by Sara Daniel
He had to use the coming day to build the anticipation. He couldn’t afford for the evening to be anything less than spectacular. The rest of his life depended on him not screwing up.
The next day before breakfast he went to the garden with the intent of putting fresh lilacs by her place setting at the table, only to find her standing over the bush, inhaling the fragrance. He lowered the scissors in his fist. “How am I supposed to surprise you with flowers when you beat me to the source?”
She turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t cut them. I want them to still be here for others to enjoy. Their smell is best when it’s mixed with the scent of a hundred other flowers with the sun sparkling off the drops of dew.”
Her embrace alone was enough to convince him. He set the shears on a nearby bench and draped his arms around her waist, settling his hands on the curve of her ass. “How am I supposed to find a surprise for you if you not only beat me to it but also shoot me down?”
She grinned. “You’re resourceful. You’ll think of something.”
His body hardened with desire. “Oh, yeah. I’m thinking of something, but it won’t surprise you.”
Her lips took on a purely feminine curve, but then her amusement darkened. “Why wasn’t it like this when we were married? Were we really so busy we didn’t have time to share a smile and some sexy teasing?”
She’d had a busy schedule then, but he couldn’t recall her ever being too busy for him. He hadn’t had time. More specifically, he hadn’t made time. He couldn’t spare a smile or rest his hand on her ass for a moment because he’d been so driven not to be like the deadbeat who had raised him. “Raised” actually wasn’t the right term because it implied his father had made an effort.
“You never met my dad.”
“But you told me about him—how he was a lazy drunk and you grew up in poverty, how you were determined to make a better life for yourself. I understand why you were so driven. You have a lot to be proud of.”
“He always told me I would be like him.” Ian frowned in remembrance and would have released her and stepped away, but she still held him against her chest. “I was so determined not to be a drunken loser, as well as not to procreate and pass on the drunk-loser gene, that I didn’t realize I had become like him.”
She squinted at him. “You started drinking?”
“No, but I isolated myself from everyone. I let work become my addiction, and I pushed aside and hurt anyone who tried to get between me and my job, just the way my dad did to my mom before she died and then to me if we tried to stage an intervention and beg him to get help.”
He broke away, unable to maintain physical contact. The type of person he’d learned to be from watching his dad was not someone he was proud of. Carrying on the man’s life legacy was even worse. “A couple months ago, I found out he’d died. The police estimated he’d been dead in his house for six weeks before anyone noticed, and the only reason anyone did was because the neighbors started complaining about the smell.”
“Oh, Ian, I’m so sorry.”
He couldn’t accept the compassion in her eyes, not with the guilt, relief, and sense of waste that came from knowing the man was gone. “I should have checked up on him more regularly, but half the time when I did he didn’t answer my calls anyway. I often went for months without hearing from him. I assumed it was the same old drunken laziness that kept him from answering me, not death.”
Armina framed his face. Her palms were cool against his cheeks. “You have a community here. Someone will notice if you don’t show up after a day. After six weeks, it would become a full-scale military manhunt. You are not like your dad, and you’re not going to end up like him either.”
He’d spent his life cementing those differences, but hearing Armina’s assurance soothed him more than a decade of eighty-hour workweeks. He coasted his arms around her again. “So how did we get from flirting over flowers to a deep discussion about my dad? I’d like to go back to the flirting bit.”
She shifted her hips against his. “As much as I agree, my morning’s booked solid, so I’m going to have to take a rain check. The girl on your staff who’s been in love with you and hoped she could replace me in more roles than the physical therapy job quit this morning.”
“Who?” He had no idea who she was referring to. Armina was the only person he’d ever mixed his business and personal relationships with.
“Beth, the physical therapist who was working with Frank. She quit.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feel of Armina’s body against his and her breath against his ear.
“Cat asked me to fill in for today while she scrambles to cover her position and hire someone new,” Armina continued. “I’m impressed with how much responsibility you’ve delegated to Cat. She knows what she’s doing.”
“Indeed, she does, and she probably already asked you this, but I have to make sure. Are all your certifications up-to-date so that you’re qualified to administer the therapies you’ll be covering?”
“She checked, and I am.”
He scanned her face. “You’re not offended that I asked?”
“Of course not. You’re running a business where a malpractice lawsuit could destroy both your reputation and your bottom line.” Armina kissed his cheek. “Speaking of which, I ought to let you return to said business so you don’t have to work too late. I have plans for you tonight.”
“Nothing is going to make me work late tonight. And we’re way past the kiss on the cheek bit.” He covered her mouth with his and kissed her until he had to release her or forget all about waiting for evening.
How he would make it through the entire day until they could be together he had no idea. How he would survive the rest of his life without her he refused to imagine. He had to convince her he belonged by her side until “death do we part,” as they’d sworn in that Vegas chapel, not until “divorce decree do we sign.”
***
After she wrapped up the morning therapies, Armina had a half-hour break before lunch was served in the dining room, so she took the opportunity to detour by the Inn’s gift shop. Tchotchkes and prosthetic accessories filled the front half, but as she wandered deeper into the store, she discovered upscale items in line with those found in the shop of a five-star hotel.
“Hi, Armina, what can I do for you?” Cat asked from behind the register.
“Are you in charge of everything around here?” She would have preferred to make the transaction in the relative anonymity of someone who didn’t know about her relationship to Ian.
“Just filling in for the regular clerk while she’s on her lunch break.”
Armina squared her shoulders. She and Ian were married, after all. She didn’t need to feel sneaky about their upcoming tryst. “I’m looking for lingerie. Something sexy but still tasteful, if that’s possible.”
“Of course, it’s possible. In fact, I think everything we carry here is tasteful.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You sell whoopee cushions in the front of the store.”
“Very popular, too,” Cat said with a straight face. “The three surgeons each bought one and have elaborate plans for catching each other in an awkward gaseous moment.”
“Of course they do.” She laughed, relieved they’d broken the proverbial ice. “I’m looking for sexy lingerie, but no thongs because I absolutely can’t stand those.”
“I know just the thing.” Cat led her to a rack of merry widows—lace and mesh corsets with matching string-bikini panties. “This comes in black, red, and peach and would look absolutely stunning on your figure.”
Black never looked good against her skin, the curse of being neither light enough to create a contrast nor dark enough to blend well. With a quick spin of the metal rack, she found her size in red and held it up.
The few times she’d bought special lingerie, she’d gravitated toward subtler pieces. The red one looked almost obnoxiously sexy to her
untrained eye. Maybe it was fitting. After all, she couldn’t get much more brazen than planning a last fling with her husband before they finalized their divorce.
“Let’s see the peach,” Ian said from behind her.
She swung around, whipping the red corset behind her back. “You’re not supposed to see this yet.”
“Why not? It’s for me, isn’t it?” Undeterred, he sauntered to the rack and pulled out a peach one in her size, holding it up to her. “This is your color.”
Mesmerized by the desire in his eyes, she couldn’t look away. “Should I bother to wear it if you’re just going to take it off me?”
“Oh, yes. You don’t want to skip the best part.”
Her hands trembled as she replaced the red outfit on the rack. Knowing Ian already fantasized about her and wanted her to dress for him fueled her own fantasies.
“You go on to lunch. I’ll take care of wrapping this and delivering it to your room.”
Her mind on the upcoming evening, she left the gift shop and moved through the rest of the day on autopilot. With the exception of a couple whoopee-cushion gags, the three surgeons managed not to cause any disturbances with the other guests, and she escaped to her room as soon as they departed the dining room after dinner.
She soaked in a lavender bath, trying to calm her nerves, but her hands still shook as she lifted the lid on the box. Unfolding the tissue paper, she uncovered a slim box lying on top of the lingerie she’d ordered.
Lifting away the lid and layer of cotton on the smaller box, she gasped. A beautiful diamond necklace sparkled inside.
“It’s a mistake,” she whispered. But even as she said it, she knew no one would put such a valuable necklace in the wrong package. Ian had given it to her. She couldn’t accept, of course. But, good Lord, it was stunning.
She carefully replaced the cotton and put the lid back on the box, wishing she could put a lid on her affection as easily. Her plan for her life demanded she forget about men and romance. Allowing Ian to distract her would only lead to regrets.
Chapter Six
She dressed in the lingerie and then stared at herself in the mirror. As critical as she tended to be of her undramatic curves, Ian had been right. The peach looked amazing against her light brown skin—sexy but not in an in-your-face way, like the red would have been. And the outfit accented the features of her figure, giving her the filled-out, bombshell look that had always eluded her.
A knock sounded on the door as she finished attaching the garters and stockings. Panicking, she grabbed a plush white robe provided by the Inn, shoving her arms in the sleeves and cinching the belt. She glanced in the mirror again and cringed. Maybe she should have put clothes on, so she didn’t look like she was ready to go straight to getting naked with him.
Well, wasn’t she? She’d agreed to essentially have a one-night stand to cap off their marriage. They weren’t building anything lasting or cementing a loving relationship. She ought to be most concerned that she kept forgetting they’d reached the end. Instead, everything felt fresh and brand new, as if they were on the cusp of starting something wonderful.
The knock sounded again. “Armina, is everything okay?” Ian called from the other side of the closed door.
More than anything she wanted to spend tonight with him. Sucking in a deep breath, she marched to the door and threw it open.
Wearing khakis and a blue polo shirt that matched his eyes, he held out a bouquet of lavender lilacs, orchids, and lilies artfully arranged in a glass vase filled with water. His lips curved into a teasing smile. “Don’t worry. They’re not from the garden.”
She took the offering, inhaling the light yet powerful fragrance. “They’re beautiful.”
Ian stepped into the room and locked the door behind him. His hungry eyes filled with an emotion she didn’t want to label. “You’re beautiful.”
“In this robe, I look like every other guest at the Inn,” she pointed out.
His gaze slid from her face down her cleavage. “You’re not wearing the necklace.”
Needing to distance herself from his disappointment, she crossed the room to the coffee table and centered the vase on the polished mahogany top. “I can’t accept it. It’s too expensive.”
“You can accept it.” He stood behind her as she straightened. Holding the necklace in both hands, he settled it on her neck, the metal and stones cool against her skin.
Lifting her hair, he secured the clasp then pressed his lips to the base of her neck and spun her to face him. “I gave you nothing the whole time we were together, except for those cheap wedding bands we picked up on our way to the chapel. But my feelings for you aren’t cheap. Regardless of what happens between us, I want you to remember that.”
Her insides warmed and tingled at his confession. She reached up to brush her thumb over his cheek. “Oh, Ian. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He didn’t flinch, just continued to stare at her with his intense blue eyes. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take and no less than I deserve for how I hurt you.”
She swallowed, wanting him to still love her and equally terrified at the prospect.
He fingered the diamonds at her throat then caressed along her exposed neck and up her jaw to her chin.
Unable to bear the emotion in his expression, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to his touch as he cradled her face in his hands.
“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while we kiss.”
Compelled by his demand, she didn’t consider resisting. She stared at him as his full, sensuous lips lingered inches from hers, teasing her, until she was unable to resist capturing his mouth with hers.
His lips curved into a smile as she kissed him, his blue eyes sparkling with need as he stared down at her.
Her belt loosened and her robe fell open, allowing in a rush of cool air, contrasting with the heat from his body. He slid the robe off her arms, letting it pool at her feet. Still, he kept kissing her, roaming his hands over her bare back until she thought she might cry from how much she needed him.
The ringing of a phone cut through her lust, and she tore her mouth from his. Of course they’d be interrupted. Had she really expected so much had changed between them? She waited for him to turn away and answer, but he stared at her. “It’s yours. I left mine behind when I came here.”
He didn’t bring his phone with him when he came to her? He’d made the choice not to respond to his staff or guests for the night? Discombobulated, she picked up the room phone, her hands shaking. “Hello.”
“Armina, I’m sorry to bother you. This is Cat. Is Ian there?”
Sighing, she held out the receiver. Of course they could still reach him. “Nice try, but it seems they found you anyway.”
He looked at her for a long moment, before taking the phone from her. “This better be a hell of an emergency.”
She paced away, wishing she’d put her robe on first. With him standing next to the fallen garment, she didn’t trust herself to get too close. She’d end up doing something embarrassing like trying to rip his clothes off while he attempted to disentangle himself and leave the room to handle the business that would always come before her.
“Not an emergency and no more interruptions.” He pulled the phone jack from the wall, then tossed it on the floor. “Now, where were we?”
“Kissing,” she said, amazed he’d chosen to stay with her and terrified to analyze what that meant. “But I was about ready to explode if you didn’t start touching me.”
“We can’t have any explosions.” He took a couple of steps toward her. Then he stopped, staring at her from top to bottom, his eyes glazed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. You are so beautiful, so perfect. I don’t know where to start. I can’t believe you’re really mine.”
She’d always been his. Yet, on the other hand, she never had been, not really. Pushing away the urge to dissect their relationship, she strove for a light tone.
“You could start by peeling these stockings off me. I like the rest of the outfit, but they’re kind of itchy.”
“You have a deal.” He knelt in front of her and lifted her foot, placing it on his thigh.
She thought she’d mentally prepared for the evening, but the vulnerability of his face at her crotch and her thigh against his cheek still caught her off guard.
He looked up, meeting her gaze. “You can put your hands on my head to steady yourself. That way if you don’t like anything I’m doing, you can rip out my hair to make me stop.”
The over-the-top suggestion relaxed her, as did the smoothness of his shaggy brown hair between her fingers. “I’ll like it. If you slide your finger inside my panties, you can feel how wet I am.”
His eyes darkened with desire.
Emboldened, she continued, “And if you stroke me there just once, I’ll come. It’s been so long, and I need you so badly.” Horrified at how close to tears her confession had pushed her, she tipped his face down so he wouldn’t see her on the verge of crying.
He didn’t touch her panties, but he did glide his fingertips along her thigh to the edge of her stocking. After unhooking the garter, he slowly rolled the nylon down, caressing each inch of her skin along the way, stopping to kiss her inner thigh and her knee then massaging the unexpected erogenous zone on her ankle.
By the time he rubbed his palms up her calf and thigh, she trembled with need. Gently, he lowered her leg to the floor and repeated the process on the other side.
“Ian, I can’t keep standing. Please take me to bed and make love to me.”
He stood, lifting her in his arms. He carried her the few steps to the bed, laying her sideways across the mattress, so her legs dangled over the edge.
Burning with desire, she’d lost herself and forgotten to prepare him. Now she was so far ahead and so desperate, she feared she’d detonate before he became turned on. “Take off your clothes, please.”
She tried to sit up and reach for him, but he nudged her flat on the mattress. “Later. This is all about you.”