A Bravo Christmas Wedding

by Christine Rimmer

  For a while, they played pool in the back room. And then they danced some more.

  Ryan had mistletoe tacked up in every doorway. Walker danced her under a big sprig of it during a slow song about a lonely girl waiting for Santa to bring her the man of her dreams. And then he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, a kiss that was long and soft and so very sweet.

  Now, there was a moment, one she wouldn’t soon forget.

  “Come home with me tonight.” He kissed the words onto her lips.

  She twined her arms behind his neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Ruefully, he whispered, “I need to spend a little time with Rye first.”

  She nodded. “Being the only groomsman and all...”

  He left her to find his brother. She joined her cousins, who seemed to be having a great time. Wonder of wonders, they were also still getting along.

  “Something’s up with Rye,” Walker said when he rejoined her an hour later. They’d found a little corner table where the light was extra dim and they were more or less alone to whisper together and steal a kiss or two. “He’s only pretending to have a good time.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “He didn’t have to. I was six when he was born. I used to change his diapers. I have a lot of experience at reading his moods. If something’s bugging him, I can tell.”

  “Did you ask him what was wrong?”

  “I did. And I got complete denial. Told me he’s happy, the luckiest man alive.”

  She mentioned the strained glances between Ryan and Clara earlier that night. “I’ll try to get some time alone with Clara—maybe tomorrow. See if I can get her to open up a little.”

  “And then what?” he asked just a little bit bleakly.

  She put up both hands. “Hey. I’m winging it here...”

  He leaned in close. “Your eyes are deep brown in the shadows like this...”

  She touched his cheek, in that sexy hollow just below his cheekbone, and then she traced the shape of his ear. “Are you changing the subject on me?” It came out all breathless, with a little hitch at the end.

  He eased a hand under her hair and cupped the nape of her neck. She loved that, the cherishing way he touched her, the roughness of his palm against her skin. “So tell me. Was there something you planned to do about Clara and Rye tonight?”

  She stared into his shadowed eyes and all she could think of was that soon, she would go home with him, to his house at the Bar-N and, at last, to his bed—and what was the question?

  Right. About Clara and Ryan. “What can I do tonight?”

  “Exactly.” He pulled her closer. His breath was warm across her cheek. And then he kissed her.

  And after that, there was just the two of them, sharing kisses in the corner, getting up a few minutes later to dance some more.

  * * *

  The party finally broke up at a little before three.

  By then, she was aching to be alone with him. He offered to go with her to the Haltersham. But she knew that Lonesome and Lucky would be waiting at the ranch. And the horses would need tending within the next few hours.

  “Not the Haltersham,” she told him. “The Bar-N. I’ll follow you.”

  Still in her party clothes and her vintage ankle-length black velvet evening coat, she climbed in behind the wheel of her rented 4x4 and she followed him home.

  When they got there, they went up the front steps together. In the entry, they stopped for a kiss—a long, slow one—as Lonesome waited a few feet away. Lucky, on the stairs, meowed once in protest, impatient for the humans to stop fondling each other and come up to bed.

  Walker helped her out of her velvet coat, shrugged out of his and hung them both on the hall tree. “You want anything? Coffee?”

  “Yes, I do want something. But coffee’s not it.”

  “Good,” he said gruffly.

  They went up the stairs with their arms around each other, Lucky leading the way and Lonesome taking up the rear. For the first time, when they reached the end of the upper hall, she didn’t have to say good-night and turn for the other door.

  In his room, he pushed a dimmer switch on the wall. The room brightened to a soft glow. Lucky jumped up on a comfortable chair by the front window and Lonesome stretched out at the foot of the bed. Walker took her in his arms again.

  But she pressed her hands against his chest. “This is the first time I’ve ever been in your bedroom.”

  He bent close. “And?”

  “I just want to look around for a moment.”

  He traced a finger down the outside of her arm, causing a chaos of sensation to spread in ripples across her skin. “You want a tour? It will be short.”

  “Give it to me anyway.” She bit his earlobe. And loved that he couldn’t control a rough gasp when she did it.

  So he let go of her and stepped away. She wanted to reach out and grab him back.

  But she made herself wait as he gestured around the large, simple room. “Chair. Chair with cat. Steamer trunk my great-great-grandmother Aislinn O’Meara brought with her from Ireland. Lodgepole bed. Matching bed stands. Twin bureaus made by my great-uncle Stanley. Fireplace.” He went over and turned it on. Cheery flames licked the artificial logs within. He turned and pointed at the inner door. “Master bath through there, walk-in closet beyond.”

  “It’s just how I pictured it.” And it was. Rustic and comfortable, the bed linens thick and inviting, in red, brown and tan with blue accents. “Beautiful.”

  He returned to her and tipped up her chin with a finger. “It’s just a room. You’re what’s beautiful.”

  All at once, she was trembling. “I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

  He pulled her close again, warming her with his body that was so big and strong and easy to lean against. He took her face between his hands, brushed a kiss between her brows. “Reservations?”

  She met those blue eyes steadily. “Not a one.”

  “All right, then.” He put those wonderful capable hands around her waist and lifted her. And she did what came naturally, wrapping her legs around him, hooking her ankles at the small of his back. Her skirt rode up. Way up. He stroked his hands downward to cradle her bare thighs and they groaned in unison.

  She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him, spearing her tongue into the heat and wetness beyond his parted lips, rocking her hips to him, feeling him growing hard through the layers of their clothing.

  He carried her like that to the bed and laid her down across it. She released him, resting back on her elbows. For a long, delicious moment, they simply looked at each other. And then he lowered his head again and started kissing his way down her throat, between her breasts—and lower.

  His lips burned a path over her tiny, bunched-up skirt and along the inside of her right thigh, rousing goose bumps as he went, making her moan with anticipation and pleasure. When he reached the inside of her ankle, he stopped kissing her and got busy taking off her shoe, undoing the tiny buckle, sliding it off, dropping it to the rug and going to work on the other one.

  By the time he had the second shoe off, impatience got the better of her. No way could she just lie there while he slowly unwrapped her. She sprang into action, scooting to a sitting position.

  “Come back here,” he ordered, rough and low.

  Laughing, she went up to her knees and reached for him.

  And he reached for her. And after that, it was all a hot, lovely tangle of legs and arms and ragged breathing as they unbuttoned and unhooked, as they tugged and kissed and fondled, working together to get mutually naked, their clothing flying every which way.

  At the end of all that frantic undressing, when he finally got his second boot and sock off, they just sat there, facing each other, staring. He looked so good wit
hout a stitch on, everything hard and honed in that lean, cut way of a ranching man. The crisp almost-golden trail of hair in the center of his chest led down to where he was hard and ready for her.

  His eyes were indigo—and shining. “I think I forgot how to breathe, just looking at you.”

  She offered, “Merry Christmas to us.”

  He held out his hand to her.

  She took it, going up to her knees again, moving close and then closer still, until he wrapped both arms good and tight around her. It felt so good, his hard chest to her soft breasts, belly to belly, skin to skin.

  He kissed her, lingering and deep.

  And then he was guiding her down to the bed again, stretching out beside her, his hands roaming over her, learning all the secrets of her body. She returned his caresses, memorizing every hard, muscled inch of him, so strong and hot and male.

  He kissed her everywhere, taking the longest time over her breasts, and then nipping at her belly, dipping his tongue into her navel. And moving downward from there.

  He stayed there, low down, for a very long time, kissing her, working his own special magic on her wet, eager woman’s flesh.

  She clutched his head in her hands as he played with her.

  And she came. And then she came again.

  And then she couldn’t take it anymore. Her body shimmered in afterglow, and she still wanted everything, all of him, every beautiful, hard inch.

  Now.

  She reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around him.

  He caught her wrist, muttered darkly, “I won’t...make it if you do that, not this first time with you.”

  And she stared up at him, into those ocean-blue eyes. “Then don’t make me wait for you anymore.”

  He needed no further urging, was already reaching for the bedside drawer. He pulled out a strip of condoms and tore one off. She watched him, memorized the heat and tension in his dear face as he disposed of the wrapper and rolled the condom carefully down over his thick, ready length.

  And then she was reaching for him again, pulling him to her, gripping his broad shoulders, caressing his muscular arms. He came down to cover her with a deep groan, settling between her legs, rising up on his arms to keep from crushing her.

  She wrapped her legs around him.

  And at last, he sank into her. He did it so slowly, his face above her flushed, concentrated.

  It felt...just right, as she had always known it would. So right, in fact, that she could almost forgive him for taking so long to get here with her. So right, that for this glorious moment she hardly remembered that she’d given up on ever getting here.

  Right now, tonight, it all seemed perfectly inevitable to her, as clear as the road to a known destination. As though she’d been born to be here, on this ranch outside Justice Creek, Colorado, in this very bedroom, with this particular man.

  As though her body already knew him, welcomed him to her after waiting for so long.

  She thought all those things, at once.

  And then she let all that go.

  So that there was only the feel of him within her, filling her up so completely, pushing deep. Until there was only her eager body taking him, rising with him, the press of his hard chest to her soft breasts, the way his arms closed around her, claiming her and cherishing her, both at once.

  His breath and her breath, mingled. One.

  Rising and falling, together.

  She cried out as the end swept over her, a climax harder and longer than the two times before. She lifted her body, straining toward him.

  He pressed in deep, arms tight around her, throwing his head back, groaning her name.

  Chapter Nine

  Curled up together, they slept for a little while. The bed was big and comfortable and she felt right at home, spooned in the cradle of his hard arms and long, hair-roughened legs.

  She woke when the alarm went off. He tried to slip out of the bed. “Walker?”

  He smoothed her hair on the pillow, pressed a kiss to her temple. “Shh. Just the horses. I won’t be long.”

  She tried to sit up. “I’ll come. I’ll help.”

  “Wearing what? Those naughty shoes and that tiny little scrap of a skirt?”

  “I’ll bet the horses wouldn’t complain.”

  He chuckled as he gently pushed her back down and pulled the blankets up around her. “Keep the bed warm. Give me something to look forward to.”

  She gave in and snuggled down. “Don’t be long...”

  “I won’t. I promise.” He breathed the words against her cheek, and then he was gone.

  She woke again, briefly, when he slid back under the sheets with her. “God. You’re freezing...”

  He gathered her in, wrapping those fine arms around her. She shivered at first, but he quickly grew warm again. He kissed the curve of her shoulder, smoothed his hand over her hair. “Sleep.”

  And she did.

  The next time she woke, he was standing over her wearing a season-appropriate red-and-green flannel robe.

  She squinted up at him. “I smell coffee.”

  “Right here.” He gestured at the tray on the bed stand. It held an insulated carafe, two cups, and cream and sugar.

  She sat up. “Am I in heaven?”

  “Just my bed.” He handed her a full mug.

  She sipped. It was so good. Plus, there was the way he looked at her, all the magic of last night warming his eyes. “I think I like here,” she told him softly. “In your bed.”

  He smiled then, a real smile, warm as the look in his eyes. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  She glanced toward the bedside clock—and then did a double take. “Noon? Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Hey. We didn’t get to sleep until five or so.”

  “And you were up an hour later. Did you get any rest at all?”

  “Rory, don’t fuss. I’m fine.” He dragged one of the two comfy chairs to the bedside, took his own full mug and sat down, hoisting his bare feet up onto the bed beside her. “So, then. Today you’re checking out of the hotel and moving back in here.”

  It was not a question. And that pleased her no end. “Yes, I am.”

  “Good. You’re only here for one more week. I want you with me, until you go.”

  She cradled her mug carefully against the covers and longed to suggest that it didn’t have to end when she left. He could come with her, to Montedoro, for Max’s wedding and for Christmas. She wanted him to come.

  But no. They’d only been together—really together—since last night. She should give him a few days, at least, before she tried to drag him home to meet the family.

  He was watching her face. “You’re wrinkling your forehead. Why?”

  She took another lovely sip. “I am not wrinkling my forehead. I am thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Nothing you need to know.” And he didn’t. Not right at the moment, anyway.

  He sipped his coffee and bumped her thigh with his bare foot. “Fair enough.” And then he just looked at her. For a long, lovely time.

  Until she scooted over and patted the empty space beside her. “I’m getting so lonely in here all by myself...”

  His blue eyes got lower and lazier and he made a tsking sound, his tongue against his teeth. “If I climb in there with you, I may never get back out. And I have tile to install and drywall I really should get going on.”

  She set her mug back on the tray and lifted the covers to beckon him in. “It’s Sunday. You know, the day of rest?” A low groan escaped him, so she lifted the covers a fraction higher.

  “Rory. You’re killin’ me here.”

  She only smiled.

  Apparently, the smile did the trick. He got up and pu
t his mug down next to hers. Then he untied the flannel sash of his robe and let the robe drop to the rug.

  She smiled even wider. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, as he came down to her and wrapped his arms around her. “We can make this quick...”

  But of course, they didn’t. They took their sweet time and it was glorious.

  Around two, they got up, went to the kitchen and whipped up a big breakfast of pancakes, sausage and eggs. After that, they both showered—using separate bathrooms so they wouldn’t be tempted to start fooling around again.

  She put on her clothes from the night before. He was waiting for her in the upper hall. They walked downstairs again together. He held her velvet coat for her. She slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  He wrapped it around her. “I’ll come with you into town.” He kissed the words into the crook of her neck.

  A low chuckle escaped her. “What about the drywall?”

  “God, you smell so good.” He nibbled on her neck. “The drywall can wait.”

  “Uh-uh.” She turned in his arms and fiddled with the collar of his heavy shirt. “Go to work. I’ll be fine.”

  He started buttoning her coat for her. “Let me guess. You want to stop at Clara’s.”

  “You’re right. I’m going to try to get a little time with her, if she’s around. Be back by six or so at the latest?”

  He kissed her long and slow. And then, with obvious reluctance, he let her go.

  * * *

  At the Haltersham, Rory changed into jeans, a soft sweater and warm boots. Then she packed up her stuff. With all her things in the 4x4 at four-thirty in the afternoon, she called Clara, who was at home and said she should come on over.

  Clara made coffee for Rory and poured apple juice for herself. They sat at the table in the breakfast nook and Clara said, “Let me guess. You went home with Walker last night.”

  Rory grinned. She couldn’t help it. “Oh, yeah. And I just now checked out of the Haltersham.”

  “Going back out to the ranch, huh?”

  “Yes, I am. And I will be there until after the wedding. Is everybody talking?”

  “After last night? Oh, you’d better believe it.”