Marriage, Bravo Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  He got up from his stool. “Elena. What is it?”

  She patted the air with both hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “But you are scaring me. If there’s something I can do, you need to tell me. You need to—”

  “Rogan.”

  “What?”

  “It’s…difficult.”

  “What?”

  She raked that fabulous hair back with her fingers. “Could you just…finish your beer? Could we just eat first?”

  He sank back on the stool. Okay. So she needed a little time to tell him about it—whatever the hell it was. Fine. He picked up his beer, knocked back a big slug of it, set it down. “Sure.”

  So they ate. The food was really good.

  After the meal, they went over and sat on the couch together.

  “Another beer?” she offered.

  He shook his head. “Is this about your dad? Has something gone wrong?”

  “No. He’s doing well. Really well. Better every day.” She slipped off her flat red shoes and drew up her slender, pretty feet. Her toenails were as red as her shoes. Bright red. Sexy red. “This is…” She drew in a big breath and blew her cheeks out as she released it. “I have no idea where to begin. I really, truly don’t.”

  Now he wanted to comfort her, for some odd reason. But then, he had that feeling a lot when it came to her. He also wanted to tear off her clothes and carry her to the nearest bed.

  She was dangerous to him, big-time. Dangerous to his plans of independence and reduced responsibility. He knew that.

  He should find out what she needed, get it for her, and get the hell away from her. “Just go for it.” Please.

  “Life is short,” she said, as if that explained anything.

  “That’s right. It is. And?”

  “And everybody I know is half of a loving, happy couple. They’re all crazy about each other, so glad to be together. My sister has a darling little boy and a baby on the way. My half sister, Zoe, is pregnant and due to deliver any second now.” He remembered Zoe, the pretty, very pregnant redhead. He’d met her and her husband Easter Sunday. Elena was still talking. “Zoe’s madly in love with her husband, Dax. And my other half sister, Abilene? Married. Totally in love. Six of my seven half brothers? Them, too. And Davis and Aleta. Even my parents—they’re back together, did you hear? More solid than they ever were.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said cautiously. “It was pretty clear, even to an outsider, that they still love each other.” Where was this going? He had the strangest feeling it was somewhere he shouldn’t allow it to go.

  But how to stop her? She seemed to be on a roll. “Too short,” she said again, “too, too short.” She was shaking her head, all that glorious hair that he only wanted to bury his face in, catching the lamplight, strands of gold and red glinting in the sable brown. “And Rogan, I’ve been a virgin for too long, you know? I want…what other women have. Heat. Passion. The thrill, you know?”

  He gaped. He was suddenly pretty sure where she was leading him. Somewhere he knew there was no way he could go. “Elena, I think you should—”

  She went right on as if he hadn’t tried to say something. “At least that, the passion. If I can’t have it all, I at least want to know what it’s like with a man. With the right man.” She pinned him with those big brown eyes. “With you.”

  “Uh…”

  She licked her lips.

  Heat flashed to his groin. Okay. He knew he should get out of there. Yes, he did. But somehow, he didn’t move. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She amazed him. She had it all. Goodness. Truthfulness. Beauty. Brains.

  He was thinking the last thing he should let himself think: Okay. She’s worth it. Whatever the price.

  “Rogan.” She canted toward him. He caught the scent of her. So good. So tempting. “I want you,” she said. “I want…us. Just for a little while. Just for as long as you’re here in San Antonio. I know that you’re leaving as soon as you buy out my dad. I accept that. I can live with that. I can let you go with…a full heart. Without putting any pressure on you to be someone you don’t want to be right now. I can—I will let you go and not try to hold you. Let you go and just be glad for what we had. I…” The flood of words had finally run dry. She let out a low, tight little moan and sank back to her side of the couch. “I…” She put a hand against her flushed cheek. “Oh, God. Will you please just say something? Say anything, now.”

  “Elena, I…” He felt breathless, suddenly, as if he’d run up a high, steep hill.

  “Yes. What? Tell me.” She leaned into him again, bringing the scent of gardenias and honeysuckle. Her eyes were amber, hot as flame.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes. I am. Totally certain. I understand that it’s just for now. Until you go. I…accept your terms.”

  “It’s only…”

  “What? Only what?”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “Advantage?” She made a sharp sound. Like a laugh and a cry at once. “How can you be taking advantage of me if you give me what I want, what I ask for, what I really, really need right now?”

  “Elena, I don’t think that we—”

  She silenced him with her soft hand across his mouth. “Look. If you want to say no, just say it. I can accept a no. But don’t you try to be nice about it. Don’t try to let me down easy.” She spoke through clenched teeth. “Just do it. Just say it and let it be.” Her hot gaze pinning him, she lowered her hand.

  A voice in his head commanded: Get up. Leave. Do it now.

  He did no such thing.

  What he did was reach for her.

  He slid his hand under the warm, silky fall of her hair and clasped the back of her neck.

  With a moan, she swayed toward him.

  And in that instant, he was lost. He surrendered. Completely.

  He pulled her against him and fastened his mouth on hers.

  She opened, sighing. He tasted her, spearing his tongue in. She met him, sliding her tongue along his, welcoming him.

  How pointless, he thought, to have tried to refuse her. They had been leading to this moment from the beginning. From that afternoon in her father’s office. From the first time he looked into her eyes.

  It had been bound to happen. No escaping.

  No turning away.

  He framed her warm, sweet face in his palms. “Elena…”

  “Oh, Rogan. Oh, yes…”

  He kissed her again, a quick kiss. He didn’t dare linger right then. If he did, he wouldn’t stop until he had every stitch of clothing off her, until he had her naked beneath him and he was buried, all the way, in her softness. Until he lost himself in her.

  But no. Not this time. Not for her first time.

  He took her shoulders, stiffened his arms enough to push her away from him.

  She blinked like a woman in a dream. “What? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Everything’s right.” A few strands of gold-shot sable hair were caught on her eyelashes. With a careful touch of a finger, he freed them. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Her smile bloomed slowly, that dimple appearing, shy as a sliver of moon on a cloudy night. “Okay.”

  He trailed a hand down the silky flesh of her arm to capture her hand. “Come on.” He got up.

  She eased her bare feet to the floor and rose with him. He led the way, around the coffee table, through the arch to the little square of hallway and the door to her bedroom.

  The bed was already turned back, the lights seductively low. He smiled to himself, picturing her rushing around, getting everything ready.

  For him.

  For the two of them, together.

  They stood facing each other, in about the same place they had stood a few nights ago, on the thick rug by the turned-back bed. But a few nights ago, they had reconsidered the wisdom of carrying things too far. And he had left her.

  He would not
be leaving tonight.

  Dragging her close again, he wrapped his arms around her and claimed a kiss. But it didn’t last long enough. She pressed her hands against his chest. “Let me…”

  “Whatever you want.” He moved back a step.

  She unbuttoned his shirt, tugging the shirttail free of his trousers, sliding those soft hands upward again over his bare chest until her fingers curled around his shoulders and she eased the shirt down his arms.

  The cuffs were still buttoned. The shirt got stuck at his wrists. But that didn’t seem to bother her. She held his arms behind his back, a tender sort of bondage.

  And she moved in close again, pressing those sweet lips to the center of his chest. She turned her head to the side, rubbed her hair against him, and then tipped her head up and gave him a beautiful, rueful smile. “I feel…so strange. I want this, with you. I want it so much. But I don’t really have a clue what I’m doing.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” His voice came out rough and low. His head was filled with the smell of flowers. All she’d done was kiss his chest and rub that beautiful hair against his skin—and he was hard.

  And getting harder. Aching. Needing…

  She was still watching him, her face tipped up, her eyes heavy-lidded. “I think you’re going to have to take it from here.”

  “Fair enough.” He bent his head and caught her mouth again. She sighed and gave herself up to the kiss.

  He took a long time about that kiss, enjoying the feel of her mouth under his, the arousing brush of ruffled silk against his bare chest, the ripe feel of her breasts under the smooth fabric. She might be new to this, but she sure had a talent for it.

  She lifted those curvy hips to him, rubbing herself against him, making him harden for her all the more.

  He wanted to grab her, take her down the bed.

  But more than that, he wanted to go slow, to make her first time good for her.

  Her first time.

  His conscience jabbed at him. Her first time should be with a man who would swear never to leave her, a man who whispered words of love to her….

  Though he was still kissing her, she must have sensed his mind’s withdrawal.

  She broke the kiss and gazed up at him again. “Don’t stop. Please.” She seemed to mean it. This was what she wanted, he reminded himself. She’d made it more than clear. And as it happened, it was what he wanted, too—more than wanted. It was what he craved. “I won’t,” he whispered, bending close, nuzzling her temple, making himself drunk on the scent of her hair.

  It didn’t take a lot of effort to free his wrists from her grasp. He gave a tug; she let go. Stepping back, her face solemn and dreamy at once, she allowed him to undo his cuffs and get rid of the shirt.

  Her gaze ran over his bare chest, burning where it touched. Shyly, she suggested. “The pants, too?”

  He was only too happy to oblige her. He undid his belt and his fly.

  Her eyes got wider. She licked those full lips of hers, waiting.

  He dropped trou—and then realized he probably should have taken off his boots first. Looking down over his boxers, he saw his bare, hairy legs and his pants in a pool around his ankles.

  She gave a low laugh. “I think you need some help.”

  He glanced up into her waiting eyes. “You may be right.”

  She pushed him down on the bed. “I can handle this part.” Her hair fell forward as she bent close.

  He caught a shining lock of the stuff, rubbed it between his fingers. So warm, so alive. “A fast learner, huh?”

  “I don’t know about that. But I think I can manage to help you get your boots off.”

  He canted back on his elbows and stuck out a boot. “Great.”

  She went right to work. And she did a fine job of it, too, turning, hitching a leg over his, grabbing the heel and levering it up and off, pulling off his sock right after it, then repeating the process with the other boot. Not only was she quick and efficient, she looked really amazing from behind as she bent to her work. She pulled his already-lowered trousers off last.

  When she turned back to him, he wore only his boxers, which didn’t hide much—not at the moment. He was still lying back on his elbows. But a part of him was standing stiff. She had his complete attention.

  She looked at the tented front of his boxers and caught her lower lip between her teeth. With apprehension?

  He wasn’t sure.

  But he did know it was time for him to take the lead again. He swept to his feet. “Elena…” He took her by the shoulders.

  She gazed up at him, wide-eyed, mouth curving in a trembling smile. “Uh. Hmm?”

  “Any time you want to stop…”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “There is something, though, something I need to say….”

  “Say it. Anything. It’s okay.”

  “I have condoms, in that drawer there.” She pointed to the nightstand at the head of the bed.

  “You said you’re on the pill.”

  “I am. But, well, I…” She was blushing furiously.

  “You’re right,” he said. Better for both of them to be absolutely safe in every way. “Good thinking.” He turned, pulled the drawer wide, took out the box, removed two pouches and set them next to the lamp. Then he put the box away. “There. All set.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbed her upper arms, as though the room had suddenly turned cold. “I feel…out of my depth, you know? Just totally in over my head.”

  Should he ask her again if she wanted to back out?

  No. Enough. Unless she spoke up, they were going forward. “Shh.” He took her by the shoulders. “Turn around.”

  “Um, why?”

  He let go of her and arched a brow, but kept his mouth shut, giving her another chance to tell him if she’d finally admitted to herself that she just wasn’t up for this.

  “I…oh, of course, I don’t need to know why. I’m…um.” She coughed into her hand, a nervous and rather endearing little sound. “Never mind. Turning around. Doing it now.” And then she whirled and faced away from him. “There.” She dropped her hands to her sides, drew herself up straight and let out a shuddering little sigh. “Done.”

  He smiled to himself. “Excellent.” He stepped in good and close. “Perfect.”

  Another trembling sigh escaped her. But she didn’t say anything, only stood there, staring off toward the far wall, head held high.

  He pulled her into him, wrapped his arms around her.

  She felt so right there in his embrace. And she sighed again—an easier sound than before, and let herself settle back against him. He smoothed her hair out of the way and pressed his lips against the side of her neck. She moaned a little, tipping her head for him, offering him more.

  He stuck out his tongue and tasted her skin. A little salty, temptingly sweet.

  She glanced back at him then, turning her head enough that he could take her lips. And he did. He plundered them.

  And his hands went exploring. He molded the fine, slim curve of her waist, trailing the caress upward until he could cup her breasts in his palms. They felt wonderful, soft and full—and warm, even through the protective layers of her shirt and bra.

  She sighed some more, and then broke the kiss to let her head fall back against his shoulder. “Oh, Rogan…”

  He murmured a low, wordless sound in response and let his hands slide downward again. Catching the hem of her pretty shirt, he eased it upward. Lazily, she raised her arms for him.

  He took the wisp of shirt up and away. And then he clasped her upraised wrists. Her bones were so fine and small, her skin so warm, so impossibly smooth. He caressed his way down, over her forearms, her elbows, to the secret hollows beneath her arms.

  And then inward, to her breasts again, now only hidden from him behind twin bits of black lace. He held them, cupping them once more, and used his thumbs to rub the swells of plump flesh above the la
ce.

  She liked that. She murmured his name again and arched her back, pressing her breasts more fully into his cradling hands and also rubbing against him down low, driving him crazy, making him ache for her. With his thumbs, he eased the lace aside, revealing the hard, brown nipples he wanted to taste.

  But no. It was better for her now, if she stayed with her back to him. He could caress her at will. And she could feel free to do nothing but respond.

  He caught those pretty nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pinched them a little, rolled them, teased them.

  Her response was another deep, pleasured moan. She turned her head to him again. He took her offered mouth and kissed her some more.

  He loved touching her, couldn’t seem to get enough of the feel of her under his hands. He skimmed his fingers over her belly and lower, sliding them into the cove between her thighs. Even with her jeans still covering her, he could feel the heat.

  She moved her hips into his touch and groaned into his mouth.

  He took that as a sign to slip the snap free at the top of her jeans, to slide the zipper down and pull it wide. She didn’t object, so he figured it was safe to go further.

  She wore tiny lacy panties. The flesh above them was firm and flat, velvet-smooth. He eased a finger under the elastic. She sucked in a quick breath, pulling her mouth from his so that she could lean more fully against him.

  He pressed his lips into her hair, waited for a sign from her that she wanted more.

  She gave it in a trembling whisper. “Please…”

  He delved in. She felt like heaven. The scent of her was dizzying, muskier now. Sweeter even than before. He rubbed the thick curls that protected her sex, felt the silky wetness that told him everything he needed to know.

  So he went lower.

  Elena gasped as he parted the curls that covered her mound. She felt…revealed by him, somehow. Revealed to him, though he was behind her and couldn’t see what his fingers were doing to her, though she still wore her panties and her jeans, as well.

  Still, she felt known in an intimate, purely sexual way, for the first time.

  And it felt so good, so exciting. So exactly as she had fantasized it might.