chapter TWELVE
COLETTE awoke when shafts of bright sunlight filtered through her closed eyelids, contrasting with the chill of her exposed shoulders. Disoriented and blinking, she moved to tug the blankets higher. They refused to move. Stuck beneath a decidedly male hip and a long, hairy leg, her paltry efforts to dislodge them accomplished nothing. Instantly awareness flooded her, along with the realization that she was as naked as a newborn babe. She lifted an arm to cover her breasts, rosy and warm despite the chill. A broad, browned hand stilled the motion.
“Don’t,” came Stephen’s sleep-roughened voice. “I want to see your skin in the sunlight.”
He was awake. Watching her. Warmth radiated from her stomach, turning the tips of her exposed breast to a hard, knotted pink.
“Lovely,” he breathed, the back of his hand rising to brush delicately against her nipple. “You look good enough to eat, do you know that?”
In the light of dawn, her impulsive decision of the night before rushed back with bruising, jarring clarity. What had she been thinking? She’d made love to him. She’d agreed to marry him. And now her heart was so full of longing and love she didn’t know how to contain it all. How would she ever survive once he realized he no longer wanted her? How could she ever live as his wife in name only, pretending she was happy so that their child didn’t feel insecure?
“Hey,” he said, jostling her out of her morose thoughts.
“Why the long face?”
Rather than reply, she leaned toward him, pressing her mouth to his. It was easier than talking.
He obliged her with a deep kiss that sent her pulse careening yet again. Sliding her over the sex-scented sheets, he tucked her up against his flesh, his warm, wide palms cupping her buttocks as he pulled her in close. It was easy to feel safe when they were kissing, when she could bury her second thoughts behind the blurring effect of desire. So she reached for the rigid length of his erection where it strained against her stomach, circling his thick circumference and slowly sliding south. Then north. Then south again.
“Do you have another condom?” she breathed against his lips.
He obliged her with startling swiftness, and this time she was the one to slide it down his eager length. She took her time, concentrating on the here and now and steeping herself in the heady power she wielded over him. He held himself still, watching her through slitted eyes, until she pressed her thumb against the broad tip and gently squeezed. He jerked within her hand with a groan, and then pulled her up for a wild, voracious kiss.
Scant seconds later he twisted to his back, with her atop him, and pressed her onto his length in one long, smooth, sleek slide. She gasped in surprise, the ease with which he’d impaled her sending shudders of delight clear to her scalp.
“We still fit perfectly, don’t we?” he said, his eyes glittering from beneath a fan of black lashes.
Physically, yes. But in all the ways that mattered …?
Don’t think about it. Determined to wring as much pleasure from this idyllic interlude as she could before reality intervened, she flung her head back and closed her eyes. Setting a steady rhythm, she angled her hips so he stroked her with every pass. She lifted, pressed, tilted, the pace of their lovemaking slowly increasing as her pleasure spiraled, spread, and climbed to an almost unbearable peak. Having him inside her like this was so … so …
Thoughts failed her as she reached the summit, her body trembling and spasming with each delicious stroke. An aching combination of desperation and love filled her heart to brimming as Stephen gripped her hips, drawing out the pulsing pleasure of her inner muscles. Clenching him deep inside, she leaned to balance against the granite plane of his stomach while he found his own bucking release. Watching the play of emotions in his face, knowing that she’d brought him the same intense pleasure he’d brought her, made her want to weep.
If only it could always stay like this. If only she could meet all his needs with the same degree of success. If only she could claim his heart as easily as she claimed his body.
Afterward, she remained draped over his damp chest, toying idly with the black fleece beneath her hand. She stroked his skin, relearning the contours of his ribs, the transition of muscle to bone to muscle again at his side. She might have slept for a while. Might even have dreamed a bit.
Much, much later, he awakened her with a soft murmur against her rumpled hair.
“Hey, sweet, it’s time.”
Disoriented, she blinked, sitting up to rub her eyes. He looked freshly shaved, showered, and ready for the day. “Time? For what?”
His blue eyes flashed with fiery heat while his mouth curved in a seductive, triumphant smile. “To get married, of course. The justice of the peace arrives in less than an hour.”
“An hour?” she squeaked.
“You did agree to today, didn’t you?” he asked in a mild voice.
She had. But somehow, in the light of day, she couldn’t remember why. Terrified, backed into a corner and mute, she simply stared at him, her retraction filling her throat.
“I’ve called the hotel spa and they’re sending over their top two stylists.” He checked his watch. “They should be here in about five minutes to help you get ready.”
“Get ready?” Horrified that tears were beginning to sting the back of her nose, she blinked away her girlish dreams for a romantic wedding and swallowed. Hard. “But I don’t even have a dress.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, a hint of satisfaction coloring his tone as he gestured toward a garment bag hanging on his corner coat rack. “I took the liberty of choosing a wedding dress for you the day I found out about Emma. The saleswoman assured me it would fit.”
“The day you …?” she repeated through quivering lips. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I didn’t want you to look back on this day with regrets.”
As if she’d have anything but regrets.
“This is for you as well.” He reached in his suit jacket pocket and withdrew a small blue box, wrapped in its signature Tiffany ribbon.
“You don’t have to give me a ring,” she told him, avoiding his extended hand.
“This is not about what I have to do,” he said, lifting her rigid fingers and pressing the box into her palm. “It’s about what I want to do. For you.”
She bit her lip and ducked her head, reluctantly removing the ribbon and lifting the hinged velvet top. The morning light slanted across a giant solitaire diamond, bigger than the lump in her throat. The engagement ring glittered brightly, a stark contrast to the aching despair filling her heart.
“It’s too much,” she protested, closing the lid and extending the box back toward him. “I can’t wear this.”
“Put it on,” he told her.
“But it’s a ring for someone who—”
“Now.”
She obeyed in silence, her lungs tight. Seeing the weighty ring on her finger, knowing that he’d chosen it as a mark of ownership over her, she felt the tension in her chest increase even more.
You can do this. For Emma, you can do this.
Less than forty-five minutes later, after a hurried makeup treatment and style, Colette looked every inch the flushed, nervous bride. The stylists had coiled her hair into an ornate, pearl-encrusted upsweep that exposed her neck and left wispy strands of blond trailing along one cheek and her nape. Her dress—a gorgeous beaded silk sheath—cinched in at the waist, boned through the bodice, and ending two inches above her knees—made the most of her modest curves and exposed far too much of her chest and arms. Her new three-inch heels, a concession to femininity she rarely allowed herself, made her legs look like they went on forever.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized she’d never looked so beautiful. She bit her shiny coral lips, feeling like an utter fraud. What madness had she agreed to?
By the time she walked to Stephen’s elegant study and stood next to him before an elderly, rheumy-eyed justice of the peace, she felt trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape. The panic Colette had been fighting for the past hour knotted in her chest, her breath so rapid and shallow it felt like she was hyperventilating.
Dizzy, her legs weak, and her hands clenching the small bouquet of flowers Stephen had gathered from his garden, she forced herself to remain at Stephen’s side without collapsing. Trembling, she locked her knees and faced the officiant.
Without shifting his focus from the justice of the peace, Stephen reached to collect her hand, aligning his warm, dry palm against hers. Stephen’s secretary and Janet, along with a beaming Emma garbed in smocked white batiste, served as the only witnesses to their union.
“We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Stephen Whitfield and Colette Huntington,” the officiant intoned as he surveyed their tiny group of five over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. “We honor their commitment to each other, and to the future they will create together …”
As the ceremony continued, Colette was excruciatingly aware of Stephen’s fingers threaded between hers. He stood as still as stone, his profile serious and his posture erect. When it came time to exchange their vows, Stephen reached to collect her bouquet and then handed it to his secretary. Turning back to her, he claimed both her empty hands with his.
His blue eyes focused on her face, refusing to release her gaze, while he professed his intentions for their future life together. “I, Stephen, take you, Colette, to be my wife. I promise above all else to be honest and faithful, and to honor you as my partner and spouse. I promise to raise our children with love and devotion and to do my best to foster joy and peace in our home. I give you my hand, my support, my trust and my name as I join my life to yours.”
The knot in her throat turned into a boulder, and suddenly she couldn’t see through the tears misting her eyes. “I, Colette, take you Stephen, to be my husband …” Her voice shook, but she cleared her throat and made it to the end without falling apart.
And then it was time for them to exchange rings. Goosebumps rode her flesh as he slid a platinum band on her icy finger. His eyes remained on hers, steady and calm and somehow comforting, despite the surreal circumstances of their union.
“Just as this circle has no end, my commitment to you is eternal,” he promised, without a trace of unsteadiness in his voice. “With this ring, I take you to be my partner for life.”
Her gooseflesh grew into an uncontrollable trembling by the time she reached for his hand and pushed a matching ring down his long, tanned finger. The ring caught on his knuckle and a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. He reached to help, and then bolstered her with both hands. She blinked, inhaled sharply, and whispered her commitment to the only man with the power to destroy her.
“… I now pronounce you man and wife,” concluded the magistrate. “You may kiss the bride.”
Stephen gently drew her close against his body and bent his head to hers. For a moment their breath mingled. And then his lips touched hers in a sweet, supple kiss that carried more promise than heat. Dizzy, she swayed against him, and his broad hands slid up to her shoulders to anchor her. Feeling his smile beneath her lips, and suddenly aware of their audience, she flushed when he eased away from her with a gentle push against her upper arms.
A flurry of congratulations later, the papers had been signed, the justice of the peace had been dispatched, and the small wedding party stood in a loose circle, grinning at each other. All except Colette, that was. She felt like she’d been caught in a hurricane: buffeted by winds too fierce to fight, disoriented, and unable to manage anything more complicated than simple breathing.
“You made a beautiful bride, dear,” said Janet, reaching to brush a stray curl from Colette’s cheek. “And Mr. Whitfield made a very handsome groom.”
“And Stephen here, despite his wild ways, is a good boy,” said Stephen’s secretary as she squeezed Colette’s bare shoulder. “Treat him well and he’ll make you a fine husband.”
“Of course I will,” said Stephen, reaching to haul her back to his side. “Stop scaring her.”
The two witnesses exchanged an amused glance and then laughed. “All new brides are scared,” said Janet. “It’s your job to set her fears to rest.”
Her husband—her husband!—grinned and then wrapped a possessive arm about her waist. “I fully intend to do so,” he said with a grin toward both matronly women. She sensed a shift in his purpose as he turned to query his secretary, “Is everything arranged?”
She bobbed her head and then dug in her wide bag for a travel binder. Extending it to Stephen, she said, “The tickets are inside, along with contact numbers for all involved parties.”
“Tickets?” Colette asked. “What tickets?”
“Janet?” he said, ignoring Colette. “Are our bags packed?”
“Yes, sir, they are.” Her face pleated in a wide smile. “I even threw in a few extra things I thought you might need.”
“Excellent. Why don’t you and Emma go fetch them while Colette and I have a few moments to talk?”
The two giddy females tripped out of the room with Emma in tow, obviously relishing their role as coconspirators in Stephen’s plans to kidnap his new wife.
“Stephen,” Colette said, turning to face her new husband with alarm tightening her belly. “What is going on?”
Stephen hauled her back into his arms, anchoring his groin against hers and leaning to breathe against her neck. “I’m taking you on a honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon!” she blurted as she arched back within his arms. The prospect of spending days alone with him in a romantic setting while trying to maintain her emotional distance sent terror winging through her veins. “But we can’t leave Emma!”
“We’re not. I’ve arranged for Janet and Emma to accompany us.”
Colette’s thoughts churned, trying to adjust to this unexpected turn of events. “But what about the Renaissance? Isn’t its grand reopening in three weeks?”
He cocked a brow. “Everything is right on schedule, and I’ll just be a phone call away if anything goes wrong.” He stared down at her, obviously bemused by her panicked attempts to delay. “Why do I get the impression you don’t want to take a honeymoon with me?”
She pressed against his chest with both splayed hands, unable to think properly with him so close. “One bed’s as good as another, don’t you think? We don’t really have to go anywhere exotic to have sex.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Is what you think this is about? Sex?”
The low note of warning in his voice cinched her trepidation into worry. “Isn’t it?”
His grip against her waist tightened. “No, Colette. It’s about building a marriage. About a husband wanting to please his new wife.”
She shook her head while her stomach trembled in protest. “But honeymoons are for couples who love each other.” She blinked, refusing to allow the emotions that hovered treacherously close to the surface to show. “And we don’t, remember?”
“I want this to be a new start for us, Colette.” He lifted a hand to cup her jaw while probing her gaze with his. “So why don’t we just see how it plays out?”