by Lynne, Donya
“Nice?”
“Yeah. It was nice. I kind of like Antonio.”
She burrowed closer. “You do, huh?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. All this time, I’ve blamed him for his part in what happened. But it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just what had to happen to make me see.”
“See what?”
He inched closer. “You.”
She frowned. “Me?”
He nodded. “If I’d ended up with Carol—even if we’d gotten divorced later—my eyes wouldn’t have been open the night I met you. I might have seen you—I mean, who didn’t in that incredible red dress you were wearing?” He brushed her hair out of her eyes then rested his palm against her cheek. “But I wouldn’t have seen you. My eyes would have landed on you for a few seconds. I would have admired the pretty girl in the red dress. And then I would have returned to Carol. I would have missed out on the most wonderful woman in the world, because I would have been blind to reality and the truth.”
“And the truth is . . . ?”
“That I never belonged with Carol. As much as I thought I did, she wasn’t my destiny. You are. Everything that has happened in my life was leading me to you.” He smiled. “And I almost blew it so many times.”
“Just goes to show that when something’s meant to be, it will be, no matter how badly you try to fuck it up.”
He laughed at her choice of words. “And I’m an overachiever when it comes to fucking things up in matters of the heart, aren’t I?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I know it’s true. But not anymore. I think I’ve finally gotten my shit together.”
“Just as long as you don’t get boring. I’d hate it if you became too predictable.”
His eyelids slid halfway closed as a roguish smile curled his lips. “You did hear my previous confessions about the, how should I say, extracurricular sexual activities I fantasize about, right?”
She hid her face against his chest. “Yes.”
“Then I think you already know I have no intention of ever getting boring.”
“Good.” She giggled. “I like being kept on my toes.”
“And what pretty toes they are.”
“I was wondering when we’d get back around to that.”
He brushed his foot against hers, chuckling. “I do love your sexy feet.”
Comfortable intimacy settled over them as they drifted silently with one another for a few seconds.
Then Mark sighed. “I’d marry you next weekend if I could.”
“You can, you know. We could just go to Vegas.”
He shook his head. “No. I want to do this right. The church. The reception. You on your dad’s arm in a dress that takes my breath away.”
“No pressure, of course.”
He grinned. “None at all.” He winked. “Baby, you could wear a burlap sack and be gorgeous.” He grew more serious and searched her face. “But I want the big wedding. The cake, the flowers, the food. All our friends and family there.”
“Okay, so no Vegas.”
“June twenty-ninth gives us plenty of time to pull this off. And it gives your dad enough time to recover so he can walk you down the aisle. But given how he feels about me—that might send him right back to the hospital.”
She shook her head. “Actually, I think my dad might have finally come around.”
“How did you pull that off?”
“We had a long conversation, and I made him see how much we love each other. And then he told me a story about how my mom’s dad didn’t like him at first, either, so I think he sees his story in ours.”
“Wait. You mean your dad went through with your mom’s dad what he’s been putting me through?”
She shrugged and stifled a yawn. “So it would seem.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad he’s finally coming around. I didn’t like the idea that I was getting between the two of you.” He gave her a squeeze. “Come on, we should probably get some sleep. You look exhausted.
He clicked off the light and rolled toward her as she turned onto her side. It was the same dance they did every night when they went to bed. They got settled in then shifted position until he was spooning her, arm slung over her body so that his hand closed over hers.
She felt protected, even in sleep.
“I only have one question,” she said.
“Mmm, what’s that?” His breath warmed the back of her neck and shoulder.
“What exactly did you mean by saying you want to dance again?”
His arms briefly squeezed her as he snuggled closer and kissed her neck. “Trust.”
“Trust?” Of all the possibilities she and Lisa had conjured up, trust hadn’t been one of them.
“Dancing with a partner takes unconditional trust,” he said, his voice quiet. “And, at least for me, dancing is a metaphor for life.”
This actually sounded more ominous than his tender tone suggested. “Are you saying you didn’t trust me?”
He shook his head and squeezed her even harder. “No, baby. I always trusted you. I’ve trusted you since the moment we met.” He paused. “It’s me I didn’t trust.”
“And you do now?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so you don’t really want to dance with me then. You know, like dance-dancing.”
He chuckled softly. “Oh, I definitely want to dance with you.” His lips brushed her skin as he spoke. “I want to teach you the rumba and the Argentine tango and so much more.” His body flexed as he burrowed closer under the covers. “And I think I can finally do that now without having a massive panic attack.”
She tipped her head back. “Seriously? The thought of dancing gave you a panic attack before?”
“Dancing, weddings . . .” He uttered a soft, breathy chuckle. “I was fucked up, Karma.”
“But you’re not anymore?”
“No, not anymore. Because of you. You saw what no other woman saw. You loved me in a way no other woman ever has or ever could.” He made a gentle, introspective noise deep in his throat. “For me, dancing is more than just steps. It’s more than just leading a partner through choreography. It’s personal and intimate. A union of souls with music, with trust at its core.” He paused. “After what happened with Carol, I lost that. And it wasn’t just the trust I lost, but the joy dancing gave me, too. And where there’s no joy, there’s no life. And without trust, there is no dancing. Just two people going through the motions.” He softly shook his head, rustling the pillow. “Without that connection, I didn’t want to dance anymore.” He pulled her more snugly against him. “And then you came along and woke me up. Do you realize that the night we met was the first time I’d danced in six years? I never told you that, did I?”
She exhaled a tender gasp. “No.”
“It was.” He nodded and briefly pressed his lips against the back of her shoulder. “I didn’t even realize that until recently. But leading you onto that dance floor that night felt so right.” He kissed her shoulder again then went quiet for several seconds before he pulled back and rolled her so she faced him. He cupped her cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb back and forth. His eyes sparkled in the darkness as he gazed at her face. “So, you see, Karma, you made me want to dance again. You’re the reason why I put that item on my list. Because I wanted to dance with you. In every way imaginable. And not just dance, but live. You’ve made me want to live again. You are my life partner in every way. My heart, my breath, my reason for living. And even if you and I never set foot on a professional dance floor, I still want to dance with you . . . and only you . . . for the rest of my life.”
She stared wordlessly at him. As he’d done so many times before, he’d rendered her speechless. And when there were no words to express how he’d made her feel, all that remained were actions.
She pushed forward and claimed his mouth with her own. As she was his life, he was hers. And as she was his heart, his breath
, and his reason for living, he was all those things and more to her.
He rolled to his back, and she slid onto his body.
“I love you.” She pushed her hands under his shirt and curled her fingers against his firm, ribbed abdomen.
“God, I love you, too.” The way he said it as he pushed her hair back from her face sounded like a prayer or a proclamation of gratitude.
Despite exhaustion’s tug on both her body and her emotions, she had to feel him inside her. She needed that vital connection more than ever. To make her feel cherished and safe, reassured that everything was okay.
“Love me,” she whispered against his lips. “Love me now.”
His eyebrows pinched inward as his gaze searched her face. A moment later, he rolled her to her back and situated his hips between her legs. “I’ll do you one better.” He brushed his fingers down the side of her face and stared into her eyes. “I’ll love you forever.”
His lips met hers in a blazing promise as he slammed her hands against the mattress and rolled against her body.
Yes. This was the man she’d missed for the last week. The man she longed for and dreamed about and desired. So full of confidence. So virile. A force of nature who decimated her body in such a pleasant, mind-altering way.
He released her hands, kissing her to within an inch of delirious. Within seconds, he’d stripped her bare.
She tugged at his T-shirt, and he rose to his knees and bent forward so she could yank it over his head as he shoved his flannel pants down his legs and kicked them off.
He snagged a condom from the nightstand and hastily rolled it on.
And then he was on her again, skin against skin, his chest pressed against her breasts, his hips rocking forward and back, sliding his hard cock against her.
His forearms stretched under her armpits toward the headboard, and she felt the mattress bunch up beneath her as if he’d gripped the edge.
Leverage.
A fevered chill raced down her spine as Mark used his hold on the mattress to drag himself more forcefully up her body, making his shoulders and biceps flex and bunch. He was going to fuck her hard tonight. Fast and forceful. Like a man determined to stake his claim.
A hungry growl rumbled in his throat as she reached between them and guided the head of his cock to her entrance. Then she hitched her feet on the insides of his knees and locked her arms around his back. She instinctively knew she needed to hold on tight.
His chest pumped hard against hers, even though he was pressed so firmly against her it was a wonder he could breathe at all. His intense gaze burned into hers, making her belly clench. His mouth hovered barely an inch from hers. The moment stretched as if he were torn. Did he go on staring at her, or did he fuck her brains out?
She panted and rolled her hips, enticing him to do the latter. He was barely an inch inside her, but the pressure was incredible. If only she could shimmy down a bit, she could feel more of him. She squirmed and tilted her pelvis, managing to engulf another inch or two of his shaft.
One side of his mouth lifted in a sexy smirk. “Are we impatient?”
Her body needed his. Heat consumed her core. The muscles in her lower belly were already tight as a drum and ready to let go.
“I want you.” God, she sounded like she was begging.
His smirk deepened, revealing his lone dimple in his right cheek. “How badly do you want me? Hmm?” He ever-so-slightly angled his hips forward, giving her a little bit more as she wriggled beneath him. She didn’t want a little more, she wanted the whole enchilada. All of it. Now.
“Mark . . . please.” She’d gone one step beyond begging, closing in on desperation now.
“Please what?” A tiny bead of sweat rolled down his temple, giving away how much his restraint was taxing him, too.
His body trembled as he tilted his hips even more and slid halfway home.
But Karma wanted him flush against her, pubic bone against pubic bone. And she wanted it now!
“Damn it, Mark. Fuck me. God, please, just fuck me.”
With an animalistic growl, he plunged into her to the hilt, making them both gasp. His eyes popped open wide for a split second as if he’d just felt an explosion inside his body, and then God in Heaven above, he gave her exactly what she’d asked for.
With her breasts mashed against his chest, his hips slapped hard and loud against her flesh in a merciless rhythm. He used the leverage his death grip on the mattress gave him to his advantage, surging ferociously against her, building momentum. Under his breath, he uttered groan-like profanities that sounded more like reverent murmurings of disbelief. As if he’d never felt anything so pleasurable and never wanted it to stop even though he knew it would. And from the way it sounded, the end would come sooner rather than later. This wasn’t the kind of fucking that burned hot and long like a dying star. This was supernova-at-the-moment-of-detonation sex. Blinding, powerful, all-consuming, and void-creating.
Each forward thrust pounded him deep into her body, striking her G-spot with relentless brutality. Her orgasm was already shooting to the surface, her body coiling, her fingernails digging into his back, the desperation rising to a deafening level.
But through the physical and sensual chaos, he never tore his gaze from hers. The last time they’d had sex, he hadn’t looked her in the eye at all. This time, he seemed hell-bent on making up for that.
“Mark . . . oh God, Mark . . .” Her feet were still snared around his knees, and she levered them to the sides, wanting him closer, deeper.
And now he had another weapon in his sexual arsenal.
Digging his knees into the mattress, he pushed forward even as his arms pulled.
She saw stars.
The bed rocked like a tossed rowboat in a hurricane. The headboard thumped against the wall.
And Karma was about to explode.
“Fuck . . . fuck . . . oh, fuck!” Mark’s eyes flared wide as he stared down at her. “Tight . . . ” He gasped and sucked in his breath. “You’re so fucking tight.”
Yeah, because she was about to splinter into a million pieces as the supernova destroyed her body.
Usually, she came first, and she came multiple times. Not today. This time, they were getting there together for one massive, glorious sharing of nirvana. Karma could tell by the way his shoulders tightened and the way the skin around his eyes grew taut that he was on the same course she was. That they were approaching the edge and about to leap together.
“Oh my God, Mark . . don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” Each demand rose in pitch, escalating as her throat tightened.
And just as she crested, crying out and clutching him close, he thrust his hips into her and briefly stilled as a bone-vibrating groan rolled from his throat and into her waiting mouth as she took his lips with hers.
As he continued pumping his hips against her, she swallowed every moan, every gasp, every muttered curse, reveling in her own body’s euphoria.
This was what loving him and being loved by him did. Their emotions fed one another, strengthening both, delivering greater pleasure than either could find alone.
And now he was all hers. From this day forward, she no longer had to share him with anyone. The last remaining door in his heart that led to the past was finally closed and locked.
Let the future begin.
Chapter 39
Life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself.
-George Bernard Shaw
The next week breezed by in a flurry of activity as they set their wedding into motion between trips to the hospital to visit her dad. Daniel and Zach took on the task of finding a venue for both the ceremony and the reception, a florist, and a hair stylist and makeup artist to primp everyone on the big day. Lisa worked on invitations and the rehearsal dinner. Johnny found a photographer and videographer, as well as a DJ. Giada used her pastry chef connection in Chicago to find someone local to bake their cake. And Rob and Holly helped coordinate travel arra
ngements for family and friends from Chicago. She and Mark handled everything else and paid all the bills.
Their wedding became a massive group effort. Everyone was involved and received marching orders to throw as much money as necessary at any problem that presented itself.
Meanwhile, her dad’s progress after heart surgery was good. He was sitting up in bed the next day even though he was still groggy. The day after that, he was able to walk himself to the bathroom a couple of times. The doctors said he was recovering as expected, and by the following Friday, he was discharged and sent home with orders to rest for six to eight weeks. He would fully recover just in time for the wedding.
It seemed the only thing left to do was to find a dress, something Mark’s mom insisted on helping with.
Which was why Karma, Lisa, Daniel, and Zach had piled in to Zach’s Escalade Friday afternoon and trekked up to Chicago.
Joined by Giada, Holly, and Daniel’s sister Sonya, who lived just outside Chicago, on Saturday morning, they drove to a bridal store named Jasmine west of the city. Jasmine was a high-end salon/boutique with what felt like miles of white satin and a section for bridesmaids dresses that was bigger than a small country, where the dresses were organized and grouped by the colors of the rainbow. Jasmine saw clients by appointment only, but Giada was friends with the owner, so she’d been able to get them in on short notice.
Karma had been shopping and trying on dresses for two hours when she turned around in dress number six and stared at her reflection in the three-way fitting room mirror.
Exhale.
Two years ago, on the night she met Mark, she’d felt like Cinderella. Now she looked like her.
“Let’s go show your friends and family,” the attendant said, unable to hide her smile.
Forcing herself to look away from the mirror, she followed the attendant from the massive fitting room, out to the couches where everyone was sitting around a circular riser placed in front of another tri-fold mirror.
The gasps that rose from the group as she swept the long, flowing skirt around the corner confirmed she’d found her wedding dress.
She took her place on the platform, turned a slow three sixty, then lifted her arms.