Second Chance Bride (Montana Born Brides) (8 page)

“Uh-oh, that’s not good.”

Scarlett turned off her phone, peeved to find there were still no bids, to check out whatever Mitch had found. “What’s not good?”

Mitch gestured up to the TV in the corner of the bar by the ceiling as he put down their drinks. “The weather in Broome. They reckon there’s a system sitting off the coast and they’re worried it could make landfall late tomorrow or the day after.”

She looked up at the screen, at the chart that bore no resemblance to the weather charts she was used to at home and meant nothing to her now. “What would that mean exactly?”

“Anything from a bit of a blow to a full
-on cyclone.”

The weather map disappeared and the news went back to a recap of the headlines. She pulled her wine glass closer. “Oh, that’s definitely not good news for a wedding. Will they have to cancel?”

“I suspect not. They’re already all up there, having a pre-honeymoon honeymoon before the real honeymoon in Bali.”

“Two honeymoons?”

“You can never have too many honeymoons, apparently.”

“And we’ll be okay to get up there?”

“Looks like it at this stage.” He shrugged. “Be awful to miss it.”

“Yeah, I’d be without a job.”

He twirled a spare beer coaster in his fingers. “I’m sure I could find something else you could help me out with.”

A waitress arrived with their food, hamburger and hand
-cut chips—aka fries—for him, salt and pepper squid for her. “Yum,” she said, because it was easier thinking about the food than about his last comment. Did he really mean what that had sounded like? More fool him if he didn’t realize he didn’t have to pay her for sex. She’d do that for free.

The squid was excellent, melt
-in-the-mouth tender with just the right amount of spice. Her thoughts were even spicier. She put her knife and fork down knowing she’d burst if she didn’t speak. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”
Mitch was feeling mellow. He had a cold beer, a damn fine hamburger and the prettiest woman in the pub sitting opposite him. Right now he would have agreed to the sun not coming up in the morning.

“Why did you choose me?”

“What?”

“Back in Bella’s
—why me? I messed up my lines and stood there staring at you with my mouth open looking like a goldfish. I thought for sure you’d choose Jasmine.”

He frowned. “You mean the Asian girl?”

“Yeah. Why didn’t you choose her?”

He considered his hamburger for a while. “Because she was tiny.”

“I know. She was exquisite.”

“Yes. No. Tiny. I felt like a giant next to her.”

“Oh.”

Mitch looked up at her. He’d knew that kind of ‘oh’. It was loaded. Clearly he’d said something wrong.

“And you looked cute.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better by pretending you were interested in me all along.”

Bam, there it was.
“Who says I was pretending?”

“Me. You’re just saying that to make me feel better. You wouldn’t choose Jasmine because she was tiny. And so you chose me because I wasn’t.”

He put his hamburger down. It was his favorite, one with the lot, which in this part of the world meant onion, salad, bacon, cheese, beetroot, pineapple
and
pickles, so putting it down was a tough ask, but still he did it, because he’d just made a discovery, and he wanted to ruminate on that for a while. Because it seemed to him that even when a hamburger was complicated, it was still simple. There was a lot to be said for a hamburger. A hamburger might come with pickles, or sesame seeds on top, but it never came with a
Catch 22
. “I swear I will never understand how a woman’s mind works.”

“Then you’re not really trying,” she said.

He sighed. “So how about I just have a thing for redheads?”

“Uh-uh. I’m not falling for that one. You know it’s not really red and now you’re just trying to make stuff up.”

“So maybe I have a thing for women in corsets and pink boots.”

That was probably closer to the mark. “You mean, wearing nothing else but?”

“Hell, yeah. I loved those spangly pink boots. And maybe I have a thing too, for teensy tiny pink bows that look like sugar and like they might melt in your mouth.”

“You remember the pink bows?”

Did she really think he’d forget? “You’re kidding me. I do believe those pink bows were the ruination of my sleep for these last two nights.”

The slow burners inside her kicked on. Who needed alcohol when you were sitting opposite the man who kept you awake and wanting into the early hours, who’d just admitted she’d done the same to him. “Tell me, why do we need two rooms here in
Kalgoorlie when we’ll be sharing only one in Broome?”

“You know why. Because sex was never part of this deal.” He paused. “And because up in Broome we won’t have a choice if we want to look convincing.” She liked that he didn’t sound too thrilled about it.

She angled her head. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that convincing thing,” and across the table from her, Mitch didn’t move a muscle. “We’d be far more convincing in front of your friends if we were an
actual
couple.”

He jacked up one eyebrow. “You think?” And it warmed the cockles of her heart that he didn’t need her to explain.

She smiled, their eyes locked, green with blue, flickering at the edges with heat. “I know. New lovers are just so convincing, don’t you think? They can never keep their hands off each other.”

She liked the way the fingers of his hands curled on the table. Liked it that he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “It’s your choice, Scarlett,” he said, his blue eyes as heated as a gas flame. “This time you get to choose.”
And his voice was husky and low and thick with wanting and she had a burning desire to hear it from the pillow next to hers.

“Mitch Bannister,” she said, taking his hand, “I choose you.”

And for the first time in his life, Mitch Bannister failed to finish a hamburger with the lot and chips. But only because he had more important things to do.

They’d barely got outdoors before he’d backed her up hard against a
veranda post

“What?” she whispered as she looked up at him.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” he said, his lips the length of a whispered breath above hers, before breathless mouth met breathless mouth. And everything she promised was right there in that first kiss: the heat, the attraction, the sheer bloody bliss of it.

“Oh yes,” he murmured into her mouth as her body pulled away from the po
st at her back and molded to his as if it had been made for it.

They probably looked no different to a lot of other lovers
, wending their way down Hannan Street to their accommodation, holding each other close, pausing every now and then to taste each other, with their mouths and with their hands, feeding the simmering tension that bubbled inside, snatching the chance to drink in the feel of a curve or a dip before they pushed apart and moved on a few steps until the next hot clinch.

No wonder it seemed to Scarlett that it had taken forever until they were back in the apartment.

But no sooner were they inside that locked door than she was ripping the clothing from his body. “Oh my god, at last.”

He just groaned, and all the things he’d made her feel just yesterday at Bella’s, when she’d been dressed up like the hooker she was supposed to be and had been forced to use every weapon in her arsenal to feel nothing in the face of his electric touch and still it was not enough, all those things she welcomed. This was no place to bring out the times tables. This time those feelings felt right. This time she wanted to luxuriate in every single toe curling moment and simply enjoy.

He shredded her clothes from her body as fast as she shredded his, his hot mouth keeping her busy in between the attacks of his hands on her shirt and on her jeans.

“Your boots,” he huffed against her ear with hot breath as he wrestled with his own.

“Gone,” she said, shrugging them off with her toes. She felt the jeans follow and then his, and then there was nothing between them but air and even that was in short supply where their bodies met.

But who needed air when where their bodies touched was all kinds of bliss and beyond, flesh against flesh, heat against heat, his every fantasy about to come true. His mouth was busy with the feel and taste of her, his need was her need, or so it seemed as she sighed or gasped with every single stroke of his fingers or tongue.

He was thick and hard between them and her senses and flesh were pulsing with need, the ache between her thighs building so hard that when he took one nipple into her mouth, she almost exploded with it.

“Mitch,” she whispered breathlessly, at his next onslaught to the other nipple, “I don’t think
—I don’t—I can’t wait.”

He growled low in his throat, frustration meshed with need. He’d wanted to take his time, take the slow road,
make it as special for her as it felt for him. But with the drumbeat of his blood pounding in his ears, urging him on, he didn’t think he was capable. Because right at the forefront of his mind was this desperate need to be inside her. Only that. Hearing her put voice to his need only made him want it more. There was no way he could last now, no way he could wait.

He lunged for the bedside table drawer handle, so far away now, and wished he’d had time to plan, but putting them in his bedside drawer had seemed like wise planning back then and his hopes had only been that. And when he angled sideways, he felt her hand take him, squeeze him,
stroke him.

Oh, god. Please god let him last.

And then his fingers found what he was looking for and he ripped the foil with his teeth and pushed her hand out the way to roll it on. He positioned himself between her thighs and rested there a moment. “This is so not the way it should happen,” he said, “but you’ve been driving me crazy a day and a half and I don’t think I can last.”

“For god’s sake, just take me,” she said, “and we’ll worry about how it should happen later.”

He loved a woman with common sense. A woman who could make a decision in a split second. Sure, she might be impulsive, but there was a place for impulsive.

But most of all he loved a woman who was warm and sexy and who wanted what he wanted. Good times and good sex and no complications. A woman like that had a hell of a lot going for her.

This woman.

He pushed into her, felt her around him, surround him; felt the clench of her muscles and slick heat of her desire, and damn near had to grit his teeth not to come there and then.

“Yes,” she whispered, as he pulled back, with her voice like honey and a beckoning sweet body that called him home. “Ahh, like that,” when he thrust into her again.

Then there were no more words, only the
sighs and sounds of passion, quickening and intense and with only one place to go.

He felt her go, felt her body tense and still and erupt around him like a fireball, consuming his last shred of control as he followed her.

“I just knew you’d be good at that.” Sweat-slick and replete, she lay panting by his side, her head against her shoulder, his arm holding her snug against his body.

He kissed the top of her head. “Do I need to tell you how good you were?”

“Yes please.”

He chuckled, more like a rumble, and she liked it. “You’re amazing. In fact, so unbelievably amazing, that I can honestly say, that you are, without exception, the best Buck I ever had.”

“Hey!” she said, sitting up and smacking at him with her hands, “quit it with the Buck jokes.”

He laughed and grabbed her wrists. “Make me,” he challenged, and she pulled at her hands and wriggled, jiggled and growled and made him laugh all the more until she stilled and said, “I know how to make you shut up anyhow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And she used his arms for supports and dropped herself over his chest and teased his mouth with a nipple.