Harlequin Special Edition July 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Marooned with the MaverickHer McKnight in Shining ArmorCelebration's Bride

by Christine Rimmer

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” He seemed so earnest right then, his face tipped up to her, that lock of hair falling over his forehead the way it always seemed to do.

  She couldn’t stop herself—she didn’t want to stop herself. She dared to smooth it back. It was just as she’d always imagined it might be—thick and warm and so very silky, a little bit damp from his recent shower. “I don’t know what I would have done in these past few days without you.”

  “You would have been fine.”

  She grew bolder. She pressed her palm to his cheek. It was smooth, freshly shaved. “I would have drowned that first day. You know it as well as I do.”

  “Uh-uh. You’re too ornery to drown.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yeah. You would have gotten that door open and made it to safety.” His voice was rough and tender, both at once.

  Her breath caught in her throat. A kiss, she thought.

  What could a kiss hurt?

  Just one. No harm in that.

  His gaze seemed to burn her and his sensual mouth was slightly parted. He smelled so good, clean and fresh and manly.

  “Oh, Collin...” She dared to bend closer—and then blinked in surprise when he caught her wrist and gently guided her hand away from his face.

  He swept to his feet, grabbed up his empty plate and the salad bowl and carried them to the sink. Without turning back to look at her, he said, “You want to watch a movie or something? I’ve got a bookcase full of DVDs.”

  Her face was flaming. Talk about making a fool of herself.

  What was her problem anyway? The poor guy couldn’t be nice to her without her trying to jump his bones.

  She reminded herself, as she’d reminded herself about a hundred times in the past few days, that he liked her and he was her friend. But he was not interested in her in that way and she needed get that in her head and keep it there.

  His friendship mattered to her. She was not going to lose him because she couldn’t stop throwing herself at him.

  He still had his back to her as he rinsed out the salad bowl and then scraped off his plate in the garbage and stuck it in the dishwasher.

  She picked up her plate and carried it over there.

  He took it from her. “So. Movie?”

  “As long as I get to choose which one.”

  * * *

  He did let her choose. His taste ranged from horror to Western and action/adventure to raunchy guy comedies. Not a tender romance to be found.

  She chose a Jason Statham shoot-’em-up. It was fast-paced and entertaining. When it was over, she let Buster out and waited on the step for him to take care of business. Back inside, she told Collin good-night and headed for the guest room, Buster at her heels.

  The bed was big and comfortable and she’d worked hard all afternoon. She should have gone right to sleep.

  But, no. She kept thinking about what an idiot she’d been at the dinner table, kept wondering if she should have done something other than pretend for the rest of the evening that nothing had happened.

  Then again, if not that, what? Certainly they didn’t have to discuss the fact that she regretted throwing herself at him and would try really, really hard not to do it again.

  Sheesh. How pathetic. That was a conversation she just didn’t need to have.

  Willa plumped her pillow and turned over. Then she turned over again. Then she sat up and pushed back all the covers but the sheet.

  Then she pulled the covers back over herself again.

  It was hopeless. Sleep was not in the offing. She turned on the lamp and got her book from the bag and tried to read.

  But she couldn’t concentrate. The clock by the bed said ten after one.

  Maybe she could find some cocoa in the kitchen. Or just some milk to heat up. Or something.

  She threw back the covers. On the rug by the bed, Buster lifted his head—and then settled back to sleep with a soft doggy sigh. She yanked on a worn plaid shirt over the camisole and knit shorts she’d worn to sleep in and decided to just go barefoot. Flip-flops made too much noise anyway. She didn’t want to take the chance of disturbing Collin. At least one of them should be allowed to get a decent night’s sleep.

  His bedroom was down at the far end of the hall. The door was open, but there was no light on in there.

  Not that it mattered. She had no intention of bothering him. Willa went the other way, out to the great room and into the kitchen.

  She flicked on the light and was heading for the fridge when Collin said, “Go back to bed, Willa. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not having sex with you.”

  With a cry of surprise, she whirled toward the sound of his voice. He stood over in the living area, wearing his jeans and nothing else, his strong legs planted wide apart, hands linked behind him, staring out the wall of windows on the dark town below.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or throw something at him...but wait.

  On second thought, she did know. The latter. Definitely.

  Okay, she’d tried to kiss him and she shouldn’t have. But he didn’t have to be mean about it. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how sick and tired she was of hearing him say he wouldn’t have sex with her. It had been funny, for a while—but tonight, well, it was downright hurtful.

  She zipped around the island counter that separated the living area from the kitchen and marched right for him. “Oh, please. Will you give that up? I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.” She halted a few feet from him and glared at his broad back. “Nobody here is thinking about sex.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Slowly, he turned and faced her. She gasped at the yearning she saw in his eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  Collin couldn’t take it anymore.

  The sight of her, in those little purple velour shorts and that skimpy, lacy top...well, it was too much. Even if she did have on an old plaid shirt over the top. That old shirt wasn’t hiding anything. She hadn’t even bothered to button it up.

  He could see her nipples very clearly, poking at him through the thin fabric, could make out the tempting, ripe curves of her breasts. She was driving him crazy, that was what she was doing. He’d held out for years, done the right thing by her, even though she’d ended up hating him for it.

  But tonight, well, it was too much.

  And hadn’t he known that it would be? She shouldn’t have kept after him until he brought her up here with him. She shouldn’t have tried to kiss him. Shouldn’t have come out of her room dressed in those soft purple shorts and that skimpy silky top that didn’t hide a damn thing.

  He burned. He was on fire—to take her breasts in his two hands. To touch the skin of her thighs, to rub his rough palms along all that smooth softness, to inch his fingers upward, under the hem of those shorts, to touch her at last where he knew she would be hot and wet and waiting for him.

  He wanted her, wanted sweet Willa Christensen, probably always had, from way back. From before he even realized what he was wanting. Oh, yeah. He wanted her.

  And to hell with what was best for her. She wanted him, too. She’d made that more than clear on more than one occasion.

  Tonight, he was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

  Reaching out, he took her by the arms and hauled her up close to him, reveling in the feel of her body brushing along the front him, making him ache all the harder for her.

  He brought his face good and close to hers, so close he could taste the heat of her breath. “You should have stayed in town tonight like I told you to, you know that, don’t you?”

  She licked her lips and gulped. “Um. I...” Her eyes were so wide. Wide and soft and wanting.

  Those eyes of hers called to him. They always had. Those eyes said she knew him, was waiting for him to finally reach out and take her. Those eyes said she would do anything he wanted.

  Truth to tell, those eyes had always scared the crap out of him. They seemed to hint of things a guy
like him didn’t deserve to know.

  Things like forever. Things like a lifetime.

  Things he wasn’t planning for. He lived his life alone.

  Which led back around to the basic issue: he shouldn’t be doing this.

  But too bad. He was doing this.

  He was through making jokes about it, through trying to discourage her from wanting a little hot fun with the town troublemaker. If she wanted him so much, who was he to tell her no?

  “Oh, Collin...” She said it so softly. So willingly. And then her eyes changed. All at once, they weren’t so open and sweet anymore. They’d gone determined. They were sparking fire. “No. Uh-uh. I should not have stayed down in town. I’m here with you and I’m glad I’m here.”

  Some final scrap of that protectiveness he’d always felt for her prompted him to give her one last out. He met those eyes of hers. He didn’t look away. “What I’m saying is, just tell me no, Willa. Just do it. Do it now.”

  She let out a strangled sound. It might have been a laugh. Or a sob. “Are you kidding? Don’t try and pretend that you don’t get it. All I’ve ever wanted was the chance to tell you yes.”

  It was the last straw.

  “Tell me yes, then. You go ahead. You say it right out loud to me.”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, oh, yes. Please, please make love to me.”

  So much for her last out. She’d refused to take it. So be it.

  He closed that small distance between her mouth and his. He kissed her.

  For the very first time.

  He touched her mouth with his and it was...everything. A forbidden dream realized.

  A promise so long denied, finally kept.

  She kissed him back, sighing so sweetly. She melted into him, all that pride and orneriness and softness. Everything that was Willa.

  Right there. In his arms.

  Her breasts flattened against his bare chest, the way they’d only done in his dreams up till then. Through the flimsy material of that lacy top, he could feel her nipples, hot. Hard. She opened her mouth to him. He swept his hungry tongue inside and the kiss became something more than a dream. Deeper than a promise.

  She moaned as he kissed her, and she ran her slim hands up over his shoulders, into his hair.

  He needed...more of her. All of her. He had his arms good and tight around her, his aching hardness pressed into her belly. He let his hands roam freely, over the slim, smooth shape of her back, up under that cotton shirt, and then down to the cove at the base of her spine.

  Her hair was loose. It brushed his forearms and the backs of his hands. Like feathers. Like a cloud of silk. He speared his fingers up into it, fisted them, pulling her head back so he could scrape his teeth along the slim, pure curve of her white throat.

  She cried his name. He covered her mouth again and drank the sound.

  He needed...more. More of her.

  He had to have the feel of her bare skin under his hands. The plaid shirt was in the way. He fisted it by the sides and peeled it back over her slim shoulders. She moaned a little, as though in protest at having to let go of him, but she let him guide her arms down so he could push the shirt off. He whipped it away and tossed it in the general direction of a chair.

  Then he clasped her bare shoulders. So smooth and tender, her skin. White, but with a pink flush on it. Beautiful.

  He cupped her shoulders, pressed his palms against her upper chest—and lower, until he had her sweet breasts in his two hands with only the thin fabric of that clingy silky thing to protect her from his hungry touch.

  She lifted up to him, sighing, offering him whatever he wanted from her.

  And he knew what he wanted. To taste her.

  He kissed his way down her slim throat again, scattered more kisses along the ridge of her collarbone, down the sweet-smelling skin of her upper chest and lower, over the tender swell of her breast.

  He reached the goal at last and latched onto her nipple, sucking it through the silky fabric, flicking it with his tongue.

  She clutched at him, holding him to her, whispering, “Yes. Oh, Collin, yes...”

  He couldn’t have agreed with her more. She smelled like flowers and lemons and a little bit musky, too. All woman, his Willa.

  His? Well, fine, maybe not. Not forever. But at least for tonight.

  The lacy thing—what did women call those things?—a cami. Yeah. The cami had to go. He grabbed the hem of it...and then got lost in the feel of her skin again. He eased his fingers up under it, stroking the tender flesh of her back, and then bringing both hands around to the front of her, caressing her flat, smooth belly.

  She was breathing so frantically. He lifted his head and kissed her again. She moaned into his mouth.

  And he moved his hands higher. He cupped her bare breasts under the cami. They were so perfect, so firm and round—not too big, not small, either. They fit just right in his hands.

  He thought about seeing her naked.

  He wanted to do that. Right away.

  Now.

  She made no objections, only moaned eagerly and whispered “yes,” and “yes” again, as he pulled off the cami and took down the little shorts.

  There.

  At last.

  He had everything off her. She was silk and fire and magic, all he’d ever wanted. Right there in his arms.

  He bent enough to wrap his hands around the twin globes of her bottom. She moaned again and he went on kissing her as he lifted her up, dragging all that softness against him. He moaned, too.

  It felt so good. She felt so good.

  She wrapped those soft, smooth thighs around him and hooked her ankles behind his back.

  Now he could feel her, feel the womanly heart of her, right there, pressed tight to his fly. He was so hard it hurt. Hurt in the best, most extreme, most perfect kind of way.

  And then, still kissing her, her hair a froth of silk and shadows sliding across his skin, her mouth to his mouth, his breath to hers, he started walking.

  Well, reeling was more like it.

  He reeled across the great room and down the hall to his room at the end. She held on. She went on kissing him. She wrapped those soft, long arms and slim, strong legs around him like she would never, ever let him go.

  In the doorway, he paused. Or more like staggered. He braced his back against the door frame and indulged in just kissing her. She didn’t seem to mind that he’d stopped moving toward the bed. She just went on kissing him, went on rocking her hips against him, went on making him want to get out of his jeans and into her softness, pronto.

  But then again...

  No.

  He didn’t want to rush it. How many times in his life did a man hold a dream in his arms? Once, if he was lucky. A man would be a fool to rush something like that.

  Yeah, okay, he had a whole boatload of faults. And maybe he was a fool in some ways. But not when it came to holding Willa in his arms. He was taking his time about this.

  He was making it last if it killed him.

  And he was kind of afraid it just might.

  She framed his face in her two slim hands. “Collin...”

  He opened his eyes, stared into hers, which were shining so bright, even in the dim light from all the way back in the kitchen. “Willa.”

  She wrapped her legs tighter around him. He groaned at the perfect friction as all that willowy softness slid along the front of him. “You do have protection?”

  He nodded on another groan.

  “Oh, good.” And she sighed and kissed him again.

  Paradise. They went on kissing, there in the darkened doorway. Endlessly.

  Until a terrible thought occurred to him. He broke the kiss so suddenly that his head bounced against the door frame.

  She cried out, “Oh! I’ll bet that hurt.” And she clucked her tongue and fussed over him, rubbing the bumped spot in a gentle, soothing way. “Be careful....”

  Gruffly, he reassured her. “I’ll live—Willa, look at me.
”

  She blinked at him owlishly, adorably. In the faint glow of light from up the hallway, her dark hair was a wild tangle all around her sweet, flushed face. A dream. No doubt. This had to be a dream. “What?” she demanded. “What’s the matter now?”

  “I need you to tell me. Is this your first time?” He did not have sex with virgins.

  She pressed those amazing lips together, nervous. Unsure. And then she buried her face against his neck. “No.” She said it softly.

  “Good.” Relief was coursing through him. That fat-headed idiot from high school, Derek Andrews, no doubt. And probably Mr. Wonderful, who wanted to marry her.

  Mr. Wonderful, who was another reason Collin shouldn’t be seducing Willa. She deserved a bright future with the right kind of guy.

  But somehow, at that moment, he wasn’t feeling all that guilty about Mr. Wonderful. What guy in his right mind proposed marriage and then went to Australia? Mr. Wonderful deserved a little competition for leaving her on her own at the mercy of a guy like him.

  She pressed her plump lips to the side of his throat and he felt her tongue slide along his skin. He groaned and wrapped his arms tighter around her and was very, very glad that she wasn’t a virgin.

  He supposed he should have known she wasn’t. She didn’t act like a virgin. She acted like a woman who knew what she wanted.

  “Willa,” he whispered, and then again, “Willa...” He’d always loved the feel of her name in his mouth.

  “I’m right here.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and nuzzled his ear as he kissed his way across her cheek to take her mouth once more.

  Then he gathered her tighter, closer, and launched them from the doorway, making it to the bed in four long strides. He laid her gently down and turned on the lamp, and then he just stood there above her, looking down at her, so slim and pretty, naked to his sight.

  At last.

  “So beautiful...” The words came out of him on a bare husk of sound.

  She met his eyes—or at least she did at first. But then she grew shy. She did that thing that women do—an arm across her pink-tipped breasts, a hand to cover the shining brown curls in the cove of her silky thighs.

  “Don’t...” His voice sounded desperate, ragged to his own ears.