The Wedding Band (28 page)

 

Chapter Thirty-One

C
HRIS SLID
HER
palm along the glossy rail of Adam LeCroix's seventy-­five-­foot cruising yacht. “How come you don't have one of these?”

“You want one?” Kota propped his elbows on the rail and smiled gorgeously. “Consider it your wedding present.”

“Speaking of”—­air quotes—­“our wedding. You all but told everyone the invitations are in the mail.”

He shrugged. “Love was in the air.”

She had to agree. Adam and Maddie's sunset wedding was unforgettable; an intimate ceremony with a handful of guests, a candlelight dinner on deck, and dancing under twinkle lights to a talented trio.

Now Chris was alone with Kota under the stars. The trio had departed for shore and the other guests had retired, except for Adam and Maddie, still waltzing to their own tune at the far end of the deck. The yacht rocked gently on the placid sea. The lights of Portofino twinkled in the distance, reflected in Kota's eyes.

It couldn't have been more romantic.

But still. “I haven't said I'd marry you.”

“Sweetheart, we both know it's just a matter of time.”

He was right, of course. For a month he'd been wearing her down. Not pressuring her—­he'd shown surprising restraint. But wooing her with conversation, good food, and mind-­blowing sex.

In her head, she'd already set the date. But it wouldn't do to give in too easily.

“You're a cocky bastard,” she said. “Lucky for you, pasta puts me in a forgiving mood.”

“Pasta does lots of good things to you.” He gave her ass a squeeze.

She swung it out of reach. “They're not melons, you know.”

“Believe me, fruit's the farthest thing from my mind.” He pulled her into his arms, rubbed his nose in her hair. “Mmm, roses. I used to be partial to peaches, but you made a rose man out of me.”

A breeze riffled across the water, making her shiver. He opened his jacket and wrapped it around her. She snuggled in, his heat warming her through his shirt.

Maddie appeared beside them, her satin gown shimmering. “Hey, you two. We're hitting the sack. Christy, I want to thank you again. It was beautiful.”

Chris smiled. “It's a privilege to sing at a wedding. Especially for friends.”

Adam came up behind Maddie, set his hands on her shoulders. His black tux was immaculate . . . except for the red lipstick on his white collar.

“It was magical,” he said to Chris. “We'll never forget it.” To Kota, “If you can get away from the set again, we'll be cruising for three weeks. Fly into any airport in Greece, and we'll get you both out to the ship.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Kota said. “By the way, nice vows.”

Adam laughed. “I couldn't have been more surprised when Maddie proposed we write our own. She's not known for sentiment.”

Maddie sniffed. “It's not sentiment. The lawyer in me wanted the terms on the table.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Consider me forewarned that love, honor, and cherish will go out the window in a zombie apocalypse.”

Leaving Chris and Kota at the rail, they went off to do what newlyweds do.

Kota nuzzled her again. “It was nice of you to sing for them.”

“Like I said, it was a privilege. I felt the same about Tana's wedding, even with all the baggage.” She tipped her head up and propped her chin on his chest. “I probably shouldn't tell you this, but once I met you backstage, I wasn't singing for anybody else. I was singing for you.”

For a long moment he gazed down at her from eyes midnight blue.

Then, “I knew it,” he blurted, busting out in a grin. “I
knew
you were singing for me. I looked around at all those other suckers who were thinking the same thing, but I
knew
it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was right, I shouldn't have told you.”

He let out a big laugh and lifted her feet off the deck in a hug.

She jabbed his ribs. “Put me down. I'm going to bed.”

“Damn right you are.” He swung her into his arms and headed for their stateroom. “If we're lucky, we'll hear the newlyweds goin' at it next door. I know how that turns you on.”

Her face caught fire. “I can't believe you brought that up.”

He stepped inside and kicked the door closed behind him. Then he tossed her on the king-­sized bed. “I might be persuaded,” he said, untying his bow tie, “not to bring it up for the rest of the night.”

She leaned back against the pillows, mouth watering as he peeled off his shirt. He'd trained hard for the Western, and his chest was even bigger, his abs more defined.

She licked her lips. “Exactly what would I have to do to persuade you?”

Unbuckling his belt, he said, “All you have to do is ask, darlin'. Just ask.”

That was too easy. “Okay,” she said. “Please.”

He pulled his belt through the loops. “Please . . . what?”

Ah. So he wanted to go there again, did he?

Well, she'd play along, to a point. And revenge would be sweet.

Playing the submissive, she crawled toward him, slowly, until she reached the foot of the bed. Then she sat back on her heels.

Reaching both arms behind her, she unzipped her dress an inch at a time, until the filmy black silk slid off her shoulders to puddle around her hips.

And she waited.

He tried to hold her eyes, but his gaze kept dropping to her breasts, squeezed together and served up in a black satin, barely-­there bra.

Hooking her pinky under one strap, she drew the ribbon of lace ever so slowly over the curve of her shoulder.

His belt slipped through his fingers to the floor.

Reaching into her bra, she drew forth one breast and cupped it in her palm. He wet his lips.

A standoff.

Then, “Hell,” he muttered. “You win.” And he tackled her, peeling off her bra, shedding his trousers.

Laughing, giddy, she let him have his way with her, and she had her way right back.

When they'd worn each other out, he spooned her, his big body warmer than the warmest quilt. “I gotta hand it to you, darlin'.” His murmur was sleepy and sated. “You don't fight fair.”

Snuggling her rump to his groin, she covered his hand where it cupped her breast. And she smiled, smugly.

“It's the power of the tit.”

 

Be sure to read the other books in Cara Connelly's Save the Date series!

THE WEDDING DATE (a novella)

THE WEDDING FAVOR

THE WEDDING VOW

All available now!

And don't miss

THE WEDDING GIFT (a novella)

Coming May 5 from Avon Impulse!

 

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at seven brand-­new

e-­book original tales of romance from Harper­Collins.

Available now wherever e-­books are sold.

VARIOUS STATES OF UNDRESS: GEORGIA

By Laura Simcox

MAKE IT LAST

A
B
OWLER
U
NIVERSITY
N
OVEL

By Megan Erickson

HERO BY NIGHT

B
OOK
T
HREE:
I
NDEPEND
ENCE
F
ALLS

By Sara Jane Stone

MAYHEM

By Jamie Shaw

SINFUL REWARDS 1

A
B
IL
LIONAIRES AND
B
IKERS
N
OVELLA

By Cynthia Sax

FORBIDDEN

A
N
U
NDER
THE
S
KIN
N
OVEL

By Charlotte Stein

HER HIGHLAND FLING

A
N
OVELLA

By Jennifer McQuiston

 

An Excerpt from

by Laura Simcox

Laura Simcox concludes her fun, flirty Various States of Undress series with a presidential daughter, a hot baseball player, and a tale of love at the ballgame.

 

“U
h. Hi.”

Georgia splayed her hand over the front of her wet blouse and stared. The impossibly tanned guy standing just inside the doorway—­wearing a tight T-­shirt, jeans, and a smile—­was as still as a statue. A statue with fathomless, unblinking chocolate brown eyes. She let her gaze drop from his face to his broad chest. “Oh. Hello. I was expecting someone else.”

He didn't comment, but when she lifted her gaze again, past his wide shoulders and carved chin, she watched his smile turn into a grin, revealing way-­too-­sexy brackets at the corners of his mouth. He walked down the steps and onto the platform where she stood. He had to be at least 6'3”, and testosterone poured off him like heat waves on the field below. She shouldn't stare at him, right? Damn. Her gaze flicked from him to the glass wall but moved right back again.

“Scared of heights?” he asked. His voice was a slow, deep Southern drawl. Sexy deep. “Maybe you oughta sit down.”

“No, thanks. I was just . . . looking for something.”

Looking for something?
Like what—­a tryst with a stranger in the press box? Her face heated, and she clutched the water bottle, the plastic making a snapping sound under her fingers. “So . . . how did you get past my agents?”

He smiled again. “They know who I am.”

“And you are?”

“Brett Knox.”

His name sounded familiar. “Okay. I'm Georgia Fulton. It's nice to meet you,” she said, putting down her water.

He shook her hand briefly. “You, too. But I just came up here to let you know that I'm declining the interview. Too busy.”

Georgia felt herself nodding in agreement, even as she realized
exactly
who Brett Knox was. He was the star catcher—­and right in front of her, shooting her down before she'd even had a chance to ask. Such a typical jock.

“I'm busy, too, which is why I'd like to set up a time that's convenient for both of us,” she said, even though she hoped it wouldn't be necessary. But she couldn't very well walk into the news station without accomplishing what she'd been tasked with—­pinning him down. Georgia was a team player. So was Brett, literally.

“I don't want to disappoint my boss, and I'm betting you feel the same way about yours,” she continued.

“Sure. I sign autographs, pose for photos, visit Little League teams. Like I said, I'm busy.”

“That's nice.” She nodded. “I'm flattered that you found the time to come all the way up to the press box and tell me, in person, that you don't have time for an interview. Thanks.”

He smiled a little. “You're welcome.” Then he stretched, his broad chest expanding with the movement. He flexed his long fingers, braced a hand high on the post, and grinned at her again. Her heart flipped down into her stomach. Oh, no.

“I get it, you know. I've posed for photos and signed autographs, too. I've visited hospitals and ribbon cutting ceremonies, and I know it makes ­people happy. But public appearances can be draining, and it takes time away from work. Right?”

“Right.” He gave her a curious look. “We have that in common, though it's not exactly the same. I may be semi-­famous in Memphis, but I don't have paparazzi following me around, and I like it that way. You interviewing me would turn into a big hassle.”

“I won't take much of your time. Just think of me as another reporter.” She ventured a warm, inviting smile, and Brett's dark eyes widened. “The paparazzi don't follow me like they do my sisters. I'm the boring one.”

“Really?” He folded his arms across his lean middle, and his gaze traveled slowly over her face.

She felt her heart speed up. “Yes, really.”

“I beg to differ.”

Before she could respond, he gave her another devastating smile and jogged up the steps. It was the best view she'd had all day. When Brett disappeared, she collapsed back against the post. He was right, of course. She wasn't just another reporter; she was the president's brainy daughter—­who secretly lusted after athletes. And she'd just met a hell of an athlete.

Talk about a hot mess.

 

An Excerpt from

A Bowler University Novel

by Megan Erickson

The last installment in Megan Erickson's daringly sexy Bowler University series finds Cam Ruiz back in his hometown of Paradise, where he comes face-­to-­face with the only girl he ever loved.

 

C
am sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. But if he didn't help his mom, who would?

He jingled his keys in his pocket and turned to walk toward his truck. It was nice of Max and Lea to visit him on their road trip. College had been some of the best years of his life. Great friends, fun parties, hot girls.

But now it felt like a small blip, like a week vacation instead of three and a half years. And now he was right back where he started.

As he walked by the alley beside the restaurant, something flickered out of the corner of his eye.

He turned and spotted her legs first. One foot bent at the knee and braced on the brick wall, the other flat on the ground. Her head was bent, a curtain of hair blocking her face. But he knew those legs. He knew those hands. And he knew that hair, a light brown that held just a glint of strawberry in the sun. He knew by the end of August it'd be lighter and redder and she'd laugh about that time she put lemon juice in it. It'd backfired and turned her hair orange.

The light flickered again but it was something weird and artificial, not like the menthols she had smoked. Back when he knew her.

As she lowered her hand down to her side, he caught sight of the small white cylinder. It was an electronic cigarette. She'd quit.

She raised her head then, like she knew someone watched her, and he wanted to keep walking, avoid this awkward moment. Avoid those eyes he didn't think he'd ever see again and never thought he'd wanted to see again. But now that his eyes locked on her hazel eyes—­the ones he knew began as green on the outside of her iris and darkened to brown by the time they met her pupil—­he couldn't look away. His boots wouldn't move.

The small cigarette fell to the ground with a soft click and she straightened, both her feet on the ground.

And that was when he noticed the wedge shoes. And the black apron. What was she doing here?

“Camilo.”

Other than his mom, she was the only one who used his full name. He'd heard her say it while laughing. He'd her moan it while he was inside her. He'd heard her sigh it with an eye roll when he made a bad joke. But he'd never heard it the way she said it now, with a little bit of fear and anxiety and . . . longing? He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Tatum.”

He hadn't spoken her name since that night Trevor called him and told him what she did. The night the future that he'd set out for himself and for her completely changed course.

She'd lost some weight in the four years since he'd last seen her. He'd always loved her curves. She had it all—­thighs, ass and tits in abundance. Naked, she was a fucking vision.

Damn it, he wasn't going there.

But now her face looked thinner, her clothes hung a little loose and he didn't like this look as much. Not that she probably gave a fuck about his opinion anymore.

She still had her gorgeous hair, pinned up halfway with a bump in front, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheekbones. And she still wore her makeup exactly the same—­thickly mascaraed eyelashes, heavy eyeliner that stretched to a point on the outside of her eyes, like a modern-­day Audrey Hepburn.

She was still beautiful. And she still took his breath away.

And his heart felt like it was breaking all over again.

And he hated her even more for that.

Her eyes were wide. “What are you doing here?”

Something in him bristled at that. Maybe it was because he didn't feel like he belonged here. But then, she didn't either. She never did.
They
never did.

But there was no longer a
they
.

 

An Excerpt from

Book Three: Independence Falls

by Sara Jane Stone

Travel back to Independence Falls in Sara Jane Stone's next thrilling read. Armed with a golden retriever and a concealed weapons permit, Lena Clark is fighting for normal. She served her country, but the experience left her afraid to be touched and estranged from her career-­military family. Staying in Independence Falls, and finding a job, seems like the first step to reclaiming her life and preparing for the upcoming medal ceremony—­until the town playboy stumbles into her bed . . .

 

S
ometimes beauty knocked a man on his ass, leaving him damn near desperate for a taste, a touch, and hopefully a round or two between the sheets—­or tied up in them. The knockout blonde with the large golden retriever at her feet took the word “beautiful” to a new level.

Chad Summers stared at her, unable to look away or dim the smile on his face. He usually masked his interest better, stopping short of looking like he was begging for it before learning a woman's name. But this mysterious beauty had special written all over her.

She stared at him, her gaze open and wanting. For a heartbeat. Then she turned away, her back to the party as she stared out at Eric Moore's pond.

Her hair flowed in long waves down her back. One look left him wishing he could wrap his hand around her shiny locks and pull. His gaze traveled over her back, taking in the outline of gentle curves beneath her flowing, and oh-­so-­feminine, floor-­length dress. The thought of the beauty's long skirt decorating her waist propelled him into motion. Chad headed in her direction, moving away from the easy, quiet conversation about God-­knew-­what on the patio.

The blonde, a mysterious stranger in a sea of familiar faces, might be the spark this party needed. He was a few feet away when the dog abandoned his post at her side and cut Chad off. Either the golden retriever was protecting his owner, or the animal was in cahoots with the familiar voice calling his name.

“Chad Summers!”

The blonde turned at the sound, looking first at him, her blue eyes widening as if surprised at how close he stood, and then at her dog. From the other direction, a familiar face with short black hair—­Susan maybe?—­marched toward him.

Without a word, Maybe Susan stopped by his side and raised her glass. With a dog in front of him, trees to one side, and an angry woman on his other, there was no escape.

“Hi there.” He left off her name just in case he'd guessed wrong, but offered a warm, inviting smile. Most women fell for that grin, but if Maybe Susan had at one time—­and seeing her up close, she looked very familiar, though he could swear he'd never slept with her—­she wasn't falling for it today.

She poured the cool beer over his head, her mouth set in a firm line. “That was for my sister. Susan Lewis? You spent the night with her six months ago and never called.”

Chad nodded, silently grateful he hadn't addressed the pissed-­off woman by her sister's name. “My apologies, ma'am.”

“You're a dog,” Susan's sister announced. The animal at his feet stepped forward as if affronted by the comparison.

“For the past six months, my little sister has talked about you, saving every article about your family's company,” the angry woman continued.

Whoa . . . Yes, he'd taken Susan Lewis out once and they'd ended the night back at his place, but he could have sworn they were on the same page. Hell, he'd heard her say the words,
I'm not looking for anything serious
, and he'd believed her. It was one freaking night. He didn't think he needed signed documents that spelled out his intentions and hers.

“She's practically built a shrine to you,” she added, waving her empty beer cup. “Susan was ready to plan your wedding.”

“Again, I'm sorry, but it sounds like there was a miscommunication.” Chad withdrew a bandana from his back pocket, one that had belonged to his father, and wiped his brow. “But wedding bells are not in my future. At least not anytime soon.”

The angry sister shook her head, spun on her heels, and marched off.

Chad turned to the blonde and offered a grin. She looked curious, but not ready to run for the hills. “I guess I made one helluva first impression.”