides that, jailhouse orange was not Lydia’s best color.

  “I knew this was about money. But I didn’t realize how ugly it was. I should never have let Tanner leave.” Jordan was speaking more to herself now. “I should have followed my heart.” Then another thought struck her. Tanner must have known. Otherwise he would never have let her return.

  She wasn’t in danger from her own parents. Though misguided, Lydia had had her heart in the right place.

  As Jordan watched—too astonished for the moment to object—Lydia struck a match. Hands shaking, she held it to the corner of the damning paper, then tossed the burning missive into the fireplace.

  “I appreciate what that young man tried to do for you, dear, but as I said, you were never in danger. You might think you have feelings for him—that happens quite frequently when a person is thrown into such a situation. Usually, it’s a result of gratitude. Give it some time, and you’ll come to realize that I’m right. Besides, your father would never go along with a liaison between you and the Caldwell boy.”

  Stunned—when she had thought she was surely past the point—Jordan wasn’t certain her voice would work. “‘The Caldwell boy’?” She rubbed at her temples, which were starting to ache. She told herself it no longer mattered what her parents thought, told herself she wouldn’t ask.

  She did anyway. “Why not?”

  “Because of what his father did.”

  “His father...” Her words trailed off in sheer astonishment. “Are you talking about the fire?”

  “Well, yes.” She looked surprised that Jordan didn’t “get it.” “You know we’ve never recovered from that loss—and Douglas Caldwell was the likely suspect. So you understand why you mustn’t mention Tanner Caldwell to your father anymore. The two of you have fought enough over this. He knows that you’ve spent the week with the boy, but he’s willing to let it pass.”

  Anger winged out of nowhere, catching Jordan off guard. The e
motion was so powerful, she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  And Tanner was far from a boy.

  “You and Daddy are blaming Tanner for something you believe his father caused? And even so, if the man was drunk, that fire might not have been deliberately set. And Daddy was underinsured. He cut corners.”

  “Surely he did nothing of the sort.” Now Lydia was as agitated as Jordan, wringing her hands and looking uncertain. “And show some respect, young lady. Your father has doted on you. He is a fair man.”

  “Fair?” A long-forgotten image surfaced. She’d been galloping across the meadow and had caught sight of Tanner talking to her father. Actually, her father had been doing the talking, or lecturing; Tanner had only stood there, silent, his shoulders stiffened with pride. Jordan had slowed her mount, thought to go over and speak with him. But Maynard had shouted an order at her—she couldn’t even remember what it had been. And she hadn’t considered disobeying.

  She’d hesitated for an instant, and her gaze had locked with Tanner’s. There had been embarrassment there, and anger, then his eyes had softened. For her. Turning his back on her father, he’d touched two fingers to his forehead in a soft salute.

  It was the last she’d seen of him until that night in Gatlin’s.

  She realized now that her father had fired him, ordered him off Grazer land. That must have been the day Tanner had gone home to find his father gone, and the trailer missing.

  Oh, Lord, because of who Tanner was, he’d been judged. And that was a terrible injustice.

  Acceptance should never be measured by the status of one’s family name.

  She felt disgusted by the small-town bigotry, by how it could ruin a life. The sins of Tanner’s father should not have reflected on the son.

  And by damn, she was tired of living by the Grazer code, tired of keeping up appearances. She wanted out.

  She wanted Tanner.

  She stood, her decision made. “What did the doctor say about Daddy?”

  The switch of subject had Lydia’s brow clearing. “The EKG was normal, and there are no signs of a heart attack.” Lydia smiled softly. “With a modified diet and a reduction of stress, he’ll probably outlive us all.”