by Moira McTark
Cal watched as Lara cut through the grass, the sexy swing of her hips keeping his eyes riveted on her as she faded into the dark shadows before she reappeared in a rusty cone of tungsten light at a side entrance to the house and ducked inside. He thought he’d seen the girl he’d been dreaming about, the one he’d spent weeks getting to know, there in her sparkling shy eyes for a fleeting moment before she’d thrown up her shields and left. Damn Adam and his obnoxious lot of cronies. They couldn’t have had worse timing.
Staring at the empty space Lara had occupied a moment before, Cal was jolted to attention by a hard slap on his shoulder and Adam’s voice at his back.
“Hey, man, you ready for that tour now?”
Eyes still fixed on the house, Cal half turned to answer over his shoulder. “Yeah, you bet. Be great to see a little more of the house.” Be even better if he happened to run into Lara again.
***
“This is the chart room. It’s got to be my favorite spot in the house to enjoy a bourbon and read The Journal. It’s a man’s space. All this dark heavy wood, leather studs in the furniture, pocket doors to keep the female commotion from flooding in here. At least an hour in this room every day. That’s my prescription for a happy marriage.”
Cal and the other groomsmen looked around the open space, admiring the built-in, backlit, glass-front cabinets displaying frayed maps and collections of antique compasses and other maritime treasures. “Gorgeous. Adam, you spend a lot of time out here?”
“Hell, yes. I’m here about five days out of the week. Telecommuting and all that.”
“How you going to drag her away from this place once you guys get married?”
“Are you nuts? I’m moving in, sport.”
“With her parents? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack, man. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair travel most of the year but Dette lives here year round. And even if they’re home, the place is big enough that if I want to do her over the mariner’s desk they won’t be able to hear her yelling out my name while I slap her ass.”
Cal tried to keep his lip from curling in distaste at the image Adam conjured, but ultimately had to turn away, making a mental note not to examine the gorgeous antique any closer.
“Well, that’s very generous of her parents to let you guys live here. They must be a close family.”
Adam snorted and shrugged noncommittally. “Not really, but Dette didn’t want to leave. I wanted in and the parents didn’t want to haggle about it anymore. So it all worked out. Let’s go check out the tavern downstairs. There’s a billiards room off the bar. I feel like giving all you gents a lesson in humility.”
Cal nodded, not that interested in a lesson from his ass-slapping friend, and followed behind the groomsmen as they filed out the door after Adam. He was happy Adam had found what he wanted in life, but something about the setup sounded off to him, not exactly an open-armed welcome from the Sinclairs, but what did he know? And Adam had always been a bit of a mystery to him, his behavior and motivations never something Cal could relate to, so why should he expect to understand the life the guy had walked into now. Somehow, he was sure it all tied back into politics, but he’d let Adam worry about that.
Sliding the pocket doors closed behind him, Cal peered down the hallways, dragging his feet in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Lara lingering in one of the many rooms.
“Dude, you coming or what?” Keith yelled from the spiraling stairs leading to the lower floor.
“Yep, right behind you.” No matter how big the house was, sooner or later he’d catch her.
Chapter Four
Hiding out in the staff kitchen, Lara managed to bake three batches of brownies, avoid any more discussion of her pretend trip to Vegas, and steer clear of Cal, Adam and Dette for the remainder of the night. The party outside had died down and now, from the window above the sink, she watched as lights began to blink out one after another in the main and guest houses. Feeling she’d effectively dodged the forced interaction bullet, Lara scurried down through the servants’ corridor to the main house and up to her room.
She flopped back on her bed, sinking deep into the thick duvet. She was blowing it. The night couldn’t have gone any worse. She had no idea what caught his attention, but something had clicked in Cal’s head out on the terrace. An instant of identity separation, if not complete recognition. She’d seen it in his eyes.
His gorgeous, deep, blue eyes.
What had she been thinking, staring after him like some kind of love-struck fool? She, foolishly, still wanted him and, at the risk of blowing Dette’s plan, she’d forgotten the charade, acted simply as “Lara” instead of “Dette” to get him. But the fact was, if Dette was going to keep her secret, Lara needed to do two things. She needed to stay away from Cal and, if she couldn’t, she needed to act like Dette. No more clues to help Cal figure out he’d been with the bride-to-be rather than the uncommitted, totally available, ridiculously confused maid of honor. There couldn’t be any more slip-ups. No more tells that gave her away—nothing for Cal to catch.
Climbing under the sheets, she stared at the oval of ivy relief in the ceiling. Her eyes tracked around and around it as she willed her mind to calm.
Damn, she practically licked her lips every time she saw him.
Enough.
It was time to let the chaos of the day go. Tomorrow she could get lost in the myriad details of wedding preparations, and banish Cal Daniels from her consciousness completely. She might actually end up grateful to Dette for leaving so many tasks for her “maids”.
Lara closed her eyes and tried to let the cool sheets soothe her into slumber. But it was no good. Every time she gave in to her fatigue, Cal materialized in her mind’s eye. His thick fingers skimming down her belly, his mouth pulling at her breast, his hips moving between her legs—No! Damn it, he’d been with her sister, she should be revolted. She was revolted. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
Throwing her head back, she clutched the sheet in her fists and wondered how she was going to make it through the next five days.
Her eyes popped open.
A drive to PTown, that’s how. She’d stop into one of those funky sex shops, pick up a vibrator roughly the size of her arm—okay, who was she kidding, smaller than that—but something with more bells and whistles than she’d ever dreamt of, and she’d excise the sexual frustration demons that had been building in her for weeks. Satisfied and sated, maybe then she’d be able to get Cal out of her head. Damn she wished she’d thought of that earlier. The only way she could get one tonight would be to break into a store. Something told her that, in the harsh light of a jail cell, it wouldn’t seem worth it.
It was settled—tomorrow she’d buy a consolation present for herself and hope it was enough to get her through the next several days of insanity. Ahgg. Five more days.
Only Dette would make her wedding a full week affair that required every attendant to participate in the manual labor. Only her sister could screw up so royally by sleeping with the best man and somehow have it work out that Lara was the one to pay for it. When this was over, she was going to have to set things straight with Dette. No matter how justified the reason, no matter how much an accident it was, this had to be the last time Lara put Dette’s life first.
Letting out a frustrated burst of breath, she sat upright. Maybe some warm milk would help settle her nerves.
Lara rolled off the bed and slipped a cotton robe over her pjs, and padded barefoot downstairs into the kitchen. She loved this house late at night. The rest of the occupants had retired to their guest rooms and, with the lights off, it was the house she had grown up in. It made her feel like a little girl again.
The microwave clock cast a faint blue glow around the room, illuminating the maple cabinets and granite countertops. She smoothed her hand over the distressed wood panel of the Subzero door and laughed to herself, thinking about the avocado green fridge she needed to replace back in her apartment.
It was almost good enough to take her mind off the rest of the day.
She didn’t like stepping into the Dette persona for more than one or two lines at a time but now she’d have to do it for the rest of the week—at least whenever Cal was around. Both the Sinclair sisters could do more than a fair impression of each other, but the problem was it depressed Lara to do it. Dette’s impression of her included flattening her hair to her head and asking which jog bra she should wear to dinner. Lara’s impression of Dette required catty comments, shallow insights and non-stop fishing for compliments. It was silly sister stuff that neither took seriously because they knew it was just joking. All in good fun. But Lara still felt her attempt to be Dette wasn’t exactly a fair representation. For the purpose of convincing Cal, however, it was all she had.
Swallowing the last sip of milk, she rinsed her mug in the farmhouse sink and headed out of the kitchen, straight into a solid wall of man. With a stifled gasp, she tracked up the muscled chest to Cal’s stunned face.
“Oh, Jesus, sorry…Dette?” Cal’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he studied her in the dark.
Perfect, it was go time. Dette had a slightly abrasive quality to her interaction. “Not tonight. It’s Lara.”
“Oh sorry, all I could see for a second was the hair. I’ve been looking for you all night, I finally convinced myself I’d never find you.”
Looking for her? Easy, girl. Don’t fall into it, just get out fast. “I’m done in here, but you can help yourself to anything you see.”
His mouth turned in a slight grimace and “Lara” surfaced, suddenly wanting to die. “That was not a come-on.”
Cal’s entire being seemed to relax as he let out a warm laugh and walked past her to lean back against a counter, crossing one leg over the other. He must have thought he’d be the only one up. He was wearing what looked like a white undershirt and pair of dark track pants. “Believe me, I know.”
Be indifferent. “Whatever, ’night.”
Squaring her shoulders, she took a step toward the door.
“Wait, I’m sorry.” He reached out and grasped her shoulder.
The touch was unnerving, but she tried not to let it show. Every part of him was supposed to have touched every part of her. There should be some degree of comfort between them in the physical sense. Pinching her lips between her teeth, she looked up at him with what she hoped came across as a bored stare. But if her eyes reflected a fraction of the heat and interest simmering in her belly, she’d failed miserably. She wanted to study every inch of him.
“Lara, I’m willing to admit neither of us was at our best in Vegas. And I’m truly sorry I embarrassed you in front of your family this evening. What happened is none of their business. I just thought, when I saw Dette…well, you know, you must get that quite a bit.”
Okay, that was good, but it irked the hell out of her that he could mistake her for Dette. Before she thought better of it her resentment voiced itself. “Less than you’d think, actually,” Lara stated flatly, then winced, realizing she wasn’t helping her cause.
“I was in a kind of bad place when we got together.” Cal’s jaw flexed and his eyes searched hers. “I shouldn’t have judged you.”
She took a nervous step back. How was she supposed to respond? She hadn’t a clue what he was referring to and, maybe, that was how it should stay. It was between Cal and Dette, even if he didn’t know it.
Trying to avoid getting caught in details she didn’t understand, Lara shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve got to get some sleep, I’m beat.”
Cal reached out and stroked once, slowly down her arm. “Sure. Good night.”
It sounded like an obvious enough end to the conversation, but neither of them moved. Cal’s gaze traveled over her body, leaving a trail of tingling skin its wake. Her nipples beaded hard, pressing against the thin stretchy cotton of her top. She closed her robe and cinched the belt, praying there wasn’t enough light for him to see the effect he had on her.
She cleared her throat and, trying to keep her breath even, looked down at the floor as she walked around him.
“You aren’t the same person I met in Vegas,” came his voice from behind her.
She froze halfway through the doorway, her heart stalled in her chest. She looked back over her shoulder. Cal was staring at her. What could she say? That part of her was elated to hear he knew, but another part—the part of her sworn to protect her sister’s secret—was devastated.
Her voice cracked when she opened her mouth, sounded thick when she finally managed a word. “What?”
Cal looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what you were going through when you went there, but you’re different than I remember. The emails were so…” his voice was low, his gaze questioning as he studied her face, “…easy. Why wasn’t it like that in Vegas?”
Lara stared at him, her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t know, I wasn’t…myself in Vegas.”
He smirked, unaware of how truthful her statement was. “I guess we’re going to be spending some more time together over the next couple of days, so maybe we could start fresh.”
The smirk was cute, and contagious. He made it sound easy. She stepped back into the room and leaned against the counter. He knew how to say the right things. “Leave what happened in Vegas, in Vegas?” Could it be that simple?
Cal took a step forward, keeping his eyes focused on her mouth. “Yeah. Forget about Vegas. We had something these last weeks. I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to.”
Time turned sluggish as he leaned toward her. This was where she was supposed to put out her hand, say something to make him stop, but stopping was the last thing she wanted.
His arm slipped around her, pulling her gently against him. His lips grazed hers, softly sliding into a slow kiss that stole her breath. The hand at the small of her back splayed wide, roaming lower to the base of her spine. The other curved around the side of her neck into the curls she’d left loose. Winding his fingers through the mass, he pulled down, urging her head back, her mouth open.
A small mew escaped her as Cal’s tongue teased along the line of her lips and then into her mouth. Wet heat welled within her and even knowing what she was doing was a mistake, she opened wide to him, inviting him to taste her. Her hands settled at the sides of his T-shirt over the hard muscle and trim waist. With every thrust of his tongue, she gripped the fabric tighter in her fists.
Desire flooded her senses, spiraled through her core and pooled between her legs as she arched against him. Every inch of her body ached for more. Her leg bent as her inner knee stroked up the side of his calf, his thigh.
Cal pulled back. Lara followed him with her mouth, ready to climb his body to get closer, to have more. God he felt good against her. So right.
When he eased out of her reach, her eyes fluttered open to see him studying her face. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession, his midnight eyes sparked with passion and… surprise?
The way he looked at her made her feel like she couldn’t hide a thing. She wanted to turn away and run. To scream, “Don’t look—” but her mind and body were no longer her own.
Tugging at the T-shirt in her grasp she pulled him back towards her. The corner of his mouth turned up and, before she knew what happened, his lips were on her again, his body bowed forward with his hands at the backs of her thighs. And then she was off the floor, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck.
His cock strained between them, long and hard, as he rocked her body against his groin, making her pussy throb with the need to be filled.
Wet, suctioning kisses moved over her neck and across her shoulders. Her thin robe fell away wit
h the light scrape of his stubbled jaw. Resting her on the counter, he pulled back, his eyes devouring her. Breath ragged, he ran his hands over her breasts, down to her belly and over her hips.
Pulling at the gauzy fabric of her tank, he half groaned, “Is this what you were wearing?”
The night on the internet. Her cheeks burned as she nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He ran his fingertips through the valley between her breasts, feather soft, barely there. Under the curves and up to the peaks. His thumbs circled her nipples, squeezed them through the fabric, eliciting her tiny cry of pleasure.
“So soft.” His fingers trailed down her belly and over the tight cotton shorts. Pushing her legs apart, he grazed the seam between her legs with his thumb. His voice was thick, husky. “So wet.”
Lara pushed her legs open wider, a slave now to his touch.
Leaning into her again, he pulled her hips against him as he grazed the shell of her ear with his teeth, pulled at the skin beneath it with his lips.
“You feel so good, so right.” His voice was low, muffled against her skin. “How can this be so different?”
Different? What was she doing? It was different because he’d never kissed her before. It was their first time. And it had to be the last.
Biting into her lip, she pressed her hands against Cal’s chest and pushed back, squirming out of his hold and off the counter until she stood on the cold stone floor a foot away from him.
“Lara, no—” Cal’s expression was anguished, he reached out trying to take her hands but she wrapped her arms around her waist and shook her head.
“This isn’t right. I know what you want to think, Cal, but what happened in Vegas was real. We’d be fooling ourselves to think something better could come out of it.” Lara’s eyes brimmed with tears, her throat tightened. He deserved better than this half-lie, half-truth she was feeding him. But she didn’t have a choice. “I want to forget about Vegas, and that means forgetting about you. I’m sorry.”