The Best Bride. Сьюзен Мэллери

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      His gaze never left hers. His hands stayed on his hips. So why did she feel as if he were physically touching her all over? Her skin grew heated, her fingers curled into her palms. How could he do that with just a look and his voice?

      “Oh.”

      With that he left the parlor and stepped into the hall. Before she realized she’d been abandoned, he was back with a bouquet of flowers.

      “These are for you, darlin’,” he said.

      That woman gets my complete attention. She stared from the flowers to him and back. No. He couldn’t mean anything by them, could he?

      “Why?” she asked, almost afraid to hear his answer. What if he wanted her? What if he didn’t?

      “It’s been a week since your surgery. I thought you might be feeling a little lost.” He thrust the flowers at her and she was forced to take them. “You can lose that panicked expression. I’m not out to seduce you.”

      “You’re not?” She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

      He shook his head. “Not while you’re under my protection.”

      Which might mean she would have to watch herself when she wasn’t under his protection, or it might be a polite way of saying he wasn’t interested in her at all. Stop thinking about it, she ordered herself. She was the one not interested, remember? She was the one sworn to never get involved.

      She lowered her head and sniffed the bouquet of flowers. The colorful blooms smelled rich and sinful, not like those long-stemmed roses Sam had often brought her after he’d been gone for several weeks. She’d never had the heart to tell him she didn’t like those roses. They were so straight and scentless, almost mutated versions of natural flowers.

      She touched the cheerful pink petal of a carnation. “Thank you.” She turned toward him and smiled. “They’re beautiful.” He was close enough to touch. She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. “This is probably going to make you cringe, but I think you’re very nice.”

      The second to the last thing she expected was him to say, “I’m glad.” The last thing she expected him to do was step closer and wrap his arms around her waist. She almost dropped the flowers before gripping them in her right hand. Emotionally she was too stunned to pull back; physically, she was too intrigued. Sam had been tall—maybe an inch or so taller than Travis—but Travis was powerful and strong. She could feel the muscles in his arms where they pressed against her side. She could see the strength in his shoulders.

      And his eyes. She would like to stare into his brown eyes forever, warmed by the fire flickering there. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He wasn’t smiling. She was glad. She would have hated him to find this moment funny. She didn’t think it was at all amusing. If anything, she was fighting the burning at the back of her eyes. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry. Maybe it was because in his arms she felt safe and secure. She hadn’t felt that way since she was a young girl, not much older than Mandy.

      He pulled her close, until her thigh brushed against his and her breasts flattened against his chest. She reached up and placed her free hand on his shoulder. He was going to kiss her. For the first time since he touched her, she remembered she was supposed to be fighting this. Travis wasn’t for her. But she needed him to kiss her. She needed to forget, even for just a moment. She sensed that once his lips touched hers, she wouldn’t be able to think about anything else.

      He didn’t disappoint her. He breathed her name, then lowered his mouth to hers. Soft and hard and prickly and hot. She absorbed the sensations of his lips brushing back and forth on hers, the fire that flared between them. Her eyes drifted shut. Questions of right and wrong, her place in his house, Sam, her future and Mandy all faded, silenced by the powerful force of pleasure. He didn’t assault her or press for more. He simply held her close and moved his mouth slowly, so slowly until she knew every millimeter of his lips.

      She wrapped both her arms around his neck, carefully holding on to the flowers. But that was her only conscious thought. Everything else she simply felt. The hard chest flattening her breasts, the stroking of his hands up and down on her back, the shivers as his fingers grazed the bare skin by her shoulder. Her position pulled her incision, but not enough to matter.

      He moved his head slightly so he could brush his lips against her jaw, then her ear. She arched her head back, liking the gentle caresses, the absence of pressure. Her blood flowed faster, hotter, fueled by the slow assault. His warm breath tickled, sending goose bumps rippling down to her toes.

      He nibbled on her earlobe. She caught her breath, then whispered his name. With her free hand, she touched his still-damp hair, liking the way the smooth strands felt against her fingers.

      He read her perfectly. When she grew impatient with his gentle teasing on her jaw and throat, he returned to her mouth. He didn’t ask or hint, he simply opened his mouth on hers. As if she had no will, her lips parted to admit him.

      Like his previous caresses, he moved slowly, tenderly, tracing her lips, touching the damp, sensitive inside, touching the edge of her teeth before stroking her tongue with his.

      One small flicker was like the first faint flash of lightning. He moved against her again, touching, retreating, touching, circling, touching, tasting. The storm moved closer and closer. She felt the vibration of the thunder, the echoing of his heartbeat, matching the rapid cadence of her own. She saw the flash of light behind her closed eyelids.

      Her body sought his, pressing harder to absorb his strength. Against her belly, she felt the hardness of his desire. Between her thighs an answering need flowered, leaving her warm and waiting. Her breasts tightened in anticipation. His hands moved lower, down her back, over the curve of her hip to cup her derriere in his large hands. He didn’t pull her up against him; instead he squeezed gently, lovingly.

      She reveled in the feel of being next to him. Every move was slow, not calculated as she might have thought, but savored. As if he had nothing more important in his life than this moment. As if he’d spent the whole day thinking about kissing her.

      He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he was broader and she liked the way his size made her feel protected. Foolish needs, she thought, knowing that she was on her own. But for these few minutes it was enough to hold and be held, tempt and be tempted.

      He sucked on her lower lip, the delicious sensations forcing all thoughts from her mind. He kissed her harder now, hungrily, the passion building between them. It was all she could do to stay upright and not sag completely against him. Her fingers had trouble holding on to the bouquet of flowers. His scent and warmth filled her body until she wanted him to be a part of her. He seemed to sense her need, moving even closer, tightening his arms around her as if he were as hungry for love as she.

      Love. The word echoed in her brain, the cold reality of its meaning doused her passion and she pulled back. She wasn’t hungry for love. She couldn’t afford to be. Passion, maybe. Sex—well, it had been a while, so probably. But not love. Never love.

      She stared at the open V of his white shirt and watched his chest rise and fall in a rapid cadence that matched her own. Not love. Never love. Love makes you blind. You can’t trust it. Ever. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She’d loved Sam with all her heart, and he had betrayed everything she’d held sacred and special. There had been a hundred clues, but she’d missed them all.

      Travis was just like Sam. He was a womanizer, a smooth-talking charmer who made a hobby СКАЧАТЬ