Carina woke in darkness to the sound of a double-barreled rifle firing. Decker stirred and wrapped an arm around Carina’s bare stomach, pulling her up against his body and away from the phone she’d been reaching for on the nightstand. He was hot all over and as naked as she was, judging by the hard-on digging into her upper thigh.
If she’d only known that marriage came with so many nightly and sometimes first-thing-in-the-morning perks, she might have tried harder to rope herself a husband sooner—or a fake husband, anyway. Then again, there were decent odds that the insatiable desire that had consumed them both was only a product of the ticking-clock aspect of their bargain.
He rubbed his lips along her shoulder. “Is someone shooting at us or am I dreaming?”
“My father. That’s his ringtone.”
With a string of curses under his breath about Ty Briscoe invading his bed, Decker flopped to his back, taking his heat with him. Carina had long ago given up reminding Decker that they weren’t really married. The ruse turned her on as much as it clearly did him, and there really wasn’t any harm in pretending. They both knew the score. Pulling the covers higher, she accepted the call, then rolled to Decker’s side and slung a leg over his thighs.
“Daddy, it’s too early. Today’s my morning off.”
“There’s no such thing as time off in December for Briscoes.”
She closed her eyes and tamped her frustration. He was right, of course. Sharing a bed with a sexy cowboy had obviously clouded her judgment. It wasn’t like Decker was taking the morning off, either. She cracked an eyelid. His alarm was set to go off in less than five minutes.
The same Mistletoe phenomenon that made December Carina’s busiest month made it the busiest month for the resort as a whole. Decker’s days and evenings were consumed by managing riding lessons, guided horseback tours of the ranch, and carriage rides for wedding parties and their guests. He had a great staff working under him, reliable and good with the guests, but it was still sixteen-hour workdays, seven days a week. Just like her days.
She rolled away from Decker and flipped the covers back. “Okay, I’m getting up, Dad. What do you need?”
“Wedding World e-mailed me. They were so intrigued by the Mistletoe Effect and by your and Decker’s spontaneous wedding that they’ve decided to make our resort their February cover story.”
Carina bounced out of bed. “Are you kidding me? That’s fantastic. You can’t buy publicity like that.”
“That’s not exactly true, because I might have greased some palms, but the point is, they’re coming back at least two more times this month. The Mistletoe Ball and … tonight.”
“What?”
“They’re flying in for tonight’s cocktail reception to talk to all the newlyweds and soon-to-be newlyweds who are at the resort right now,” her dad said.
“There’s no cocktail reception tonight.”
“There is now. I have total confidence that you can not only pull this off, but make us all look good. The family’s counting on you.”
She spun in place, her mind racing to figure out the logistics of what her dad was asking. Decker was sitting up in bed, his nightstand lamp on, looking quizzically at her.
“I can’t plan something like that in … um …” She did some fast math, which was tricky considered her lack of caffeine. “In twelve hours.”
Decker’s brows pinched. “Stand up for yourself,” he commanded in a loud whisper.
That was all well and good for him to say, but he hadn’t heard everything that was at stake. She shook her head.
“I already told the journalist that it’s a can’t-miss event, and a great chance for them to meet a lot of happy couples who wed at our resort.”
Decker stomped in her direction. “Don’t let him bully you.”
Any other given day, she would have marveled at Decker’s lean, muscular physique and the way he looked when he prowled around the house naked, as he was apt to do in the morning, but with her dad in one ear issuing orders and Decker in the other giving her commands, she had no mental space left to admire the view.
She held up a hand to Decker, trying to get him to stand down. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her.
“Okay, Dad. I’ll get right on it.”
Decker’s hands flew up in disgust. He strode out of the room.
“Attagirl,” Dad said. “Don’t forget to tell what’s-his-name that he’d better be there tonight, too.”
“What? Dad, Decker’s just as busy as I am. He’s not going to want to—”
“The journalist specifically asked if you and he were attending. So you two are going to be there and you’re going to be a picture of domestic bliss.”
The sound of cabinet doors slamming in the kitchen filled the air. Domestic bliss indeed.
After she ended the call, she grabbed the quilt off the bed, wrapped it around her, and followed the noise to the kitchen. Decker was standing at the sink eating cereal, staring out the window. He didn’t acknowledge her presence.
She cleared her throat. “Wedding World magazine is coming back tonight. They’re writing a cover story on our resort for their February issue, which is amazing. It’s going to be huge for our future.”
He slammed his cereal bowl down on the counter, sloshing milk and Frosted Flakes over the rim. “Our future?”
Her temper simmered at his deliberate misunderstanding of her words. She wanted to snip at him, We don’t have a future. You’re moving to Fort Worth. But the idea of verbalizing how much his choice bothered her made her feel way too vulnerable and needy. And she was already standing in nothing but a comforter in his kitchen, pleading her case for him to stop being so disappointed in her.
“The Briscoe family’s future. My future as my father’s successor at the resort.”
“Damn it, Carina. You know and I know that’s not what you want for your future. You have to start standing up for yourself.”
Her patience snapped. “It’s a little hard to stand up for myself when I have my father shouting orders in one ear and you doing the same thing in the other ear. So my big choice this morning was, do I disappoint him or do I disappoint you? Decisions, decisions. What’s a girl to do?”
He speared a finger in the air. “Don’t compare me to him. He wants you to do his bidding and I want you to speak up for yourself and what you want.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about you.”
“He cares about me, too. Why are you being so obnoxious about this?”
He rolled his eyes and strode past her. She turned and followed his movement to the dining room she’d converted into a temporary dressmaking studio. He stopped near the wedding dress on the form and pointed to it like it was Exhibit A. “Because I know what you want for yourself, for your life. He doesn’t know because you won’t tell him.”
No, she wouldn’t. Because it was complicated. Because she didn’t know what she wanted to do about what she wanted. Her family was counting on her to run the resort. She was going to inherit a multimillion-dollar fortune and a career that would continue to sustain her family for generations to come. The idea of throwing it all away to follow a dream that might never pan out was ludicrous. There were tons of people who would kill to be in her current position.
“I don’t know how you’re so certain about what I want, when I’m not a hundred percent sure. What I do know is that I’m not going to compromise the cover article of Wedding World magazine because I was looking forward to spending the morning in my pajamas. I’m going to go take a shower and get ready for work. I have a cocktail reception to throw together.”
The shower proved to be the perfect place to regroup and brainstorm about the party. She washed away the lingering frustration from her fight with Decker and gave herself fully over to party planning. She enjoyed planning events. She liked the puzzle of it, that perfect moment when everything came together and reflected in the happiness on the event guests’ faces. She loved that so
mething she did mattered to people; she planned the happiest days of people’s lives, events that brides and grooms would remember with fondness for the rest of their lives. She really did love it.
Not as much as imagining beautiful wedding dresses, then bringing those works of art to life one stitch at a time. Not as much as the peaceful solitude of creating dresses that women would value for the rest of the lives, that they might pass down to their daughters.
Both paths were worthy careers, but only one of them supported her family and multi-generations of toil and planning and investing.
By the time she’d toweled off, she knew the theme and general layout of the cocktail party. She had a mental to-do list going and knew whom she was going to delegate the various moving parts to.
She cracked the bathroom door and listened for Decker. The house was silent. In the bedroom, she parted the curtains and looked over the flat expanse of snow-dusted grass and gravel in the direction of the stables. Flanked by two employees who were probably giving him the rundown of the morning and the day ahead, Decker walked toward the stable entrance, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, his black Stetson in place, and looking every bit the head cowboy on the resort.
She chewed her lower lip. How the heck was she supposed to ask him to attend the cocktail reception now, after their argument? Maybe if she concentrated on that problem, she could ignore how much it hurt to think about their time together ending and him moving on to a bigger and better job.
She loved living with him, sleeping with him. Even the fighting she didn’t mind too much—especially since he looked just as good naked when he was angry as he did when he was happy. With a sigh, she dropped the curtain in place and walked to the kitchen to get a cup of tea brewing while she got dressed.
She detoured through the dining room and gave a long look to her current wedding dress project. Originally, she’d planned to take over the spare room for sewing, but the lighting here was better for the detail work. She had yet to sit at the table to eat a meal and, as far as she could tell, neither had Decker, so the only competition for space in the room was from the stacked boxes in the corner labeled “Christmas Decorations.”
Being that she was alone in the house, she indulged in a cringe at the idea that one day soon she’d walk into the house and be surrounded by reminders of Christmas—or, worse, that he’d ask her to help him decorate.
She fingered one sleeve of the dress, wishing she’d had more time to work on it this past week. Maybe after tonight’s reception, since it didn’t look like Decker would be feeling all that snuggly. Dropping the sleeve with a sigh, she walked to the kitchen.
On the counter near the electric kettle, she found a cup of tea already brewing. The water wasn’t steaming anymore and the tea had been steeping long enough that it would be bitter, but she couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness. She lifted the tea bag out and took a sip. Next to the mug was a note.
I’m sorry. The only commands being issued around here from now on will be by you—starting tonight. Next to the words, he’d drawn an arrow to the white plastic bag sitting next to it on the counter. It was one of the resort’s plastic laundry bags provided in every room. She hooked a finger inside and peered in, nearly snorting tea through her nose.
It seemed that he’d emptied the contents of the holiday-themed Naughty Newlyweds basket from the honeymoon suite into the bag. There was the red silk rope, a candy cane riding crop, Santa’s Chimney brand condoms, a red blindfold, lubes of every flavor from gingerbread to Frostie’s Peppermint Icicle, and so much more. She picked up the stretchy red vibrating cock ring she’d contributed to the basket. That would certainly put the ho ho ho into her holiday.
The last remnants of her anger dissipated. Decker had one heck of an approach to peace offerings. She had no idea he’d saved all that stuff and had somehow refrained from busting it out in the week since they’d christened the honeymoon suite.
She dropped the cock ring back in the bag and picked up a red satin thong with Velcro closures at both hips and a picture of mistletoe over the crotch. It was the kind of classy lingerie a stripper might wear for easy removal during her pole dance, Carina thought with a chuckle under her breath. Perfect.
After a call to Alex, who was already awake thanks to his baby girl Ivy’s penchant for rising before the sun, to coordinate party details, Carina breezed through the rest of her morning routine, pairing a curve-hugging charcoal gray skirt with a pale pink angora wraparound sweater that was modest yet sophisticated. Nobody needed to know that beneath her professional veneer she wore a barely there sheer white bra and a red Velcro thong. Nobody except the man she planned to seduce that night.
When she got in her golf cart, instead of heading north to her office, she detoured to the stable. Decker wasn’t in the tack room or anywhere to be seen among the rows of horses and stalls, but his office door on the far end of the stable was open and the light was on. As she passed through the main corridor down the center of the stable en route to the office, she smiled her greeting to the trio of guests fawning over a dappled horse and a pair of employees mucking out a stall.
Decker was sitting at his desk, his eyes glued to the computer monitor and his finger holding his place in an open ledger laid out on the desk.
After a distracted glance at the door, he did a double take, then walked around the desk to meet her at the door, offering her a sheepish smile. “Apology accepted?”
“Definitely. I’m sorry, too.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I liked your peace offering. There’s a lot to work with there.” She did a little hip shimmy, not enough for the other employees to notice but enough to catch Decker’s interest. “In fact, I’m making use of one of the items right now.”
His eyes darkened as they raked over her body. “You know, my office door has an excellent lock.” He moved in for a kiss, but she evaded his effort, stepping back into the main part of the stable.
“I have a proposition for you,” she said.
“Anything. Name it.”
“If you come to the Wedding World cocktail reception tonight as my lawfully wedded husband, then I’ll show you what item from the newlywed basket I’m presently employing.”
She let him get close enough to slide an arm around her waist. “If a husband is what you need, then I’m your man, but what I want to do to you right now is anything but lawful.”
Dayam, she wanted to bust out in a standard Texas drawl. Heat and need settled low in her belly. They were back to the husband and wife kink and she loved every second of it.
“I brought you a little something to wear tonight, too—if you’re not chicken.” She scooted close and transferred the cock ring from her jacket pocket to his in one smooth move.
He shoved his hand in his pocket to feel what she’d given him. She could tell when he’d figured it out because his mouth dropped open and his gaze flashed to her eyes before settling on her lips. He looked like he might be contemplating a kiss, but she thought it a fitting punishment to leave him hanging.
“I’ve got to get going. See you tonight. Five o’clock in the Sleigh Bells Lounge. Wear a suit—and that.” She nodded toward his pocket, then executed a slinky-sexy walk through the stable and out the door.
Once she was in the driver’s seat of the golf cart, she thought she’d gotten away with her plan when he came storming outside, his expression half-crazy with arousal. “Oh, no, you don’t, Mrs. Decker. What kind of man would I be to let you get away with not kissing me?”
He nudged her foot off the gas pedal, took her face in both hands, and laid a kiss for the record books, right there in front of a half-dozen resort employees and guests. She slung her arms around his neck, toppling his hat off, and kissed him back for all she was worth.
He kissed her until she was good and boneless and fully invested in making a fool out of herself in front of her employees. When he ended it, he kept his f
ace close to hers. Eyes closed, they breathed into each other while the world stood still.
That was the moment Carina knew that what she felt for James Decker went a whole lot of steps beyond a lingering teenage crush or even bona fide adult lust. She might have made this deal that they play husband and wife to save the resort from rumors of a Mistletoe Effect jinx, but her heart had gotten involved all on its own.
He’d told her during their argument that he cared about her. Well, she cared about him, too. She cared about him a lot. As much as he wished she’d find the power to stand up for herself to her father, she wished she could find the words to speak up to Decker and tell him not to leave next month. To tell him to stay so they could see how far this ride they were on would take them.
Clearing his throat, he straightened and smoothed a hand over his jacket. He recovered his hat from the ground and adjusted it on his head. Then he nodded at her. “That’s more like it. See you tonight.”
Chapter Seven
The Sleigh Bells Lounge had spruced up nicely for a last-minute cocktail reception. Carina chose that particular venue because the view of the winter wonderland garden from the floor-to-ceiling windows was so breathtaking and festive that very little other decorating was needed.
More than fifty people were in attendance, including Carina’s parents, Granny June, and Addison the journalist from Wedding World magazine along with a cameraman filming a piece for Wedding World’s Web site. Twelve couples who’d wed at the resort had also accepted the last-minute invite, including three who’d been married earlier that week and the Linderhoffs, who’d spent every December at the resort since their wedding in 1971 and whom Carina had never seen wear anything other than matching Christmas sweaters and jeans except in the black-and-white wedding portrait that hung on the so-dubbed Wall of Fame in Carina’s office.
Tonight, the Linderhoffs were bedecked in matching red sweaters sporting huge 3-D mistletoe sprigs made of felt. Bless their hearts, they’d probably bought the sweaters because of their belief in the Mistletoe Effect and didn’t realize that the orientation of the sprigs called out like an open invitation to kiss their nether regions—much like the mistletoe sprig on Velcro thong Carina was presently wearing.
The Mistletoe Effect Page 11