Here Comes the Bride (5 page)

She nuzzled closer to DeMarco’s strong firm body and slid her hand over his rock-hard chest and then down across his chiseled abdomen. Her fingers lingered there for a moment, circling his abs before moving lower—holy cow!

Her eyes shot open and she sat up. It wasn’t a crazy, wild dream after all. Dominic DeMarco was in bed with her and he was naked. She lifted the satin sheet, took a peek, and felt the blood rush from her face.

Dropping the sheet, she looked about the room. Her wedding dress, bra, nylons, garter belt, and lacey underwear were littered across the floor, making a perfect path from the door to the bed.

This did not happen. She did not sleep with Dominic DeMarco.

She looked at the massive diamond on her finger…it was all a distant memory…a blur…a dream…a nightmare. Marrying him temporarily was one thing, but this—

She was a good girl. Not exactly a virgin, but she had rules. Sleeping with a man on the first date, even if she was married to him, was a definite no-no.

A deeply bronzed masculine arm slid across the sheets toward her, his fingers settling on her thigh.

She pushed his hand away and jumped out of bed, pulling the sheet with her so she could cover her own nakedness. The room began to spin. She braced herself to keep from toppling over. Now that the sheet had been removed, there was nothing left to cover DeMarco, leaving her no choice but to take in every inch of him: tanned and hard and fully erect, ready for action.

His arm slid upward over his head and came to rest on his pillow. One of his eyes opened, immediately followed by the other eye. He lifted his head and followed the direction of her gaze. Without a word spoken, his head fell back onto the mounds of pillows. Making no attempt to cover himself, he asked, “Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that! Of course something is wrong. We’re in bed together and we’re naked. I’m a notch, for God’s sake.”

“A notch?”

“On your headboard.”

He smiled. “The old morning-after regrets, huh?”

“What did you say?”

“Right now you’re thinking, what have I done? How can I possibly look myself in the mirror again? What will my mother think?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I’ve heard it all before.”

Her brows drew together. “You…you egotistical bastard.”

“I had a feeling last night might have been a mistake.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And you slept with me anyhow?”

“You were irresistible.”

“Really,” she snapped. She looked at the ring on her finger, her mouth a grim line as she tried to remove it from her finger. She twisted and pulled but the beautiful two-carat emerald cut diamond wouldn’t come off.

“Careful, sweetheart, you’re going to break your finger.”

She looked at him and growled. “Look at you, flaunting yourself like…like a stallion.”

“Stop,” he said, “you’re making me blush.”

She glared at him. “What is your problem?”

Lazily he rolled off the bed and took his sweet time locating his dress pants. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said, his voice tinged with annoyance as he zipped his pants, not an easy task, considering his rigid state.

He moved around the bed and came to where she stood. “Go ahead and have your little tantrum but don’t act as if I took advantage of you, as if you didn’t want me last night as much as I wanted you.”

She clearly remembered being pressed close to him in the elevator. She had wanted him all right, but only a kiss—a simple kiss. She exhaled. “It was that last Kamikaze. Those things are dangerous. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” He combed his fingers through his hair and headed for the bathroom. “We can’t change what’s already been done,” he said before he looked back at her wistfully, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “If it’ll make you happy, we’ll just pretend it never happened.”

His chest was like a magnet. She had to use all of her inner strength not to look at him as if she’d never seen a man before. “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her composure.

As he headed for the bathroom, she plopped down on the edge of the bed and said, “It never happened.”

“Fine.”

“Dominic,” she said before he disappeared inside the bathroom.

He turned, looked at her, waited.

“Did we use protection last night?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” The door clicked shut behind him.

When she heard the shower, she fell back on the mattress. Bits of last night flashed in her mind. They had definitely made love. At the time, she’d thought it was a crazy, romantic dream. Everything had been so perfect. His lips on hers, their bodies melded, Dominic telling her over and over again how beautiful she was. She’d never had a man tell her she was beautiful before, cute and spunky maybe, but never beautiful.

No matter how wonderful last night was, sleeping with DeMarco had been a huge mistake, with an emphasis on
huge
. Unless she thought of last night as research—good old-fashioned
hands-on
research.

That was it. She had slept with DeMarco in the name of research. She forced a smile. How the heck could any decent reporter write a mostly true investigative story about a man unless she knew every intimate detail? Last night may have been a never-to-be-repeated hazy blur of blissful lovemaking, but she would forgive herself this one lapse of judgment and chalk it up to research. She let out a long, deep sigh of relief.

Dominic had good instincts, she recalled. He’d been right when he’d guessed that her heart had been broken before. She wasn’t willing to put herself out there again. Not yet, and certainly not with a man like him. She wasn’t a naïve little girl any longer.

She straightened.

She and DeMarco had signed a contract. Three months and this whole marriage business would be over.

End of story.

And yet, the thought of what she’d done last night still didn’t sit well with her.
Get over it, Sam. You slept with him.
Within twenty-four hours, you gave it all up.
She hit her fist on the mattress. Damn. It was those sneaky martinis, because Dominic DeMarco really wasn’t all that great. Take away the amazing body, mesmerizing eyes, dimples, great singing voice, and the whole gentleman act at the reception, and what was left? A jerk. She was not going to fall for him. Doing so would merely be asking for another big dose of heartbreak.

From here on out, she would think of
the story
at all times. She needed to stay focused. For the next three months, his every word and his every action needed to be stored in her memory banks until she could legally put words to paper.

She glanced at the nightstand. A light on the hotel phone was flashing: messages. She picked up the receiver, pushed the message button, and listened. The first message was from the hotel concierge. They had her luggage and she was to call when she wanted her things brought to the room. The second message was from Ben, telling them to be in the lobby by noon. It was already ten-thirty. That didn’t give her much time. She hung up the phone, rang the concierge and asked for her luggage. Then she ran to the closet, slipped on a hotel robe, grabbed her wedding satchel that contained a tube of lipstick, and waited until she heard the water shut off before she knocked on the bathroom door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You’re still here?”

“That’s not funny. I’m feeling better,” she said through the door. “I’m sorry I got so upset. I can handle this…I just need to focus on the story.”

She waited a moment. Nothing but silence followed. “I have to be upfront with you, though. I’m feeling awkward about you seeing me naked. You don’t remember everything you saw, do you? I mean you had a few too many drinks, too, right?”

No answer, just a few sounds on the other side of the door as he moved about.

“I mean, you don’t remember details, do you? It was dark last night, right?”

“All the lights were on,” he said. “I was one hundred percent sober. You have a tiny butterfly tattoo on your ass. Generally I don’t like tattoos, but yours I like.”

“It’s on my hip, not my ass,” she said.

“If I shut my eyes,” he went on, “I can see everything. For instance, you have a small mole on your back, right on the curve of your—”

“Okay, you can stop right there,” she said with a sigh. “I get the picture.”

The door came open. His hair was damp and untamed, a towel wrapped around his waist, his muscles wet and glistening.

I can handle this.

“Are you almost done?” she asked. “We have to be dressed, packed, and in the lobby by noon and I need to take a shower.”

He gestured for her to step inside. “It’s all yours.”

Before she made a move, he added, “A few words of advice.”

She looked at him questioningly, which wasn’t easy considering he was still half naked.

“You seem like a smart woman. Don’t waste time worrying about your body. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that. She’d always been hard on herself about the way she looked. She was short and flat-chested, but she wasn’t going to complain to him about her shortcomings. He’d seen it all last night. He knew, and yet he’d just told her she was— She wrinkled her nose. “Did you just say I was perfect?”

A corner of his mouth turned upright.

She lifted a brow, tried to forget about her tangled hair and the mascara smeared around her eyes. “Yesterday you said I was not well-endowed.”

He shook his head. “I said you didn’t look like Julia. Not the same thing.”

Oh, he was good. She lifted her chin. “Okay, I can live with that.”

“Good.”

“So you don’t think I’m short or flat-chested?”

He laughed, and she liked the way his eyes sparkled when he did.

“No,” he said. “You’re perfect. And I’m not going to say it again.”

“Well, okay then.”

“Okay.”

She waited for his mouth to quirk, something…anything that might indicate he was pulling her leg, trying to charm her like he did all the hundreds of women he dated. Not that she and Dominic were dating or anything. But he looked perfectly serious and that worried her. A girl like her could easily fall for a guy like him…fall so hard she might never get up.

She couldn’t allow that to happen. The man had dated zillions of women. No matter how innocent he pretended to be, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was hypnotizing her like a snake charmer, so that soon she, too, would be falling at his heels, begging for his attention. Her teeth clenched.

“What did I do now?”

“Nothing.” She tried to scoot past him. “You didn’t do anything.” Oh, but he had. He’d ruined her, called her things he had no business calling her. Beautiful. Perfect. What did that leave her to shoot for?

“You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I don’t believe you. Don’t be ridiculous. Why should I? You’ve dated dozens of women, each more beautiful than the last. I’m five three and a half and a little bit. Simply put—I’m short, practically non-existent, not exactly model material, but hey, I’m fine with that. I like who I am. But when a man, a rich and famous celebrity, comes along and tells me I’m perfect, it’s logical that I’m going to be a little skeptical.”

“You know what, Johnston? You’re tough on the outside, but on the inside you’re all mushy and as soft as freshly baked bread, aren’t you?”

Great, she was the Pillsbury Doughboy. “I should get ready.”

He didn’t bother moving, forcing her to squeeze past him, her body brushing against his.

She closed the door, careful not to hit his toes. Then she pushed the lock button and exhaled. She turned on the water in the shower and let her robe drop to the floor. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she tried to see herself through his eyes…in a whole new light.

Despite her current animosity toward the man, she was glowing. She could see it, but mostly she could feel it—that thing a woman felt deep inside when they met a special guy.

She thumped herself on the head with the palm of her hand.
It was just sex, Sam.
Everybody glows after a night of great sex. Don’t even think about falling for the guy or you’re just like all those other hopeless romantics. It was a night of sex, nothing more.

Sheesh. She hadn’t slept with a man, let alone gone on a date, in a very long time. Not since Ken. And now she was married to one of the sexiest men in America. She inhaled a shuddering breath. How in the world was she going to get through the next few months? Who was she kidding? All he had to do was tell her she was beautiful and perfect and she was his. Pathetic.

Turning away from the mirror, she climbed into the shower. Warm water dripped over her head and into her eyes. Two months and twenty-nine days to go. Then everything would be back to normal. She’d go back to living in her quiet one-bedroom apartment in Burbank. Or maybe she would buy a bigger place and write her book. She’d have her freedom and the story of the century, too. Everything would be grand.

Chapter Eight

Sam came out of the bathroom, wearing a robe. Dominic was nowhere to be seen and neither was her luggage. A red light on the phone blinked. She hit the button and listened to Ben’s voice telling Dominic to meet him in the lobby, pronto.

The phone rang. She picked up the receiver and said hello.

A timid voice said, “Sam, is that you?”

“Mom?”

“Do you have something to tell me and your father?”

Sam exhaled. “Mom,” she said, wondering how the heck she’d tracked her down so quickly. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I can’t go into any detail right now, but we’ll talk as soon as I—I mean as soon as we return home.”

“And where exactly is home? Or is that a secret, too?”

Her mom was whispering, probably afraid Dad would overhear. It broke Sam’s heart to hear the hurt in her mother’s voice, but there was nothing she could do about it. What was done, was done. “I’ll call you later, Mom, when I have more time to talk.”