by Susan Arden
She entered, but then hesitated inside the brightly lit store. Suddenly all around her—or so it seemed—the mirrors reflected the dismal state of her dress. Nothing short of an eyesore, and she cringed. She hadn’t gotten the stain completely out, and now the dress was wrinkled, misshapen from the scrubbing she’d executed, and hung loosely on her.
Immediately, she realized how out of place she was in her fashion disaster, and went to backtrack. Too late. She met the arched brow stare of the salesperson. A man with a greying goatee who had been folding a shirt at the counter, and he stood frozen, his lips pursed. He shook his head from side to side—slowly, his eyes moving down her.
“Oh girl,” he said with a twang. “You poor, poor thing.”
“Do you have something that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg?”
“Hmmm. You do have a spectacular pair of arms and legs. And you’re a Texas cutie?” He slapped his hand down on the counter. “Don’t play me now.”
“Born and bred,” she whispered. “I’m not doing the Lone Star proud tonight.”
“Well come on in. We don’t have much time.” He sauntered up to her, giving her a once over. “Curvy little thing. Size six?”
“On my good days.” She grinned, amused by the look on his face.
“Gah!” He flapped both his hands as though waving away her words. “The women around here would poke each other’s eyes out for a few of your curves, honeybunch.”
“Not this evening. I spilled a drink down the front of my dress.” Disappointed by the memory, she smoothed her hands over the stained material. “In case you didn’t already notice.”
“We’ve all been there. Only I didn’t look as yummy as you still do. An unattractive splotch from a glass of red wine in Venice. On a white linen suit to die for and that sucker never came clean. You on the other hand, look scrumptious, and at least you have a story to take back home.” They both nodded knowingly.
“True,” Sommer sighed.
“Just checking in?” The gentleman asked.
“Yep. I don’t need a dress for tonight, something for tomorrow.”
He winked at her and walked over to a rack. “Got just the thing. What part of the great state do you hail from?”
“Annona,” she replied. “And you?”
“I’m from down south. Hill Country. A little slice of heaven called Wimberley.” He lifted a red dress. At first she wanted to shake her head. She didn’t want anything that would draw attention. Nothing to get her more noticed than she’d already experienced.
“Not far from Austin,” she returned, biting her lip.
He nodded. “So you know, even after nine years in the big city, I’m still homesick. How about this one, doll? Red would be scrumptious with your lovely blond hair and that skin tone. And it’s not wild. A-line and on a figure like yours…give it a shot.”
“It’s really darling,” she said, touching the soft material. “Points for not being next to nothing.”
“Husband. Jealous?”
“Boyfriend. Worse.”
He snickered. “Don’t you just love a hot-blooded man? I’ve got one of those. Dressing room is over here. My name is Jeff. I own this shop.”
“I’m Sommer, and very, very pleased to meet you.”
When she came out of the dressing room, her breath hitched. Rory was standing at the counter and he had his phone out. Both he and Jeff stopped talking. “Hey, sugar,” Rory said. “Try these on.”
“Took the liberty of selecting some shoes,” Jeff interjected, showing her a pair of flats. “They just arrived. I have most sizes. Seven?”
“You’re good,” she replied and sat down on the bench next to the open shoe box.
“I was just showing Jeff some pictures, and telling him about what you do.”
“Have an interest in ink?” she asked, bending forward and removing her shoes. She straightened and slipped on Jeff’s suggestion.
“Personally, no. I enjoy a nicely inked body, but tell me about those shirts you fashion with the serious knots and laces. I’m always in the market for new fashion finds. This isn’t my only shop. I have one in the other Four Seasons hotel and another two around town. Usually I’m not behind the counter, but my sales manager here decided to have her baby today and I’m filling in.
She traded glances with Rory and he nodded. “Don’t be shy, Sommer. Tell him, baby.”
Jeff held out his card. “I’m serious. What I saw is hot, trendy, and with you modeling your wares, you should think about marketing.”
“I have a shop on Etsy. Sommer Wear. I use shirts made from jersey. It isn’t hard. I learned how to tie and arrange the material to form-fit the wearer. Anyone can do it.”
“Apparently not anyone,” Jeff said. “Do you have a card?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t gotten that serious.”
“I do. And I’ll write down Sommer’s Etsy info.” Rory removed an Evermore Ranch card. She watched him write out her website and contact information, not even realizing he knew it by heart. His pen glided along without stopping. When he flashed the card to her, holding it out at eye level for her to read, she nodded. Speechless.
After tonight, or really this week, she shouldn’t be stunned, shocked, or surprised by her over-the-top cowboy. Yep, he was hot-blooded, and she smiled up at Rory, her heart singing beat after beat. She’d been lost in the realm of trying to live some sort of imagined existence, while the only person who mattered had gotten pushed, squeezed, and put through the wringer from her growing pains. But through it all, every second, every breath and every heartbeat, it was Rory who stood by her. Sure she had those fleeting moments that made her see red—and not the pretty dress kind. But she knew, soul deep, Rory was her all. He’d followed her, kept coming back, and it was that way for her with him. He held her heart in a safe haven. All rolled up into one hot package, her shot in the dark. Her fix. Her next breath.
“Marry me,” she said, the idea bubbling up inside her and she repeated it again. “Marry me, Rory.”
Rory looked up and laughed. “’Bout time, firecracker.”
Her heart galloped in her chest, and she insisted, “I’m serious. Marry me. Take a chance on me.”
“What’s in that shoebox?” Rory smiled but as they continued to stare at one another, his face went from jovial to thoughtful.
“Maybe a whole lot of sense.” She went to lower herself to her knee, but Rory interceded and lifted her up.
“You’re not the one who needs to get down,” he whispered and she watched him kneel in front of her.
“Sommer Anastasia Kincaid, please do me the honor of marrying me. I’ll always be there for you and you’ll never want for anything. You have my heart and I promise, baby, I’ll cherish yours.”
“Yes. Let’s seal this deal,” Sommer replied. “Rordan Richard McLemore, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ll ever need. Forever.”
Rory came at her, a force she’d love to reckon with, and now she’d have days and days to navigate the rough and hard, protective yet tender terrain of this man. Picking her up, he swung her around.
“Lord, have mercy,” Jeff said, dabbing at his eyes. “You two! Never had a marriage proposal shared in one of my stores. Do you mind if I take a picture? I won’t post it. Just want to show my husband that romance isn’t dead. It’s alive and well, right here in Beverly Hills, and came all the way from Texas.”
“Fine by me.” She smiled at Rory, her arms wrapped securely around his neck. “You okay with one?”
“Take ten or a hundred. Post them all, as far as I’m concerned,” he replied as his sapphire gaze burned a path only he traveled, straight to her heart.
“Wish we could tie the knot tonight,” she murmured against his cheek.
“There’s always Vegas,” Rory answered, squeezing her tighter in his grasp. “If you’re serious about getting married soon.”
“We can do better than Vegas,” Jeff scof
fed. “If you two love bugs are serious.”
As her feet touched the floor, she held onto Rory’s arms. “I am. Are you?”
“Baby, never been more sure or more serious.”
Jeff showed them the photographs. “Give me your phone. I’ll take a few for you and yours.”
Rory asked, “What did you mean better than Vegas? Are there places to get married on the spot in Hollywood?”
“If you know where to look. Sure. In thirty minutes.” Jeff returned Rory’s cell.
“Let’s do it.” She stroked her fingers along his square jaw. “Why not?”
“Baby, what about your mom?”
On one hand, her mom would be shocked, but on the other, this would be a blessing in disguise to come back home married to Rory.
Their hit the ground running type of wedding felt all too perfect for lots of reasons. Lowering her voice, she canted closer to Rory. “The stress of a wedding…This is so much better. We’ll share our joy and isn’t that the point? Besides, we’ll have a reception. No way to avoid one in a small town. But not all formal or stiff—”
“Similar to a big party.” He captured her hand in his and squeezed her fingertips.
“But not too big,” she added.
Nothing remotely similar to what they’d been to tonight. From Rory’s expression, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. “The kind we like. Family. Friends. Good food. Good times.”
“As promised here you go. Hollywood Poetic Peace and Paul’s number.” Jeff handed them a slip of paper.
She tilted her head. “Is that the name of an organization?” Sounded like a song.
“The name of the chapel where you can get hitched without waiting. They even have rings available to purchase and the minister travels. Who knows, he might be available tonight. If you’re sure.”
“We’re sure,” they said in unison and laughed.
“Rings?” Rory looked concerned and she reacted fast. He’d talked about getting her a ring for so long.
“A minor detail,” she assured him. “Can we wait until we get back, and go to Dallas. Okay?”
“That depends on you, sugar.”
“I can wait on our rings. Cowboy, what’s more important than us getting’ married.”
“If the minister is available, let’s get hitched.” He cocked his head and she nodded.
“Lets!” she rallied, her heart thundering as Rory keyed in the number on his cell.
“You’ll need something else to wear besides a red dress,” Jeff announced.
“We’re fine,” Sommer replied slightly dazed.
“Don’t argue. Rory, catch the door. Lock it. I’ll have you fully outfitted and ready to roll or my name isn’t Jeff Bridges.”
“Is it really?” she asked. “Like the actor?”
“Jeffrey Malcolm Bridges, at your service. But I’m better looking. Wouldn’t you say?” Jeff winked and held out his hand.”
Chapter 29
The elevator stopped at the penthouse and opened to the foyer. Before them awaited a mirrored entryway. In the center, a round marble-topped table; a miniature version of the one downstairs. Atop stop an exotic spray of flowers, set in an unbelievable arrangement. Loaded down with shopping bags, they entered the hotel suite. Without warning, Rory lifted her up into his arms.
“Can you manage?” Sommer chuckled at the way the doorman saluted them.
“Baby, you’re a featherweight and where you’re concerned, I can do more than manage.”
“Wish I had my cell phone to take some pictures.”
“Use mine. We’ll get you a new phone, Kincaid. One that you can keep charged, and have ready to take my calls. That’s on my laundry list.”
Tracing the line of his jaw, and a day’s worth of sexy stubble teasing her fingertips and memory. “You’ve got one?”
“Huge. And I’m startin’ volume two of my spank bank. Pick a door.” Rory walked into the living room and paused, then headed in search of a bedroom.
She glanced around and counted several, then jogged her chin. “Left. That door. Closest to the terrace.”
He veered left and targeted the first doorway. “Excellent choice.” He paused for a millisecond in the threshold, then strode inside and gently tossed her on the king-sized bed. “What’s mine is yours.”
He dropped his phone next to her on the bedspread. Sommer turned over, lying on her belly, and double-pressed the button on his phone.
“You got a message. From your brother. Says it’s important.” Probably related to the cattle drive that wouldn’t end until Monday and she held out his cell. “You’re some kind of sexy.” She drank in her hot cowboy’s long, lean body built to please.
“Some kind of sexy,” he parroted her, smirking before he came down next to her on the bed. Rubbing his hand over her hip, he hauled her over the mattress, closer to him instead of taking his phone. “In a little while you’re gonna be my wife. And I’m going to sink into you. So deep and hard, repeatedly for days and days.”
Rory reached for her, his eyes darkened, and a shiver of pleasure shot up her spine. Splintered into a million tiny jolts of tingling heat. All the tingling coalesced and coiled in what felt like a soul-consuming lust that torched her as scorching as it was untamed. She stared back at her ruggedly handsome fiancé of one hour, and another jolt similar to lightning raced across her nerves.
For a second, she dropped his gaze but just as fast he jostled her. “Hey, tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispered.
With his fingers touching her, she felt his power tap into her twining desire: hunger laced with need—tight and tense. “What you said is super sexy and for the record, I can’t wait,” she whispered, melting inside.
“Better not start something or I’ll have us naked and jumping the gun.” He ran his hand along her hip, and squeezed.
“Cowboy, can’t have you tempted this close,” she teased him.
“Turning over a new leaf. Girl, for years you’ve tempted me.” His voice grew serious, but that didn’t stop him from lifting her dress and taking a peek at her.
*
“Just like that,” Sommer moaned against his mouth the second their hips came into contact. She felt like heaven. Her hot little body underneath him, and her fingers gripping him through his pants, urging him to move faster, harder against her.
“Soon, baby. Soon.” Planting his hands on either side of her shoulders, Rory pumped his hard-on up against her, taking them both to the edge of torment. Right to the brink.
His thoughts tripped as his chest squeezed from the burst of endorphins. Blood surged in his veins, delivering a cell-branding primal message to claim Sommer. Rip these panties off her curvy hips and thrust balls deep.
“We’re so close. Just a taste. Please.” She lifted her leg, giving him an incredible angle in which to slide closer, and he couldn’t resist.
His spunky girl was breaking down his last wall of resistance, and he was savoring every one of her moves. He grazed his fingers along the silky trail of her inner thigh until he reached the edge of her panties. Plucking the elastic band, he slipped his finger underneath as his cock strained the space in his jeans. Sommer quivered. Under his fingers, her pussy was warm and so wet. He toggled her clit and his cock jerked in response.
His engorged shaft must have commandeered his whole blood supply. He felt the pulse of his heartbeat along the column of steel in his trousers. So much so that his balls throbbed, fucking screamed for relief. With a snap of his wrist, he tore her panties and growled, “Consider these mine.”
“Seriously greedy, McLemore.”
He grunted in agreement, lowering his head, targeting her slender neck. If he couldn’t make love to her, then nipping and sucking and teasing Sommer’s incredible smelling skin would do. For now.
Skimming his finger over her slick skin to the delta of her sex, he thrust his finger inside. One hard pump and she bucked, her hips jackknif
ing off the mattress. He torqued his wrist and she impaled herself onto his finger. God, she’s tight.
She gyrated her lush hips. “More. Please!” The sound of her husky voice begging had him at the edge.
“That’s it,” he grunted, pumping his hand and moving his finger in and out of her until her sounds, her scent, the feel of her soft skin held him captive. No way was he about to stop. Not until Sommer’s body yielded.
Rocking rapidly, she squeezed his finger, splintering his brain into two camps: the ‘Waiting Until We’re Married’ team was now in direct opposition to team ‘Thrust into Sommer.’
The chanting was overpowering in his head.
Thrust into Sommer.
Thrust into Sommer.
Thrust into Sommer took the lead. He couldn’t even recall the name of the other team. Lifting up, he stared down into her glowing face and her liquid eyes, and felt himself falling. His cock demanded release and he lowered his zipper. So beautiful—his girl. His golden-haired, golden-eyed temptress.
Soon his wife. His lover. Always, she’d been his love. Forever.
All of a sudden, the tides changed and team Waiting Until We’re Married shot forward, not by far, but to reinforce his goal. She’s worth the wait.
“Sugar,” he hissed, grinding his hips rough against the mattress before springing upward. “We’re so close.”
“Yeah. Don’t stop.” Sommer looked half-stricken as if he weren’t serious. “Babe, please.”
His dick throbbed painfully hard. Painfully in need of Sommer wrapped around him. In a little while they’d be married. She was his. “We’re going to plan,” he barked gruffly.
“Yeah, this plan.” She opened her legs, showing him how wet she was. “Come here, cowboy.” Her voice sounded like a seductive siren’s call and he almost lost it.
Shit! He moved downward, not stopping until he wedged her legs wide open. Taking her knees in his hands, he parted her legs even wider as he shifted in between, and secured her by hoisting her calves over his shoulders.
Officially, he was now pissed and horny as hell. “Baby, I’m going to get you off and then I swear, if you tempt me again, I’m going to lay you over my lap and take my sweet time, spanking your ass until it’s good and red. And that’s a goddamn promise you can take to the bank, Sommer Anastacia.”