Texas! Chase #2 (13 page)

"Since they retired, all they do is play golf.

They don't like to break golf dates. Besides, they felt as if being in town would put a damper on the honeymoon."

"Oh." He slipped out of his suit jacket. Glad

to be rid of it, he flexed his arms, rolled his shoulders and loosened the knot of his necktie.

"Should we open the champagne?"

"Why not?" Her gaiety sounded forced. She removed her hat and set it on an end table, then went for glasses. "It was thoughtful of

Devon and Lucky to give it to us. Especially since he's so against our marriage."

"What makes you say that?" He popped the cork on the champagne and poured it into the stems she held out to him.

"Are you kidding? I'd have to be blind not to see his disapproval. He scowls every time he looks at me."

"It's not you he's scowling at. It's me. His reservations have nothing to do with you. He's afraid that I'm going to make us both very unhappy."

"Are you?"

Their eyes connected. Though her mouth was softly curved into a smile, he could tell that her question wasn't flirtatious or frivolous.

"I'm going to try my best not to, Marcie."

"That's enough for me." She clinked her glass against his. Holding their stare, they sipped the cold, biting champagne. "Hungry?" she asked.

"Sort of."

Turning her back on him, she went into the kitchen. As she moved away from him, Chase noticed that the slender skirt of her suit fit her fanny very well. Good legs, too. He loosened his necktie even more and wondered why the heat was turned up so high.

To distract himself from his growing uneasiness he said, "Besides, Lucky has his nerve to criticize me when it comes to choosing a wife. Devon was married when they met."

"I remember. It was quite a scandal at the time. His alibi for the arson crime was a married woman he'd spent the night with."

"There were extenuating circumstances."

"Yes, I know. Seeing them together now, no one could doubt that they're made for each other." When she opened the refrigerator, she exclaimed, "Oh, my! Look, Chase!" She held up a large, cellophane-wrapped basket filled with cheeses, fresh fruit, a box of chocolates, and even a. small canned ham.

"There's a card." Opening the white envelope, she read aloud, " 'With love and best wishes for your happiness.' It's from your mother and Sage. Wasn't that sweet?"

He joined her at the island bar where she was unwrapping the cellophane. "It certainly was."

He was feeling unusually benevolent toward his sister because she had saved him from making an unforgivable faux pas. Earlier that day, she had asked him what kind of bouquet he'd arranged for Marcie to have. Shamefaced, he had admitted that a bouquet hadn't even crossed his mind.

In a panic Sage had said she would take care of it. Two hours later, and in the nick of time, she had returned with the bridal bouquet of white roses, white lilacs, and baby's breath, which Marcie had gently laid on the island bar beside the gift basket.

Obviously, going to the florist hadn't been the only errand Sage had run for him. Seeing the pleasure on Marcie's face as she unwrapped the goodies made him grateful to his mother and sister for thinking of it.

"They must have delivered it while my parents were here. I'd gone to the hairdresser.

Here, want some cheese?" She held a cube of baby Swiss up to him and he ate it from her fingers. His stomach took a nosedive when he felt her fleeting touch against his lips.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Newlyweds usually do this with wedding cake."

"We should have had a cake."

"It doesn't matter. I like doing things untraditionally."

She was smiling, but he sensed a tinge of sadness in her voice. It disappeared quickly. She even gave a soft laugh. "You'll stay hungry if I feed you every bite. Why don't you build a fire and I'll fix us each a plate. I was too nervous to eat much lunch."

By the time he had a fire burning brightly, she joined him in the living room, carrying two plates filled with crackers, cheese, wedges of apple and pear, and sliced ham.

She stepped out of her shoes and took off the jacket to her suit, making herself comfy in the leather chair she'd been sitting in seventy-two hours ago just before proposing to him.

In what he hoped was a good omen, the sun had come out that afternoon for the first time in days. By how, however, it had already slipped beneath the horizon, and the sky beyond the wall of windows was a deep lavender.

There was a generous moon, but the light it cast looked brittle and cold.

Inside, by contrast, enveloped in the fire's glow, they were warm. Marcie shone as bright as the firelight, Chase noticed as he methodically ate from the plate she had fixed him.

Her skirt and blouse were almost the same ivory color as the leather she was cushioned by. The monochromatic background set off the vibrant color of her hair. Her blouse was silk, he guessed, and soft looking. It conformed to her shape in a tantalizing, yet modest, way.

"Chase?"

Her hesitant voice brought his eyes up from her breasts. "Hmm?"

"Are you wondering what I look like without my clothes on?"

His mouth dropped open and stayed that way for several seconds. Then he closed it and smiled with self-derision. "I guess I was, subconsciously. Consciously I was thinking how pretty you look in firelight.

Your coloring matches it. Even your eyes. They're the same color as the blue in the flames."

"I wasn't fishing for compliments."

"I know."

She set her plate aside and picked up her glass of champagne, which he had already refilled. She gazed into the bubbly wine as she asked, "Have you ever wondered what I look like without my clothes on?" Before he had a chance to reply, she hastily added,

"Never mind. I know you haven't." She took a quick drink of champagne.

"Actually I have."

"You have?"

"Yep."

"When?"

"When we were in eleventh grade, I believe.

It was the end of the year. Awards day.

You walked across the stage to receive one of your many awards. As class president I was seated on the stage. You walked right in front of the spotlight, which was at the back of the auditorium. For several seconds you were cast in silhouette and I caught your profile. I remember thinking then, as a randy seventeen-year-old boy is wont to do, what you looked like naked."

She laughed a low, throaty laugh. "I wondered if you noticed." His baffled expression made her laugh again. "I knew exactly where you were sitting. As I passed you, I stuck out my chest on purpose."

"No fooling?" She nodded. "Why?"

"I guess I was trying to get your attention. Little good it did me," she remarked, brushing a nonexistent crumb from her skirt. "Your curiosity wasn't strong enough for you to try to find out what I looked like naked."

"Well, I was going steady with somebody else then. I think it was Linda—"

"No. Debbie Aldrich."

"Oh, right, Debbie. We broke up that summer right before our senior year."

"And then you started dating Lorna Fitzwilliams."

He shook his head. "How do you remember that?"

"I remember," she said softly. After draining her champagne, she left the leather chair.

"Would you like some chocolates or should we leave them for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. I'm full."

She smiled girlishly. "Okay. It'll give us something to look forward to." Leaving her jacket and shoes where she had discarded them, she headed toward the stairs in her stocking feet. "I'll go on up."

"Okay."

"See you in a minute then." There was a trace of inquiry at the end of her sentence.

"Sure. I'll just, uh, bank the fire."

She continued upstairs. When she reached the door to her bedroom, she looked down at him from the gallery and smiled beguilingly before disappearing through the bedroom door and closing it behind her.

Chase rubbed his palms up and down the thighs of his dress slacks. Then he gathered their dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

He conscientiously replaced the gift basket in the refrigerator. Dutifully, he checked the doors to make certain they were locked. He set the alarm system. He banked the fire.

When there was nothing left to do, he headed upstairs. About halfway up, he changed his mind.

Retracing his steps, he returned to the island bar, took a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet beneath it, and only then went to his room.

In the connecting bath, he filled the toothbrush glass with whiskey and downed it in one swallow. The liquor brought tears to his eyes and stung his esophagus, but spread a welcome heat through his midsection. It did little to relieve his anxiety, however.

How the hell was he going to get through this?

Damn his brother! Lucky had either been dead-center correct or else had planted a self-fulfilling thought in Chase's head. Either way, a one-night stand was altogether different from a wedding night.

The woman waiting for him in the next bedroom wasn't just a warm body. She was a personality, a smile, a heart that didn't deserve to be broken. But he had only so much to give and he feared it wasn't going to be enough.

Dammit, she had known that.

She had asked for this.

She had said that she would take whatever he had to give and expect nothing more.

With that in mind he removed his shirt but left his slacks on. The bandage around his middle showed up very white against his tanned chest and dark trousers. He took off his shoes and socks. He raked a hairbrush through his hair. He brushed his teeth. He splashed on some cologne. For good measure he threw back another shot of whiskey.

Then he sat down on the.edge of his bed and stared at the door. It was like when he was a kid, knowing he had to get a shot and waiting in the doctor's reception room. Dreading it was the worst part. That's when the

stomach fluttered and the palms sweat. The longer he put it off, the worse it became. Best to get it over with. He got up, left his room, and marched down the gallery. He knocked on her closed door.

"Come in, Chase."

There were burning candles and vases of fresh flowers scattered throughout the room.

The combination smelled wonderful, as intoxicating as the whiskey.

His eyes made a wide sweep of the room before stopping abruptly on Marcie. She was an angelic vision where she stood beside the king-size bed, which had already been turned down to reveal satin sheets the pastel color of the inside of a seashell.

Her peignoir was pale and silky. The shape of her body was outlined beneath it. Through it, he easily located the centers of her breasts and the delta of her thighs. She had taken down her hair. With candlelight shining through it, it looked like a halo surrounding her head.

But the look in her eyes wasn't innocent. Not by a long shot.

Mentally Chase groaned. She was making this out to be something special, a typical wedding night made for lovers.

"I thought you might like more champagne."

She indicated a silver ice bucket on the nightstand.

In it was an unopened bottle that she must have brought up ahead of time. There were two tall tulip-shaped crystal glasses standing beside it.

"No thanks," he said gruffly.

"All right."

This was no doubt where the bridegroom was supposed to seize the initiative. Moving stiffly, he crossed the room until he reached her. He knew he was expected to say something nice. "I like your… your thing." He gestured down at the nightgown.

"Thank you. I hoped you would."

A kiss was called for. Okay. He could handle that. He'd been kissing girls for decades.

Placing his arms around her, he drew her forwards—stopping short of bringing their bodies together—and kissed first her forehead, then her cheek, and finally laid his lips upon hers.

Hers parted invitingly. Her breath was sweet and clean. He experienced a flurry of curiosity.

Should he acknowledge it, gratify it?

Should he slip his tongue into her mouth? It would be the kind and considerate thing to do.

But no. No sense in taking this thing any further than it was required to go. He kept his lips resolutely closed and after a few seconds, raised his head. It had been about as dry, uninspired, and sterile a kiss as one could bestow. Yet his heart was knocking.

That erratic heartbeat forced him to admit that the emotion keeping him from intimately kissing her was fear—the cold, stark fear that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

He'd had one taste of her today, and the essence had lingered on his lips for hours. If he indulged that sudden craving now…

Another thought suddenly occurred to him, more terrifying than the previous one. What if he couldn't get an erection? Even at his drunkest he had never failed to perform sexually.

Of all the women he had bedded, none could fault him when it came to physical preparedness.

Knowing Marcie as a friend might make a difference.

Dear Lord, he hoped not. The fear of failure paralyzed him.

Marcie must have sensed that he was having difficulty of some sort. Smiling tentatively, she crossed her arms over her chest and slowly lowered the thin straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, pulling them down her arms until she was bare to her narrow waist.

Her breasts were high and round and pale.

She had possibly the pinkest nipples he had ever seen. And the most sensitive. Because when she removed her nightgown and the air touched them, they shriveled and darkened to an even deeper shade of pink. They became very hard.

Chase's mouth began to water. He swallowed to keep from drowning. His body quickened behind the fly of his slacks and he felt a surge of relief.

Marcie let her nightgown slide to the floor.

Gracefully, she stepped out of the circle of fabric and faced him naked. Her feet were high arched and slender. Her long legs were almost coltishly thin, but well shaped. There was a definite flaring curve to her hips, but they weren't voluptuous.

What drew his eyes like a magnet, however, was the cluster of ginger curls between her thighs. It was a lush, wanton, feminine sight.