LOL #3 Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Anthology

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  His whisper turned to a growl. “Yes, who’s against the wall this time?”

  She twisted her hands, trying to free herself from where he pinned her because she wanted to touch him, to run her fingers over his massive shoulders and through his thick hair, but he pressed her tight against the wall with his hand and his hard body. The plaster chilled her back and butt, but Wulf’s other hand warmed her breast as he lightly rubbed his thumb over the peak, and his mouth opened on her throat.

  A bite of pain sparked from her neck, and she gasped.

  Wulf’s low chuckle rumbled beside her neck.

  He stripped the bulky winter clothes off her body, holding at least one of her wrists above her head the whole time, spinning her one way and then the other against the wall, pressing his body against her and dizzying her. One moment, he tugged her new cashmere sweater over her head, but he caught her hands again and spun her, ending up behind her and sliding his hands over her hips to push down her old jeans that were getting snug everywhere. He yanked them off her ankles and let his suit jacket drop to the floor at the same time, releasing her hands in his haste.

  By the time he spun her back around and his lips came down on hers, he had flung his tie and shirts to the wood floor, and the hot skin of his muscular chest warmed her. Ebony and red ink, the cap of an enormous tattoo that covered half his back, crawled over his shoulder under her left hand. Just a trace of his cologne lingered—warm spices like cinnamon and orange and Wulf’s natural male scent under it—and she inhaled along his neck for more. She was just spreading her hands on his chest, feeling his golden chest fuzz under her palms and sliding her hands down toward the hard bricks of his abs, when he grabbed her wrists and stretched her against the wall again. His other hand dove lower, caressing down her stomach, gently lingering over the new softness there, and then he stroked lower, touching her.

  She moaned against his lips, and he kissed her harder, spurred on by her voice.

  He caressed her inside her folds, his cool fingers sliding through her, wetter with each stroke over her clit, until her body began to tighten. Even in her own ears, she could hear her breathing quicken from a languorous sigh of pleasure to a tight rasp of need.

  He yanked his pants off and pushed himself between her legs, rubbing deeper between her slippery thighs. Rae wanted to grab his shoulders, to hold onto him, but he still held her hands above her head as he slipped through her wet skin, driving her higher with each rub. His breath blew hot on her lips, and his tongue stroked hers in her mouth.

  “Please!” she whimpered, her hands writhing in his grasp above her head. She was trying not to moan because surely the security guys were on the other side of the wall.

  He let go of her hands and lifted one of her legs, wrapping her thigh around his lean waist. Rae grabbed him around the neck with both arms, holding tight. He kissed her again, tangling one hand in her hair, almost pulling it, and he found her center and slowly pushed into her.

  He filled her, stretching her, and even though he eased in, she let her head fall back and gasped. Wulf bent and scraped his teeth over her neck, and his hand reached lower, grasping her other thigh.

  Just as he filled her to the hilt, pressing his body against her clit, he lifted her other leg and gravity dragged her down farther, pushing him deeper into her.

  He trapped her between his body and the wall, buried in her, and she was already tightening around him as she locked her legs behind his back. He thrust up hard, holding her under her thighs and against the wall as he pulled away and jammed himself back in, slamming against her clit, and every shove inside her coiled her more tightly. Her head was thrown back so far that almost the top of her skull rubbed against the smooth plaster wall, and her breath rasped in her chest and throat to keep from screaming.

  She panted, “Yes, oh yes,” near his ear, his short hair brushing against her cheek as he forced himself up into her, deeper every time.

  His rhythm strengthened, became insistent, banging her clit and rubbing deep inside her. He grunted near her cheek, and her body wound tight around him, grinding tighter until she couldn’t breathe. One more of his hard thrusts broke the sob from her throat and unleashed the orgasm that tore through her and up her spine, blinding her as the world went white like the snow-glaring sun.

  Rae could hear her own breathless gasps first, then Wulf’s hoarse sighs near her ear, panting and rasping in his throat. His arms tightened around her as her legs gave out and she almost fell.

  His breath brushed her shoulder as he whispered, “I will never look at another woman. I would never betray you.”

  He pulled away to slip out of her, and Rae held him more tightly around his neck. “I trust you.”

  He reached under her knees and picked up her legs to carry her to the bed. His warm chest felt so solid under her cheek, and she rubbed her face on his shoulder, just feeling his skin. Even that comforted her.

  He steadied her on her feet, keeping one arm around her, as he shoved the bedcovers away so they could crawl in. Fatigue drew her down, and she slid into the softness of the bed. Wulf wrapped his arms around her, and she lay on her side with her forehead against his shoulder, still fighting for breath.

  He smoothed her hair back, stroking her cheeks, and his warm lips pressed against her forehead.

  Rae felt herself drifting, breathing in the humid scent of sex and the clean musk from Wulf’s body.

  He stirred beside her, adjusting his broad shoulders on the bed.

  Wulf wouldn’t fall asleep, not from just sex. He had slept for nearly five hours last night in the bedroom on the Gulfstream airplane, tired from an intense workout and an all-nighter the night before due to a financial crisis somewhere in Eastern Europe that he had had to circumvent, so he might not sleep more than an hour or two that night, not unless he exercised a lot.

  Rae opened her eyes just a little, and the sunlight dazzled her sight so she shut her eyes again, but she had seen Wulf gazing out the huge windows at the pristine ice and the fresh powder blowing in the breeze. The slanting light shined in his eyes and turned them bright blue like clear neon light.

  She said, “Go ahead.”

  “Go ahead, what?” he asked, looking down at where she lay with her head on the down pillow. She could just see him through the fringe of her eyelashes.

  “Go ski,” she said.

  “I shall not. This is an après-ski vacation,” his French accent on après-ski was perfect, of course, “where we will do all the things that one does after skiing, like lounge around the chalet and drink hot chocolate and watch the snow. I don’t plan to ski.”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “Because you shouldn’t.”

  “Because I’m knocked up,” Rae said.

  “And I would never take such a risk, not with you, not with the little stranger in there.” His hand stroked her stomach under the blankets.

  “Go ski. I need a nap.”

  “I’ve overtired you.”

  “Nope. Just been busy growing a lung today. It’s exhausting. Go ski and let me nap.”

  “I truly did not plan to ski.”

  “You brought your skis and all your gear. There were twenty bags of skis.”

  “The security gentlemen all ski so we had to bring their kits, and it would have looked odd to travel all the way to a ski chalet in Argentina without bringing my equipment.”

  And Wulf never invited questions about himself. “I’m kicking you out of my bed. Be back in time for supper at eight.”

  “Rae, I shan’t leave you.”

  “I have to be well-rested for when we get church-married next week. This is supposed to be my sleep-cation. Go away.”

  “I’ll stay in the living room. I have some matters to attend to.”

  “Do not stomp on the tail of the pregnant mare unless you want to get horse-kicked in the head.” Sure, that could be a pithy, Western saying, even though she had just made it up out of whole
cloth.

  “That sounds dire.” A smile lightened Wulf’s voice.

  “Oh, it is. Go ski.”

  “If you insist, my princess.” She felt his lips on her temple before the bed shifted away from her and he walked away to shower.

  She lay in the plush bed, dozing and drifting off, even as she realized that, once again, Wulf had told her exactly what she needed to hear and he not had told her why he had been staring so intently at Marie-Therese Grimaldi.

  Rae raised her hand, intending to call him back and re-start that conversation that Wulf had so thoroughly, impressively derailed, but she had been growing a lung all day and was already asleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  Wulf

  An hour later, Wulf and a small contingent of his security men stepped off the helicopter that had flown them to the high peak of a snow-covered mountain. The cold air carried the scents of steel and frozen stones. Luca Wyss stood beside him, holding his skis in the crook of his arm, as did Friedhelm and Hans while the icy wind whipped their clothes. Hans usually stayed back at Wulf’s house to cover security while they were gone, but Wulf had insisted that Hans accompany him on this trip. Hans could be a recluse next week when Wulf’s greater contingent decamped to Helvetica for the religious wedding.

  Dieter could have given Wulf some competition on this slope. Dieter’s personal security agency was in its infancy, but Wulf had hired him to provide an additional layer of protection for his wedding next week. It would be especially convenient to have a man who could return fire standing at the altar with Wulf during the wedding.

  The glistening snow stretched like a blank page far below them, all the way from their lofty plateau to a small valley where the bases of several hills met. Skiers glided over the snow at the bottom, dark shadows on the bright white, waiting for the helicopter or the trolley to ferry them back to the hotel.

  Behind Wulf, the lifting helicopter sprayed them with fine powder as he stepped into his bindings, peppering the back of his jacket with the cold granules. The fluttering air from its rotors beat on his ears like the calming roar of ocean waves.

  Friedhelm dug into the snow with his poles and set an aggressive course down the mountain, intending to beat Wulf and the rest of them down the hill and thus secure the base.

  Wulf sucked in a deep breath of the frigid air, chilling his throat, and adjusted his goggles before pushing off and careening down the double black-diamond slope. He skied hard, braking and turning just before rocks and drop-offs that marred the smooth sheets of snow. Hurtling downhill drove all thought from his mind, and he reacted to the blowing snow and his skis slipping on the ice, skiing hard.

  For ten blessed minutes, Wulf raced his men without numbers or images intruding upon his mind, and they arrived at the bottom ruddy-cheeked and laughing.

  They skied over to the helipad to await their next flight to another peak, when Wulf heard a woman call his name across the glittering snow.

  As he recognized her voice, quick memories rode over the surface of his mind: Josephine’s dark eyelashes sweeping down over her pale green eyes as she curtseyed to him the first time they met, when he was nine and she was eight. She had been a transfer student to Le Rosey because her mother had kept her home a few extra years. Wulf had danced with Josephine at the middle school cotillions thirty-seven times, and in all those times, she almost never managed to raise her shy eyes to his. They had dated briefly in high school. She was a hereditary Grand Duchess, and Wulf’s father had approved of her except for the fact that Wulf was far too young, one of the few points on which Wulf and his father had ever agreed.

  Wulf had been her first, a fact that neither had divulged to anyone that he knew of.

  And now she was on a ski slope in Argentina, calling to him, just after he had seen Marie-Therese Grimaldi in the chalet’s lobby a few hours ago.

  The odds of this being a coincidence were astronomical. He had calculated them.

  He turned, maneuvering his skis, and found her slim form skiing over to him. She was wearing pale blue, a color that she knew turned her eyes a deeper shade of green. She had often worn dresses of that color when they had dated.

  “Salut!’ She said brightly and lifted her ski goggles up to her head, leaving faint red imprints on her cheeks. The pale blue ski suit did indeed brighten her eyes.

  “Hello, Josephine.” Wulf heard his security detail crunch over the snow, shifting to encompass her as they watched. He said, “Imagine meeting you here.”

  “Yes! Imagine that! How are you these days?”

  Wulf composed himself. “Quite well. I am married.”

  Shock crossed her slim features. “I—I thought you were engaged.”

  That was a fascinating reaction, and Wulf leaned in to watch her more closely. “We married in Paris a few months ago, the day after Flicka’s wedding.”

  “Oh.” Josephine glanced over at the ski hill she had come down, mentally retracing tracks. “I’m sorry that I didn’t see the invitation.”

  “It was only the civil ceremony. The religious wedding is next week. Surely you received that invitation.”

  “Yes, but—” She bit her lower lip, still looking away from him. Her lower eyelids glistened, and her voice raised to her soprano register. “I was led to believe that you had not yet legally married and were going to call it off before the ceremony.”

  Yes, here was the crux of the matter. “Who led you to believe that, Josephine?”

  She glanced back at him. Sugar snow had settled on her dark eyelashes. “Your father called me and told me as much. He said that you would be here, alone, to reconsider your options and that it would be an excellent opportunity to rekindle our friendship.”

  A wealth of information in just two sentences. “Do you know that Marie-Therese Grimaldi is here, also?”

  “Marie-Therese? Didn’t you and she used to—” New horror dawned in her green eyes.

  The helicopter approached the makeshift helipad, a bright red bulls-eye painted on the snow, and the chill from the propeller wash cut through Wulf’s winter gear. Snow sprayed through the air around them.

  He took the opportunity to look away rather than answer her. “Have you seen anyone else from school or the usual places here?”

  Josephine covered her mouth. “Oh, God, Wulfram. I’m so sorry. It didn’t occur to me. Is your wife here?”

  “She’s in the chalet, resting. I plan to join her for supper later. Would you care to accompany us?” This was charity in the extreme on Wulf’s part, but they had been close at one time.

  “Oh, no. I don’t think so,” Josephine said, her fingers crawling along the edges of her ski poles.

  “Lovely to see you, Josephine. I hope you’ll stay in touch.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look at him.

  Wulf touched her elbow. “If anyone asks about this incident, refer them to me. I will vouchsafe that you were misled rather expertly.”

  She nodded and settled her goggles over her eyes again. “I really am sorry.”

  Wulf left her and motioned to his men, and they boarded the helicopter for their next ski run.

  That should forestall any further unfortunate misunderstandings. Josephine would seek out Marie-Therese and warn her before she made a foolish move.

  Wulf drew a deep breath as the nose of the helicopter lifted off, rocking him back in his seat, and Hans glanced at him sideways. With luck, Rae would never learn of this debacle. She shouldn’t be upset, not at this delicate time and not about something so trivial.

  However, any further such attempts by his father must be prevented. That elitist, prejudiced old man had tried to disrupt Flicka’s wedding, and Wulf would make it clear that he would brook no such interference.

  CHAPTER 4

  Rae

  Rae was sprawled on the couch in their suite and reading a sweet little romance novel on her phone because the college semester was over-over-over and it was summer vacation.

  Sort of.

  The
gauze curtains over the plate glass windows cut the worst of the snow glare, and the afternoon sun had drifted over the top of the chalet. When the sun set that night, those glittering alabaster hills might glow orange and red like the ice had caught fire.

  Three of Wulf’s security staff—Matthias, Julien, and Romain, each one more Swissly ripped than the last—lounged on the couches, looking alert at the slightest threat and occasionally checking in by text with Wulf’s security detail who were on the mountain with him.

  Wulf should not leave her alone with three such stunning examples of Alpine manhood. She would never cheat on Wulf, not in a million years, but pregnancy hormones cavorted in her blood and details about the men—the way their biceps and pectoral muscles strained their suit jackets, the way they stretched their midsections and rubbed their rippled abdominals under their shirts—popped out when she glanced at them from the corners of her eyes. Impressions of the three of them piling on her kept distracting her from her book.

  Man, Wulf had better get back soon. These hormones were making her ornery.

  She was eating fruit and pastries from the room service cart, trying to distract herself, when a sharp knock rattled the door. She glanced over at Matthias and nearly stood, but he had already crossed the room to answer it. Julien and Romain rose to their feet and fluffed their suit jackets, readying themselves in case they needed to reach for their holsters.

  Even though Rae had grown up near the crime-ridden Mexican border, so many men with guns on constant alert was disconcerting.

  “Je m’excuse,” said a woman’s voice outside the door. “Is Madame von Hannover in?”

  Their civil wedding had been only a couple months before, and sudden, and a surprise for everyone including Rae, and she still wasn’t entirely used to being Mrs. von Hannover, or Madame von Hannover, or Frau von Hannover, or any of those other Missus-type names. She called out as she walked toward the door, “Yeah! I’m here!”

  Matthias stepped back to let Rae pass, but the tension in his body didn’t diminish.