by Meg Benjamin
“You’re not naked.” She licked her lips.
He looked down. He was wearing his jockeys and nothing else. “Sorry.” He moved to pull them off.
Suddenly, he was falling over onto his back and Janie was straddling him, one knee on either side of his hips.
She looked like a pocket Amazon, maybe an Amazon mascot. No way would Janie Dupree ever look fierce, but she looked…formidable nonetheless.
Pete lay still, staring up at her—a conqueror elf. She leaned forward, bracing her hands against his chest, and then she leaned down very slowly and ran the tip of her tongue along his collarbone.
He exhaled fast, feeling his breath whoosh out from his lungs. Not going to survive this. Going to love dying, though. He had enough wit left to reach up and unfasten her bra in front, so that her lovely, luscious breasts swung free.
Janie slapped his hands lightly. “You’re supposed to lie still for now.”
“Got it,” he croaked. “No hands.”
She reached up and tossed the bra to the side, and Pete realized he could reach another degree of hard just by looking at her.
Janie leaned over him again, running her lips and tongue along the side of his throat, while her hands rubbed across his chest, grazing his nipples lightly with her palms.
Pete closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Clearly, he needed to pump some oxygen into his brain.
She lifted her hips and slid down his torso, her silk-covered crotch skimming lightly over his erection. “Holy Christ!” he gasped.
Janie looked back at him, eyes wide. “Is there a problem?”
“Panties,” he panted. “Still wearing panties.”
“Yes?” Janie said politely. Her eyes were sparkling.
He’d kill her. After he finished having hot, wild, sweaty sex with her. “Take them off,” he managed to wheeze.
“Not yet.” Her hands glided down his body from his chest to his abdomen to his…
“Holy shit,” he gasped.
Janie wrapped one hand around the shaft of his cock, moving down lightly. Her other hand cupped his scrotum, her fingers sliding underneath.
Hurryhurryhurryhurry!
“Janie,” he wheezed, “sweetheart…”
“Just a minute.” She let go of him and he almost moaned in protest. Then she was leaning up, pulling her panties off.
She reached into the bedside table and pulled out a foil packet. Pete held out his hand.
Janie shook her head. “I’ll put it on for you.”
Pete covered her hand with his own. “Nope. At this point, speed is of the essence, believe me.”
He sheathed himself as Janie watched him, smiling that faintly wicked smile that made his heart rate speed up again.
“Is there any hope you’ll be gentle with me?”
“None.” Janie grinned at him. “But you can always beg if you feel like it. Actually, that might be fun.”
Pete stared up at her—her short black hair like feathers, her full curving lips, her wonderful breasts above the slight swell of her belly. God almighty, she was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen! How had he ever gotten so lucky? He was the least romantic member of the family, wasn’t he?
Janie leaned forward again to brace her hands against his chest, then pushed herself up on her knees. She moved her hips carefully and then began to lower herself over his cock.
Pete exhaled quickly, trying not to choke. Her warmth and wetness sheathed the head, then slid slowly down, her muscles gripping him like a glove.
Gloves. Tuxedoes. Boutonnières. Think about the wedding. Think about the White Sox. Think about anything other than the wild swirl of sensations that had just hit his brain. “Oh, god.”
Janie rose again, very slowly, then lowered herself again, equally slowly. If she didn’t speed up soon, he’d be dead before she finished.
Not from old age, however.
“Janie,” he gasped, “sweetheart, if you could just…”
She ignored him. Her expression was thoughtful, as if she were comparing the feeling of riding him slowly to his grave with some other feeling—eating artichokes, say. Her hips moved up and down unhurriedly and Pete decided she had more control than anyone he’d ever met.
Damn it!
He reached up and abruptly grabbed her hips, pulling her down, impaling her neatly on his cock. He jerked his hips back and then rose again, moving into her.
Into heat, into moisture, into what was beginning to feel like insanity.
Janie closed her eyes above him and began moving more quickly, her hands braced against his shoulders. Pete kept hold of her hips, his fingers digging into the soft roundness of her behind. He couldn’t have let go if his life had depended on it, and he had a feeling it did.
Janie’s hips thudded against his, her luminous brown eyes staring down. A delectable sexual athlete, good enough to eat. Which he would, he figured, a little later in the evening.
“C’mon Janie,” he crooned, “c’mon. Now!”
And she shattered, her head thrown back, eyes closed, hands braced against him. The wild spasm of her muscles around him sent him spiraling after her, shouting her name.
She collapsed against his chest, then slipped to his side, burrowing her face into his shoulder. Pete lay still trying to catch his breath. All of his previous experiences suddenly seemed irrelevant. This…this…was what sex was supposed to be like.
He wasn’t sure how long they lay wrapped around each other like vines. He might even have fallen asleep for a few minutes, given how totally relaxed his body was.
“Pete?” Janie’s voice sounded oddly tentative. He glanced at her. Her eyes were dark, glowing. “Was it okay?”
It took him a minute to process what she was saying, given that his brain really didn’t want to function at all. “Okay?”
“What I did. Was it okay for you?”
Pete gave himself a quick mental shake. What the hell was going on? “Okay?”
“Did I make you happy?” She chewed on her lower lip, her expression serious.
He pulled her closer, surrounded by her warmth, her vibrancy. “Janie, you are a goddess. Yes, you made me happy. How can you doubt it?”
“I just…I don’t have much experience with this, and I’ve been told…” She nibbled on her lip again. Her very full, very pink lower lip.
“Told what?” He managed to say before his body took over again. Down, boy. Geez, he felt like he was back in high school again.
“Implied I was sort of…well…cold.” Janie looked like she was holding her breath.
Pete stared at her, as his brain finally worked its way through what she’d said. Cold? This warm bundle of passion and mischief cold? What idiot would think that?
Oh. “Otto.” Pete made a vow to whip Otto Friedrich’s ass with relish if he ever wandered within striking distance.
“He was mad at me,” Janie ventured. “I might not have understood him exactly.”
Jesus, she was apologizing for the benighted lummox. Pete blew out a breath. “Otto is a moron. You are a marvel. Allow me to demonstrate.” Mr. Happy was definitely showing signs of life. Maybe if they did it two or three more times she’d be convinced. Or four or five. Pete gathered her into his arms and began to slide his tongue behind her ear.
He heard Janie giggle.
Janie lay beside Pete and watched him sleep. He was so beautiful—looking at him made her ache. His dark, curling hair tangled around his head on the pillow. His eyelashes and brows were dark slashes against his face.
She reached out to touch his cheek, the slight shadow of beard, then stopped herself. Hands off.
In more ways than one, of course. Whatever they had here was temporary. Looking for more would only get her hurt.
Sex. Concentrate on the sex. Not that doing that was much of a hardship.
But her mind kept drifting back to earlier. Walking with Olive through the warm summer night, Pete’s voice in the darkness. It was all so—comfortable.
&
nbsp; She bit her lip. Comfortable or not, everything was going to end in three days. She didn’t know how much longer he was staying after that, but she knew his plans wouldn’t involve her. Why should they? He barely knew her. She barely knew him. And she wasn’t going to embarrass herself—or him—by expecting anything else out of this relationship.
So it only made sense for Janie to keep her distance, to make sure she didn’t get too involved with someone who was going to take off.
Right. Which is why you’re in bed with him right now.
Janie took a slow, shaky breath. She really hadn’t meant for this to happen. In fact, a week ago she wouldn’t have considered it possible. She was normally such a cautious person. So level-headed. So careful. She’d never intended things to go this far. Never intended to get her heart involved. Still, there was no denying the truth.
Pete Toleffson made her pulse speed up whenever she looked at him. He made her palms sweat. He made her want to dance naked in places where that would be a very bad idea, like Main Street. He made her forget all about the things good girls did and didn’t do.
He made her want to keep him.
She was in love with Pete Toleffson.
Well, damn!
Chapter Nineteen
Janie called her mother from Pete’s kitchen early the next morning to ask her to open the Lucky Lady. She could have gone home to do it, but she was a coward. Besides, Pete had better cereal.
“You and Docia want to go to the Lucky Lady?” Mom sounded faintly confused. “But why? I thought you already had all your wedding clothes.”
“We did, but now we don’t,” Janie said hurriedly. “Anyway, it could mean a big order. LuAnn would be pleased.” LuAnn Gottfried owned the Lucky Lady, and given the amount of money she stood to make on the New, Improved Wedding, LuAnn was about to become pretty lucky herself.
Janie could almost hear Mom’s mental gears grinding. She really wanted to know what was going on, but she wanted the commission on the sale almost as much. “All right.” She sighed. “Can y’all be there by nine?”
“Yes ma’am, I’ll let everyone know.” Janie started to hang up as her mother spoke again.
“Janie?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Are you all right?” her mother asked softly.
Interesting question, Mom. “I’m fine. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Pete raised an eyebrow over his granola. “What was that all about?”
“Replacement wedding clothes. What are you guys going to do?”
He gave a disgusted snort. “Crap. We have to get more clothes, don’t we?”
“Unless you want to have Lars drop out or appear in his birthday suit, yes, you do.”
His brow furrowed. “What should we buy?”
“Something that goes with whatever we’re wearing.”
“Which would be?”
Janie gave him a guileless smile. “Currently, I’m thinking tutus and cowboy boots.”
Pete’s expression passed through confusion to apprehension and landed squarely on horror.
She grimaced. “Oh just deal, Pete, you’re the best man. The hired gun, remember? I’ll give you an update when we’ve figured something out, but you’ll need to herd the groom and groomsmen back to Siemen’s.”
Docia, Allie and Bethany were all waiting outside the Lucky Lady when Janie arrived. Considering that she’d had to wake Docia up and pull Allie away from her breakfast customers, only Bethany looked particularly delighted to be there. Janie figured that was because she’d otherwise have been dealing with sick deer hounds.
“I’m putting you all on notice,” Docia snarled. “If I can’t find anything here, I’m wearing jeans.”
Allie sighed. “Fine by me. I recommend chef pants myself. They cover a lot of sins and they don’t show tear stains.” She brushed a bit of flour off the crimson chili peppers running down the side of one pant leg as Janie’s mother unlocked the door from the inside.
Mom was concentrating harder on the potential sale than on the details of the story, Janie was relieved to note. “We don’t really have any formal wear right now,” she burbled, “but we have some lovely suits that might work.”
Docia wandered along the side of the room, running her fingers over the hanging dresses, frowning slightly. Janie felt like holding her breath.
Allie and Bethany fanned out to either side, holding up hangers. “I need a new denim skirt,” Bethany mused, holding one up against her waist. She turned to Janie. “What do you think?”
“That’s it!” Docia murmured. “Oh yes, definitely.”
Bethany frowned. “Well, it’s nice but I don’t know for sure. And it’s not for the wedding.”
Janie turned to look at Docia. She was holding up a hanger. The dress flowed to Docia’s ankles—flowered voile, golden brown sprinkled with petals in green, yellow, and orangey red. A deep flounce edged the bottom.
“Oh, well, it’s lovely, but I don’t…for a wedding? A bride’s dress?” Mom was struggling between her sales instincts and her sense of propriety.
“For a wedding,” Docia said. “My wedding.” She stepped purposefully into a dressing room and shut the door.
Allie raised her eyebrows. “You think?”
Janie nodded. “Oh, yeah. Let’s see what matches.”
Mom was pulling hangers off the racks. “Well, what are you looking for. More flowers?”
Janie shuddered. “Nope. No flowers. Solids.”
“This,” Allie declared. She held up a loose column of linen. “A shift. Straight sides. V-neck. Loose waist. And we can each grab a different color in our respective sizes, right Mrs. Dupree?”
Mom nodded, taking a deep breath. “Absolutely.”
“Great.” Allie began rummaging along the rack, looking for her size. “Let’s try these suckers on. I’ve got bread to bake.”
Ten minutes later the three of them stood staring into the three-way mirror. Pastel linen wasn’t nearly as breathtaking as satin, but they actually didn’t look too bad.
Mom smiled. “Y’all look lovely.”
“As do I.” Docia stepped out of the dressing room. The voile wrapped lightly around her bosom then dropped to a deep flounce at her ankles. Flowers rioted across her body.
She looked terrific.
Janie grinned. “Oh Docia, it’s actually going to work, isn’t it?”
“You bet, toots.” Docia studied herself in the mirror. “Let’s go for it.”
Siemen wasn’t particularly upset about Lars’s shredded tux, but then again he was getting paid for it. Cal, Pete and Lars stared glumly at the clothing racks. Daisy was busy charming Siemen’s sales staff.
“Why do we need new clothes?” Lars raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t we just wear something we’ve already got?”
“I think we have to match.” Cal sighed.
“Match?” Lars raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to look like a boy band.”
“We already did. Just a very formal boy band.”
Pete took a breath. “What about Erik?”
Cal’s grin faded. “Erik’s not part of the wedding.”
“Is he invited?” Lars moved to catch Daisy as she started to climb into the window with the manikins.
Cal shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Pete wandered around the shop, poking at hangers. He hated shopping. Nothing ever fit, and he always looked like the Hulk in mid-transition. Once he found something that actually worked on his body, he tended to buy in multiples.
He paused. Multiples.
“Blue blazers,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” Cal folded his arms across his chest.
“Blue blazers. Navy. You’ve got one, right?”
Cal frowned, thinking. “Yeah. Actually, I’ve got a couple, I think.”
“I’ve got at least that many. And I brought one with me. Lars?”
Lars shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never counted. Every man in the country has a blue
blazer, and I might have brought mine along, too. So what?”
“So Wonder and Horace probably each have one of their own.”
“Right.” Cal stood. “Blue blazers and khakis. The national male uniform. Gentlemen, we have our boy band.”
“Yep.” Pete grinned for the first time since they’d entered Siemen’s.
“Shirts.” Lars was frowning.
“Blue Oxford cloth.” Siemen began pulling shirts off the rack. “You want something everybody’s got, that’s it. And if you don’t, I do. In every size.”
Lars removed Daisy from a bin of plastic hangers before she could become too entangled. “So what else do we need? Socks? Shoes?”
“Ties.” Cal began flipping through the rack. “We each need a new tie. One that matches.”
“Right.” Pete stood at his elbow. “I suppose Bugs Bunny is out.”
Cal made a disgusted sound. “This is my wedding, damn it!”
“Dignity. Right. Definitely Elmer Fudd. Oh, man, look—Siemen’s got one with the Tasmanian Devil!”
Cal put a hand on Pete’s chest and pushed him away. “Hell, Daisy would be more helpful.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” Lars slung Daisy under one arm and carried her to the tie rack. “Okay, Dais, which one do you like?”
Daisy stared down at the rack and smiled beatifically. “Da!” she cried, reaching for a bright red tie with gold stripes.
Cal nodded, moving the tie out of her reach. “Looks like the Iowa State colors. Da it is.”
Lars grinned. “Speak for yourself, bro. As a U. of Iowa man, I’ll find my own.”
By the time the rehearsal started, Janie had decided that maybe the whole wedding train wreck had turned around. They’d had almost ten disaster-free hours—a record. Maybe the fates didn’t suck after all.
Morgan had dragooned some of the vineyard workers into rearranging the patio chairs to create a small wedding space at the far end, shaded by some ancient live oaks and a trellis with some grape vines. Reba had rallied enough to start decorating again, stringing swags of chiffon along the aisles between the folding chairs she’d brought over from the Woodrose. “I’ll get some flowers over here tomorrow,” she told Janie. “I don’t want them to sit out in this heat until morning.”