Mr. Hall Takes a Bride

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Whatever you say.” Somehow, she’d managed to shrug off one side of her coat again. He caught the end and tugged it back up her arm. “Be a good girl and leave your arms in the sleeves.”

  She laughed, allowing him to dress her. “I’d rather put my arms around you.”

  “Later,” he told her.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself as they made it through the bar’s front door. “When later?”

  “Later, later.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she responded cheerfully.

  Feeling somewhat unsteady himself, it took Jordan a while to get her to her apartment even though it was only three blocks away. Sarajane barely weighed a hundred and ten pounds, and he was very grateful for that. It made it easy to maneuver her down the street. Arriving at her building, he carefully propelled her through the heavy front door and to the elevator. When it arrived, he propped her up against the railing to keep her from sinking to the floor.

  Once they got to her floor, he got his arm beneath hers and tucked it around her torso. The two of them did a rather strange two-step to her door.

  Still holding her up, Jordan instructed, “Give me your keys, Sarajane.”

  He expected an argument. Instead, she surprised him by digging into her coat pocket and handing the keys to him obediently. Sober or inebriated, the woman was nothing if not unpredictable.

  When he opened the door, he saw that every light in the apartment was on. Jordan shook his head as he closed the door behind him.

  “Wasteful,” he commented.

  “Missy was the last one out,” Sarajane mumbled. “She forgets to turn them off.”

  There didn’t seem to be any sign of the other woman around. “Where is she?” He didn’t like the idea of leaving Sarajane alone in this condition.

  “In San Francisco. Business,” Sarajane added after a beat as the rest of her thought came to her. Then she grinned. “Or pleasure. I can’t remember.”

  Jordan frowned. This wasn’t good. “Then you’re alone?”

  “Nope.” Before he knew it, Sarajane had thrown her arms around his neck and was leaning dangerously into him. There wasn’t enough room for a sigh between their bodies. “You’re here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jordan took firm hold of her hands and began to unclasp Sarajane’s arms from around his neck. Or attempted to.

  The woman was obviously stronger than she looked, he thought. Pulling her arms away required more than the little bit of effort he was initially set to exert. It was like trying to pry apart two opposite ends of a horseshoe.

  He was more tempted to remain than she could possibly ever know. “But I’m leaving,” he told her.

  Because if I don’t go now, I’m not going to and we’re both going to regret this in the morning, you more than me.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, the single word feathering lightly along his face, along with her breath.

  Jordan felt his gut tightening like a fist that was ready to swing. She’d left no room between them as she made her entreaty. No room for him even to draw in a safe breath.

  He tried to step back. The look in her eyes pulled him in. The longing within his own body doubled. Again. “Sarajane, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Yes, I do,” she insisted softly. “I’m a big girl, Jordan. I know what happens between a man and a woman who are as attracted to each other as we are.”

  He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was just imagining the attraction. But for his part, it was there and he knew it. Was she telling him that she felt the same way? That he was on her mind as much as she was on his?

  Or was that all just a by-product of four shots of amber liquid, served up too fast and consumed even faster? He didn’t want to take any more chances than he already had.

  “Sarajane, you’ve had too much to drink—” he began, once again making the effort to disentangle himself from her.

  She allowed him to remove her arms from around his neck. But she held her ground, taking no step away. Her hands clasped behind her back, she moved in for the kill, using her body like a well-primed weapon to block his path. To brush up against his.

  “Not too much,” she told him confidently. “Just enough to let me do this.”

  Before Jordan had the chance to ask her what “this” was, Sarajane showed him. Momentarily framing his face with her hands, she brought her mouth up to his, successfully stopping any exchange of words that might have been forthcoming on his part.

  Damn, but she tasted sweet.

  Sweeter than anything he could remember having encountered. Ever.

  So sweet that he immediately wanted more. And more after that. It was like falling headlong into a bottomless well.

  Jordan allowed himself a moment, just a moment, in which to lose himself in her. To run his hands along her soft back, to deepen the kiss that stirred his soul. His tongue touched hers and he found it hopelessly erotic when she returned the favor.

  For just a second, he pretended that this was something that was meant to be. That everything was all right and would continue to be that way.

  For just a second, he lied to himself.

  His heart was hammering wildly by the time his logical mind cried for a time-out. His sense of honor demanded it.

  His body had never hated his code of ethics as much as it did now.

  But he was bound by it, so he drew back, his hands on her shoulders as much to hold himself back as her in place. The look in her eyes wasn’t making it easy for him. “Damn it, Sarajane, help me out here. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

  He watched in sheer fascination as her smile unfurled along her mouth. It was like being witness to the sunrise—if the sunrise were created out of sheer mischief.

  “Seems to me you got it pretty right on the first pass, counselor.” This time she did thread her arms back up around his neck. “But we can keep practicing if you like.” Her smile pulled him farther in, making him almost weak. “I know I’d like.”

  Wicked. That was the word for it. She was positively wicked. Which seemed appropriate since she tasted of sin even though she smelled like heaven.

  He continued to struggle to do the right thing. To keep from taking what was being offered because some higher plane demanded it. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  Her eyes were laughing at him and yet he couldn’t take offense. “In case you haven’t noticed, counselor, I’m the one taking advantage of you. You’re just standing still. You will stand still for me, won’t you?” she coaxed wantonly. “Otherwise, I can’t do this.”

  And there were her lips again, pressed against his. Making him want her in ways he knew he shouldn’t. He felt the last shreds of possible victory slipping away from him. Jordan held her against him, his body already hard from the desire that was racing through him with an urgency he found difficult to keep at bay.

  He placed himself at her mercy. “I’m only so strong, Sarajane. I can’t keep pushing you away.”

  “Then don’t,” she coaxed. “Don’t push.” She smiled and he could feel the effects of that smile penetrating all facets of him, going deep into his bones. What the hell was going on here? He hadn’t had that much to drink, and yet, he felt drunk, completely and utterly drunk. “It’ll go a lot easier on you,” she promised.

  Her eyes were still laughing at him and somehow, that made him want her all the more.

  “Damn it,” he swore under his breath, “I can’t keep fighting both of us.”

  “Good.”

  She sealed her mouth back to his. And the rest of his willpower was melted away in the heat she generated within his very core.

  Jordan surrendered.

  He gave up all attempts to try to be noble. Gave up trying to hold himself in check and her at something close to arm’s length. This had become more of a losing battle than the one he had faced at court today.

  My oh my.

  The old-fashioned phrase echoed in her brain over and over again
as in the blink of an eye, she suddenly stopped being the hunter and found, deliciously, that she had turned into the hunted.

  Yes!

  The fire that had been progressively simmering in her veins ignited the moment Jordan touched her intimately, delving beneath the layers of her clothing, skimming along her flesh gently but with an urgency that all but made her swallow her own tongue.

  Her first climax found her then.

  Sarajane made no effort to restrain the moan that broke free as enjoyment, pure, raw and completely unadulterated, flashed through her with a speed that made lightening seem slow and labored.

  She could tell her heavy breathing excited him, which in turn excited her.

  He was exactly as she knew he would be, a fantastic lover, versed in ways that could make her body sing and her soul weep for joy.

  And his mouth, oh, his wonderful mouth. She could have gone on kissing him all night. His lips made her feel more intoxicated than any of the tiny-umbrellaed drinks she’d consumed tonight. The more Jordan kissed her, the more her head felt as if it was spinning, until finally, she was literally clinging to him, afraid of letting go. Afraid of sinking to the floor because her knees had apparently gone on some exotic holiday, deserting her in her hour of need.

  She didn’t remember exactly when she began undressing him.

  For the most part, Sarajane was entirely focused on what he was doing to her. Every one of his movements were embossed on her mind. Every place his lips, his teeth, his tongue touched seemed to dissolve and then reform into a mass of burning molten lava.

  Breathing became more and more of a challenge as there was less and less air entering and leaving her body. Somehow, if her ears weren’t playing tricks on her, she did manage to get him into a similar condition, but for the life of her, she didn’t remember how.

  Her mind kept winking in and out, caught between the outer stratosphere and what was happening right here in her apartment. Her bedroom, she amended, because they had managed to get there from the living room, although again, she didn’t remember when or how, only that it had obviously happened, because here they were, on her bed, as naked as the day they had both been born.

  His hands, firm, capable, confident, raced up and down her body, making her his as surely as if he’d held a branding iron in one of them and applied it.

  His.

  Damn, but she had sworn she’d never be in this position again. That if she were making love, it would be to someone who was diverting, entertaining, but not someone she could lose her heart to.

  But that, it seemed, was the only way she could make love. By losing her heart. With her it was a case of the heart coming first and the rest of her following, not the other way around. It was, simply put, who and what she was. And right now, what Sarajane was was deliriously happy.

  With effort, Sarajane struggled to keep from sinking into a hazy state of sheer contentment. Men did not respond to passive partners. Besides, what she was feeling was as far from passive as the earth was from the moon. So when Jordan kissed, she kissed, when he caressed, she caressed, making certain to make love to every part of him just as he was making love to every part of her.

  Angles were taken, positions assumed and then surrendered. It was a workout worthy of a gold-medal-winning Olympic gymnast.

  And when she finally lay beneath him and opened her legs to draw him in, Sarajane experienced the strangest feeling, not of illness brought on by drinking, not of exhaustion brought on by an almost superhuman amount of activity, but of peace amid the rising crescendo that was still beckoning to her. Peace, and an overwhelming sense of homecoming.

  It had to do with the amount of alcohol she’d consumed, Sarajane silently insisted.

  But even then she knew she was lying. Lying to preserve herself. Alcohol had nothing to do with this feeling.

  And then, all thoughts but one vanished from her brain—the thought, the desire, to reach that one last pinnacle. With him, the man whose heart was drumming against her own. The man who had made her forget herself and her vows.

  The momentum went on building until she thought she could hardly stand it. Her heart was pounding, her needs enormous. And then the eruption came, drenching her, encompassing him.

  Her arms wrapped around him, Sarajane arched, pressing his body against hers, and prayed that time would find some way to freeze and stop completely. Because this was perfection. This fragile single moment in time had brought with it everything she had ever wanted or wished for.

  But then her breathing returned to normal, bringing with it the surrounding area, drawing it back into focus. She became aware of where she was. Aware of the long, lanky man whose body was covering hers. Strange how she almost felt his weight, but didn’t. How did he manage that?

  When she felt him stirring, a bittersweet feeling washed over her. She didn’t want reality returning, bringing the inevitable disappointment she knew was waiting for her with it. She wanted to lie here with him like this and pretend that every evening would be just like this. That every morning would find them together.

  You’re losing your mind, a tiny voice whispered. She ignored it. Being steeped in alcohol made it easier to do that.

  Rising up on his elbows, feeling exhausted and entertaining a feeling of guilt that was growing at an alarming rate, Jordan looked down at her. He’d thought he had more self-control than that. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He tried to frame an apology and felt the words sticking together, refusing to emerge coherently. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  A last sigh of contentment escaped as she looked up at him. As she absorbed the warmth from his body. “But it did.”

  “But it wasn’t supposed to happen,” he repeated with feeling. He wanted to say more, but, for once, his gift with words deserted him.

  “We just went through this,” she pointed out glibly.

  It was her turn to raise herself up on her elbows. Her head did two complete rotations before she managed to pull it back into focus. His eyes were serious, she thought. He really meant what he was saying. Despite the way her head refused to settle down, something inside her felt a sharp sting of disappointment. Now that it was over, he wished he hadn’t done it, she thought.

  “Don’t you think you should give it a little more time before you start dwelling on the regrets you’re having?”

  He read between the lines, or thought he did. “I don’t regret making love with you. I regret the way you’re going to feel about that in the morning. And that I’m going to be the source of your regrets.”

  She blinked, trying to understand what he had just said. Right now, only linear thoughts could get through. And then she laughed.

  “You know, you more or less had to become a lawyer. Because you really don’t make any sense as a regular person,” she murmured.

  Suddenly, she was sleepy. Very sleepy. So sleepy she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Whatever else she was going to say to him vanished out of her head. The next moment, with her arm spread across his chest and her nude body curled up against his, she was sound asleep.

  Jordan tried, for a moment, to ease away from her. To lift her arm and duck out from beneath it, only to find that he couldn’t accomplish either. Somehow, she had managed to get a death grip on him and the only way he was going to get out from under it was literally to throw her off. Which took, he decided, much too much effort to accomplish without waking her.

  So he remained where he was, telling himself it was only for a few minutes.

  Just a few minutes.

  The thought was still pulsating in his brain when he opened his eyes again. He thought he’d drifted off for only a little while.

  Two seconds later he realized he’d slept away more than half the night. It was closer to morning than not. He had to leave.

  Jordan knew he needed to slip out while Sarajane was still sleeping. He had absolutely no excuse available to him, nothing he could use to explain why he had done what he had. Blaming it
on the moonlight, or the alcohol, or even on her seductive powers, didn’t seem right somehow. He was a man, he was supposed to have more self-control than that.

  The sad truth of it was, he didn’t. Moreover, he hadn’t wanted any. But that was a story for some other time.

  Right now, he needed to get away.

  But, as he raised her arm from its position on his chest—it seemed that she hadn’t moved all night; from the looks of it, neither one of them had, content to remain in one another’s shadow—Sarajane stirred. The next moment, she was opening her eyes.

  And the very next moment after that, she bolted upright.

  A little yelp of utter dismay escaped her lips as she yanked up what there was available of the sheet to cover herself. The pink color he was becoming so fond of spread like prairie fire over her cheeks.

  Staring at him wide-eyed, Sarajane murmured numbly, “It wasn’t a dream.”

  “No,” he replied, assuming that she was referring to their night of lovemaking, his tone low, subdued, to keep her from thinking that he was gloating. “It wasn’t.” Looking at her face, feeling that same urgent pull inside beginning all over again, he couldn’t resist feathering his fingers through her hair. “Even though it might have felt like one. At least it did on my end.”

  Her eyes fluttering shut, Sarajane put her hand to her head. Half a dozen of the mine workers from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs were pounding madly in her head with pickaxes. Any second now, they were going to break through.

  She’d never had a hangover before.

  “What happened?” she wanted to know.

  Jordan proceeded with caution, beginning at the beginning. “We were trying to drown our sorrows over our loss in court.”

  She took a deep breath, hoping that would help. It didn’t. God, but she felt nauseous. “And we moved the bar in here?” How had she wound up in bed with him? Naked yet.

  “The bartender cut us off,” he told her diplomatically, since technically, she was the only one who had been cut off. “I walked you home.”