Winter Blockbuster 2012

by Trish Morey

  Before Laurel could question what that meant his cell phone buzzed. Rakin reached for it. After a brief exchange, he killed the call. “Macy and her assistant have arrived.”

  “Macy?”

  “She’s a shopping consultant who came highly recommended, and she’s picked out a few dresses you might like. But you’ll need to make the final choice.”

  Laurel suppressed the ridiculous thrill of pleasure that gave her. He’d left the final decision down to her. For too many years she’d allowed other people to make decisions for her.

  Rakin wasn’t doing that.

  A buzz signaling the arrival of the private elevator sounded, and seconds later the doors slid open. Macy turned out to be a tall, angular brunette with sharp eyes, and she was followed by a shorter woman who Laurel assumed must be her assistant. A bellhop brought up the rear, wheeling in a cart of boxes emblazoned with designer names.

  “The wedding is tonight, right?” Macy radiated efficiency.

  “Um… maybe,” said Laurel thinking about how long all the details for her wedding to Eli had taken to arrange. “But I’m not sure everything can be done in such a short time.”

  “No maybe about it,” Rakin corrected. “Our wedding will definitely take place tonight—I will make sure of that.” His wicked grin caused Laurel’s heart unexpectedly to contract.

  “Then we don’t have any time to waste.” Macy’s clipped words broke the spell. “Katie, let’s get those dresses out of the boxes.” The assistant sprang to action and a swathe of fabric emerged in a shower of falling petals.

  Laurel’s breath caught. “Oh, my!”

  “There are some things I need to take of.” Rakin crossed the floor to tip the bellhop for his help, then made his way back to Laurel. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  As he came closer Laurel found that her pulse had started to race. There was a glint in Rakin’s dark eyes. Her heart slammed in her chest.

  He was going to kiss her.

  But when the kiss came, his lips brushed her cheek instead of her mouth. A perfunctory, too brief caress.

  Then he was gone, the door to the suite’s elevator sliding shut behind him.

  Laurel slowly let out a breath.

  “By the time he comes back you will look like the woman of his dreams,” Macy said from behind her.

  The woman of his dreams.

  Being the woman of his dreams wasn’t what this marriage was about. But Laurel didn’t have the heart to smash the other woman’s illusions. Laurel responded absently to the bellhop’s goodbye when he and the cart departed, and then only she, Macy and Katie remained in the spacious suite.

  But there was no question of any awkward silence as Macy conjured dresses out of their boxes along with accessories. The personal shopper’s enthusiasm was contagious. Laurel glimpsed slips of lacy lingerie, gloves, stockings… and shoes with high, delicate heels.

  But her gaze kept coming back to the dress Macy had unpacked first.

  The fabric appeared to have been created from white rose petals. The design of the dress itself was deceptively simple, no flounces, no bows. It relied on the beauty of the fabric and the stark simplicity of the cut.

  “Would you like to try it?” Macy was sizing her up with an air of an expert. “Your fiancé is a good judge of size—it should fit perfectly.”

  Laurel tossed caution aside. “I’d love to.”

  The dress slid over her head in a whisper of fine cloth. When Laurel opened her eyes she gasped… and blinked.

  This was no conservative Southern lady that stared back at her from the mirrored cupboard doors. She looked sexy. So sexy. Yet still tasteful.

  Laurel examined herself in the mirror.

  “We’ll leave your hair loose at the back, but these bits can be swept up.” Macy was there, matching her actions to her words. “And perhaps a small spray of flowers here.”

  Laurel thought her eyes looked huge in her face. And her cheekbones were thrown into prominence.

  “Katie’s a magician with makeup. But not too much—you don’t need it. A touch of eye-shadow and some mascara on those incredible lashes—this will not take long.”

  Laurel waited as the front strands of her hair were drawn up and pinned back.

  “A ribbon, I think.” Deft fingers wove the silk through her auburn hair. “Your complexion is so creamy.”

  By the time her hair had been arranged and her makeup applied in soft shades, Laurel felt like a siren. And when she finally heard Rakin’s voice outside the bedroom door, her heart jumped into her throat. She swung around… and gasped.

  Her groom stood framed in the doorway.

  He was wearing a tuxedo that made him appear dark and formidable. And, in sharp contrast to his masculinity, a white rose was pinned to his lapel.

  And, he was inspecting her with equal interest.

  Laurel didn’t even notice Macy and Katie file past him. All she was aware of was the touch of Rakin’s eyes. On the V of skin between her breasts. On her mouth. Before his gaze swept up to meet hers. There was heat… and something more.

  Suddenly it hurt to breathe.

  This was crazy!

  She shouldn’t be feeling like this. Trembling. Like a teen on her first date.

  She was a grown woman getting married to a man who’d turned her legs to water just by looking at her. This was supposed to be a business arrangement that would benefit both of them. It was a temporary fix. It certainly wasn’t about this… this shaky, trembling sensation that she couldn’t even name.

  Whatever it was, it had made it hard to breathe. To hide what she was feeling, Laurel gave him her most charming smile.

  He smiled back. She couldn’t help noticing that he had a beautiful mouth. The upper lip had been formed by a master hand; the bottom lip was full, promising passion—

  Get a grip.

  Laurel searched for something appropriate to say. “You’ve changed already,” she said finally. He’d showered, too. The smooth line of his jaw told her he’d shaved.

  “You look exquisite.” His voice was deep.

  “Thank you.” Laurel felt a blast of pleasure. All her life she’d been told she was beautiful: She’d been told in tones laden with envy, and she’d been told factually as if it were to be expected that Elizabeth Kincaid’s eldest daughter should follow in her mother’s footsteps. Yet never had she derived so much pleasure from hearing the words. Under the heat of his gaze, Rakin made her feel more like a woman than she’d ever felt in her life.

  He was taking something from his pocket. “I brought you a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “A keepsake—to remember our wedding by.”

  He opened a slim, black velvet box to reveal the gold chain looped inside. As he hooked his index finger under the chain to extract it from the box, blue fire flashed in the light. A diamond pendant swung from the end of the chain, but Laurel lost sight of it as Rakin moved behind her. A moment later she felt the pendant drop into the valley between her breasts and then Rakin’s fingertips brushed her nape, as he closed the clasp. A sensation of delicious delight thrilled through her.

  Standing behind her, thankfully, Rakin wouldn’t have noticed the electric surge of awareness. When his hands closed on her shoulders, Laurel stilled. But he was intent on steering her toward the mirror.

  She breathed again.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It” was a flawless single diamond suspended in a simple gold setting to show off the glorious stone that nestled against her skin.

  “I can’t accept this!”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too…” Laurel groped around for the right word. Finally she settled on, “It’s too much.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “No!” she sputtered. “I mean—of course I like it—it’s beautiful.”

  “Then stop pouting and say a pretty thank you.”

  “I don’t pout.” Feeling awkward and horridly ungracious, she gathered her com
posure. “Thank you, it’s truly lovely.” A discomforting thought struck Laurel. “I didn’t buy you a gift.”

  “I never expected one.”

  In the mirror, the reflection showed a sophisticated woman in a petal-strewn white dress with a dark, smiling man behind her. Her gaze homed in on where his hands still rested on her naked shoulders, the long fingers dark against her much paler skin. Laurel shivered. There was something so carnally sensual about the contrast of male and female, yin and yang, that it caused her latent awareness of him as an attractive man to rocket.

  Her gaze lifted to his. In the mirror, their eyes met. After the beat of a charged second, Rakin let his hands fall from her shoulders. Laurel’s breath hissed out.

  “We should leave now,” he said.

  “Yes, of course.” Laurel was only too grateful to bolt for the door—for, despite its size, the suite had become unexpectedly oppressive.

  When next they returned to the hotel, they would be married.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “THE Venetian?”

  Laurel flung her head back to read the name spelled in vertically arranged letters down the outside of the hotel’s facade.

  Her groom gave her a very white smile. “We’re going to have photographs taken—we’ll want something to remember the occasion by.”

  She’d been wondering which of the popular chapels Rakin had chosen for their wedding. Now Laurel flicked through the possibilities in her head. The Chapel of Bells or the Little White Chapel. Or even a wedding out at Red Rock Canyon—but then they’d hardly be coming to the Venetian for photos. Now she couldn’t help thinking what others in the resort would make of the white petal-dress that pronounced romance—and bride.

  Then she shrugged her self-consciousness aside. This was Las Vegas after all. Couples got married all the time. Most likely, no one would cast them a second glance.

  That smile still played around Rakin’s mouth. “You said you wanted to one day visit Venice.”

  Laurel smiled back.

  But that turned to a gasp of awe as they entered the Venetian’s lobby with its high, vaulted ceilings and ornate gold-framed painted frescoes that stretched across the vast space. “Oh, wow.”

  “A ride on a gondola perhaps? Would that be enough of an adventure?”

  “A gondola?” A gurgle of laughter rose in her throat. “Yes, please! I can think of nothing more romantic to do on my wedding day.” And Rakin had promised there’d be photos to remember the occasion by. Kara would be impressed!

  “Good.”

  Laurel was even more astonished when they reached the waiting gondola. White and gold, it floated in a canal surrounded by buildings that looked like they’d been transported from Venice to be set along the cobblestone walkways beside the canal. Looking up she could see balconies with pillars and arches and intricate wrought iron, all capturing the detail of a far-away place.

  A woman stepped forward offering a bouquet of white roses with sprigs of orange blossom.

  “That’s a bridal bouquet,” said Laurel. Then she got it. “For the photographs?”

  Rakin introduced her to Laurel as the hotel’s wedding planner. The next surprise turned out not to be a photographer as she’d half expected, but a distinguished-looking wedding celebrant in a dark suit with a flowing robe over the top.

  Laurel gasped as it all suddenly made sense. This wasn’t just about wedding photos…

  “We’re getting married here?”

  Everything was happening so fast.

  The celebrant was already shaking Rakin’s hand. Then Rakin placed his hand beneath Laurel’s elbow and steered her to the waiting gondola. White petals drifted over them, filling the air with fragrance. As they landed on the pathway, Laurel trod carefully over them, loath to spoil such beauty.

  Once they were seated the gondolier pushed off behind them, and the gondola glided along the glass-like water of the Grand Canal.

  The space in the gondola was surprisingly intimate. In front of them was the celebrant, his robes giving him a majestic appearance. The limited space forced Rakin’s thigh up against hers; and the taut pressure of the hard muscle caused a wave of warmth to spread through Laurel.

  The celebrant began to speak. Laurel turned her head to find Rakin watching her with hooded eyes. Her heart thumped.

  Excitement churned in her stomach.

  When the celebrant started to recite the wedding vows, Laurel discovered that her voice shook a little as she repeated the words in the intimacy of the gondola. She was marrying Rakin Abdellah. Not for love… but for much more sound reasons.

  When he took her fingers between his, she felt a little shock at his touch. Up until now this had been so businesslike, but his touch changed that… bringing a flare of heat.

  The glint of gold gave her some warning as he slowly slid the plain, unadorned band onto her fourth finger. Her eyes leapt to his in surprise. She started to apologize for not getting him a ring, but the intense focus in his eyes silenced her. Her heartbeat quickened.

  “You are now man and wife.”

  Man and wife.

  Laurel swallowed, the daze of disbelief and disconcertment growing more acute.

  A month ago she’d been contemplating marrying Eli; now she was married to a man she hadn’t met until only a few days ago. A man who had promised her adventure and business opportunities—not love—and in exchange she would pretend to be the wife he needed to nullify his grandfather’s threats. A man who had taken over her life… her thoughts… in a way she’d never anticipated.

  Behind them the gondolier broke into song. The soulful strains of “O Sole Mio” wound their way around Laurel’s heart and tugged tight. Her fingers convulsed beneath Rakin’s. For an instant she wished this had been a real romance—the wedding of her heart.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was a convenient arrangement—for both of them. Yet Laurel knew there was more than that to what was passing between them. Rakin had promised her experiences she’d never had… and he was delivering on that. Her world had shifted. And somewhere in the change, she hoped to find herself. Someone who didn’t live to please others, someone who took joy in her own life: the Laurel Kincaid she’d never allowed herself to be.

  “It is customary for the bridal couple to kiss beneath the bridges.” The celebrant offered them an indulgent smile.

  Before Laurel could graciously tell him that a kiss wasn’t necessary, the gondola swept into the shadows under the bridge and Rakin’s head swooped.

  His mouth closed over hers and the bottom dropped out of her world.

  Rakin’s lips were firm—very male—brooking no resistance. She tensed under the unexpected arousal that spread through her like wildfire, and kept her lips firmly pressed together, telling herself Rakin was only doing this to indulge the celebrant. Yet he made no attempt to press further for a more intimate connection. Instead, after a pause, he brushed a row of flirty kisses along the seal of her lips.

  With a final kiss on the side of her mouth, he whispered, “That dimple has been driving me crazy.”

  And then the bridge was behind them, and they were out in the light.

  Laurel couldn’t respond with a light laugh; instead she bit back a moan of feminine frustration as he lifted his head and put inches between them. But his eyes still held hers, radiating purpose. It took Laurel only a heartbeat of time to realize that his kiss had nothing to do with the watching celebrant, and everything to do with her.

  He’d wanted to kiss her.

  Flutters of apprehension stirred within her. Once again, her perceptions of their relationship had shifted.

  Rakin bent his head toward hers. “Now the adventure starts for real.”

  A frisson of excitement feathered down Laurel’s spine. Not for the first time she realized that Rakin was a devastatingly attractive man.

  To catch her breath, and gain time, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Yet still she left her fingers tangled with his, reluctant to br
eak the remaining link between them. The rich serenade of the Neapolitan love song swirled around her, causing a flood of long-banked emotions to overflow.

  This was supposed to have been a lark, mixed up with a bit of business. So how had it become the most romantic experience of her life? When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring blindly at the stars overhead.

  “They’re not real,” volunteered the celebrant. “If you watch carefully the sky keeps changing.”

  Of course they weren’t real! Nothing about this crazy, wild ride with Rakin was real. It was an adventure. A fantasy. Her fantasy.

  Yet in another way it was the most real thing that had ever happened to her. She was taking risks. Risks she would never have contemplated before she’d taken a leap into the unknown, out from the safe world of being one of the Charleston Kincaids, to do things that Laurel Kincaid was never expected to do.

  Like marrying a sheikh she barely knew.

  “The next bridge is coming up,” the celebrant’s warning broke into her thoughts.

  Instantly every nerve ending sprang to alert. Laurel’s heart was racing even before she met Rakin’s gleaming dark eyes.

  As the gondola glided into the shimmering shadows beneath the bridge, Laurel braced herself. Yet no amount of bracing could prepare her for the kiss that finally came. It knocked the breath out of her soul.

  This time, Rakin took his time.

  And this time the kiss was different.

  Laurel gasped as Rakin tasted her, his tongue sweeping over her parted lips into the moistness beyond. Her senses leapt, and she found herself responding with wild ardor, kissing him back, linking her fingers around his neck.

  Laurel forgot about the celebrant—forgot about the gondolier punting behind them—and gave herself up to the passion. Hot and fiery, it ignited and burned along her veins until her heartbeat thundered in her head. And all the time “O Sole Mio” washed over them. She’d been transported to another universe, an exotic world light years away from anything she’d ever known.

  Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

  Laurel had said very little since they’d alighted from the wedding gondola after exchanging vows.