by Pamela Clare
She glanced at the microwave clock, stood and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to get dressed. I’m meeting my bridesmaids for our final fittings this morning, and then we’re going to lunch.”
He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her into his lap and planted a kiss on her mouth. “Don’t forget to put the slutty dress on hold. You might need it.”
At first, the fittings had seemed to drag on forever. The seamstress kept talking on her cell phone, which made her lose her concentration to the point where Lissy had become truly irritated. But then she’d slipped into her gown and looked in the mirror.
She’d looked like…a bride.
She’d found herself staring, transfixed, at her own reflection, tears streaming down her cheeks, her heartbeat fluttering.
“I’m getting married,” she’d said, as the seamstress had handed her tissues.
The gown she’d chosen was an empire-waist Vera Wang sheath of white silk with delicate cap sleeves. At five-foot-four she couldn’t pull off the poufy princess look, and she’d loved the way the empire waistline emphasized her breasts.
Holly, her maid of honor, and Tessa, Sophie and Kara, her bridesmaids, were wearing mauve empire-waist gowns with white silk sashes. The look worked as well for Holly, who was model-thin and would look stylish in burlap, as it did for Kara, who’d had a baby not quite a year ago and was still nursing.
They’d ordered salads and waters all around—not the most exciting lunch, but appropriate when only two weeks away from a day they all wanted to look sleek and slender.
At first they’d talked about the newspaper—a hard thing not to do when they were all journalists. Holly worked as an entertainment writer, while Tessa and Sophie were part of the paper’s elite Investigative Team, or I-Team. Kara had been part of the I-Team but had quit to work freelance when she’d gotten married. Members of the I-Team did hard-core journalism, the stuff that made headlines, stuff Lissy had no desire to do.
It wasn’t until they were almost through their meal that Lissy told them about the bet.
“I think it’s really romantic,” said Tessa in her soft Georgia accent, pushing her empty plate aside. With her long blond curls and big blue eyes, she looked like Goldilocks, but Lissy pitied anyone who misjudged Tessa. “But then I’ve always told you Will is a real gentleman. He’d do anything for you.”
“Except wear mauve cummerbunds.” Kara, who was married to a state senator, dabbed her lips with her napkin and smiled. Her long dark hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. “I don’t think Reece would have done that either.”
“If you stick to it, you’ll have the most amazing wedding night. You’ll both be ready to rip each other’s clothes off.” Holly squeezed lemon into her fizzy water. With short platinum blond hair and huge brown eyes, she reminded Lissy of an elf. “But if you lose—and with a stud like Will, losing would feel like winning—you’ll look gorgeous in the Badgley Mischka.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“You do look lovely in that gown,” Tessa said. “The way I see it, if you’ve got it—”
“—flaunt it,” they all said in unison before erupting in laughter.
Holly shrugged her slender shoulder. “I just don’t know how you’re going to make it for two weeks living with Will without mauling him.”
Sophie leaned in, a smile on her freckled face, her sleek strawberry-blond hair sliding over her shoulder. “Batteries.”
Lissy felt her cheeks turn pink. But why should she be embarrassed? They were all women. They’d surely all had a battery-operated boyfriend at one point or another. “I retired that particular device after my first date with Will. Besides, two weeks isn’t all that long.”
Will’s best man stared at him as if he were insane.
“That has got to be the most lame-ass thing I’ve ever heard.”
A former CU linebacker, Devon King bore a strong resemblance to Montel Williams—but with hair. He’d been one of Will’s closest friends through college and had stood by Will when his life had come crashing down around him. Of all his teammates, Devon had been the only one to attend Will’s mother’s funeral. Unable to bank on a pro career, Devon had gone to law school after graduation and was now a defense attorney. The two of them coached kids’ football on the weekends during the summer. This year, they had a team of eight-year-olds sporting little Steelers uniforms.
“Lissy thinks it’s romantic.” Will grabbed a duffel bag crammed with gear out of the back of his pickup and swung it over his shoulder.
But Devon was still staring at him, openmouthed and unmoving.
“Oh, come on, man! What was I supposed to say? ‘No, Lissy, darling, you’ve got me by the gonads, and I can’t last two days, let alone two weeks’?”
“That would have been better than ‘yes.’” Devon gave a disgusted snort. “Let me get this straight. You agreed not to have sex with your extremely fine fiancée because she thinks not having sex is somehow romantic?”
“It’s more than that. I think it has to do with something her mother said to her. Lissy asked me if it was possible for a couple to get married because they mistook great sex for love.”
“Like that’s a bad thing.” Devon grinned. “So you went along with it to prove there’s more to your relationship than sex?”
Will knew he had to tell Devon the whole truth. “That’s part of it. Also, she bet me.”
Devon shook his head. “You never could turn down a dare. What happens if you lose?”
This was the hard part. Will tried to say it casually, as if it didn’t matter. “We have to wear those pink cummerbunds.”
“Hell!” Devon jerked as if he’d been struck. “Man, I will personally come to your place at two A.M. to dump ice on your crotch. I am not walking down the aisle wearing pink!”
The horror on his friend’s face made Will laugh. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of caving. It’s only two weeks. Let’s get set up. I see a few mini Steelers waiting for us.”
Still frowning, Devon grabbed a bag of balls and they started toward the field.
Will got home, sweaty and thirsty, to find Lissy on the phone with their wedding planner, working out minuscule details of the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony and the reception. Rose petals instead of rice. Silk organza ribbons on the banisters, white not mauve, which would just be too much. Fourteen people requesting vegetarian entrees at the reception. Add a fourth layer to the chocolate truffle cake.
Thank God he was the groom and didn’t have to deal with that stuff. It would have made his brain bleed.
He tossed his sweaty clothes into the laundry and stepped into the shower. By the time Lissy was off the phone he was covered with soap.
She stuck her head in through the bathroom door. “Do you realize this is our last two days of peace and quiet before the wedding? This week is crazy-busy for both of us at the paper. Next weekend is the bridal shower and the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Then the week after we have wedding stuff almost every day.”
They did? All he could remember was the rehearsal and the wedding itself. He made a mental note to check his planner against hers. But what he said was, “Mm-hmm.”
He turned his back to the spray and let the water spill over his shoulders to rinse the soap away. He saw her look at his bare chest, then his abdomen, then lower still, and watched her pupils dilate. Her reaction sent a rush of blood to his groin, and he felt himself start to swell. He turned away, trying to hide his growing erection, and rubbed slick soap over his ass.
When she spoke, her voice was unnaturally light and casual. “Well, what would you like to do tonight?”
He’d like to have a repeat of last night. He’d like to bury his cock deep inside her and fuck her in a half-dozen positions, a half-dozen different places. But he couldn’t say that—not without seriously pissing off Devon and the rest of his groomsmen. “What did people do a hundred years ago?”
They had an early dinner, then caught a new F
rench art film that Holly had recommended at Chez Artiste, leaving the theater two hours later confused.
“Did that make any sense to you?” Lissy tried to piece the images and subtitles together.
Will unlocked the passenger door of his pickup and opened it for her. “I liked the part where she ate her lipstick. And all the bare breasts—I liked those, too.”
Lissy waited until he’d climbed into the driver’s seat to continue the conversation. “What is it with French art films anyway? They portray women as if we’re all just dying to get into bed with one another.”
Will turned to her, his disappointed frown visible even in the dim yellow light of the street lamp. “You mean you aren’t?”
“Of course not!” She answered before she realized he was joking.
“Damn, Lissy! Way to ruin my fantasies. And I suppose next you’re going to tell me there’s no Santa Claus.”
His sulky tone made her laugh. “Just drive.”
The night was warm, one of those not-too-hot, not-too-cool early June nights when the Colorado sky was so clear the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies were visible even in the starlight. They went to their favorite coffee shop, where they tried to decipher the film’s deeper meaning over frothy cappuccinos, and then took a stroll on the 16th Street Mall, its rows of trees lit up by tiny white lights. They passed street vendors, a few Bob Dylan wannabes, an amazing sax player, a guy making funny animals out of balloons, and a fit-looking woman with dreadlocks performing on a unicycle.
Lissy didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but the Mall seemed to be crawling with lovers. A young couple dressed in black, their faces full of metal piercings, their eyes locked on each other. An old man and woman walking hand in hand, their skinny, pale legs sticking out of matching Bermuda shorts. A couple in their early thirties walking slowly along the red bricks, the woman’s belly big and round with their baby.
It had been a pregnancy scare that had gotten the whole marriage ball rolling. Lissy had missed a few pills, and then she’d been late. Only when the test had come up negative had they realized they were more disappointed she wasn’t pregnant than they had been afraid that she was. Will had proposed a month later.
Lissy watched the woman’s round tummy as she passed, felt the warmth of Will’s big hand surrounding hers and tried to inhale the sweetness of the moment. “I felt like a bride today.”
Will looked down at her, saw the dreamy look on her face. He could only imagine what she was talking about. No little boy sat around at the age of six planning what kind of tux he’d wear on his wedding day. Guys just didn’t dream about being grooms the way women dreamed about being brides. But guys did dream of being husbands and fathers. Perhaps what she’d felt was similar to the feeling he got when he saw her asleep at night, safe and sound—a warmth beyond contentment that told him all was right with the world.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Have I ever told you I love you, Lissy Charteris?”
She smiled up at him. “Once or twice.”
He spotted a vendor selling flowers off to his right. He stepped away from her, pulled out his wallet and handed the man a twenty in exchange for a dozen pink roses. Then he turned to her, held out the roses and spoke in his loudest, most dramatic voice. “I love you, Lissy!”
People around them stopped, watched, laughed.
“You’re a lunatic, Will Fraser!” Lissy’s sweet face lit up with a smile, and she ducked her head the cute way she did any time she felt embarrassed, long hair spilling over her cheek. Then she looked into his eyes. “But a very handsome lunatic. I love you, too.”
They said good night outside the guest room, with slow lingering kisses that made Will’s blood burn—and turned his cock to concrete.
“I had a wonderful time tonight.” She leaned against him wearing one of his old T-shirts, her breasts pressing into his ribs, her arms locked at the back of his neck. “It was almost like we were dating again—and very romantic. Thank you for the roses.”
“I had a good time, too.” A voice in his head told him to quit kissing her, to let go and step away. But he loved the taste of her mouth. He took her lips with his, let his tongue toy with hers, felt her melt against him—then felt her stiffen. And he knew.
She’d discovered wood.
She stepped back from him, rested her hands on his chest, glanced down at the bulge in his boxer briefs. “I guess we shouldn’t be doing this—or not too much of it, anyway.”
Will felt his mouth move, heard his own voice. “I guess not.”
What do you mean, you frigging idiot! It’s exactly what you should be doing!
A part of him wondered what she would do if he kissed her again. He could tell from the sharp points her nipples made through his T-shirt she was turned on, too. But some part of him—some really stupid, overly chivalrous part of him—thought that might be cheating.
She smiled, looking insufferably sexy and sweet. Then she kissed him—on the cheek. “Good night, Will. I love you.”
“Good night, sugar. Sweet dreams.”
Lissy lay in the small twin bed, her body pleasantly aroused. It really had been a wonderful evening. She loved Will’s sense of humor and his whip-smart mind and had enjoyed discussing the film with him, even if neither of them had understood it or liked it. She felt she could talk to him about anything and never grow tired of hearing what he had to say. And even though they’d been together for a year and a half now, he still surprised her, as he’d done tonight by bellowing, “I love you!” on the Mall.
All in all, their first day of no sex had been well worth it. Not that it had been easy. Seeing him in the shower today had brought her to the edge of a meltdown. The sight of soap bubbles sliding over the muscles of his chest and abdomen, his dark body hair slicked against his wet skin, bubbles gathered in the wet hair that covered his testicles, had left her sopping in an instant. Clearly, unless she wanted to walk down the aisle in a barely there Badgley Mischka, she was going to have to be more careful.
No, it hadn’t been easy. Not then, and not when she’d been tempted to follow him to their bed so he could rock her world with that hard cock of his. Still, today had proved they didn’t have to have sex to cherish being with one another. Maybe going without sex for a while would deepen their relationship.
She rolled over, ignored the tingle between her legs and was soon fast asleep.
Will fell asleep, too, but a few hours later and only after he’d wrapped his mind around Lissy—and his hand around himself.
Lissy woke early the next morning when she tried to snuggle against Will and found herself pressing into a rough, cold wall. Unable to fall back asleep, she took a shower, brushed her teeth and started a pot of coffee.
They spent the morning doing chores. Lissy did laundry and went shopping for groceries, while Will packed their books, photo albums and his collection of vinyl LPs, carried them through the “Cone Zone” to his truck, and moved them to the new house. They were halfway through the grilled salmon salads Lissy had picked up for lunch when Devon called and asked if Will was in the mood for a little game of touch.
And so Lissy found herself sitting next to a cooler full of Fat Tire in the park down the street from their condo watching Will toss around a football with his groomsmen. There were a thousand other things she could have been doing, but she loved to watch Will play, partly because he enjoyed it so much and partly because—okay, she could be honest with herself—there was something about six-foot-plus of sweaty man in battle against sweaty man that made the secret girly part of her squeal.
She certainly knew more about football than she had when she’d met him, and she knew talent when she saw it. Will had more than his fair share, his movements powerful, focused and graceful. Even with his knee injury, he ran like the wind, though he limped slightly between plays. With hands that had been described as “magic” by sports commentators—and Lissy knew they were magic, only not in the way sports commentators thought—he seemed to lure the
ball out of the air and against his chest.
And he looked damned sexy doing it.
Although it was hazardous to her libido—how could she watch him jump and grunt and run and sweat and not get turned on?—she couldn’t make herself walk the hundred steps home.
At least he was having a good time. That was what mattered.
Will caught another pass and ran it out of bounds, enjoying the exertion.
Then Devon called a time-out and pulled everyone, including the three members of the opposing team, into a huddle. “Is she watching? Good. Will, take your shirt off. The way we see it, you need to play some offense here. As long as you’re just playing D, you’re going to lose.”
Nods all around.
“You told everyone?” Will glared at his best friend.
Devon shrugged. “You give in, and we wear pink. It’s our asses on the line.”
More nods.
“Except mine, of course, because I’m only an usher,” Chris grumbled.
“Let’s face it, man. You don’t stand a chance. Lissy is…well, Lissy is one fine female.”
“Extremely hot,” Chris added.
“She’s…whoa, yeah…hot,” stammered Robert.
“A total babe,” Scott agreed.
“I’d do her,” Nick said, acting surprised when Will glared at him. “What?”
“What are you guys suggesting? You want me to cheat?”
“Not cheat,” Devon said, smiling from behind his mirrored sunglasses. “Just turn up the heat on your woman. Play to win.”
The idea had its appeal. Will wasn’t looking forward to two weeks of sleeping alone and solo sex. He glanced at Lissy, caught her smile, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I agreed to this, and I’m just going to have to ride it out.”
“Just take off your shirt, man, then go fetch a beer.”
Nods.
Hadn’t he had the same thought last night?
Play to win.
“Do you know how weird it feels to hear you say that, Devon? ‘Take off your shirt.’” Despite the niggling of his conscience, Will yanked the sweaty T-shirt over his head. “If I catch you eyeing me, dude, I’ll kick your ass.”