The Christmas Wedding Ring (Hqn)

by Susan Mallery

  He bent into the curve of the road and they headed inland. Molly had grown used to the bike and now moved with him instead of fighting him on every turn. She was a fast learner, he thought, trying to ignore the feel of her hands lightly holding on to his waist. To distract himself, he glanced at the cars around them and at the road signs. They should make good time. Maybe another hour or so to their first destination. They could pick up groceries, maybe cook on the beach and watch the sunset. He hadn’t been gone a whole day yet, but already he felt lighter. As if he’d been able to leave his worries behind. He’d been working too hard, he realized. He was long overdue for a vacation. But between the pressures of work, designing new bikes and trying to turn his company into a force in the industry, there hadn’t been a whole lot of free time.

  He also needed to get laid.

  Dylan frowned, wishing he could shift position or something. This wasn’t a problem he’d planned on. He swore under his breath and tried to figure out what was wrong. So he was on a motorcycle with a woman. He’d taken women on rides countless times and it wasn’t a big deal. In this case, the woman was just little Molly, his former girlfriend’s younger sister. Okay, so she’d grown up. That didn’t mean anything. Why on earth couldn’t he ignore the feel of her body pressed up against his? Apparently it had been way too long between women.

  This wasn’t about Molly, he told himself. She wasn’t his type and he sure wasn’t interested in her. He liked lean women with minimal curves. Evie had said she was overweight and he thought that was a little harsh, but naked Molly would be—

  Lush.

  The word came from nowhere and he wished it back there. But once it had formed in his brain, it sort of got lodged, as if it were not going to budge any time soon. He thought about how soft she would be. No angles or sharp hip bones, just smooth skin. Her breasts would spill over his hands. Without wanting to, he imagined cupping the generous curves, tracing the pale skin until she was writhing beneath him.

  He could feel the heat of her right now. Dammit, obviously that was the problem. Their positions on the bike forced her right up against his butt. Was it his fault she was so warm? Even though he knew it was his imagination, he thought he could inhale the sweet scent of her body. They were both wearing jackets, so there was no way that her breasts could press against his back, yet he would swear he could feel their weight. Her hands—he just wanted her to move them a little lower. If only she would rub against him until—

  “Until what?” he muttered, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “Until you get so distracted you’re a road hazard?”

  But the images would not be denied. They flashed through his brain. Pictures of her under him, her thighs and belly a pillow for him. Of her above him, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Of—

  He swore again. Long and graphic, using words he’d nearly forgotten he knew. The solution was simple. When he got back home, he would call one of the women he dated on occasion and find a little relief. In the meantime, Molly was just a friend. He didn’t do relationships and he doubted she’d ever played fast and loose in her life. Besides, this was pure speculation. The truth was, when faced with the reality of seeing her naked, he doubted she would actually turn him on.

  “You go to hell for lying same as stealing,” he muttered to himself.

  So he ignored the feel of her against him, ignored the heat and the imaginary scent. There was, he acknowledged, a certain pleasure in the wanting. It had been a long time since he’d actually wanted something he couldn’t have. If nothing else, he was building a little character. Lately, life—and women—had gotten too easy. The kind he chose—those who weren’t interested in anything but the game—were always available. They wanted something from him, and as long as he provided it, they would give him anything in return.

  Miles later, he’d almost grown used to the discomfort of the wanting. In fact he found a perverse pleasure in it. Good thing Molly couldn’t tell. Knowing he was turned on would probably scare her to death. Not that she was virgin. At least, he didn’t think so. Dylan frowned as he realized he didn’t know anything about Molly’s personal life. She could be married with a half-dozen kids. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions. He shook his head. Right now, it didn’t matter. They were going away, not starting anything together. When the two weeks were up, he would have made his decision about what to do with his company, and she, well, he hoped she would have solved her problems, too.

  It was about an hour later when he drove down the 101 off ramp and circled under the freeway into the small town of Carpenteria. He pulled to the side of the road.

  “We’re here,” he said. “What do you think?”

  Molly looked around. “I thought we’d go farther north. We’re, what, about twenty minutes south of Santa Barbara?”

  “That’s right. I rented a house on the beach for a couple of days. We can extend our stay here or head out. It’s up to you. I’ve spent time here before. It’s a nice little town. Off-season, like now, it’s quiet. Just locals, with few tourists. We can head up to Santa Barbara for the day. There’s plenty to do.”

  She nodded. “I like it.”

  “Good.”

  He drove down the street. He was familiar enough with the town to find the real estate office. Molly stayed on the bike while he filled out the two short forms and paid with a credit card. When he stepped back on the bike, she frowned.

  “You’re not going to get all macho on me, are you?” she asked. “I want to pay my half.”

  “That’s what we agreed on.” Dylan shoved the credit card receipt into his jacket pocket. “I figured we’d each pay for some stuff, then at the end of the two weeks, we’ll total our expenses. Whoever paid the least writes the other a check for half the difference. I don’t want to hassle with money every day. Agreed?”

  She grinned at him.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I can’t believe you’re the same guy whose idea of a business transaction used to be illegally racing a quarter mile for beer money.”

  “We all have to grow up. Even me.”

  “I’d say you’ve more than grown up, Dylan.”

  She had, too, he thought as he slid back in the seat and felt the heat of her body. He’d managed to calm down some while in the real estate office, but after about thirty seconds of his butt nestling against her open thighs, he was ready again. If he hadn’t already promised nothing would happen between them, and if he wasn’t convinced it would be a bad idea for both of them, he might just want to find out how great it would be to make love with Molly. But he knew better.

  Their house was small and old-fashioned, probably built in the mid-fifties. The sides were wood, the windows small. He doubted the whole thing was even nine hundred square feet. A far cry from his home up in the hills, but he liked it. The other houses on the street were also rentals and most of them were vacant. He and Molly would have peace and quiet. The best part was, their backyard was the beach and, beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.

  “Home sweet home,” he said as he turned off the engine. The cry of a seagull cut through the sudden silence.

  Molly unstrapped her helmet and pulled it off. Her hair was a mess, all loose from her braid. The wild wavy curls blew around her face. She pushed them away impatiently.

  “I can smell the ocean,” she said. “It’s nice.”

  He climbed off, then held out a hand to her. She hesitated before taking it, but when she swung her leg clear of the seat and tried to straighten, she grabbed hold more firmly. “What happened?” she asked, taking a shaky step. “I feel like I’ve been at sea.”

  “You’re stiff from the ride,” he said. “You’re not used to being on a bike, so you were pretty tense the whole way up. Plus you’re using different muscles. Walk around. You’ll stretch out.”

  She bent her knees a couple of t
imes, then walked back and forth in front of the bike. He tried not to watch but found his attention drawn to the way she filled out her jeans. Her rear was nice and round. He figured he could get a good hold of her there, or maybe on her hips.

  Dylan swore under his breath, then made himself concentrate on unpacking their few belongings. Let it go, he told himself. He had no business thinking about messing with her. Enjoying the ride up from L.A. was one thing, but it was time for some self-control.

  The lecture helped...a little. He managed to avoid thinking about her curves, even when she unzipped her jacket, exposing the soft, red sweater she wore underneath. The swell of her breasts was only of passing interest. At least it would stay that way if he quickly averted his eyes.

  “I’ve got the key,” he said gruffly, then had to clear his throat. He led the way, mostly so she wouldn’t see his arousal pressing against the fly of his jeans.

  There were two steps up to the wooden porch. The front door looked flimsy, but Dylan figured they didn’t have anything worth stealing, so it wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Inside, the house was a little musty. Molly went to the rear windows and opened the mini-blinds. They had an instant view of the ocean. She caught her breath.

  “It’s so beautiful. The sky and the water are the perfect color of blue.”

  She smiled at him, an ingenuous smile that expected nothing in return. Oddly enough, he found himself wanting to give her something. He, who considered himself the last great cynic alive.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet this place hasn’t been lived in since summer. Let’s get it aired out.” She pushed open the windows, then glanced around. “It’s small but nice.”

  He followed her gaze. There was a blue-green floral print sofa and a wooden rocking chair, both facing the front wall. The television was nearly a Generation X-er it was so old, but Dylan didn’t think they would be using it much. To his left was the eating area and the kitchen. On his right was a small open hallway with three doors right together. He would guess two of the doors led to the bedrooms, while the third was for the bathroom.

  Molly headed in that direction. She opened the middle door.

  “Oh, my,” she said, and laughed. “I didn’t know they made tile in this color. Dylan, come look.”

  He followed her, then had to peer over her shoulder. The bathroom was done in some god-awful yellow. The small vanity had been outlined in bright yellow tiles, while the inside was filled in with a lighter color. The flooring had once been yellow, as had the walls. Both had faded to nondescript beige. The fixtures were older than dirt. The only saving grace was the huge claw-footed tub with a showerhead sticking out of the wall.

  She looked back at him. “You take me to the nicest places.”

  “Hey, at least there’s indoor plumbing. It’s not as if we’re camping.”

  “Oh, that’s looking on the bright side.” She grinned. “Now I’m scared to see the bedrooms.”

  “I’ll bet they’re not so bad.”

  He was right. The front room was small, with an extra long twin bed and a single dresser. The rear bedroom had a queen-sized mattress, a dresser and two big windows overlooking the ocean.

  Molly tilted her head. “Why don’t you take this one,” she said, pointing to the queen-sized bed. “It’s bigger.”

  “And I need the bigger one because?”

  “You’re taller.” She smiled. “And it’s polite to offer.”

  Dylan wasn’t surprised. In his experience, there were two kinds of women. Those who gave everything and those who expected everything. He’d already figured out which Molly was.

  “You take it,” he said, not sure why it was important to him, but suddenly it was.

  “I don’t need the extra space.”

  “I don’t think either of us needs it, but that’s not the point. Do you always sacrifice what you want for others?”

  Her smiled faded. “Maybe. And your point would be what?”

  “I don’t have a point.”

  “Figures. So where exactly did you get your degree in psychology, Dr. Black? You are a man of many talents, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry,” he said, walking in and setting her duffel bag on the bed in the larger room. “I’ll let it go. But I would like you to have this one. At the next place, I’ll take the room with the nicer view. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Sorry I snapped at you. I guess...” Her voice trailed off.

  “No problem. I can be a real grouch, too.”

  “I was not a grouch,” she told him. “I was cranky.”

  “Oh, and there’s a real difference?”

  “Of course.”

  He caught the teasing glint in her eyes. “The subtleties escape me,” he said. “You’re going to have to explain them over dinner.”

  “I’ll do my best. Although with you being a man and all, it might take a while.”

  He smiled. “So, we’re going to play that game, are we? That women are superior?”

  “Oh, you already know that. How nice. It will make things easier.”

  He gave her a mock glare. “Brat.”

  “Bully.”

  “Are we done with the b words?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Then I’ll just take this to my room.” He hefted his duffel bag. “Oh, before I forget.” He unzipped the side pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “The real estate agent assured me we’d get a good cell signal out here. You said you needed to stay in touch.”

  “Thanks,” she said, motioning to the phone. “I have to check my voicemail once a day, but that’s about it.”

  “No problem.” He started to leave the room, then turned back to her. “What would you like for dinner?”

  “I don’t know. What do you like to cook?”

  He found himself laughing. Molly was an odd combination of fearful child and confident woman. He liked that about her—in fact, he liked many things about her.

  “I did the driving,” he reminded her. “I agree that cooking duties should be shared most of the time, but I think tonight you owe me.”

  “Oh, do I?” She sighed dramatically. “I didn’t realize you were the kind of man who liked to keep score. But if it’s so important to you, I’ll cook. Let’s make it simple, though.”

  “There are grills down on the beach. We can pick up charcoal at the grocery store.”

  “It’s going to have to be a small bag. We’re riding a motorcycle.”

  “It’ll fit.”

  “If you say so.”

  As she spoke, she pulled off the leather jacket he’d given her. The movement tightened her sweater across her breasts. He found himself mesmerized by her curves. He’d never really considered himself a breast man. As far as he was concerned, as long as the woman was happy with them he was, too. Maybe his attitude came from the fact that most of the women he’d been involved with were on the small side. But he was starting to see the appeal of more than a teaspoonful. Molly offered generous curves to tease and touch.

  The fantasy grew, as did his reaction. He quickly dismissed the image of him slowly licking every inch of her pale curves.

  He cleared his throat. “I’d like to unpack first. Will you be ready to go food shopping in about fifteen minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  Dylan headed for the smaller bedroom. Obviously he hadn’t thought the situation through. There were going to be complications on this trip—complications he hadn’t bothered to consider.

  * * *

  Molly felt as if they were the last two people on earth. She leaned back against the big log next to their fire and stared up at the sky. It was only about nine in the evening, but it seemed later. Maybe because they were so alone. Several joggers had passed them around sunset, but since then
she hadn’t seen a soul.

  It was a perfect night, she thought. The sound of the surf filled her ears. She liked the rush of the waves, even though she couldn’t quite make out their shapes in the darkness. She inhaled the scent of the salt air and the water. There were few night creatures to disturb them, no birds, no scuttling of anything small.

  She picked up the glass she held and took a sip. The Scotch was smooth. She’d never been much of a drinker, but she just might learn to like this, she thought lazily.

  From across the fire, Dylan sighed. “Dinner was great,” he told her.

  “Yes, it was. Thanks for helping.”

  He motioned to the flames. “Open fire, raw meat, I couldn’t help myself. I think it’s genetic.”

  “If only we’d been eating the woolly mammoth,” she said.

  He gave her a grin. “I’ve heard mammoth meat tastes a lot like chicken.”

  She chuckled. Dinner had been easy. They’d wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the fire, then served a ready-made salad. Dylan had grilled the steaks. Back at the house were a half dozen Christmas cookies from the bakery section at the store. Sometimes, Molly thought, life was very good.

  Her gaze was drawn back to her companion. Dylan was so incredibly beautiful. She knew he would balk at her choice of words. Men were not supposed to be beautiful, but he was. Harsh planes and sculpted cheekbones blurred in the firelight. His jaw was strong, his mouth perfectly shaped. He wore jeans and a black sweatshirt and nearly disappeared into the shadows. For a second, she wondered if he was even there. Had she just imagined him?

  Then she remembered the ride on his motorcycle. How his body had felt so close to hers. No, that had not been any fantasy, although the situation was bound to stir up a few. Oh, well, she told herself. There were worse fates than having a crush on Dylan. Yes, it was sort of embarrassing at her age, but if it distracted her and reminded her that she was alive, it would be worth it.