Apparently, Uncle Tye thought so, too, because he hauled off and punched the closest Donovan brother, Brian. As blood gushed from the bride’s brother’s nose, the other Donovans’ fists started flying and Mr. Sundine launched into the fray. Uncle Tye defended himself, of course, and the event became a free-for-all. Especially once Maribeth launched the first hymnal. The grunts and groans and whacks and cracks rose to the rafters like a song.
It all ended abruptly with a scream, a crash, and a splash.
“Spike!” Katrina squealed as the glass bowl went sailing over the railing, knocked from its inadvisable perch by an errant elbow.
Emma grabbed at her youngest sister and pulled her away from the rail, fearful she’d follow the fish. Maribeth’s howl of horror joined Kat’s as she darted for the stairs, the other girls right behind her, Ralph nipping at their heels.
Just as the sisters reached the ground floor, the front doors of the church opened. Claire and her parents walked inside. John Donovan let out a bellow and rushed forward.
Seeing that Spike flopped on the floor tile directly in his path, Emma made a diving leap in front of him and attempted to scoop up the fish. To her dismay, Spike spurted from her outstretched hands and sailed beyond reach.
Claire’s father tripped over Emma and stumbled toward his sons as Katrina rushed for the group yelling, “Spike! Spike! Don’t step on Spike!”
Brian and Patrick caught their father just before he fell. Mr. Sundine’s elbow also caught Mr. Donovan, only in the nose. More blood began to flow.
As Maribeth snagged Spike and deposited him in the holy water font at the back of the church, Ralph took a dislike to Patrick, his teeth closing down hard on the man’s pant’s leg at the ankle. In the midst of it all, Emma climbed back onto her feet, watching her uncle as he first caught sight of Miss Claire.
The grin on his face abruptly died. He looked as if an invisible fist had given him one more punch. Stunned, Emma thought. He looked stunned.
He wiped a smear of Donovan blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving his intended. Claire, in turn, offered a tentative, shy smile. Neither one paid the gathering any attention as Tye walked up the aisle toward his bride. “You are positively beautiful, Claire,” he told her.
“It’s a gorgeous dress. Thank you for allowing me to wear it.”
“Not the dress. You. You’re beautiful.”
Her smile widened, then amusement filled her eyes as she responded. “You look pretty good yourself, McBride. The bloodstain on your shirt almost looks like a rose boutonniere.”
“Does it?” He glanced down. “I never have been one much for flowers.”
“I take it my brothers decided a little family initiation was called for?”
“Something like that.”
They stood frozen in place, grinning at each other, until slowly, one by one, the others joined Emma in watching the pair.
Brian Donovan finally spoke up. “Good Lord, he looks like he’s about to gobble her up. Where’s the preacher? We’d best get the show on the road quick-like.”
The minister called the bride and groom to the altar, and the families took their places in the pews. Five minutes into the nuptial ceremony, Ralph started barking and straining at his leash. Just as Emma spied the source of his excitement—a mouse crawling along the back of a pew halfway down the aisle—the church’s back door opened to reveal Wilhemina Peters.
When the reporter dipped her hand in the holy water and squealed, the minister paused in the midst of his scripture reading. He didn’t resume until Mrs. Peters took a seat and Kat managed to muzzle Ralph with her hand.
The balance of the ceremony took place without incident. When it was done and Uncle Tye drew their brand-new Aunt Claire into his arms for a long and thorough kiss, Emma heard Mrs. Peters speak from behind her.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Rodents, dogs, fish, and a kiss that doesn’t quit. Just a typical McBride family wedding.”
***
TYE POURED himself a lemonade and gazed longingly at the whiskey decanter. He hadn’t wanted a drink this badly in years. He was alone in the parlor of Rankin Building apartment with his brand new wife, who was currently taking a bath.
Preparing herself for her bridegroom and the marriage bed.
The waiting was hell. He’d fought arousal off and on all day, a condition that developed into a lesson in pure masculine misery the moment he and his bride had left the small reception the bride’s family had hosted at the Cosmopolitan Hotel.
Claire’s mother and Mrs. Wilson had waged a full-blown battle concerning who would watch the girls while Tye and Claire honeymooned. A compromise was reached when Peggy and John chose to stay at Willow Hill temporarily until Tye and his bride returned. Tye liked the idea of the Blessings having extra protection until he managed to run the Wests out of town, so he readily agreed to the plan. He even went so far as to suggest that Brian and Patrick close The Confectionary for a few days and spend the time at Willow Hill, too.
None of the Donovan men had seemed too happy at the plan. Mainly because they knew that, while they watched over the McBride Blessings, Tye McBride would be watching over their Claire. So to speak. The last words out of Patrick’s mouth when Tye and Claire left the reception had been a warning. “You take care of my little sister. You treat her gently. When you make love to her, remember she has two blood brothers and Lars who will make you pay if you don’t treat her well.”
Remembering, Tye gripped his glass with such force he halfway expected it to break. Make love, no. What a disaster that would be. He and Claire had a nice healthy dose of lust going, but that was all. It would never be more, never could be more.
Deep within himself, a little voice dared to whisper, Why not, McBride? You could love Claire if you’d let yourself.
He slammed the glass down hard on the parlor table and stalked out into the entry hall, staring up the stairs. She’d looked so lovely in that wedding dress. The gown fit her perfectly, the elegant display of her curves attracting the gaze of every man within eyesight. Throughout the ceremony and the small, hastily thrown together reception afterward, his gaze had returned to her time and again. Elegant. Graceful. Radiant. Her smile had been sweeter than the cinnamon sticky buns she baked up Saturday mornings at The Confectionary. The fragrance of Magic had clung to her and branded his senses.
Surely she’d finished her bath by now.
He muttered a curse and took the first step up the staircase. Lust flowed like molten glass in his veins. Tye blamed his condition on an extended length of celibacy. That, and, of course, Claire’s own magic.
He knocked upon his bedroom door. “Claire? It’s me.”
“Come in.”
The door swung open and Tye lost his breath.
She stood beside the bed dressed in a peignoir of diaphanous emerald silk. Her feet were bare, her golden hair loose and flowing in thick waves to her waist. She was every man’s fantasy. She was Tye’s fantasy.
She was his wife.
His wife. Yearning as strong as his lust swept through him and time seemed to freeze. Wife, family, home. Happiness. All right here, his for the taking. His stomach took a dip and his eyes closed.
Forced by circumstance, he had grasped the idea of a “convenient” marriage like a lifeline. No promises, no permanence; a solution to both of their problems with the added bonus of sex with Claire. He never once guessed the vows would matter.
They did. The vows mattered a lot. This marriage wasn’t just a solution-and-sex. It was more.
It could never be more. Claire deserved a better man than him.
Tye swallowed hard. And what of her? Had the vows caught her by surprise, too? Did the vows give rise to unexpected dreams? Would she hope for something from him he would not, could not, give her?
If so, even if it killed him, they needed it settled before anything went any further.
Within himself he searched blindly for a seed of self-co
ntrol, some last, decent impulse to cling to. “I want you, Claire McBride. God, I want you. More than I have words to express it. But I have to be fair.”
He dragged his gaze away, unable to say this while looking at the picture she made. He stared blindly toward the wardrobe. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but just in case…well…I have to say something. This marriage of ours can never be more than what we agreed to yesterday. Don’t expect more from me. If you take me to your bed, I can promise you pleasure—”
His stare darted to her and he couldn’t help but lick his lips. “Toe-curling, knee-melting, out-of-your-mind passion—”
This time she dragged her gaze away. Tye saw her shudder.
“But I won’t give you a lifetime,” he continued, forcing the words past his mouth. “This marriage won’t last past my brother’s return. So it’s your call, sugar. Do I go or stay?”
Half a minute passed, the longest year of his life.
“Well, I probably shouldn’t admit this,” she finally said, giving her shoulders a shrug. Her robe slipped to the floor. “But right now, I’m only concerned that this marriage last for the next hour.”
All the air left Tye’s body. Her gown plunged to a deep V between her full, creamy breasts and ended high on her thighs, revealing shapely legs that seemed to stretch on forever. Legs that stepped right up next to him. On the verge of passing out, Tye sucked in a deep, lung-filling, Magic-scented breath.
“One hour, Tye.” She slipped her arms around his waist. “Or am I wrong about how much time these matters take?”
The false bravado he saw in her eyes almost gave him pause. She was scared, vulnerable, but so very brave. Typical Claire.
But Tye was only human. A mere mortal. “An hour? Hell, sugar. With you, nothing less than all night will do.”
Then he kissed her and she melted, hot, spiced Magic in his arms.
Magical Claire. Damn, he was hungry for her. Running his tongue along the soft, sleek surface of her lips, he coaxed her to open, then dipped inside, brushing, stroking, lapping up her sweetness and tasting the zest of her desire.
She sighed her pleasure, and he answered with a low-throated rumble.
Releasing her mouth, he nibbled and nipped and licked his way down her neck. The warm caress of her breath brushed his skin as she sighed her delight.
Tye groaned and swept her off her feet. He carried her to the bed and lay her down like a cherished prize. He drank in the vision before him, his heart pounding like a smithy’s hammer. He wanted this woman like hell on fire. He wanted her naked and against him. Around him. Now.
Slow down, McBride. His needs would have to wait. This was her first time. She should have fireworks and rainbows and joy. That much he could do. He’d promised her. Lying down beside her, he gave himself over to the delicious task of bringing pleasure to this remarkable woman.
He kissed her again, his mouth skimming over hers. She opened and he delved inside, their tongues touching and teasing and tasting. “I’ll make it good for you, Claire,” he swore. He trailed his tongue up the satin skin of her neck until shivers racked her body. “I swear I’ll make it good.”
“It’s already delicious,” she murmured.
“Well, it’s fixin’ to get even better.” He tugged the gown off her shoulders until it pooled around her waist, pressing kisses against every inch of skin revealed. “Magnificent,” he murmured, drinking in the sight of her full, rosy-tipped breasts.
Masculine instinct drove him. He had to taste her. Now. Slowly he lowered his head and lapped at her nipples, circling first one, then the other, with his tongue, until they drew up into hard, taut peaks.
“Oh, Tye,” she whispered.
Holding the silken weight of one breast in his hand, he stroked and kneaded as he suckled the other. Her flavor seeped into him, a starburst to his senses. Her gasp went straight to his loins.
Moaning softly, she arched against him, the motion wanton yet innocent, reminding him of the significance of the moment. No matter what the future held for them, she would always remember this moment, remember him. He was her first.
The notion humbled him, but dwelling upon it became impossible when her fingers skimmed impatiently up and down his back, her nails scraping the linen shirt separating them. Tye paused long enough to shrug it off, then they touched, bare flesh against bare flesh, eager mouths mating.
She trembled and whimpered, each sound a ripple lapping away at his control. His hands stroked her, explored her, searching out those particular places that pleased her most. His mouth worked her and teased her and whispered words that made her blush.
With Claire’s untutored help, he shed the last of his clothes. When he stripped her gown completely away, she neither protested nor attempted to hide, though her smile betrayed a maidenly shyness. Tye cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, smiled into her eyes, and reassured her with the tenderest of kisses. Then, kneeling back, he drank in the sight of her beauty. “I knew you’d be exquisite. You take my breath away.”
He pressed a courtly kiss to the back of her hand, then he turned it, exposing the tender flesh of her wrist where her blood pulsed. He laid his tongue against it and tasted the pounding, erotic rhythm. His own pulse kept time with hers, beating fierce and hot and aching. Slow, slow, slow, he told himself, battling his own needs while he nibbled his way up her arm.
“Hurry, Tye,” she pleaded while his hand drew lazy circles over the flat of her stomach, slipping lower and lower toward his ultimate goal.
Questing fingers found the folds of her flesh slick and wet and hot. At his touch, she stiffened and gave a little cry, a melding of pleasure and pain. “Tye?”
“Give in to it, sugar,” he urged, finding and thumbing the tiny ball of nerves in gentle, steady strokes. “Let it happen, Claire. It’s good, so very good.”
Her entire body pulsed and shuddered, and Tye’s breathing quickened right along with hers. Her ache became his. The tension swirled and spiraled ever upward, tugging them along together. “Please,” she whimpered.
It was almost his undoing.
Her first time. Slow. Take it slow. He slipped a finger inside her, and her virgin body gripped him tight.
Tye groaned, his hand working her flesh as she twisted in a sensual, sexual frenzy. “Please,” she sobbed, the husky plea nearly his undoing. ‘Tye…oh…hurry, please.”
She surged against him, her movements sheer instinct. His own hips flexed against her, pressing, seeking to quench the heat searing his loins. Desire drove him, hammered at him, weakening his restraint. “Do it, Claire. Let go and do it for me.”
She arched against him, little noises winging from her throat, as her hands clawed at his back.
Then, finally, she stiffened, her entire body growing taut. “Tye!” she cried as her honey poured into his hand and she gave him the gift of her release.
“God, Claire.” No longer able to ignore his body’s demands, he eased her legs apart and knelt between them. Leaning forward, he probed her moist opening with the tip of his shaft. He summoned every ounce of will not to thrust hungrily inside her. “I don’t want to hurt you, sugar,” he rasped. “I don’t…”
As she gazed up at him, her eyes glowed with an unnamed emotion. She reached for him, arching her hips, taking him deeper, until together, they broke her innocence.
Tye sank into her with a groan. “Claire? Are you all right?”
“Mmm…” she purred and rolled her hips. “You fill me.”
Pleasure bathed him at her words. His body throbbed with the need for release, but he battled for some semblance of control. She was so hot, so tight, and she felt like…home.
It was then, in a lightning flash of clarity, that he admitted how close he was to falling in love with his wife.
In that brief moment in time, the sky lit with dreams: wife, home, family. Children of his own.
Then the dark clouds of desire came billowing back. His own climax rushed toward him, a raging storm of
sensation that threatened to destroy him. No, God. I can’t. He met the tempest head on, braved it, battled it, and, with a wrenching shout, won.
He yanked free of her body, his life force jetting harmlessly across her stomach.
When his breath returned a million years later, he rolled off her and lay on the bed beside her. Without speaking or meeting her gaze, he cleaned her with his shirt. He sensed her watching him, but he refused to acknowledge it.
Claire wasn’t so shy. When he’d turned off the lamps and returned to bed, lying with his arm flung across his eyes and trying desperately not to reach for her again, she asked, “Tye? Why did you…?”
Because I saw a little angel with my green eyes and your blond hair, that’s why.
“It’s a method of preventing conception,” he replied.
“Oh.”
Unreasonable anger flared inside him and he snapped, “Damned right, Oh. I told you this marriage won’t last. It would be beyond cruel for us to bring a child into this world under the circumstances.”
“Oh.”
Beneath the cover of his arm, he sneered and silently repeated, Oh. Is that all she can say?
A few minutes later, he wished that were true. He flinched when she laid her hand on his belly and asked, “Is that the only method for preventing pregnancy?”
Bold little thing. What kind of deflowered virgin was she anyway? He’d be damned before he’d discuss such things with her. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”
“Not really, no.”
Haunted by the vision he had glimpsed, Tye’s words turned raw and cruel. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of it. I won’t be trapped into staying with you.”
Beside him in the dark, his wife went stiff as a fence post
“Oh, hell,” Tye muttered, then followed the curse with a litany of words bad enough to turn the air blue three times over. Shame and frustration beat his spirit to a pulp. With every word, Claire grew colder and stiffer so that when he finally wound down, she could have passed for an ice wagon delivery.
The Bad Luck Wedding Cake Page 30