by Lynne, Donya
“What do you think?
“It’s . . .” Lisa’s mouth hung open.
“Perfect.” Daniel stepped onto the raised platform and pulled back her hair. “You look like a princess.”
The strapless sweetheart bodice hugged her torso over a full skirt that fell around her legs like an Elizabethan gown. The shell was made of silky satin covered with a layer of shimmering tulle.
From a distance, the color appeared ivory, but looking closer, you could tell it was actually an extremely pale peach, with just a hint of rose. Beaded, ivory lace overlaid the bodice and cascaded in decorative tails over the top of the skirt. The same lace extended about a foot-and-a-half from the hem, dispersing to appear like a filigreed flower garden all around the bottom of the dress.
“It’s exquisite, dear,” Giada said, stepping behind her and placing a simple, jeweled tiara on her head.
Her gaze shifted to her reflection. “I love it.”
“All we need is a strand of pearls, some matching earrings . . .” Giada’s slender fingers grazed her neck and earlobes. “And an ivory veil. Then you’ll be perfect.”
When all the fussing was done and the accent pieces chosen, Jasmine’s owner gathered her dress with those of the bridesmaids and promised to oversee all the alterations and adjustments herself. Then they grabbed a late lunch downtown, thoroughly exhausted but thrilled to have the most important part of any wedding taken care of.
* * *
Mark sat on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table, his laptop in his lap as he scrolled through his e-mail. The sun had set an hour ago, and the TV was tuned to some extreme sports competition, the volume low.
With Karma in Chicago, the house was quiet. Too quiet. He liked hearing the gentle patter of her bare feet across the hardwood entryway. Loved the sound of her laughter and her voice. She wasn’t overly talkative like some women. She enjoyed the silent spaces as much as he did, and sometimes just sitting together to watch a movie was more intimate than making love.
He’d never been so comfortable with a woman, which was just one more shred of evidence reinforcing his belief they’d been created for one another, to reach this moment and embark on a journey as a unified force rather than two separate elements simply sharing space. Any couple could live together, but when you really loved someone to your marrow, just living together wasn’t enough. You wanted that piece of paper that said you were legally bound to one another under God and in front of witnesses.
That’s how Mark felt about Karma, and now that he’d finally shed the painful leftovers from his past, he couldn’t marry her fast enough. If only they’d agreed to visiting a Justice of the Peace the day after his return from Chicago. They could have gotten married right away then held a more public ceremony for friends and family. If he’d suggested it, he was sure Karma would have agreed, but now they were fully committed to the end of June. In just a little more than six weeks, he would finally have everything he’d ever wanted.
The garage door whirred. Ah, finally, his lovely bride-to-be was home.
A couple minutes later, she appeared carrying a handful of shopping bags she dropped by the foot of the stairs.
“Well?” he asked expectantly, glancing over the back of the couch as she approached. Her hair was pulled in a high ponytail, making her luminescent eyes pop against her fair skin.
“I’m wiped.” She joined him on the couch and settled her cheek on his shoulder.
He kissed the top of her head. She smelled faintly of the vanilla body lotion he’d bought her a couple months ago.
“Does this mean you found your dress?”
She smiled and scrunched closer as she slid her arms around his waist. “Yes.”
“And . . . ?”
“It’s amaaaaazing.”
“I saw the charge come through on my account. That must be some dress.”
She laughed. “You’re not having second thoughts about giving me carte blanche with your credit card, are you?”
He chuckled, kissed her hair again, then said, “I think I can afford it.”
“It’ll be worth it when you see the dress.”
“You’re that confident I’ll like it?”
She nodded. “It will definitely take your breath away. It did mine.”
“Mmm, I can’t wait to see it then.”
They fell into a comfortable silence as he returned to his e-mail.
The quiet comfort was nice. Easy. He liked her cuddled against him like this. In a way that didn’t demand his attention but resonated with relaxed contentment. Six months ago, things had been so different. They’d been preparing to move in together, and she’d been so worried she wouldn’t fit into his world, worried he would take over everything and not let her pay her own way.
He smiled, clicking through another e-mail as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “Remember when you found out about my money? Remember how you reacted?”
Her shoulders curled inward as she burrowed shyly against him and giggled. “Yes.”
“Most women would have had dollar signs dancing in their eyes, but not you.” He chuckled as she snuggled closer and hid her face. How adorable. “You were more worried about fitting in, and you were intent on making sure you would never have to rely on my money.” He closed his laptop and set it beside him. “Do you still feel that way?”
She lifted her head and shrugged, her face pink, her mouth curved into an endearing smile. “Sometimes things still seem a bit surreal, but for the most part, I’ve adjusted, don’t you think?”
“Yes, you have.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Money isn’t everything, Karma. I mean, sure, I like nice things, and I can afford them. But I’ve never wanted to spend my money on things like extravagant vacations and houses and tubs full of diamonds until I met you.”
She laughed. “Tubs full of diamonds? Really?” She glanced toward the stairs. “Maybe I should head upstairs and take a bath then.”
He chuckled and wrapped his forearm around her thigh. “Okay, so maybe that was a slight exaggeration.”
“Damn. I was really looking forward to that bath.” She snapped her fingers then sobered. “But seriously, are you saying I’m bad for your inheritance?”
He cocked his head to the side and shook it. “On the contrary. You’re good for my desire to live.”
Her elegant brows bunched together, creasing her forehead as her pretty lips twisted into a dubious grin. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that spending money on myself isn’t nearly as fun as spending it on you. On us. On things like those extravagant vacations. And on big, flamboyant weddings.” He emphasized the last with a sly turn of his head and an arched eyebrow.
“And yachts and private jets and villas.” She waved her arm in an arc toward the ceiling. “And a gigantic home big enough for an entire tribe?”
An entire tribe. He liked the sound of that. He wanted kids. At least three. Three was a good number.
He swept her into his arms, kissing her cheek. “Mmm, a tribe? Is that a hint?”
He could tell by the way she briefly frowned then grinned knowingly a second later that she hadn’t intended it to be, but that her mind was now working over the idea. “Do you want it to be?”
“Definitely.” He dipped his head down, forcing hers to the side so he could nuzzle her neck.
* * *
She giggled as he pushed her to her back and rolled her shirt up, exposing her stomach as he bent over her.
“Mark!” She squealed and squirmed her way out of his grasp then stood before he could nibble her torso.
It had been a long day and a long drive back to Indy. She hadn’t been joking when she’d said she wanted to take a bath. She desperately needed to clean up after sweating in and out of wedding dresses all afternoon. And she needed food. The late lunch they’d grabbed in Chicago had ceased filling her belly a while ago.
But damn, he looked good with that sexy smirk on his face.
/> He sighed and settled dejectedly against the back of the couch, his eyes twinkling in a way that told her he wanted nothing more than to spend the next hour carnally welcoming her home.
“I really do need a shower,” she said, bending forward until her face was only inches from his. “And I’m hungry.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’m hungry, too. And I’ve missed you.”
With her hands pressed against the plush cushion on either side of his hips, she pushed forward and pecked him on the mouth. “Why do I feel like we’re talking about two different kinds of hungry here?”
His hooded eyes reminded her of smoke. And where there was smoke, fire wasn’t far away. “Because you know me so well.”
She let out an amused puff of breath. “I do, and I’ve missed you, too, but I feel dirty.”
“Mmm, but I like it when you’re dirty.” He skimmed his palms up the outside of her arms.
She shook her head. “Once again, I think we’re talking about two different definitions here, honey.” She pecked his lips again, lingering for a long moment before pulling away and whispering, “I’m referring to the literal kind of dirty, and I’d feel a lot more comfortable showering before you put your mouth all over me.”
One of his eyebrows arched as he made a noise deep in his throat that expressed his interest. “I do like the sound of having my mouth all over you.” He curled his fingers around her triceps and gave he a gentle tug until his lips brushed hers. “Go ahead and get cleaned up,” he whispered. “I’ll make you something to eat. And then that whole mouth-all-over-you thing? Yeah, that’s so going to happen.”
Warmth kicked up inside her belly from the intensity in his eyes. She licked her lips then licked his. “I’ll hurry.”
He shook his head. “Huh-uh. Take your time. I’ll make it worth your wait.”
“What about your wait?”
“Oh, I’ll make it worth my wait, too. Don’t you worry.” He reached around and gave her rump a gentle slap. “Now go.”
She gave him one last kiss then pulled away, darting toward the stairs with a glance over her shoulder as he pulled himself off the couch and blazed her with one of his trademark sexy stares, head tipped forward, the corners of his mouth curled upward, shadows darkening his eyes under his heavy brow.
It was The Look only better. A look that said “I’m going to fuck you so hard when you get back you won’t be able to remember your name.” And it nearly made her dismiss the idea of a shower just so she could jump on and forget her name now.
Instead, she forced herself to turn around and head up the stairs. The sooner she showered, the sooner she could experience the force of nature known as Mark Strong.
Besides, a little planning for what was to come couldn’t hurt.
So much for her lectures on spontaneity.
Thirty minutes later, with her hair still damp on the ends after a cursory blow-dry, she leaned forward at her vanity table and dabbed on some strawberry-flavored lip gloss. It was a junior high thing to do, but she didn’t care. She loved how the gloss made her lips shimmer, and Mark had mentioned once that he liked when she wore it. He’d said that it reminded him of when he kissed her after feeding her strawberries.
She set the tube of lip gloss on her vanity, fluffed her hair, and stood. She’d decided to wear one of the kaftans she often wore when she was lounging around the house. It was short, flowing, and sheer. The pattern was mostly light grey with abstract, symmetrical black lines running through it. A black border lined the side hems, which hit just above the knee, while the shorter front and back hems reached just past her hips, barely covering her white panties. Her matching bra was clearly evident through the sheer, billowy fabric.
All the better to seduce Mark with.
Barefoot, she descended the stairs, the kaftan breezing around her body, caressing her skin with luxurious softness.
Mark had turned off the TV, and slow, sultry mood music piped through the home’s first-floor sound system. There was a definite Latin flavor to the beat, and it filled her mind with images of humid nights, sweat-soaked skin, and bodies pressed together in the darkness.
Nice.
When she turned the corner and entered the kitchen, his back was to her. He was carefully spooning a tomato mixture onto toasted slices of baguette. From the way he wiggled his fingers every time he set a piece down on the plate beside him, she could tell it was hot, fresh out of the oven.
But the bruschetta wasn’t what made her stop in her tracks and breathe in a long, appreciative inhale as her gaze drank him up and down.
Mark was dancing. Not dancing-dancing. More like dancing in place. His shoulders gently rocked and swayed side to side. His torso lightly twisted as he rolled his hips. And my, oh my, could he ever roll his hips.
She’d once heard that a man who was a good dancer was a man who was good in bed.
Mark was very good in bed. And the way he was moving his hips in a slow, rolling, side-to-side motion proved the adage was spot on.
For several seconds, she remained rooted in place. She’d never seen him dance like that and was getting a kick out of him kapowing her heart with his Latin lover moves, even if he wasn’t Latin. But Italians were notorious lovers, too, so whatever.
Then her smile eased as the weight of what she was witnessing hit her full-on.
I want to dance again.
The last item on his list. He was finally living it. Finally seeing it through.
The significance of the moment warmed something inside her. A piece of her soul that dwelled deep within her belly bloomed, expanded, and made the backs of her eyes sting ever-so-slightly.
Until now, Mark had forgone his love of Latin-style dance. The only dancing she’d seen him do was generic slow dancing where all they did was sway side to side and maybe turn in a circle. And, yet, he was capable of so much more, as he was proving this very moment.
He’d been raised within competitive ballroom dancing. He’d studied it. He’d competed at the junior level. And from what he’d said, he’d even instructed other dancers.
Pushing away from the wall, she quietly approached as he sidestepped to the left, rolling his hips as he did, and grabbed a bottle of wine.
“Hey,” she said, lightly touching his arm as she stepped up beside him.
He turned his head toward her and smiled the kind of smile only someone joyously happy could wear. It stretched all the way into the depths of his eyes.
“Hey.” His gaze dropped for a quick scan of her outfit before meeting hers again as his eyes narrowed suspiciously but playfully. “Nice outfit.”
“Thanks. I wore it for you.” She took the glass of White Zinfandel he held toward her.
“How thoughtful.” He raised his own glass.
“I try.” She tapped his glass with hers. “So, I’ve never seen you move like that.” She sipped her wine.
“Like what?” He appeared completely oblivious as he placed his hand on her hip.
She lowered her glass and cocked her head to the side. “Mark, you were dancing just now.”
“I was?”
“Yeah. You were. It was kind of sexy.” She took another sip of wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.
He paused and blinked several times as his strong brow scrunched downward. “I didn’t even realize . . .” He let out a staccato exhale through his nose. “But, yeah, I guess I was.” His face relaxed again as he grinned and met her gaze in a way that reminded her of a horny high school boy taking advantage of the fact his parents were out of town. “You thought it was sexy?”
Was he joking? Panting here. Heavily. Even if only on the inside.
“Uh, yeah. What dance was that anyway?”
“The rumba.”
“Rumba.” She rolled the word over her tongue. “You mentioned that before. When you returned from Chicago. You said you wanted to teach me the rumba.” She dipped her chin and lifted her gaze expectantly to his.
“Yes, I did.”
She set her glass down and stepped closer until the front of her body brushed against his. “Well, no better time than the present.”
His hands settled on her hips. “What? Now?”
“Sure. Why not?” She ran her palms up his arms to his shoulders.
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he took a slow, measured step back as he raised his arms.
“Okay, Miss Mason. The rumba. First, the frame. Raise your arms like this.” He briefly tensed his own arms to demonstrate.
She did as he said, and then he took hold of her right hand with his left and tucked his right hand under her left arm. His fingertips pressed into her back, just beneath her shoulder blade.
“This is closed position,” he said.
She nodded, and a flash of excitement shot down her back and legs. He was teaching her how to dance. How to rumba. He was welcoming her into the last secret place within his soul, and she couldn’t stop smiling.
“Listen to the music,” he said. “Close your eyes and listen.” She did. “Now, feel it. Anticipate the next beat. Become part of the music.” He began swaying her side to side. Tiny movements, in a slow-quick-quick-slow pattern. “When we dance, we become the physical representation of the music. We give an image to something that can only otherwise be heard.”
God, he made it sound so poetic. So ethereal. So . . . sensual.
After thirty seconds or so, he said, “Now, open your eyes and watch my feet.”
She did and looked down as he took one slow step to the side, then drew the other foot in for two quicker steps side-by-side. Then he took another slow step in the opposite direction, followed by two more quick steps.
He did that a couple more times then said, “See, I step out with my left foot for two counts then close my right foot in for one then shift my weight back to my left for one. Then I’ll repeat to the right. See?” He flicked his eyes downward and performed the footwork as she continued swaying in front of him and watched. “Slow . . . quick, quick, slow . . . quick, quick, slow . . . ” He followed the tempo of his feet. “Now, join me.”
She did, falling into the sequence with him, stuttering at first but quickly adjusting until their movements synced up with one another.