Married In Haste

by Dani Sinclair

  McKella.

  Cautiously, he disentangled himself from the sheets, cringing at the pain. No wonder he’d awakened dreaming about the accident. He hadn’t hurt this badly since that fateful night. He made it to the bathroom, and the face that stared back at him from the mirror was not a reassuring sight. He looked like a drunk after a three-day bender. He hadn’t even managed to get out of his clothing last night.

  He walked through the connecting door to the next room and peered at the woman in the bed. Her hair tumbled about her face, and she looked so young and peaceful in sleep. Trusting.

  Greg returned to his own room, closing the connecting doors as quietly as he could. The clock next to the bed read two minutes after three. He’d slept for more than twelve hours.

  Greg flipped through the directory of services on the desk next to the telephone and lifted the receiver. If the woman on the other end was surprised by his list of requests, she didn’t say so. She promised to see what she could do. Greg hung up, struggling to get free of his clothing and the sling so that he could shower. Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the main door.

  He was thankful that the delivery person was male. He wrapped the towel awkwardly around his middle, and invited the man and his packages inside.

  Greg signed the bill and added a generous tip. The razor was a disposable, but he didn’t care. Removing the stubble from his face felt wonderful. The shop hadn’t carried underwear, but no one would know what he wore or didn’t wear beneath a pair of sweatpants. Getting the extra-large T-shirt on, one handed, took a bit of effort, and the results were dorky looking, he decided, but there was no help for it. McKella would have to assist him in rebinding the shoulder.

  The dressing on his leg was wet and uncomfortable, too. McKella was not going to be happy. He was supposed to keep the wound dry, but getting clean had taken precedence. McKella would probably scold him, but he didn’t mind. Her scolding showed that she cared.

  Whoa. Where was he going with that thought? No place he could afford to go, that was for sure. He reached for the connecting door, and found her on the other side looking rumpled and angry and wonderfully adorable. Her hair hung in unkept lanks and her clothing was impossibly wrinkled—but she would always look beautiful to him.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Four o’clock?” he hazarded.

  “Four-ten. Where did you get those clothes and why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “Afternoon,” she corrected fiercely.

  He captured her lips and kissed her before she even realized what he intended. She drew back looking startled.

  “You taste like mint.” Her tone was accusing.

  “Toothpaste.”

  “You have toothpaste?” Amber eyes glowed.

  “And two toothbrushes. I even have clothes for you.”

  She pushed past him into the room.

  “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll order us some food from room service. Hungry?”

  She lifted a pale-pink T-shirt from the bag on the bed. Louisville Slugger was printed demurely above the pocket. He thought the sentiment appropriate in her case. The sweatpants were in a matching pink.

  Greg shrugged. “I just gave them sizes. We’ll have to go shopping,” he explained, “but at least we can go out in public without causing a not. The gift shop didn’t offer a lot of choices. No underwear, I’m afraid, but they did have lipstick and a hairbrush.”

  She held the T-shirt against her chest and stared at him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but what he was thinking would probably earn him a slap.

  “You untaped your arm. Did you get your bandages wet?”

  “Uh—”

  “I’ll change them as soon as I shower. Are you feeling okay?”

  He stepped toward her, but she backed away, warding him off with the bag holding the T-shirt. “Don’t you even think about kissing me again. Haven’t you ever heard of morning breath?”

  “It’s afternoon,” he reminded her with a grin. “Besides, you couldn’t taste bad if you tried.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “I thought you said I couldn’t look bad if I tried.”

  “That, too,” he agreed. “Now stop fishing for compliments and go take your shower.”

  “I intend to.”

  She returned to her room, leaving the connecting door open. He heard the snick of the bathroom lock and grinned. A short time after the shower stopped, he heard her muttering.

  “What’s wrong?” he called out.

  The door opened and she poked her head outside. A halo of steam surrounded her. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her cheeks were flushed. She looked gorgeous.

  “I can’t wear this shirt,” she told him.

  “Wrong size? Let me see.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Intrigued, he stepped over to the door. “How bad can it be?”

  “I am not leaving this bathroom dressed like this.”

  “Too small?”

  “Yes. No.”

  She glared at him, and he spread his hands. “I can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  “They must have something besides T-shirts.”

  “Sweatshirts.”

  “Fine. I’ll take one.”

  “It’s too hot outside for a sweatshirt.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “McKella, let me see.”

  “No.”

  Greg leaned his weight against the door and she stepped back quickly.

  The pink T-shirt hugged her body, emphasizing each curve. And the two curves it hugged the best captivated his stare.

  Greg cleared his throat. “You’re right, you can’t wear that in public.”

  “I look like a twenty-dollar hooker.”

  He shook his head. “Thousands wouldn’t be enough.”

  Her blush started well below the collar of her T-shirt and extended up to the white bath towel on her head.

  Desire filled him. “That T-shirt is almost as sexy as the gold bathing suit.”

  Her blush ignited, painting her face a brilliant red. Surprise and longing seemed to gaze back at him from her amber eyes. She quivered when he reached out to trace a path down her cheek. God, he liked touching her.

  “Is your skin this soft everywhere, McKella?”

  She swallowed hard. The towel slid down her forehead. Greg unwrapped the terrycloth before she could stop him, and her hair tumbled in damp strands around her face and neck.

  “It’s wet,” she protested.

  “Uh-huh. Smells good, too.” He drew her closer, spanning her spine with the flat of his hand, wishing he had both hands to use on her. Her eyes grew heavylidded in anticipation.

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God.”

  His lips covered hers, swallowing her moan of pleasure. Her hands reached up to encircle his neck as he cupped the back of her head to draw her closer. He traced her lips with his tongue, watching her eyes darken in passion and flutter closed. She clung to him, parting her lips, and he delved inside her mouth.

  Her body nestled against him. A perfect, tight fit. Tension built as her hands stroked his shoulders and back with fevered movements. He brought his own hand around to cup her tempting breast beneath the soft cotton. She moaned and bit his tongue lightly, setting him on fire.

  Her nipple hardened between his fingers. He drew his lips from her mouth and traced a path down her neck, loving the small sounds of pleasure she made. He thrust against her, pinning her to the wall, wanting her with a passion that negated everything else. She lifted her face…

  Someone rapped on the outside door to Greg’s room.

  “Damn!”

  McKella looked bereft as he turned and strode through the connecting doorway to his room.

  The boy from room service beamed at him, then trollied the heavily laden cart into the room. The scent of c
offee wafted through the air. Greg heard the connecting door close. He signed the bill and tipped the youth instead of surrendering to the urge to ring the fellow’s neck. After the youth left, Greg rapped on McKella’s door.

  “Come and eat while the food’s hot.”

  She opened the door, rubbing the long strands of her damp hair with a towel. Her lips were puffy from his kisses and they quivered slightly as he stared at her. She draped the bath towel around her neck so it hung off her shoulders to cover her breasts.

  “Eat first,” he told her gruffly. “I know you’ll want to get back to the hospital.”

  She followed him to the table.

  “I already called the hospital,” she said. “Dad hasn’t regained consciousness, but he’s definitely showing signs of coming around. The nurse said it could happen any time now.”

  Greg relaxed. “We’ll head over there as soon as we finish—”

  Her eyes swung up to meet his.

  “—eating,” he added.

  She blushed and looked down at the tray. “We already missed the afternoon session. We can’t get in now until seven.” She reached for a fruit cup and lifted a spoon.

  “So we have three hours to kill.”

  “I need to go shopping, and we need to pick up my uncle’s car, and—”

  “McKella.”

  She raised her head, quickly swallowing a bite of melon. As skittish as a virgin on her wedding night, Greg thought—without humor.

  “You don’t have to worry that I’ll jump your bones…”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said. “You’re going to make me do all the work.”

  Chapter Ten

  McKella raised a forkful of the Spanish omelette, chewed and swallowed, all the while trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous enough to jump out of her skin.

  “You want to explain that remark?” Greg asked quietly.

  “No. Not particularly.”

  “McKella, I’m not the marrying sort.”

  “So you said. I believe I have a problem along those lines myself. You’d better eat. It’s getting cold.” She forked in another mouthful of food without tasting anything. Her nerves pulsed with tension.

  “Teasing me isn’t a good idea at the moment,” he warned. “I want you too much.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring. I’d hate to have to seduce an unwilling man. Eat.”

  She felt his eyes on her as she swallowed, but didn’t lift her head to meet his gaze. This was much harder than she’d expected. She’d never before wanted to seduce a man.

  His fork settled against the plate with a clatter. “Look at me and say that.”

  “Say what?” She set her own fork down without a sound and raised her eyes to his. A mistake, she realized at once. Blue-green eyes glittered like gems. Her blood raced at the sensual expression on his expressive face.

  “Are you planning to seduce me?” he asked very softly.

  “Yes.”

  “What about your wedding vows?”

  “My marriage will be annulled, Greg, whether Paul is a bigamist or not.” Without looking away she reached into her fruit cup, selected a small bite of cantaloupe with two fingers, and raised it to her lips. She was surprised she didn’t drop the dripping slice of fruit. She bit down on the melon, nervous that she might ruin everything by choking.

  His eyes flashed, following her motions with a hunger that sent impulses skittering to every part of her body.

  A leashed tension pulsed across the table. Never had she felt so wanted by a man. The knowledge was almost euphoric. Emboldened by his desire, she smiled and followed his downward gaze to where the towel covered her jutting breasts.

  Slowly, she drew the damp cloth from her shoulders, dropping it with careless deliberation to the floor behind her chair. Her breasts seemed to swell, the nipples pushing against the cotton fabric of her shirt.

  “You’re doing a hell of a job,” he told her.

  “Good. I was going to start with whipped cream, but the waiter seems to have forgotten to leave us any.”

  His startled expression gave way to a deep-throated chuckle that rippled across her skin. “Whipped cream?” he repeated. His eyebrows arched in amusement.

  “I’m not certain exactly what I’d do with the topping, you understand, but I feel certain you’d have a few suggestions.”

  He stared pointedly at her chest before returning her smile wickedly. “Yeah. I would.”

  “Thought so.” Feeling braver and more confident every second, she leaned forward and extended the other half of the melon to him between her fingers. “Want a bite?”

  He had to steady her wrist, her hand shook so badly. Then his lips closed over her thumb and forefinger, and she thought he might have to steady all of her. The heat of his mouth captured her finger and he sucked, drawing a wave of intense longing through her.

  “C’mere,” he whispered.

  Rising on legs of gelatin, she took the two steps that brought her within range of his hard masculine body.

  He drew her closer, his gaze intense. “You have another fruit I want to taste.”

  He traced a circle around her aching nipples, plucking first one and then the other, bringing a soft gasp to her lips. Before she could pull back from the incredible sensation, he closed his mouth over her nearest breast, shirt and all. McKella reached for his shoulders as her legs began to buckle.

  Greg inserted his knee between them, and suddenly she was sitting astride his good leg, feeling the incredible pressure of his thigh against her aching need.

  “I don’t think we’ll need the whipped cream, this time,” he told her as his hand continued to massage her.

  “No. I…” Her words got lost in her moan of pleasure as he slid his hand under her shirt and cupped her bared skin. The touch was electric.

  Their lips fused as she sought to taste him. She held his face in both hands, nibbling at his lips and chin, then placing butterfly kisses along the strong column of his throat. She licked at the erratic pulse that beat there, matching the cadence of her own.

  “McKella, we need to slow down.” He breathed the words against her ear before his lips captured the earlobe and began to suck lightly.

  She moaned again, her hands drifting downward. “You’ve got it wrong. We need to hurry.”

  “McKella!”

  She found him beneath the elastic waistband, hard and waiting. Her fingers caressed him, measuring him, teasing him freely.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Lightning,” she corrected. “White-hot lightning.”

  Somehow they made it to the bed. McKella was surprised when he lay back, letting her take the lead.

  “This is your seduction, I believe.”

  “So it is.”

  He cooperated as she removed his sweatpants. She tried to calm the wash of feelings that rushed through her when she saw him hard and naked before her.

  “McKella? I know the scars are pretty bad—” he began.

  “What scars?” But then she looked further, saw more proof of the crash he had mentioned before, and laid her lips along his thigh and the worst of his scarring, careful of the bandage marking his newest addition.

  “They must have hurt.”

  “Once. A long time ago.”

  She returned her lips to their task, drawing nearer to the junction of his thighs.

  He stilled her by placing his unstrapped hand along her shoulder. “No more. Not this time or I won’t last. Take off your clothes. I want to see all of you.”

  He looked at her with such longing that she didn’t hesitate. She drew off the damp shirt and sweatpants.

  His avid expression added to her sense of womanly power. Then he touched her with sure, swift, certain movements that made her squirm with pleasure. Unable to stand his teasing, she moved to straddle his yearning body.

  “Yes. Please, ‘Kella.”

  She lowered herself slowly onto the probing hardness of his shaft. Immediately, she felt stretch
ed and taken by him even though she was the one doing the taking. This was a heady, thrilling sensation unlike anything she’d ever known. Hot lightning, indeed, fusing them together the way a man and woman were meant to be. Then all thoughts disappeared beneath the incredible act of loving Greg and being loved in return.

  GREG CUDDLED MCKELLA against his body. No woman had ever made love to him with such delightful, untutored abandon. How was he ever going to walk away from her now?

  He loved her. Against all reason, against all common sense, he loved her. But could he ever tell her?

  The question lay bitter in his mind.

  “Oh, no, look at the time,” she said abruptly. “Greg, let me up. We have to do something about my blouse. I can’t wear that T-shirt to the hospital.”

  “I happen to have very fond memories of that T-shirt,” he teased. “But you’re right. You can’t wear it in front of anyone but me. Let me throw on some clothes and run downstairs. Give me your bra size and I’ll see what I can find.” Blushing, she told him, and he left her worrying about her damp hair and looking for a hair dryer.

  There were several shops within walking distance, he discovered, including a woman’s specialty store. Shopping for McKella was a unique and strangely satisfying thing to do. The lacy display of bras and panties didn’t fluster him a bit. He did bypass the white ones in favor of two skin-colored scraps of material, and when he would have reached for a casual top he was sure would work with the sweatpants, his gaze was caught by a skirt-and-blouse outfit on a nearby mannequin.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  He smiled at the clerk who’d approached him. “Yes.”

  Shoes were a bit more tricky, but a pair of open sandals solved the problem nicely. Despite the fact that the number of packages was now reaching the awkward stage, he stopped by a men’s store and grabbed a change of clothing for himself as well.

  He really needed his left arm. McKella would just have to help him unstrap the thing. He knew from experience that immobilizing the arm and shoulder would help it heal faster, but it wasn’t essential.

  Holding McKella in both arms was far more important.

  With that in mind, he hurried back to the hotel. He had to set the packages down to get the door open. McKella sat on the side of the bed, holding the telephone in her hand. Her hair was loose and soft around her face the way he liked it, but her expression sent talons of fear piercing through his gut.