The Marriage Arrangement

by Patricia Ryan

  Harry shushed everyone as the reporter brought the mike to her mouth. “I understand Granger will be at Wolf Peak this weekend. Rumor has it he’s going to attempt the run himself.”

  Izzy tried to catch Clay’s eye, but he stared steadily at the screen.

  “Let him try it,” Borg said. “I invite him to try it.” Looking directly into the camera, he said, “Clay Granger, if you’re out there, I challenge you to a race down the Suicide Chute. Just you and me. And when it is over, the world will know that Olof Borg owns that chute. It will be mine.” He actually made a fist and pounded on his chest. “Mine!”

  Addressing the camera, the reporter said, “You heard it here. Olof Borg has thrown down the gauntlet. Will Clay Granger pick it up? Tune in Saturday to find out.”

  The bartender turned the sound off again and started up the Irish music.

  Several friends and acquaintances stopped by the table to offer their two cents. Most of them encouraged Clay to accept Borg’s challenge and ski the chute. From their attitudes, Izzy suspected they had no idea that Wolf Peak had claimed the life of Clay’s first wife.

  Marie was the first to offer a voice of reason. “Ignore Borg,” she told Clay. “He’s a Neanderthal. Why does he even want you skiing that chute? It’ll only draw attention away from him.”

  “No, he’s smart,” Harry said. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. If he turns this into a competition—a personal rivalry, no less—he’ll lure even more press. And that’s his point, after all—to get his face and name out there, make sure everyone knows he’s the king of the slopes. I’m with Marie. Don’t play along.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Clay said. “I just wish he hadn’t... I mean, Jesus, he dared me on national TV. What am I supposed to...” He shook his head as he raised his glass to his mouth. “Whatever.”

  “Uh-oh,” Harry said. “I know that look. You want to do it. Or you think you should to defend your reputation, or ’cause it’d good publicity for the magazine.”

  Izzy focused steadfastly on her glass of green beer. She felt Clay’s arm draw her closer.

  “The magazine will survive,” he said. Izzy wished he’d said it with just a tad more conviction. “Who wants another round?”

  Marie leaned forward on her elbows. “Clay, just one thing before we let the subject drop. Reporters are going to be calling, wanting to know your reaction to Borg’s challenge. What should I tell them when they ask me if you’re going to take him up on it?”

  Clay lifted the glass to his lips. “Tell them to come to Wolf Peak if they want to find out.”

  THAT NIGHT CLAY STOOD over the open garment bag on his bed, pondering the black ski suit he’d packed for his morning flight to Colorado tomorrow. He reached for it to take it out, then hesitated. Subscriptions will soar. Isn’t that what you keep saying you want?

  Growling a curse, he closed the bag, zipped it up, and brought it out to the hallway. Just because he packed it didn’t mean he had to use it. Damn, why can’t anything ever be easy?

  Light shone from beneath the door to Izzy’s room. Clay checked his watch: almost midnight. She was usually asleep by eleven. When he approached the door, he heard her moving around in there.

  He knocked softly. “Izzy?”

  The sounds of movement stopped. After a heavy pause, she said, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Another pause, and then he heard her sigh.

  He opened the door slowly. “Izz? Are you all right?”

  She stood with her back to him, still dressed in the leggings and tunic sweater she’d had on earlier, looking down at the open, half-packed suitcase on her bed. On the floor near the door stood two more suitcases, a garment bag, and a trunk—precisely the luggage she’d arrived with on their wedding day.

  Clay felt a rush of coldness that he recognized as fear. This is it. It’s over. She’s going.

  Something inside him started closing up, like armor. Drawing in a shaky breath, he forced himself to take a step into the room. “Don’t do this, Izzy,” he said softly.

  She gripped the hem of her sweater, clutching it in two tense fists. “I spoke to Teddy,” she said in a quavering voice. “She said I can stay with her in Brooklyn until I get my own—”

  “Izzy.” He took another step toward her.

  “I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “Don’t do this. Please.”

  She shook her head. “Please don’t make this hard, Clay.”

  “How can it not be hard?” His own voice trembled with emotion. “How can it possibly not be hard, Izzy, after everything—”

  She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. He crossed to her in two long strides and turned her around, gathering her in his arms. “Don’t do this, Izzy,” he murmured into her hair. “Please don’t do this.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Why couldn’t he think of anything else to say?

  He kissed her hair, his arms locked around her. “Don’t leave me. Not you. Don’t do this. I couldn’t take it.”

  “The longer I wait,” she said in a watery voice, “the harder it will be.”

  “You talk like it’s inevitable that you leave.”

  She looked up at him with her huge, shimmering eyes. “It is. And if you only thought about it rationally, you’d—”

  “Screw rationality!” He took her damp face in his hands and kissed her, quick and hard. “I’m nuts about you! I’ve completely remade myself for you.”

  “If you’ve really changed, like you want me to think you have...” she began, and then stopped herself, looking down. “Forget it, I just—”

  “No, what? If I’ve really changed, what?”

  “No. It’s not my style to issue ultimatums. I don’t want this to come down to—”

  “This has to do with Wolf Peak, doesn’t it? You think I’m gonna take Borg up on his dare and ski the Suicide Chute?”

  She met his gaze. “Aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

  He wanted to yell, No! Of course not! but that would have been transparently dishonest. Instead he said, “I was thinking about it. But if it really means this much to you, no. I won’t do it. I promise.”

  “But... what about the magazine?”

  “The magazine isn’t that important. It’s not one tiny fraction as important to me as you are.”

  She looked at him as if seeing him for the very first time. He pulled her closer, holding her head against his chest. “The way I feel about you, Izzy... it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before, not even... Never. I know you’ve got some misguided notion that I’m going to wake up one morning and suddenly not feel this way anymore, but frankly, I just can’t see that happening.”

  Drawing back, he tilted her chin up. “Please be here when I get back from Wolf Peak on Sunday. I’m not going to make you promise. I don’t want you to feel penned in or pressured. But I’m asking you to please, please be here when I come home.”

  Before she could answer, he leaned down and kissed her, gratified beyond measure when she kissed him back. Threading the fingers of one hand through her hair, he pressed her to him with the other. Her sweater was deliciously soft and fuzzy. He felt her breasts against his chest, her arms around him, her mouth, hot and sweet.

  Stealing a hand beneath the hem of her sweater, he fondled the womanly swell of her bottom through her leggings. The soft, tight fabric felt like skin, prompting him to recall what she’d looked like that time he’d walked in on her naked—ripe and perfect and entirely female.

  His body responded to the image with a jolt of arousal, and he broke the kiss, backing away from her. He felt as if progress had been made tonight, and he didn’t want to blow it with too much sexual aggression. She was skittish; he had to play this carefully or he’d scare her off.

  “You’ll be around in the morning, right?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll say goodbye to you tomorrow, then.” Leaning down, he kissed her softly, and
left.

  CLAY LAY IN BED that night, his hands clasped behind his head, contemplating the ornate Victorian molding on the ceiling. Every detail was rendered clearly visible by the moonlight pouring in through the open window blinds. He studied the patterns of little leaves and curlicues, counting and rearranging the various elements in his mind in a hopeless effort to stop thinking about Izzy.

  When the soft knock came at the door, he thought at first that it was his imagination playing tricks on him. Izzy was the only other person in the house. What would she be doing coming to his room at—he turned his head to check the bedside clock—1:07 a.m.?

  Wishful thinking. It must have been the wind knocking a tree limb against the roof.

  He heard it again, and instantly became alert. “Come in.”

  The door opened slowly. At first he didn’t see her; the hallway was too dark. Then she stepped into the room, and he hitched in a breath.

  Her face and arms glowed silvery gold in the moonlight. Her eyes were huge and dark, her hair an inky cloud.

  Something dark and gleaming encased her body, shimmering as she walked—that black lace and silk nightgown of hers. I’ve never worn it, she’d told him. I probably never will. It’s not really for... sleeping in...

  Yet she was wearing it now.

  Clay wanted to smile, but he couldn't. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. All he could do was lie there and stare at her, in amazement and gratitude and relief, as she approached him.

  He’d told her she must look incredible in that gown, and she did. She looked like something out of a dream—mysterious and alluring and sensual. The gown moved as she walked, the skirt floating around her ankles as if there were a breeze in the room. As she came closer, he saw that the bodice was mostly sheer, clingy netting, like a black body stocking, but with a lacy design stitched into it. It hugged her breasts, and he could just make out two dusky nipples beneath the translucent lacework.

  By the time she came to stand over him at the side of the bed, his body was coursing with sexual energy. He felt it gather between his legs as a fierce, white-hot need, felt himself stiffen and rise beneath the covers that were drawn up to his waist.

  Izzy looked as if there was something she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words. Clay managed to smile then, in reassurance, as he took her hand. She smiled back. Something passed between them, a pure, wordless communion that moved him immeasurably. He opened her hand and pressed her palm to his mouth and kissed it.

  Sitting up, he reached out to glide tentative fingertips over a silken hip, incredulous that this was actually happening—that Izzy had come to him, in tacit invitation. She was offering herself to him, surrendering to him. The moment felt oddly sacred, yet charged with the thrill of sexual promise.

  He closed both hands over her hips, feeling her heat beneath the cool silk. She rested one hand on his bare shoulder; the other lightly stroked his hair.

  Everything happened in dreamy slow motion, and in an expectant silence broken only by the sound of their breathing. The atmosphere in the room seemed to sizzle, like the air right before a thunderstorm.

  He guided his hands up along the delicate curve of her waist until they came to the embroidered netting of the gown’s bodice. It felt both smooth and rough, tickling his palms as he stroked it.

  Izzy’s breasts rose and fell more rapidly as he moved his hands upward. He watched the dark nipples beneath the sheer fabric tighten in anticipation of his touch. His cock responded with a restless throbbing. He was astonishingly close to climax already.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IZZY SUCKED IN A BREATH when he touched a single fingertip to a nipple, rubbing it lightly while he watched it grow even harder. The effect was so arousing that he might as well have been touching her that way between her legs. Her heart pounded in her ears; she couldn’t get enough air.

  Clay brought both hands up to cover her breasts, caressing her through her gown until she thought she would scream from wanting more. As if he’d read her mind, he dropped his hands to her waist and leaned forward, his mouth pausing an inch from her right nipple. She felt the heat of his breath, and wrapped both hands around his head to urge him closer.

  He did come closer, but when his lips touched the sensitized knot of flesh, he merely kissed it lightly. Turning his head, he rubbed his stubbly jaw against her, the roughness igniting little thrills of pleasure within. He nuzzled her gently, his breath hot on her breasts, his kisses excruciatingly soft. It was torment. She wanted more, so much more. A little growl of frustration escaped her.

  Clay looked up, and she saw a feral gleam in his eyes that excited her on a purely primal level. Raising one hand to the back of her neck, he pulled her down and kissed her deeply, greedily. She returned the kiss with equal hunger.

  From the moment he’d promised not to ski at Wolf Peak this weekend, she’d known she would come to him. That promise had been the gesture she’d needed, the act that placed her before The Rush and proved that he really was changing... for her.

  Clay cupped her breasts, weighing and caressing. Breaking the kiss, he closed his lips over an aching nipple through the netting, drawing it into the heat of his mouth. She slid her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, reveling in the delicious tugging sensation and the rhythmic massage of his tongue.

  Her fingers tightened on his scalp when he reached beneath her gown. His hand was warm on her inner thigh, and a little rough. She held her breath as he moved it up, then let it out in a soft cry at the first brush of his fingertips on her neatly trimmed pubic hair.

  He stroked her slowly, provocatively, his clever fingers investigating her slick recesses while he suckled her. Izzy had never been so aroused, never felt so wet and inflamed and ready. She couldn’t prevent her hips from rocking slightly as he took her to the edge and kept her there for a timeless, dreamy interval.

  She trailed her hands down to his shoulders, solid with muscle that flexed in time with his caresses. His chest felt like something carved out of smooth, warm stone. When her fingers glided over that washboard stomach of his, he stilled. When she slid them beneath the covers and closed them around his straining flesh, he let out a gasp that sounded almost pained.

  Izzy touched him as he was touching her, with seductive, unhurried strokes, in a deliberate effort to drive him to the verge of climax and hold him there. He slid a long finger inside her, massaging her from within in rhythm with her caress of him. His breathing grew ragged; his eyes were unfocused, feverish.

  She felt the approach of the climax that had been hovering for so long, felt the inevitability of it, the mounting, breathless urgency. A moan rose from her as Clay withdrew his finger.

  He whipped aside the covers, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and lifted her gown, seizing her by the hips. His intent was obvious, and she cooperated swiftly, kneeling on the bed over his lap, her hands gripping his shoulders to steady herself.

  “Oh, wait.” He reached over to yank open the night table drawer and rummage around inside it. “Where the hell... ah.”

  He rolled the condom on swiftly and guided himself to her entrance, then met her gaze. Izzy felt the broad tip of him nudge her, heard her own hoarse sigh as he renewed his intimate caress, stripping her of self-control. She lowered herself onto him, moaning as he stretched her open. He felt so thick and hot and smooth inside her, and she was so close... so close.

  She threw her head back, insensible to everything but the climax that was gathering inside her like an impending storm. Gripping her hips, Clay raised and lowered her on his slippery cock, stroking her, driving her closer, closer...

  Izzy cried out in astonished pleasure as the storm pulsed through her, violent spasms that shook her with their turbulence. She felt Clay’s strong grip on her shoulders, and realized she’d arched back, away from him. Lowering one hand to where they were joined, he caressed her with skillful fingers, prolonging her orgasm. She heard her own soft cries in her ears, and his voice, as well,
but she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  His words became clearer as her pleasure subsided and he gathered her close, running shaky fingers through her hair. “... so incredible,” he was saying in a raspy whisper. “Just watching you... You’re so beautiful, so... Christ, Izzy, I had no idea. All those years...”

  “What?” she breathed into the crook of his neck.

  She felt him chuckle. “Nothing. Just...” His arms tightened around her. “I love you, Izzy. I love you so much.”

  CLAY FELT HER GROW STILL, heard her breathing stop and then start again, unsteadily. He waited, holding her tight as the last of the tremors passed through her, but she didn’t say the words back to him. He wanted to tell her that it was all right if she didn’t, that he didn’t need to hear them—only that would be a lie. He hadn’t said those words to any woman since Judith. They meant something to him, and he wanted desperately to hear them from Izzy. He needed to hear them, to know that tonight wasn’t just some gift from her to him, but that it meant something—that it was the beginning of something.

  But the moment ended, and she said nothing. Be patient. She’s been through a lot lately. She’ll come around.

  He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo mingled with soap and olive oil and a sexy muskiness that made him even harder, if that was possible. He felt the impatient pulsing of his cock deep inside her; from her indrawn breath, he knew she felt it, too.

  Her responsiveness thrilled and gratified him. She was so uninhibited, so full of heat and passion, that simply watching her come had been the most erotic experience he could remember. He hadn’t expected that level of sensuality, so it came as a delicious surprise, an extra added bonus of sorts.

  Threading his fingers through her sweat-dampened hair, he tilted her face up and kissed her, a lingering, hopeful kiss.

  Then he gathered her gown and pulled it up, peeling it off and tossing it aside.

  He throbbed again at the sight of her, naked in the moonlight, and intimately connected with him. Her breasts were incredible, firm and high. He leaned forward and took a nipple in his mouth, gratified by her little involuntary growl of pleasure. He scraped it with his teeth, and she gasped.