He returned, rubbing her arms and kissing her cheek. “You okay?”
“I will be when you hurry up.”
“I’d prefer to take my time, but I’m not one to turn down a lady’s request.” With ease, he grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the counter. Her squeal from the cold surface turned into moan as his right hand pinched one nipple and his mouth attached to the other.
He let go to whisper on her skin. “Tell me you want me, Ren.”
“I want you.”
“Tell me you want me inside you.”
“I want you in me, Max.”
He filled her, smothering her cry with his mouth. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding on to him so he couldn’t go away. He was everywhere, one hand cupping her face as he nibbled at her lips with abandon. Another hand held her hips in place, pushing her forward to meet his thrusts. He opened her again and again.
“You feel so good,” he breathed against her mouth. “So perfect.”
She had a talker on her hands. She liked that.
As the pleasure rose higher, her legs clenched against his waist. His pace turned into a frenzy. Here we go. Her hands reached for his shoulders, to his hair, not caring if she dug into him. He grunted as a long moan was ripped from her throat. Her hands itched for something, anything, to grip—Max was there for her as she climaxed. Almost like he’d never left her side in the first place.
***
Max wanted to take away every burden from her. Any stress. Any fears. He wanted to be her friend. Her lover.
Every inch of her body was exquisite. Her climax only made him want her even more. He kneaded the relaxed muscles in her shoulders and arms. All the while, down there, he slowly pulsed inside of her. He circled his hips, searching for just the right angle for deep penetration.
He watched her face, anticipating every reaction. Based on her moans, she loved it fast and hard, but he couldn’t keep up that pace without finishing himself. He wanted to savor her like the wine they’d sampled.
She was as sexy as he’d imagined, biting her upper lip when he hit just the right spot. She managed to say, “You need to come before I—”
Renata clutched him again, collapsing against him. Any resolve he had to hold out was snatched away. He couldn’t look away, falling into her hazel eyes while his body turned to steel. She took all of him, not letting him go even after he stopped moving.
He tried to record this moment into the back of his mind: Her rapid breaths against his ear. The line of sweat between rising and falling breasts. The enticing scent of mahogany from the wooden shelves blended with their sex.
“Houston, we have a problem,” she whispered.
“Hmmm?”
“Your watch is killing me here.”
He eased his troublesome wrist from under her, trying to hold back a laugh. He kissed her shoulder instead. He reached over to kiss her lip—until she yanked his wrist around to glance at the watch. “Oh shit, it’s three thirty!”
The wedding would begin at 4:15 p.m. Minus the maid of honor and the officiant.
Chapter Seven
Renata froze against him. Only to untangle their limbs so she could rush back into her dress.
“Ren, baby, what are you doing?”
She frantically tried to throw on her strapless bra and managed to flail a bit in the process. “Someone could come through the door any minute now while we’re half-naked and just sitting here.”
Sitting here? Wow, the last time he checked nobody was sitting down on the job.
“Hey, hey.” He threw on his slacks. Took her in his arms, even though she stiffened.
She tried to speak, but her voice broke. “What happens when I have to move away, Max? What happens when I have to start training for my job? I’m leaving soon and I don’t want us to get too—”
“Shhh, Ren, shhh.” He placed his palm against her cheek but she walked away.
She left the wine-tasting room and walked toward the wall with the window. Adding distance between them wasn’t gonna work. He followed her.
“It was so easy to be with you,” she finally said, “but I feel like I just messed up something between us that was perfect. I feel like I’ve opened myself to you, only to cast you aside when I move.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Why couldn’t she see that any obstacle in their way didn’t matter to him? Was she still afraid of losing their friendship over this? She wouldn’t look at him when he tried to search her face. Couldn’t she see how determined he was? Feel how determined he felt?
“Today was supposed to be perfect,” she said softly. “Just another wedding where you and I would have fun. Just like the other times—except the time you got food poisoning. Now look at us. Our relationship is just as messed up as this wedding.”
“Damn it, Renata,” he took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Nothing is messed up between us. The wedding, too. We tried our best to get out,” he added. “We really did.”
A few minutes later, the clock struck 3:45. The wedding didn’t matter anymore. He held her close. The hum from the humidifier was the only sound.
“I had a lot to drink that night,” she whispered into his shoulder. “But the liquor didn’t make the pain go away. You made it all better.” She sniffed. “I did have fun when you took me out to eat. You had no expectations and at that moment I needed someone. I needed comfort.”
“That’s what friends are for.” He meant that.
She gently pulled his arms from around her. “I need some time alone to think. About everything.”
His heart hurt with each step she took away from him. Without her heels on, a sweet innocence followed her, the confident veneer washed away.
Quietly, she shut the door to the wine-tasting room behind herself. The click was final and pierced him. His love had been thrown away again.
***
Max pulled a bottle of wine out of a slot at eye level. He rested his forehead against the cool wall and peered inside.
Renata sat on the other side of the room, shivering in the corner with her hands over her face. His hand hovered over the doorknob. The easy thing to do would be to apologize for messing things up between them. To pick her up and tell her everything would be okay.
His tuxedo jacket lay on the floor across from her, forgotten and unwanted. He hadn’t seen her cry like this since the night that asshole dumped her for another woman.
He turned around and closed his eyes. What the hell could he do down here? Their circumstances made it impossible to set anything right. He banged the back of his head against the wall. Then stopped as a moment of clarity hit. His opportunity was now. They could either walk out the doors as friends or move on to something more. He couldn’t give up and just stand here and let her slip through his fingers again.
It was time for him to be active, no matter the consequences. It pained him to think any efforts he made for Renata might be turned away, but wasn’t that what love was about? Taking chances to see what would happen? He didn’t want anybody else. He wanted to be with her, joking about their workdays, or spending time together watching baseball while they screamed obscenities at the TV.
They could have the best of both worlds: friendship and love.
He set about going through the supply trays and boxes. The whole place had a cornucopia of supplies—all one needed was clarity to see the hidden treasures: aluminum foil, twine, sales labels, burlap, and more. From his back pocket he plucked out his pocketknife. He sorted through everything until he found what he needed. He moved with purpose.
Chapter Eight
Renata drifted away in a chilly sixty-five-degree room. She was tempted to use Max’s jacket, but decided against it. She had to let him go. No matter how much it hurt. Sadness coursed through her. A job prospect pulled her heart in one direction while Max tug
ged the other way.
Why can’t I have both? she thought. Fear cut into her next. If she gave their relationship a try she might not be able to give Max what he deserved. He deserved someone who’d be there for him.
Thump!
It was rather hard to ponder the situation with all the noise he made.
She sighed. Then the sounds of fabric ripping caught her attention. What the heck was he doing?
Curiosity tickled up the back of her neck. Slowly, she got up and peeked through one of the slots. She spotted him on the other side of the room, his back turned to her. His head leaned down and his arms moved to furiously work on something.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He froze. “I’m making things right. Can you do me a small favor?”
A favor? “What?”
“Close your eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just give me a few minutes, Ren, that’s all I’m asking.”
She sighed and closed her eyes.
The door opened. She sensed his approach, and she tried not step back. Warm hands slid up her arms. “Lift them up,” he said softly.
Renata complied, tensing up for what would come next. His hands gripped her bustline along the gap in her dress, his touch eliciting a shiver from her. He tugged twice.
“What are you doing?” she said with a chuckle.
“Patience, young Jedi,” he whispered, his head close to her right arm. “Yoda needs to use the Force.” He leaned away briefly and returned to pull and yank at the opening. As time went on her fingers slowly went numb. She flexed her fists as he continued.
What in the hell was he doing?
She slowly opened her eyes to slits.
“Don’t even think about it, Renata. I’m almost done.” Faintly, she heard the sounds of tying, cutting, and twisting. The jerking motion ended and what had once been a spot large enough for a cool breeze to flow through turned into something else entirely.
“Okay, go ahead and look at my handiwork.” He took a step back.
Finally, she stole a glance at her side and burst out laughing. Her best friend had outdone himself this time. Using wine bottle twine, he’d secured a triangular-shaped piece of burlap sack from the clasps at the top of the zipper to the pull tab at the bottom.
“What did you do?” she asked with a laugh.
“I fixed things—so you can enjoy your sister’s wedding. Without the shawl. At least you’re free from wedding wardrobe malfunctions.”
“Oh, thank you.” The burlap sack brown was so far off the light-blue satin, but the scratchy material could’ve been woven gold in her eyes. Max had made this for her.
“Test it out,” he said.
She cocked a grin. “Test it?”
“Move around, Renata.”
She twisted her body, jumping up and down for good measure. The dress didn’t budge an inch. “Good craftsmanship, Professor MacGyver. You said you couldn’t build a bridge, but look at what you’ve accomplished.”
Their gazes caught and a sigh escaped her mouth. “Professor MacGyver is good with his hands,” he said.
“Yes, he is.” Heat flooded her face and her stomach trembled, remembering how he’d touched her not too long ago. When he held her she had no fears or reservations. Only the comfort and pleasure that someone so important in her life could give her.
“Say something. I wish I could build a bridge to fill this gap you’ve placed between us.”
She bit her lower lip and slid closer to him. He echoed the movement until they were close enough to embrace. Falling into his arms seemed like it could be so easy, so why did she hesitate?
“I’ve had so many years as your best friend . . . but I need you now. More than before,” he said.
“I can think of so many reasons why we shouldn’t work,” she replied. “You’re allergic to wool—which I wear often in the winter. You hate television in the mornings.”
“Like you can talk. You’re allergic to pineapple, my favorite fruit, and you do this annoying thing where you make duck lips when you’re deep in thought.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Duck lips, schmuck lips. You’re just jealous I’m harboring all this brainpower and you’re nothing but a genius . . .” She searched his green eyes and sucked in a breath. “. . . who can’t resist helping anyone in need.” Renata touched her dress.
“I’d have to say the same about you.” He tugged her right hand off her hip and slipped his fingers between hers. “Ren . . . I know you hate that name, but every time I say it, you make this little face that makes me smile. So many others call you by that name, but it’s only me who makes you react that way, and I love that about you.”
Silence settled between them. It took a moment for her to speak.
“I think I like the name Ren.” She couldn’t help smiling. “But only when you call me that.”
He continued. “I’d like to call you that forever, if you want. I don’t care if you move away. I don’t care if you travel all the time. Do you understand why I don’t want to let go of this moment and you?”
“I want to.” It felt right after she said the words.
When she didn’t move, he retrieved his coat and draped the garment over her shoulders. It was possessive but comforting. “There you go.”
“So what are you thinking?” he asked softly.
They continued to face each other, neither one looking away with each quickened breath. Her mind raced, going a million miles an hour, but he waited for her to speak.
“I’m thinking about all the good things about you. That you never rush me. You always listen when I have a problem. You’re so good to me, but . . .” Her chest tightened.
“But?”
“What I’m really thinking is that I have the best friend in the world.” Her heart beat so fast, but she managed to continue. “And I’d be a fool if I didn’t want to win the bet with him. Long distance or not.”
He pulled her into his arms and his smile filled his entire face. His body next to her filled her heart with warmth. His kiss promised a love that would always be there when she needed it.
“So who’s buying the season tickets?” he murmured against her lips.
“You made the bet. I’m thinking you’re the guilty party here.” He kissed her long enough to elicit a moan from the back of her throat.
“Will we ever get out of here?” she asked after they slowly parted. “So we can start this new ‘thing’ between you and me?”
“Now that I’ve got you I couldn’t care less.”
The Other Woman: Sex, Lies, and Karmic Catastrophe
Stephanie Draven
To my beloved husband who turned our own wedding disaster into a marital masterpiece.
3 hours until ceremony
“This wedding is doomed,” muttered the ashen-faced groom.
And that was Blake Quinlan’s cue.
As best man, he had three simple jobs. Hold on to the wedding rings, prepare a witty wedding toast, and be ready to talk the groom through a case of nerves . . . which was all Blake could stomach when it came to weddings, because he was pretty sure love was for suckers.
But friendship? It ought to be forever. So in spite of Blake’s reservations about the impending nuptials at the picturesque Briarwood Manor, he was determined to take his duties as best man seriously. Flashing his trademarked smile of affability, he joked, “Getting cold feet, bro? If you’re not quite ready to retire the old playbook, I can get you a one-way ticket to Bermuda. I’ve got a Priceline service agent on speed dial and my phone seems to be the only one working in this place.”
Blake had hoped to get a laugh out of the nervous groom, but his best friend didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, Graham stared out the floor-to-ceiling picture window in the drawing room. “I’m in trouble. Big tr
ouble.”
Blake reckoned that if there was ever a time for a guy’s confidence to crack, his wedding day was probably it, so he offered reassurance. “What’s the problem? Whatever it is, I’m your go-to guy. I’ve got your back, man.” He meant it, too. After his parents divorced, Blake’s father plucked him out of the little southern town where he’d been living with his mother and grandmother, and turned him into a proper army brat. After that, his dad was never stationed anywhere long enough for a kid to fit in, and Blake struggled with insecurity. It didn’t help that his high school sweetheart tore his heart out of his chest and stomped on it for good measure. In college, Blake had to learn from Graham how to smother his country-boy insecurities under a come-hither squint and glib charm.
But city-slicker Graham? He was born knowing how to remain calm, cool, and, above all, collected in every situation. In fact, Graham was legendary for his sense of cool, shrugging off every inconvenience with one of his favorite mottos: it’s all good. Graham never got worked up about anything. At least until now. Though the Colorado mountain air was fresh and cool, sweat was sparkling on the groom’s brow underneath the ornate lights of the gilded chandelier.
Graham, sweating? This must be serious.
Graham proved it by muttering obscenities under his breath and bolting for the carved wooden doors. Luckily, Blake got there first, body-blocking him. “Dude, you can’t go out there. Tessa might be coming down the stairs in some frilly white gown. Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, remember?”
The groom’s complexion went from ash to red to purple.
“Hey,” Blake said, taking his friend by the shoulders. “Talk to me before you stroke out.”
“Okay,” Graham said, but wasn’t able to meet his eyes. “Remember the girl I told you about? The redhead—”
“That you cheated on Tessa with?” Blake finished for him, testily, because this had become a bone of contention between them. Graham insisted that his infidelity of a few months ago was a onetime screwup, born of opportunity, exhaustion, and too much liquor. But Blake thought it was proof positive his friend wasn’t really ready to settle down.
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