One Week in Your Arms

by Patricia Preston

“The bed doesn’t creak,” she noted. She bounced her butt on it. “Pretty firm.”

  His gaze raked over her body. “Definitely.”

  She laughed and pushed him down on his back. He caught her hands and grinned. “I see you still like to play around.”

  He looked positively decadent with his dark hair and muscular body against a backdrop of dark red bed sheets. Her very own truffle. She licked her lips slowly and intentionally because she knew that turned him on.

  “Jesus,” he groaned. “What have you got in mind?”

  “Fifty push-ups.”

  “Yes!” He spread his arms on the mattress. “I’m all yours, babe.”

  “Who knew you’d be so easy?”

  “So far you’re all talk.”

  She stretched forward, her body suspended vertically above his as she anchored her hands on either side of his shoulders and her feet pressed into the mattress between his legs. “Time to make the Girls in Blue proud,” she said with a wink.

  A huge smile lit his face as if he were a little boy who had been offered an ice cream cone. Men were such goofballs.

  The muscles in her arms tensed as she used them to lift and lower her body. Although the mattress was firm, it didn’t provide the support of a gym floor. She struggled to keep her hands steady. There was no way she’d be able to do fifty push-ups. She might make it to ten.

  “Hey,” he said. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  “I feel it poking around.” She grinned as she pushed up her body. Her arms weakened. “But I can’t do push-ups with my legs spread, sweetheart.” Her arms collapsed and her body dropped with a thud on top of his. She let out an exhausted breath. “Sorry.”

  “You tried.” He cradled his arms around her and held her tight.

  Nestled close to him, she absorbed the warmth of his body and the comfort of his closeness. She tried hard not to think beyond this moment. It was so much easier to be silly and playful. Like he’d said, they had never been sensible. For all her high test scores and achievements, she had never had any smarts when it came to him.

  With a sigh, she broke contact with Carson. She slid off his body and rolled onto her back, just in time to see an object blow across the skylight.

  “Did you see that?” She popped up into a sitting position on the bed and motioned to the skylight. “Something flew across there.”

  “It was probably a beach umbrella.” He sat up and roped his arms around her chest. “Come here.”

  All of a sudden, the electricity shut off. Lamps, clocks, and appliances died. The bedroom was left shadowy and silent except for the rain hammering the building and the wind wailing outside.

  “We need to get dressed,” she announced in a panic.

  “No.” He held her tight and pressed his lips against her ear.

  “The power is off and the wind is howling,” she protested. “I’m not getting blown away naked. My mother would die!”

  “Holy shit.” He fell back on the bed, laughing.

  “I’m serious. I’m from Tornado Alley. We take storms seriously. You need to have on your clothes and a good pair of shoes and go to a shelter. Does the hotel have a shelter?”

  He regained his wits. “This is not Tornado Alley. This storm is not a tornado. It’s not even a hurricane. It’s just a small tropical storm, and we’re not going to get blown away. Naked or otherwise. Okay?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I am. But, if we do get blown away, you know what everyone will think, don’t you?” he asked as he sat up and drew circles on her back with his finger.

  “I know that’s a trick question.” In the dim light, she couldn’t see the expression in his blue eyes, but she knew they’d be alight with humor. “What will they think?”

  “Damn, that girl was lucky.”

  “Shut up. You are so full of yourself!” She grabbed one of the downy-soft bed pillows and pounded him with it. He caught the pillow and tugged it toward him, bringing her with it. They tumbled down on the mattress, the pillow lodged between them. With the pillow beneath her chin, she grinned at him. “I love it when you’re full of yourself.”

  “Do you?” He tossed the pillow aside. “You want to show me how much you love it?”

  She slid her hand over his broad upper arm. Beneath the flesh was his biceps brachii, a muscle composed of two bundles that made flexing the elbow and shoulder possible. His bicep muscle was thick, as were all the muscles in his body. She did love his rock-solid build.

  Her body was already reacting to the attraction as he moved his hand over her breast, engulfing it. Her nipple puckered beneath his palm and the dampness grew between her thighs. She pressed her lips to his throat, enjoying the taste of him.

  Until something rattled overhead.

  She pulled back and looked up.

  He pinned her to the mattress. “Hey. Forget the storm.”

  She roped her arms around his neck and surrendered to the growing need inside her. “Make me forget it.” Make me forget my lies. Make me forget everything for a little while.

  Reality slipped into the shadows as their lips met, his tongue seeking hers in the kind of kiss that lovers shared when the fire within their bodies took precedence over all else. The storm outside was minor compared to tempest brewing between two tangled bodies.

  Clinically, she knew exactly what was happening. The mating ritual was as old as time itself. The rush of blood, the hormones, the endorphins. The overwhelming physical need that would obliterate everything for a few precious moments.

  But she was amazed at how sacred and familiar all this felt. The taste of his kiss. The graze of his stubble against her breast. The sureness of his hands. The crisp hair on his legs brushing against her thighs. The scent of his male pheromones, which were triggering her acquiescence.

  She whimpered as he raked his tongue across her nipple. She rocked against him. Wanting more. Needing more. She grasped the muscles of his back and sighed, feeling tortured by the overwhelming passion he roused in her. “All these years and I want you more than ever.”

  In response to her comment, he grasped her face and his mouth came down on hers hard as if her words had severed the tether of his control. Everything about him was hungry and forceful and determined. A male ready to mate.

  Nothing was sexier. The fervor in her womb brought a whimper to her lips, and a jolt shot through her belly when he caressed her between her thighs.

  “I want inside you, babe,” he said as his fingers delved into the hot, slick haven that awaited him. “Now.”

  “Yes. Yes,” she sobbed. She wanted him inside her. She needed him inside her. Her impatient body could hardly wait while he slipped on a condom. She reached for him, and she guided his dick home.

  He swore as the muscles in her loins contracted. “Marla?”

  What could she say? All her pent-up longing for him sought release and there was no stopping, sating the need that had been building since she’d opened his letter. She struggled to regain some control. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”

  “So have I,” he said in a husky voice as he drove deep inside her.

  “Carson.” She arched against him. This devastating need was not new to her. She had felt it before at Royal Oaks. She had abandoned all reason and given herself to him wholly. Without any reserve. The same thing was happening again, and she welcomed it like the warmth of summer after a long cold winter.

  She tightened her legs. Drew him deep inside her to a place only he could reach. She closed her eyes and let the raw sensations of pleasure spiral through her body. She rocked against him as one orgasm led into another.

  She dug her fingertips into his shoulder blades. “Harder,” she demanded, knowing she’d be sore in the morning, but at the moment, she could care less about the morning.

  “I want you to say it,” he whispered as he stopped, sheathed deep within her.

  “What?” She tried to focus.


  “Say you’re mine.”

  Panting, she gazed at his face. Sweat had dampened his dark hair and it curled against his forehead. His skin had the flush that was brought on by sexual arousal. His chest rose and fell rapidly. In his handsome blue eyes, she saw the feral look of a male intent on possessing the female.

  “Oh, Carson,” she sighed and let her heart speak the truth for a change. “I’m all yours. Now and forever.”

  He brushed his lips over hers. “I’m gonna hold you to that, babe.”

  She nodded in bliss as their tempo regained its speed. He drove hard, pushing toward a climax. She matched his furious pace, realizing then how much stamina her exercise regimen had given her. It was wild. It was heady. It was thrilling. Better than ever before.

  She shuddered and held him tight as the raw sensations of a profound climax ripped through her. Sobbing his name, she kept her body locked with his as her orgasm became his. He fisted the red sheets, swearing during a final thrust before his sweaty body went rigid. Finally, he collapsed on top of her.

  And they lay together as one. For a few moments. She listened to him breathe and to the rain coming down. Maybe a rainbow would follow the storm.

  He rolled off her and flopped onto his back beside her. He raked back his damp hair and let out an exhausted sigh. “My God.”

  She smiled, still in the throes of euphoria as she rolled over on her belly and tucked a pillow under her chest. With her ankles crossed in the air, she said, “Yeah, it was great. We gotta do it again.”

  He turned his head toward her. “Listen, just because you’ve got the ass and the energy of a sixteen-year-old doesn’t mean we all do.”

  He shook his head as he crawled out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. “You could kill a guy.”

  She rolled over laughing. “I could always write you a script for Viagra.”

  He waved his middle finger in the air as he went in the bathroom.

  She got up, too. His T-shirt swallowed her as she put it on. The hem brushed her thighs as she crossed the hall into the living area. Without electricity, the room was stuffy. She opened the glass sliders to let in the cool air.

  A gust of wind lifted her hair and rain continued even though it appeared the worst of the storm passed over the island. Streams of rainwater gushed from the roof of the lanai and wet the tile floor. She took a moment to enjoy the fresh, clean scent of the ocean mixed with the plumeria.

  God knows what she smelled like. Sweat, sex, and whorehouse cologne.

  She retrieved her phone from her purse and stood by the open doorway reading her messages. Her mother had sent her a photograph. It was a group shot of her family on the beach at Gulf Shores. Her father held Sophie in his arms. Her brother was in the snapshot, along with his wife and two of her cousins.

  It would be late at night in Gulf Shores, but she sent her mother a message explaining that she’d had a change in plans. There had been a storm and she’d decided to stick with her original schedule. She looked up as the storm walked into the living room, dressed in a pair of navy boxers.

  He gave her a quick kiss. “I called Damaire. He said the electricity should be back on within an hour. He did say Kilauea has power. I know of a good seafood restaurant there. We could get something to eat.”

  She nodded, but her thoughts were not on food. She glanced at her phone. She could open a picture of Sophie. She could say to him: I need you to sit down. I have something to tell you. You have a daughter and she is so beautiful. See. She looks so much like you and she loves to paint pictures. Her name is Sophie.

  Sophie Elizabeth Archer.

  Marla swallowed hard. Archer. Sophie carried Ben’s name. After all, he was legally her father. And Ben had been Sophie’s father in every way that mattered. He had been the first person to hold her when she was born. He had changed diapers, made bottles, and rocked her to sleep. He’d helped Sophie learn to walk and watched Sesame Street with her.

  Ben would always be Sophie’s father.

  How could she ever make Carson understand that? Or understand any of it?

  Marla slipped the phone back in her purse as Carson grasped the pullout handles of her rolling luggage. He started toward the master suite with her suitcases. “I’ll check with Truman and see if he and Julia want to join us.”

  When she didn’t reply, he stopped. “Marla?”

  She sighed. “Seafood sounds good.”

  Chapter 16

  Carson squinted as he awoke. Sunlight, pouring through the skylights, slashed across his face. He groaned. What time was it? He reached for the digital clock on the bedside table. After ten. He had definitely slept late.

  Yawning, he rolled over and saw her side of the bed was empty. He frowned.

  Miss Early Bird was gone. Her pillow and covers had been smoothed. Marla was nothing if not neat. He splayed his hand on the empty side of the bed and smiled. Last night had been heaven.

  It had been magic. Just like at Royal Oaks. She was his dream girl, and his heart felt no hesitation. The wolves were at bay. At peace with his life, he smiled.

  She was everything he wanted. Beyond her fine body and wicked sense of humor, both of which he adored, she had a considerate heart. She took her responsibilities seriously, and she had exceptional intelligence.

  He loved that she was smart.

  He lay back, looking at the skylights. Last night there had been a full moon, which she had observed some time after midnight. They were sprawled horizontally on the bed, recovering from their latest bout of lovemaking.

  “Look. There’s a full moon tonight,” she whispered.

  Even though he wasn’t particularly interested in the full moon at that particular moment, he’d shifted to his side. “Yep. A full moon.”

  “Shakespeare said it makes men mad.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “Actually, the theory is as old as mankind. People going crazy during a full moon. It’s called the lunar effect. For centuries, scientists have studied the Earth’s lunar cycles and human behavior during the full moon. Do you know that, at one time, surgeons wouldn’t operate during a full moon because they thought the patient’s blood wouldn’t clot when the moon was full.”

  “That does sound crazy.”

  “The word, lunacy, is derived from lunaticus. Latin for Moonstruck,” she said. “I think we’re moonstruck tonight.”

  “No.” He had traced his finger between her breasts. “It’s not the moon driving me crazy tonight, sweetheart.”

  The moon had nothing to do with what was in his heart and what had been there since the first day they had met. Over the years, he’d had this fantasy of holding her hand as they walked through the gardens at Royal Oaks and telling her things he would never tell anyone else.

  How sometimes he was overwhelmed. Nonstop meetings, appointments, traveling, cutting deals. Constant demands. People wanting this and that from him. There was only a handful of people he could trust. Sometimes, he felt so alone. Lost.

  In the dream, she was the girl who held his hand and reassured him he was loved and he would never be lost. She’d always be there to hold his hand.

  “I’m all yours. Now and forever.”

  Those words had made everything in his life right. He was far richer than he had ever been. Love was the greatest treasure of all.

  Now you’re getting sappy, dude. He grinned as he got up. I’m entitled to be sappy. I’ve waited a long time for this.

  He headed for the bathroom. He had heard Marla and Julia talking about some shops and clothes when they were having dinner last night. The kind of stuff women enjoy blabbing about. Knowing Marla, she’d probably gone to the gym, worked out that fit little body of hers, and met up with Julia.

  The moment he entered the master bath, pleasant scents engulfed him. She had unpacked her toiletries. On the top of the marble vanity was an assortment of bottles and containers. He inspected them. There was lavender bath powder, body lotion, and soap. He sniffed it. Nice.

&nb
sp; There was also a citrus body wash and bath gel. A small floral bag, unzipped, had some cosmetics stored in it. He noticed some unopened samples of designer products that had come from the hotel spa.

  He opened a shell-shaped bottle of cologne and took a whiff.

  “Yeah.” He grinned. This was the sexy stuff. Unlike the lavender and citrus, the cologne was provocative, a sensual blend of fragrances. She needed to throw all the sweet-smelling junk away. Soak her pretty body in this scent. Come to bed wearing nothing but it. He would lose his mind.

  He grinned as he retrieved his phone and called her.

  “Hi there,” she answered, sounding cheerful.

  “Hey,” he said in a husky voice. “I want you to come to bed tonight wearing nothing but . . .” he hesitated as he looked at the name on the perfume bottle. Damn, it was French and he wasn’t sure of how to pronounce it. He grinned. “. . . that sexy stuff you had on last night.”

  “You mean that sample fragrance they gave me at the spa yesterday?” She sounded disagreeable. “It’s too loud.”

  “Too loud?” What the hell did that mean?

  “It smells like something a hooker would wear.”

  He waved the bottle under his nose. “I love it,” he said stubbornly.

  Another silence. Then she said, “I’m not wearing it out in public.”

  “Deal.” He grinned. He would call the hotel spa and order a couple of bottles. “Is the shopping spree about over?”

  “Oh, I’m not shopping.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m working at the infirmary,” she said. “It’s crazy here.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean you’re working?”

  “Kevin called me. He had a patient with a dislocated shoulder and he’s never done a manipulation before. So, I came in and taught him how to fix the guy’s shoulder,” she said.

  “You’re supposed to be on vacation.” You’re supposed to be here with me. “What is Kevin doing?”

  “Kevin is learning from the master,” she responded.

  Carson gave the bottle of French cologne a forlorn glance. “When will you be finished?”

  “Right now, I’ve got several things going on.”