She looked around his room, the one that mirrored her own. "I already feel like I live here."
Flint suspected they'd been living in each other's hearts even before they'd met. "You can bring anything from the brownstone that you want to keep. We can blend our furnishings."
"I think I'll leave everything there. Except for my personal belongings, of course."
And her angel collection. He knew she wouldn't leave her angels behind.
He reached behind her to unzip her dress, and she leaned into him. Together, they removed the shimmering gown.
Beneath it, she wore a satin bra, matching panties and a pair of hose the same color as her flesh. She was too curvaceous for the flat, mannish style of the 1920s, but she'd pulled off the look with charm and grace.
He released the pins in her hair and watched the curls tumble around her face and onto her shoulders. Such pretty shoulders, he thought, pressing a kiss to one and then the other.
Her perfume rose like a veiled mist, and he lost himself in the alluring scent, in the knowledge that this woman belonged to him.
"How many babies do you want?" he asked.
"A lot," she said. "But I want to wait a few years."
"That's fine." He slipped her bra straps down, just to see them fall. "How many is a lot?"
"Ten."
Stunned, he lifted his gaze.
She smiled and removed his tie so she could unbutton his shirt. "Or maybe eleven. I haven't decided yet."
"How about two?" he suggested, hoping she was teasing him.
"Three," she challenged.
"Deal." He stole a quick kiss and let her untuck his shirt from his pants. "When do you want to get married?"
"As soon as possible."
"Me, too." He opened his zipper to make her task easier. "How about tomorrow? Or the next day?"
She laughed. "Are you serious?"
He grinned. "You better believe I am."
"Then let's do it. Let's get married just as soon as we can arrange a fitting ceremony."
Flint put his arms around her, and for a moment they just held each other.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you, too."
She stepped back to undress him, to finish what she'd started, and then she kissed a fiery trail down the center of his body, showing him how much she loved him, how much she wanted to please him.
When she dropped to her knees, Flint caught his breath. She'd done this to him before, but not in this position. Not on her knees, like a wanton, wild goddess.
Her touch aroused him beyond reason. As she stroked him, he watched, mesmerized by her beauty, by the erotic rhythm of her mouth.
He slid his hands into her hair and twined the silky strands around his fingers.
Oral sex, he thought. Sweet sin. Masculine ecstasy.
Flint's blood roared in his head and crashed in his ears. Suddenly he had the wicked urge to rock his hips, to push deeper, to encourage her to take more.
But a second later she did just that. She took him so deep, he nearly lost control.
"You have to stop," he rasped.
She didn't listen, so he pulled her up and dragged her against his body. And then he removed her underwear, warring with tiny hooks, battling elastic, struggling clumsily with a pair of hose he fought to peel down her legs. Those long, endless legs.
She laughed and nudged him onto the bed, where she landed on top of him.
"We have to slow down," he said.
"Why?"
He searched for a logical reason. "Because we always go crazy."
She nibbled the side of his neck. "But I like crazy, and so do you."
Well, hell, he thought. She was right. He wanted it hard and fast. He wanted to devour, to feast, to feed like the male animal he was.
But he wanted to love her, too. To show her that he could be tender. That he could bring her unhurried pleasure.
He rolled so that he was on top of her, so that he could take control. Holding her wrists, he gazed into her eyes. Eyes a man could drown in.
"We're going to go slow," he said. "We're going to make this last."
"And I don't have a choice?"
"No," he told her. "You don't."
She struggled a little, but he refused to release her. Instead he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed softly.
She sighed, and he caressed her, running his fingertips lightly over her body, around each pebbled nipple, down a flat, quivering stomach, across the ridges of jutting hipbones.
And then he kissed between her thighs.
She moved against his mouth, making catlike sounds. When he rose to enter her, she was more than ready.
He made love to her as slowly as they both could endure.
For the longest time they danced to a sweet, seductive rhythm, danced until their bodies peaked and they became one.
One mind, Flint thought, as he spilled into her. One heart. And one soul.
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
Gina stood in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom she shared with Flint, her soon-to-be husband. He waited downstairs while the women in her family fussed over her.
She and Flint had chosen to get married at home, arranging the ceremony as quickly as possible. The state of Massachusetts required a three-day waiting period for a marriage license, which gave an eager bride and an anxious groom plenty of time to plan a simple yet special wedding, even though it meant sending scouts all over the continent to acquire what they needed.
"You look so beautiful." Moira Reardon Barone, Gina's emotional mother, adjusted the crown of flowers in Gina's hair, separating the ribbon streamers. Then she paused to wipe her watery eyes.
"Oh, Mama, don't cry."
"I can't help it."
Gina turned, and as they embraced, Moira's tears fell in earnest. Happy tears, Gina thought, blinking back her own. When they separated, they stared at each other for a long, silent moment.
Colleen, Gina's oldest sister and the one who didn't live at the brownstone, came forward to take over for their mother, who was in desperate need of a handkerchief.
In all, Gina had three sisters and four brothers, and most of them were present today.
She met Colleen's gaze in the mirror. "This wouldn't have happened without you." In a sense, Colleen was indirectly responsible for bringing Flint into Gina's world, considering that Gavin, the love of Colleen's life, was also Flint's friend. And the man who'd suggested that the Barones hire the spin doctor to begin with.
"You weren't thanking me a month ago," Colleen teased.
That was true. Gina had avoided Colleen and Gavin purposely, infuriated by Gavin's suggestion. Now she would be forever grateful.
Rita and Maria smiled, and Gina suspected they were thinking about her angry fits, all the days and nights she'd cursed Flint Kingman.
The man she loved.
"Goodness." The mother of the bride wiped her eyes again. "It's almost time, girls. We better get downstairs." She looked at Gina. "I'm sure your father is waiting for you, darling. I'll tell him you'll be out in a minute."
"Thank you." The other women rushed out the door, leaving Gina alone.
She took a moment to study her appearance, to admire the Italian silk gown with its jeweled neckline and lace hem.
Ready to embrace her future, she left the room to meet her father at the top of the stairs. Carlo Barone gave her a dashing smile and took her arm. She clutched a bouquet of cascading orchids and waited for the music to begin.
"I already told that young man of yours that he better be good to you."
"And what did he say?" she asked, knowing Flint had sent her father some carefully selected gifts, explaining that Cheyenne war weapons were sometimes offered to a bride's family in exchange for her hand.
"He said that he would honor you with his life," Carlo told her, in a voice rough with emotion.
And approval.
Just as her eyes misted, the wedding m
arch sounded. Father and daughter descended the spiral staircase and reached the living room, where hundreds of white candles flickered like a sea of stars.
There, in the center of all that mystical beauty, was the most breathtaking man she had ever seen.
Flint turned to her, and their eyes met. He wore a ribbon shirt and deerskin pants laced with accessories from his regalia. A beaded vest spanned his chest, and an otter sash reflected a shimmering display of mirrors.
They had chosen to blend their cultures to create a ceremony that represented who they were and who their children would become. At the reception a home-cooked Italian buffet would be served, and a Native American Drum would sing a round-dance song, bringing the guests together in a sacred circle.
The circle Flint and Gina would share for the rest of their lives.
* * * * *
SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL Page 15