by P. J. Mellor
“Oh! I thought you were someone else!” He’d just bet she had. She tugged at her big yellow towel. “May I help you?” she asked, all polite as though she had never set eyes on him in her life.
“Surprised to see me?” He stepped into the foyer, forcing her back a step, and closed the door behind him.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t leave right now, I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“Don’t I even get a kiss?” He pulled her none-too-gently to him and ground his lips against hers.
She was good. He’d give her that. She was acting out the stranger scene to high hilt. Didn’t even respond to his kiss as she’d always done.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he snarled against her tightly closed lips, “I know we’re alone.” He grabbed the towel and yanked it from her killer body as his other hand clasped her breast.
She shrieked at the same time a deep voice yelled, “What the hell is going on here! Get your hands off my wife!”
Marc turned in time to see a beefy fist heading straight for his eye.
“Back off, Brad!” Kinsey/Karly commanded from somewhere above him. So she had feelings for him after all. As soon as the ringing in his head subsided, he’d open his eyes.
“I think this may be Kinsey’s friend.” Friend? Hell, they were more than friends. But why was she talking in the third person?
Her voice came closer to his face. “Marc? Is that you?”
He nodded, pain shooting behind his right eye. Strong hands gripped beneath his armpits and he felt himself lifted to his feet.
“Well, what the hell is he doing here if he’s Kinsey’s friend?” Huh? Was this man in on it from the beginning?
“What kind of people are you?” Marc asked once he was seated, slumped against the arm of the sofa. Holding his palm over his injured eye, he peeked out at the woman, now wrapped tightly in her towel and the towering WWE wannabe looming behind her, all bristling ego and bulging muscles.
“I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said. “Kinsey is the person you’re looking for, right?”
“Right,” he said cautiously.
“I’m her twin sister, Karly.” She shrugged. “People get us mixed up all the time.” The man growled and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Shut up, Brad. You did the same thing when we were dating. Remember? You terrified Kins when she found you in her bed that time?
“This is my husband, Brad James,” she told him. “B.J.,” she commanded, “shake hands and play nice.”
Marc reached out to reluctantly shake the wannabe’s hand. “Marc Wallace.”
Marc watched Karly and Brad with a wary eye—his good one, that is. They set a plate of sandwiches, a pitcher of iced tea, and glasses filled with ice on the table before joining him.
“What do you do, Marc?” Brad asked, reaching for a sandwich.
“I’m a surgeon. Reconstructive surgery, mostly.” He flinched when he touched his eye. “I may need to build a new orbital socket.”
Brad grimaced. “Sorry about that. But you have to admit, it looked damning when I walked in.”
Marc nodded and winced. “Yeah. I understand.” He focused his good eye on Karly, now dressed in jean shorts and a red halter top, feet bare. “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually go around accosting women.”
She smiled. “I understand. Probably better than most. You’re a doctor, huh? Now, why would Kinsey ever think you were a cowboy or rancher?”
He shrugged and looked at his chapped hands. “I guess it’s because I have rough hands.” He frowned. “Surgical scrub does that. Plus, I play a lot of tennis and compete in amateur rodeo—hey, I bet I was wearing my calf-roping buckle when we met.”
She nodded. “Yep. That would do it.”
“Were you at the steak house in Corpus night before last?” She shook her head, and his heart dropped. “Oh, then I guess it was her. She was with someone.” He dug the engagement ring out of his pocket. “I found this at the beach house after she left.” He gave a humorless laugh. “If I wanted a sign, I sure got one.”
“No!” Karly protested, grabbing the ring and tossing it aside. “The guy you saw her with was probably Zach—or Dr. Dull, as I call him. He gave her that ring ages ago and refused to take it back. She never was serious about him. In fact, she was going to meet him to tell him to leave her alone before she had a restraining order put on him.”
“But she didn’t come to the beach house last weekend. I waited, but—”
“I was afraid she’d do that.” Karly’s mouth—not nearly as kissable as her sister’s, now that he’d had a closer look—turned down. “She was really upset about something that happened the last weekend you were together. Said it would be better to just end it.”
The kitchen-table thing, as he’d suspected. His heart clenched. What had gotten into him to act that way?
“It’s all my fault.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying not to wince when he touched his eye. “I need to talk to her, but I’m afraid she won’t want to hear anything I have to say.”
“So…what did you want to say to her?” Karly asked, a little smile playing with her lips.
“Karly!” Brad’s hand clamped over his wife’s mouth. “Don’t pay any attention to her. She’s a little, ah, nuts when it comes to her sister. Ow! You bit me!”
“Damn right! And I’m not nuts!” She leaned toward Marc, a pleading look in her eyes. “Kinsey’s not had the best track record when it comes to romance. I just don’t want her to get hurt. She didn’t say much about what happened during your last weekend together, but I got the impression it scared her.”
Marc hung his head. “Damn. That’s what I was afraid of when she didn’t show.” He met Karly’s gaze. “I got a little carried away. She said some things that cut and I guess I wanted to strike back. I—”
“What are you talking about? She said her reactions scared the hell out of her and she thought it would be better for both of you if she didn’t go back again. She said you deserved better.”
“I deserved better? She deserves better! Much better than anything I could—”
“Hold on, hold on.” Brad held up one big hand. “It sounds to me as though you and my sister-in-law need to talk.” He looked pointedly at his wife. “Alone.”
“I agree, but how do I get in touch with her? Does she even live here in South Padre?”
Karly shook her head. “Nope. She lives in Corpus Christi.” She opened a kitchen drawer and rummaged around before withdrawing a business card. “Here’s her card.” She reached back into the drawer for a pen and wrote something on the back of the card. “These are her home and cell numbers, if you can’t reach her at work.”
He stared at the card she handed him. “She’s a financial analyst?”
She nodded. “And in very high demand. She conducts seminars, mostly.”
“And what if I can’t get her to meet with me?” And why should she? She’d made her decision.
“You just leave that to me,” Karly said with a smile.
Kinsey gripped her briefcase handle and juggled the paperwork she’d brought for the seminar for the Wallace Medical Group. All the graphs and pie charts should already have been delivered.
Taking baby steps lest the new high heels she’d bought to cheer her up cause her to slip on the highly polished marble foyer, she approached the concierge desk.
“Excuse me? Hello?” The young man looked up and she swallowed a shriek of surprise at the multiple piercings on his lip, nose and eyebrow. “Could you direct me to the Bluebonnet conference room?”
“Sure,” he said in a less than thrilled tone. “It’s straight down that hall to your right, almost to the end. You’ll see the sign. But it’s reserved for the afternoon. Some medical seminar thing.”
“Yes, I know. Thanks.” She yanked up on the papers, hoping she’d maintain her grip until she reached her destination.
The hallway stretched on forever, but finally she spotted the sign proclaim
ing her destination. The door to the conference room was propped open.
Her new shoes were almost as slippery on the plush carpet, making little whooshing sounds with each careful step. She deposited her burden and looked around the deserted room. Along the far end, several pitchers of ice water and tea sat next to upturned stemware. Croissants were arranged on a silver platter, and pats of butter rested in a silver bowl of crushed ice. A glance at her watch confirmed that less than five minutes remained before the seminar was scheduled to begin. Where was everyone?
After placing several stacks of hand-out sheets around the table, she looked at her watch again. It was now five minutes past time to start and she was still the only person in the room.
The first vase of red roses arrived and was placed on the center of the round conference table. Within ten minutes, twenty more had joined the original.
“There must be a mistake,” she told the delivery boy. “I’m scheduled to give a seminar in here. The flowers are filling up almost the entire table!”
In response, he grinned and said, “Oh, no mistake, Ms. Carlyle.” With that, he gave a small salute and left the room, closing the door behind him.
That was when she noticed a box, behind the door, wrapped in gold foil with a splashy gold and silver foil ribbon bow. Her name was on the gift tag. She gave it a hesitant shake, then slipped off the top to discover another wrapped box—and the bathing suit she’d never worn at the beach house.
Her hand shook as she unwrapped the smaller box. It held the risqué nightie Marc had bought for her, nestling a much smaller gift-wrapped box. The tag read Do not open unless/until you are willing to wear these items of clothing. Love, Marc.
A quick glance confirmed that she was still alone. The hall door was the only opening, so there was no adjoining bathroom. He found her. Did she dare risk putting on the clothing before she began her seminar?
The carpet tickled her feet when she stepped out of her shoes. With a careful watch on the door, she reached under the short skirt of her dress and yanked her thong down her thigh-high stockings. The thong was shoved into her briefcase. Still watching the door, she shimmied into the sheer bottoms of the nightie, since she had no idea how to tie the bikini strings. She’d just straightened her skirt when the door opened and Marc walked in.
He looked so gorgeous, her eyes stung. Her nostrils flared with the heady scent of his aftershave as he slowly walked toward her. Dressed in a charcoal pinstriped suit with a pale blue shirt and red tie, he could have stepped from the cover of GQ. As he came closer, she saw the red of his tie was actually millions of tiny painted lips. Against her slick folds, the embroidery of another pair of lips pressed against sensitive flesh. And she smiled.
Marc stopped a foot in front of her with a tentative smile. “Hello, Kinsey.” He leaned to brush her surprised lips with his warm ones. “I’ve missed you.” He glanced at the flowers and opened boxes. “Are you ready?”
Oh, baby, am I ever! Her flesh was already weeping for him. But, wait. She had a seminar to conduct.
“I have a seminar—”
“I know.” His hand encompassed the room. “This is it. Or rather, I’m it.”
She shook her head, telling her heart to slow down, ordering her hormones not to get too excited. “No. It’s with the Wallace Medical Group. I’m supposed to—”
He traced the edge of her neckline with his index finger, leaving a fiery trail. “I guess I should introduce myself and let you get on with it, then.” He unbuttoned the double-breasted coatdress she wore, exposing her black lace push-up bra and the sheer panties she’d donned. His lips compressed in a tight line while his thumbs brushed back and forth over her lace-covered nipples. His nostrils flared.
Her eyes closed with a sigh. She really should stop him before people started arriving and they were both embarrassed. But it’d been so long since he’d touched her and she missed him so much.
He tugged her dress from her shoulders, putting a stop to her sensual reveling.
“Marc! Stop.” She reached out, stopping the downward plunge of her clothing. “I have a seminar to conduct and people will be here any minute.”
His eyes met hers, but his hands remained on her breasts, fingers toying with the lace edge of her bra. “Ah, yes. The introduction. I forgot.” He smiled into her eyes. “I’m Dr. Marcus Wallace and I’m the head of the Wallace Medical Group.” At her stunned look, he explained. “I found you through your sister and arranged today’s seminar. Today’s private seminar.”
“You mean, you’re it? You’re the only person scheduled to attend the seminar?” He nodded and she tried to wrap her mind around the exorbitant amount he’d had to spend in order to get her all to himself for the next three hours.
“Why didn’t you just call me?” she whispered.
“I thought a grand gesture was in order, after the way we parted,” he whispered back.
“Oh.” She was numb, watching his hands skim her body beneath her dress.
“You put on the panties, I see,” he said with a smile.
She nodded. His hands went to his belt.
The suit pants met the carpet with the chink of change and rattle of the gold belt buckle.
He gathered her in his arms, his sex hot and insistent against her ribs. His kiss set off a chain of wild fires that threatened to engulf her.
“I’ve missed you so much, Kinsey!” he said against her mouth before crushing her lips. “I wanted to wait, to do this right, but I can’t wait any longer! I love you!” he growled as he lifted her and plunged his erection through the crotchless panties into her ready heat.
The paneled wall of the conference room was cool against her bare back, its smooth surface a welcome contrast to the hard-muscled heat pounding her. With a cry of joy, she wrapped her legs more securely around his hips and pulled him deeper still. “I love you, too,” she whispered in his ear, tears clogging her throat.
Their cries of completion echoed from the tall ceiling. Marc sat in the high-backed chair at the table, cradling Kinsey on his lap, still intimately joined. When she tried to lean back, his arms tightened, holding her close to his heart.
“But, Marc—” she said against his lips as he nibbled hers. “What if someone tries to—come in?”
He concentrated on peeling down the cups of her bra. “Not gonna happen,” he told her when he was rewarded by the heavy heat of her breasts in his palms. “I told you.” He leaned down to kiss a breast. “I’m your only client.” He drew the tip of his tongue over each nipple, then gently blew on the peaks and watched them tighten. He smiled down at her. “Besides, I took the precaution of locking the door.” He shifted slightly and grinned. “Thank you for wearing these, by the way. It made things much more expedient.”
She buried her face against his collarbone and tried to stop her self-conscious giggle.
“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with the tip of his finger. “Don’t be embarrassed. Not with me. Never with me.” His lips brushed hers. He reached back to drag the gift box closer. “Now open your last gift, darlin’.”
With a curious look at him, she tore open the paper, then stared at what looked suspiciously like a ring box. Did she dare hope?
Sure, they’d only known each other four weeks, but if the feelings of loss and misery she’d felt since leaving him were any indication, those feelings were deep. And lasting. The trepidation she felt while looking at the box was totally unlike the feelings she’d had when Zachary proposed.
If Marc was not proposing, if this wasn’t what she hoped it was, how would she disguise her disappointment?
“It’s not going to bite, you know.” Marc plucked the box from her numb fingers. “I know it’s kind of sudden and I’ll understand if you tell me to take a hike, but, Kinsey, I love you so much I hurt with it.” He took something out of the box, but her tears were blurring her vision.
“I can’t imagine living another week without you, much less my life.” He held her left hand. “I want to
have beautiful babies with you. Grow old with you. So…will you put me out of my misery and marry me?”
The gold felt cool against the third finger of her left hand. The large diamond flashed and winked through her tears.
She sniffed and croaked, “Who gets to drive the Jag?”
Jack of Hearts
1
Jack McMillan took another sip of his Jose Cuervo and lime, leaned back in his lounge chair and tried to enjoy the impending sunset over the Gulf of Mexico.
Over. After six years, Mardee told him to take a hike. Just like that, it was all over. Well, okay, maybe not just like that.
Mardee had a point. Had he truly been in love with her, it wouldn’t have taken six years to make a decision to commit. His drink sloshed onto his hand. And, sure, maybe he did drink a bit too much, on occasion. But, damn, he was going to miss her.
He glanced at the cordless phone. Would she even want to talk to him? What would he say?
The rumble of a big truck interrupted his ruminations.
He leaned closer to the side of his deck and looked down to see a moving van. After all these years, old man Gooding must have finally sold his beach house. Great timing. Just when he wanted, needed, to be alone. Well, the new neighbors better not expect him to act all warm and fuzzy—in short, neighborly.
He got more comfortable in the chaise and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the surf soothe him. Maybe things would look better after a short nap.
Bright sunlight woke him the next morning. He knew it was morning because the ice in his glass had long since melted and the inside of his mouth tasted like a sewer.
Jack stretched and scratched his belly, then dragged himself into the beach house for a shower.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. When he could make out the shape of the spiral staircase leading to the second-floor master suite, he pointed his feet in that direction, trying not to notice how quiet the house seemed. Empty.
While the shower warmed up, he brushed and flossed his teeth, then stood staring at his reflection. He looked like he’d just come off a three-day drunk. He glanced at his analog watch. Pretty close to it. He leaned closer to the mirror to inspect the damage.