A Bride For Abel Greene
Page 10
The overall effect was beautiful. And remarkably, Mackenzie actually felt that she was worthy of being a part of the picture. She caught her reflection in the tall living room windows as she emerged from the bedroom and hall... and allowed herself a secret smile.
With Maggie and Scarlett’s enthusiastic assistance, she’d been transformed from plain Mackenzie Jane Kincaid into a passably acceptable bride.
When Maggie had insisted on taking her to town to shop for a dress yesterday, Mackenzie had been in a quandary about how to tell her that she didn’t have the money. Finally she’d just blurted it out.
“Not a problem,” Maggie had said easily, and bundled her into their four-wheel-drive Jeep and peeled out of the lane. “Abel said to get you anything you needed and he’d take care of it.”
She’d had to chew on that for a while, but finally decided she wouldn’t fight it. Abel had said he’d provide for her. He was simply keeping his word. She felt even better when Maggie added, “He knows this is awkward for you, and he wants to make it as pleasant as possible.”
Pleasant didn’t begin to describe how she felt, dressed in the emerald green wedding dress. Glowing came closer, though she would never before have thought in a million millennia that that adjective could ever apply to her.
True, it wasn’t the traditional white silk and lace. But then this wasn’t a traditional wedding.
They’d already purchased her new coat when her gaze had snagged and held on the silky soft wool crepe in a surprisingly upscale dress shop in Bordertown.
“Try it on,” Maggie had suggested with an encouraging smile.
When she’d stepped self-consciously out of the dressing room and was met by Maggie’s sparkling eyes and her adamantly whispered “Yes,” she knew she’d made her choice.
Mackenzie touched a hand to her hair, which Scarlett’s clever hands had fluffed and styled. Delicate sprigs of baby’s breath—an impromptu offering from Casey—had been tucked artfully among the soft curls in place of a veil.
Smiling at the whimsical effect, she trailed her hand down to the softness of the gently draping drop neckline of the dress. The sleeves were long, drifting over the backs of her hands in soft folds to mirror the neckline. The skirt fell away in flowing lines across her hips, ending midway between her knee and ankle.
She’d never felt so feminine or so vulnerable, she realized, as she pried her gaze away from her image to meet the dark, unreadable eyes of her bridegroom.
Her breath caught. Her chest filled. Her heart erupted as she took in the sight of him standing there.
She’d seen him savage. She’d seen him sullen. She’d never seen him tamed. A suit—as dark as the hair he’d tied at his nape with a thin black ribbon—both confined and defined the hard edges of his warrior’s body. His civilized white shirt only served to emphasize the stunning contrast of his bronze skin against it.
But it was his eyes that relayed the true measure of the man waiting for her at the altar. Behind those eyes was a man of honor. A kind and caring man, who needed her to help him find the way.
His eyes weren’t fooling her any longer. Once, she’d thought they were unreadable. They spoke volumes to her today. And what they said made her heart sing with hope.
Clutching her bouquet of holly berries, winter white carnations and red roses, she walked unerringly toward him.
Oblivious to anything but the man waiting for her, she passed J.D. and Maggie where they stood sharing a loose embrace and soft, indulgent smiles. Unaware of Scarlett’s and Casey’s grins as she passed, she approached the altar. Cognizant of Mark’s searching gaze, she reassured him with a quick smile and slipped to Abel’s side.
He took her hand. And though she hadn’t been prepared to, she gave him her heart.
In a blur of velvet black eyes, flickering candles and murmured responses, Mackenzie Kincaid became Mrs. Abel Greene.
In a marathon of champagne toasts, warm hugs and laughing congratulations, she was enveloped in his circle of friends.
And finally, in a haze of nervous anticipation, she watched as J.D. and Maggie, along with the minister, pulled out of the snow-packed lane.
“You don’t have to worry about Mark.”
Abel’s dark eyes were hooded as he watched her face.
Scarlett and Casey had left just ahead of the Hazzards. Insisting that the newlyweds needed some time alone, they’d taken Mark to the hotel with them to spend the next few days.
“This time of year we’ve got more empty rooms than J.D. has one-liners,” Scarlett had said, grinning as J.D. made a stab at looking wounded. “School’s out until after Christmas vacation, so Casey will be at loose ends, anyway. She can show Mark the lake—maybe even introduce him to some of her friends so he won’t start the semester completely in the dark.”
Mackenzie had recognized Mark’s initial response as what he’d felt was an obligatory grumble—and maybe a little protective concern for her—before he’d shrugged and mumbled, “Whatever.”
“I’m not worried about him.” She turned back to the window. “I’m a little concerned for Scarlett and Casey, though,” she added with a small smile.
“They can handle him.”
But can I handle you? she wondered. She wished she didn’t feel so skittish as her husband loosened his tie and tugged it slowly from his collar.
Her husband.
The prewedding jitters had just kicked in—and only about two hours too late, she thought with irony. Story of my life.
For all of her earlier confidence, the reality of being married to this man finally sank in. He’d seen to everything with a quiet confidence and authority—from acquiring the marriage license to selecting the ring she now wore. She hugged her fingers around the solid gold band, stroked its shining warmth and knew that the identical ring he wore held the heat of his body, too.
Suddenly she didn’t know what to do with her eyes, or her hands, or for that matter with herself.
Aware that he was watching her, she walked on stiff legs to the fire, drawing on its hypnotizing warmth to sooth her.
“I’m not going to jump you.”
The darkness in his voice startled her. His eyes were even darker when she whirled around to search his face.
Breathless, she watched him drape his tie over the back of a chair and loosen the top two buttons of his shirt.
“It...it didn’t occur to me that you would.”
In truth, she hadn’t let herself think about this moment. When she’d pictured them together—and she had, numerous times—they’d been far beyond this preliminary dance where all the right steps seemed to elude her.
In her fantasies, she’d said “I do.” The camera faded to black. Next scene: Soft light. Flickering candles. Big bed. A man and a woman entwined in each other’s arms—naked, needy and with carnal knowledge of all the secrets and pleasures she’d been so anxious to learn.
“Would you like some more champagne? J.D. would be disappointed if he thought it was going to waste.”
She forced a smile and told herself to settle down. “He was pretty proud of himself for finding it.”
He nodded. “A resourceful man.”
“And a good friend,” she prompted; searching for some level ground, when each step felt like an uphill climb.
The silence lengthened, and she realized he was still watching and waiting for her answer.
The problem was, she’d forgotten the question.
He lifted the bottle. Tilted his head.
“Oh. Sure. If you’re having some.”
He considered, then poured them each a glass.
Walking slowly to the fire beside her, he extended the sparkling champagne.
With a trembling hand she lifted it to her mouth, then almost dropped the glass when he said her name.
“Mackenzie.”
His voice was as soft as the candlelight. Her name on his tongue like a velvet caress.
“The dress is nice. It matches your eyes.”
Where was her smart mouth when she needed it? Mackenzie Kincaid, who had a one-liner for everything, couldn’t think of a single thing to say, while Abel Greene who spoke only when provoked, seemed to have no such problem now.
“You look very pretty today.”
The man was a complete and total enigma. He claimed he was incapable of emotions, but he knew how to melt her heart with pretty words and haunted eyes. And a solid gold band.
She lowered her lashes and groped for composure.
“Is it that hard...accepting a compliment from me?”
The edge in his voice brought her head up. The look on his face gave her pause.
“No. Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I just...I didn’t expect it. And the truth is...I haven’t had much practice fielding...compliments.”
Embarrassed by the wistfulness of her confession, she felt herself flush again. She took a long sip of champagne, then, prompted by the protracted silence, braved a glance his way.
She lifted a shoulder in a self-conscious little shrug. “I’ve never thought of myself as pretty.”
Exposing her fears and her feelings to a man who professed to have none heightened her sense of vulnerability.
“Thank you,” she said belatedly, then gave in to the demands of her pride. “But you didn’t have to say it. In case it’s slipped your mind...” She held up her left hand reminding him of the solid gold band on her ring finger. “I’m a sure thing.”
He didn’t say anything as she stood there embarrassed by her smart mouth and feeling more exposed by the moment. Instead, he touched a hand to her hair and gently tugged a sprig of baby’s breath free.
“As you’ve pointed out,” he said, studying the tiny white flowers that looked even smaller and more delicate in his big hand. “I’m a man of few words. I don’t waste them on statements I don’t mean.”
His words couldn’t have been more effective if he’d told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Something inside Mackenzie’s breast throbbed to an awakening fullness, a rich, consuming confidence.
He thought she was pretty. For herself, as well as for him, she wanted to think so, too.
“Are you a virgin, Mackenzie?”
She hadn’t thought he could shock her again. At least not this soon. Once past it, she considered his question logically. It was frank and it was necessary.
“I’m not a virgin. But my...relationships have been minimal. I...I’ve been careful. You don’t have to worry about—”
The gentle pressure of his thumb on her lips stopped more than her explanation. Her heart quit beating. Her breath evaporated.
“That wasn’t my concern.”
“No?” she whispered, the sound more sigh than substance.
“No.”
The touch of his hand, the scent and heat of his skin, filled her with a blistering awareness and an aching need.
“My concern was for your experience—or lack of it. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Abel saw the moment when the full implication of his statements finally dawned on her. She knew she’d been found out. And those telling eyes of hers relayed that she was hovering somewhere between mortification and relief.
If he’d had a sense of humor, he would have smiled. If he’d had a heart, it would have melted.
She’d thought she’d passed herself off as a woman of experience that morning in his kitchen. She’d coiled onto his lap like a kitten begging to be petted—and she’d been scared down to her pretty bare toes the entire time.
Not that she hadn’t accomplished what she’d set out to do. She’d definitely seduced him. But not with her sexual prowess or experience. It was her innocence that had done him in. The tremble of her hands against his skin, the quickening of her breath when she’d dared press herself against him. The thrumming of her pulse when he’d taken the kiss she’d offered.
He’d ached for her ever since. One taste of her sweet, inexperienced mouth had left him hungry and hard and knowing he could show her much of the art of physical love.
While an emotional involvement was beyond him, a physical one was not. He regretted that he couldn’t give her the commitment he knew she wanted...but he had every intention of giving her pleasure.
“Come,” was all he said—was all he trusted himself to say—as he took her hand in his and led her to his bed.
Dusk came early to the lake land in December. It was barely five o’clock, yet soft shadows danced through the west window of his bedroom. The sun, a brilliant magenta disk, surrendered the day by painting the sky a mottled red and casting a rosy, translucent glow over the darkening room... and the man who stood watchful and waiting before her.
She’d known he would be beautiful. Even before he’d slipped out of his jacket and freed the buttons on his shirt, she’d known the skin beneath would be smooth and golden, the flesh it covered fluid and generously muscled.
What she hadn’t known was that her desire for him would outdistance her reservations. She’d lost her heart when he’d taken her hand at the altar. She’d lost her inhibitions when he’d told her she was pretty and led her to his bed.
It shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t feel like this. She knew so little of him, really. What she did know should have filled her with reservations. He’d minced no words when he’d told her she was letting herself in for heartache if she expected more than a physical relationship. But she could no more sever her emotions from her desires than the tide could deny it was pulled by the moon.
She couldn’t stop herself. When she reached out to this man who asked for and offered nothing more than the physical side of love, she reached with her heart as well as her hand.
There was no hesitance in her touch. No thought that he would deny her. She spread her fingers wide over the sculptured breadth of his bicep as he slipped out of his shirt and tossed it to the floor. Her hand looked small and pale, an erotic, hypnotic contrast to the bronze skin it caressed with a slow, tantalizing exploration.
With a thready breath, she brought her hands to his shoulders. Silk over steel. Hot to the touch. The tension in his finely honed body was drawn as tight as the anticipation that was knotted in her breast.
What would he be like, her savage, sullen lover? What would he do with all that strength? All that power?
She closed her eyes when he lowered the zipper on her dress. Pressed her hands against his chest to steady herself. The warmth of his breath feathered across the top of her head. His deep voice rumbled beneath her palms.
“You’re not afraid?”
She was many things at this moment. Restless. Yearning. Needy. But the only thing she was afraid of was that she would die of this fierce desire to make love to him.
First she told him. “I’m not afraid.”
Then she showed him.
Slipping her arms free of her dress, she let it slide down her hips and pool at her feet on the floor.
He went deadly still. Only his eyes touched her, awakening every pulse point, arousing every sensitive secret spot that ached for the caress of his hands, the warm, wet heat of his mouth.
“You give your trust too easily.”
With a trembling hand, she trailed her fingertips along the proud, defiant rise of his cheek. “I give it where I know it’s safe.”
His eyes darkened, denial and warning tangled with desire.
“I know the parameters.” Her voice was barely a breath that rustled the tension in the room. “This isn’t about expectations. This is about choices. My choices. It has nothing to do with yours. I want to trust you. I know that I can.”
He looked past her to the fading blush of the twilight sky. She sensed the battle he was waging even before he said the words.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Mackenzie.”
He wasn’t speaking about physical hurt. He was talking about another kind of pain.
One he knew about well, and which kept him from offering anything more than the comforts of his home and the pleasures of the flesh.
“I know.”
Despite his words, she was aware of the need in him and it fired a new urgency to complete the act that would bind them together as husband and wife.
“Will you kiss me, Abel?” she whispered, desperate suddenly. “Will you kiss me...like that morning in the kitchen?”
Slowly he raised his hands to her hair. Gently he cupped her face in his palms. His eyes were open, searching as he stroked the underside of her jaw with his long fingers. His mouth was seeking as he slowly lowered his head.
The first touch of his lips to hers was more whisper than contact. More promise than pressure. Much more give than take.
Yet he took her breath away.
She clasped her fingers around his wrists to draw him closer. He wouldn’t give her closer. He gave her temptation instead. He gave her the sweetest kind of torment, leaving her breathless and whispering his name.
His mouth was incredibly tender, achingly seductive, as his tongue flirted at the seam of her lips, allowing only a taste of what she wanted, only a hint of what was yet to be.
He played his mouth across hers. A gentle nip. A silken sip. An agonizing withdrawal. Each touch enticed her higher. Each lazy thrust of his tongue pledged a promise and left her wanting more.
“Please...please,” she murmured then knotted her hands in his hair and begged him to take her deep.
His desire became a dark thing then. His passion went far beyond need. She felt it in the crush of the arms that enfolded her, in the taste of the mouth that finally claimed and possessed. And she wanted it all. Every groaning sound of hunger. Every urgent breath of greed.
His kisses consumed her. He tasted of champagne and danger and wants she could only imagine. She drowned in the heat of his mouth and sweet savage demands of his body.
His hands were everywhere. Pressing and pulsing along the length of her back. Possessing as they claimed her hips and ground her against the hard length of his arousal.