Sweet Salvation (20 page)

“Beautiful.”

Coming down in recovery, she huffed a shuddering breath, amazed he had made her come without touching her pussy.

“That was awesome, sugar,” she said breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” His voice was muffled against her belly and she noticed the downward path he was taking. When he passed her navel and moved on past her hips, she wondered. He was in a very generous and giving mood, and she loved it, but it was his turn now.

His mouth between her thighs jolted her.

“Jared, what are you doing?”

“Still savoring, baby.” Their eyes connected again, his gleaming and wicked and all that she could see above the spread of her legs. “Still hungry, too; lie back and enjoy.”

She did exactly that because it was so damn hot! The vibration of his deep voice against her clit almost had her shooting off again. Although she hung on, she was quickly on the edge. He was really very good at this, his lips and tongue imitating exactly how he’d taken her nipple, licking, nipping, and sucking hard. She was close, but when he slid two fingers into her soaking wet channel, she exploded again.

He still didn’t stop, working deep inside, finding her g-spot and sustaining the pleasure until she came once again with another scream, guttural and raw this time.

“Jared…” That was all she could manage and he seemed to realize it as he slid up her body, his cock finding its home in her still clenching channel.

“My Stacy—so sweet—every delicious decadent inch of you. Give me one more, but this time, I want you to come on my cock.”

He rode her then, hard and fast, moving past savoring and on to devouring. His mouth fused with hers, his tongue and cock simultaneously took what they wanted from her. His hands slid underneath, one at her back holding her bowed so her breasts melded with his chest, the other at her ass, tilting her hips for just the right angle for penetration as he plunged over and over, again and again. Finally, after what seemed like hours of glorious pleasure, he came hard, shuddering and shaking against her well-used body and she loved every minute of it.

Desert Sand #401 glided on the wall in a narrow swath of her brush, easily covering the current gunmetal gray.
Who painted a bedroom the color of a battleship? Hideous.
Popping open the next sample can the designer had given her, she eyed the slate blue she had recommended for the trim.

A throat clearing behind her had her glancing over her shoulder. Jared leaned in the doorway, one broad shoulder propped against the frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. She’d heard him in the gym a little while ago. He’d obviously finished his workout and had showered, his hair still damp and curling around his ears. The droplets of water clinging to his shoulders invited her fingers and she found herself moving toward him, brush still in hand. The plop of paint on the carpet reminded her of what she was doing and she set her brush aside. Ignoring the carpet, which was due to be replaced, she grabbed a rag to wipe her paint-stained fingers. Giving him her full attention, she noticed that although he appeared relaxed, the tense set of his jaw said something was wrong.

“It’s 12:45. Did you forget something?”

Stacy looked at her watch in disbelief. She’d been experimenting with paint samples for almost two hours and totally missed her lunch date. “Good heavens, your mother! I completely lost track of time.”

“So the call from my mother just now told me. You stood her up, Stace.”

“I got so excited about the paint samples Carla brought by earlier, I forgot.”

“Hm, seems like you forget a lot of wedding-related appointments lately. Like the cake tasting on Thursday and the bridal salon last week. If these things were more important to you, I imagine you would remember.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is the truth, Stacy? You don’t seem interested in doing anything about this wedding. You procrastinate and forget appointments. You’ve farmed out half the work to Jess. What am I supposed to think? Are you having doubts about marrying me?”

“Never, darlin’, I swear.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Sighing heavily, she plopped down on the guest bed, pulling the ugly black and green comforter over her head. Her voice came out muffled as she asked for the umpteenth time, “Can’t we just elope?”

Silence was her answer.

Sighing heavily, she told him the truth. “I want to
be
married… I just don’t want to
get
married. Can’t we skip all the hoopla and just cut to the chase, in Vegas?” Holding her breath, she waited for his reaction.

The mattress shifted under his weight and a small tug-of-war with the covers ensued. “Enough, Stacy, look at me.”

Groaning, she shook her head. “I don’t want to. You’re angry.”

“No, I’m disappointed. There’s a difference.”

“Disappointment is worse.”

He tugged again and the comforter fell away, revealing Stacy, her face now covered with her hands.

“Stacy…”

His stern tone aside, she was fully aware she was acting like a child. Moving her hands, she propped herself on her elbows. “I’ll call her right away and reschedule.”

Jared reached out and brushed her mussed hair from her face. “An apology is a start, but you’re going to have to do more than that. Mom invited us for dinner to go over what the florist had to offer.”

“Eloping would be so much easier, Jared.” Sitting up, she curled her legs under and pushed up to her knees. Leaning toward him, she slid her hands up his chest, her fingers sifting through the light smattering of curly hair, which was just enough to be masculine, sexy and oh so perfect. Peeking up with her best look of contrition, she appealed to the playful romantic in him. “Doesn’t it sound exciting, jetting off to Vegas, just you and me? I hear the Bellagio is absolutely decadent. We could get the bridal suite, make love endlessly in front of a fire, take in a few shows if we need to come up for air, then go back and make love some more.”

His hands came up to still her teasing fingers, “Sounds like a dream honeymoon, baby, which comes after the wedding that you are supposed to be planning. The ceremony is important to me. We’ve discussed this.”

“But it’s our wedding. Shouldn’t we get to choose?”

“Yes, but the key word is ‘we.’ Since our opinions so widely differ, a compromise is in order, somewhere between Vegas and an affair of state. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose.”

“It’s a celebration of our marriage, Stacy. Our family and friends should be a part of that.”

But I don’t have any family and very few friends
. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that, but how pathetic and selfish did that sound? Pushing to her feet, she began to pace beside the bed, twisting her fingers in agitation.

“It’s just not me, Jared: it’s the gown and champagne, the fancy invitations and flowers, cake, registries, showers, and all the rest of it. I’m a gazebo by the water, sundress, and flip-flops kind of girl. I don’t like a big fuss, you know that.”

“I do, sweetheart, and I’ve told my mother we want something small and simple. I’ll remind her.”

“She wants to have the reception at the country club, Jared. That’s not simple.”

“Come here.”

She hesitated.

He crooked his finger at her, the command unmistakable. When she approached, he opened his arms invitingly. She immediately climbed into his lap and he hugged her tightly. She slid her hands over his broad shoulders, wedging her face into the bend of his neck.

“It’s hard doing the right thing sometimes.”

Pulling back, she stared at him open-mouthed. “You don’t want any of this fuss either, do you?”

“I want a small celebration with family and friends. I’ll talk to Mom and have her back off. I think it’s about time we hire a wedding planner and let her take care of everything to your specifications.”

“Thank you, Jared. I appreciate her help, really I do. Heaven knows I couldn’t plan everything by myself, but our ideas of small and simple are worlds apart. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and didn’t know how to tell her.”

“She’ll understand, baby.”

“Does that mean I just have to show up and say I do?”

“No, but I’ll get more involved and help you keep up with your appointments.”

“So is Liberace in a little white chapel in Vegas a definite no-go then?”

With a tug, he had her against his chest and rolled, taking her to her back on the bed, leaning over her.

“Not a fan? How about Elvis, fewer rhinestones, and a lower voice?”

“Stacy…”

“What’s wrong with the King? I like his pelvis and his sideburns are sexy.”

She wiggled and squirmed as his fingers danced along her sides, tickling. His warm breath in her ear sent electricity coursing through her body. He whispered only one word, “Smartass.”

She laughed. Then the tickling began full measure, mercilessly tormenting until she pleaded for him to stop, which he did. After the tickling, the stroking and caressing began. It was after two o’clock before she got a chance to call his mother to apologize.

* * *

The car slowed to a crawl, as Stacy—unable to stand being cooped up another instant—leapt out. Slamming the door behind her, she ignored Jared’s shout of alarm. She really didn’t care. If the silence in the car on the way home was any indication, he couldn’t be any more ticked at her. Her ass was grass regardless.

Rushing up the snow-covered walk, she shivered as a blast of frigid wind swirled under her heavy skirt, billowing it outward and chilling her to the bone. It had been near sixty degrees in Atlanta today. What had she been thinking to leave the balmy Georgia winters behind for frozen Michigan of all places? She couldn’t remember the last day she’d felt warm. Was it September? It had snowed the first week of October—she remembered that. Back home, she would have been wearing shorts and flip-flops until Halloween.

She was tired of it all. Tired of scraping her windshield after work and digging out the end of the driveway where the snowplow deposited the street snow, tired of wearing long johns under five layers of clothes just to get the mail, and what was with the ugly black snow lining the roads? It was depressing. On top of all that, she could barely walk anywhere without slipping and looking like a fool. She’d busted her ass at least three times already and it was only January. If it weren’t for Jared, she’d have packed up and headed south long ago.

Amazingly, she made it to the front door without falling on the icy walk. She let herself in, not waiting for Jared who was pulling the car into the garage. Stomping her feet to clear her boots of snow, she quickly unbuttoned her heavy wool coat and pulled off her scarf and mittens. She wanted to get upstairs and into a hot shower before Jared made it inside. Sitting down on the hallway bench, she cursed her bad luck when her boots refused to cooperate, foiling her plan. Struggling with the zipper, she pulled and tugged, but the more she fought, the more her tights became wedged in the teeth.

“Dang it all!” Tugging on the heel, she tried pulling it off without unzipping it, but the darn thing wouldn’t budge.

“Need some help?”

Whipping her head around, she met Jared’s steely gaze from where he stood at the end of the hallway. One hand nonchalantly petted Bruno, who was staring at her with what seemed like accusation in his eyes—just like his master. See if she let him lick anymore bowls or sleep at her feet on the couch, the big traitor. Stacy’s eyes fell to where Sheba was busily rubbing against him and purring, as she happily curled around his booted feet. Figures, her cat was faithless too. Her gaze rose to Jared. Despite the casual way he stroked Bruno, Stacy could tell by the set of his shoulders and his rigidly held jaw that he was angry.

Nodding, she whispered, “My zipper is stuck.”

Kneeling, he took the uncooperative boot in his big hands and bent his head to the task. A few strong tugs later, the zipper was freed and he whisked the leather down her calf and off her foot. Setting it aside, he easily removed its mate. Warm hands slid up her legs, disappearing beneath her skirt as they came to rest on her upper thighs, firmly holding her in place. He then looked up at her.

“Want to tell me what came over you just now? You could have slipped on the icy driveway and slid under the vehicle. I could have run over you, for Christ’s sake.” The slight inflection in his usually calm voice told the story. She felt his fingers flexing on her thighs, his agitation subtle but clear.

“I just had to get out. I was feeling—” She stopped herself before the word suffocated passed her lips. That was sure to be accepted poorly. “I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Finish your thought. You were feeling what?”

Looking down at her tightly clasped hands, she shook her head.

“Your therapist warned against suppressing your feelings and keeping things inside. Talk to me.”

True, she’d seen her new psychiatrist twice this week, once alone and the other with Jared. She had advised that she be open and honest with Jared about what she was feeling, but the doctor had also talked about Jared being supporting and empowering, not mollycoddling. What he’d done at dinner tonight was quite the opposite.

Open and honest didn’t mean throwing caution to the wind, however. There was no way she was going to admit that she jumped out of the car to get away from her insensitive jerk of a fiancé. Or that she’d rather be almost anywhere else—the dentist, stuck on the Southfield freeway during rush hour, up in the stirrups for her annual Pap or blocking for the Detroit Derby Girls roller derby team (an inarguable death wish for Stacy at 5′2″ and one hundred pounds and change). Nope, open and honest were not recommended in this situation, so she shook her head instead.

Predictably, Jared let out a short huff of exasperation before he stood, towering over her, his disappointment and frustration pouring off him in waves. “I think you need to head upstairs and get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a few minutes after I let Bruno out, feed Sheba, and lock up for the night.”

“It’s eight o’clock, Jared. I’m not tired,” she protested.