The Wedding Band (11 page)

She turned to go, dragging her feet, secretly wishing—­

“The thing is,” he said, and she turned back, all ears. “I could use some help with Blackie's leg. You might've seen the bandage.”

“I didn't notice. What happened?”

“Just a scratch, but in this climate . . .” He shrugged one shoulder. One awesome shoulder. “Anyway, if you're busy—­”

“No, I'll get my sandals.”

In her room, sanity grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a hard shake. “It's bullshit, and you know it,” she told herself in the mirror. “Blackie would walk on his hind legs for Kota. He'll certainly stand still for a bandage.”

She paced. “I should stay away. He's too hot. I mean, come on, those abs.” She shivered. “And I like him. Why do I like him?”

Van Gogh strolled into the room. Chris pointed at him. “You. The earless cat. That's why I like him.” He did a silent meow. She clutched her head. “What's happening to me? How can I do this?”

She even wasn't sure what “this” was. Visit the horses with Kota? Make it through the next week? Write a story exploiting his brother? Throw in some juicy stuff about their deadbeat parents?

“Take your pick,” she told Van Gogh. “They're just points on the continuum of fraud and deception.”

“Hey, babe?” Kota called down the hallway. “Wear something you can ride in and we'll take Sugar for a run.”

Her conscience scraped pointy claws across her brain.
Pull out,
it said
. Tell him you changed your mind. You've got to buckle down to work. No time for racing through the meadow bareback with his arms wrapped around you.

She opened her mouth with the best of intentions. And out came “Sounds good. I'll be right there.”

Conscience reared up again, but Denial kicked it in the balls.

Get over yourself. It's just a ride through the meadow.

What can it hurt?

 

Chapter Twelve

W
ITH HIS LEAD
tied loosely to the wall of the shed, Blackie stood perfectly still while Kota unwrapped his foreleg and gave the scratch a long study. “Looks good,” he said, satisfied. He rose and patted the horse's shoulder.

Blackie gave him a solid bump.

“Easy, boy. Let me wrap you up before you start your shenanigans.” Kota squatted to slather on salve. Christy stood behind him, peering over his shoulder.

When he was done, he passed her the jar. She turned it over. “There's no label,” she said. “What is it?”

“A little something I mixed up.”

“You
invented
it?” She sounded flabbergasted.

“
Invented
might be a strong word.” He wound the bandage around Blackie's leg, snipped it off, and stood up. “I combined some common natural remedies in proportions I thought would be most effective.”

She looked stumped.

He hooked a finger under her chin. “If it makes you feel better, sweetheart, I think with my dick most of the time and only fall back on my brain in a crisis.”

That got a smile out of her. And what a smile it was, a curve of luscious lips that cut off his brain and went straight to his dick. He had to taste her.

Cupping her cheek, he dipped his chin, angled his head for a kiss . . . and Blackie body-­slammed him, catching him flatfooted. “Shit!” He staggered sideways and cartwheeled over a hay bale.

“God
damn
it.”

He sat up, nursing his elbow and glaring at Blackie, who laughed his secret horse laugh.

Christy was no better. She had her hands on her knees, busting a gut at his expense.

“What if I broke something?” he threw out at the pair of them. “Then how would you feel?”

It fell on deaf ears.

He faked a limp but that got him nowhere, so he untied Blackie's lead and pointed out of the shed. “Go tell your friends how you messed up our first kiss. I bet they'll have something to say about it.”

Christy leaned against the wall, wiping her eyes. “If only I had that on film. I'd run it backwards and forwards.”

He pointed his elbow at her accusingly, showing a big, dirty scrape.

She held up a finger. “I've got just the thing.” She balanced the jar on her palm. “A miracle salve made from common natural remedies blended together in their most effective proportions.”

He plucked the jar from her hand and tossed it over his shoulder. “Very funny.” He backed her against the wall.

“You have no idea.” She drilled a finger in his ribs.

He flinched, then gave her his famous you-­fucked-­with-­the-­wrong-­guy squint. “I don't like being tickled.”

She squinted back. “I don't like being crowded.”

“Liar,” he murmured, moving in until there was no space between them. He pushed his hands into her hair. It slid through his fingers, softer than satin. He lowered his chin and went in for the kiss he'd been robbed of.

And she cut her eyes to the left. “Blackie!”

He whirled, duped like an amateur, while she slipped through his fingers and out of the shed.

He found her in the trees, doubled over. “You need to work out more,” he informed her tartly, “so you don't have a heart attack.” But when she looked up, he realized she wasn't winded. She was laughing her ass off. He did his ruthless-­killer squint.

“Oooooh, Mr. Badass, don't hurt me.” She clutched her side.

That did it. He put her over his shoulder.

Laughter morphed to outrage. “Hey!” She drummed his back with her fists as he walked five steps to Sugar, who'd trailed him like a kid sister.

Flopping her over Sugar's back, he said, “You'll enjoy this more sitting up, but I'm good either way.” He slapped her luscious flank smartly. “Your call.”

“I'll sit up.” Her words were muffled, but her tone was clear, and deadly. “You'll want to watch your back from now on.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He lifted her easily and set her on the horse right-­side up. Then he scooped up Tri. “Hang onto him, he gets wiggly.”

And grabbing a handful of mane, he leaped up behind her.

T
ALK ABOUT INTIMATE.
What could be more intimate than a Kota-­cocoon? His arms caged hers; his groin cradled her butt. His heat soaked through her thin cotton tee.

It was all so wrong, but it felt so right.

He held Sugar to an amble, meandering through meadow and ferns, sunlight and shade. The herd moseyed alongside. Birds chirped and twittered.

Chris knew she should be mad about his manhandling, but really, she'd asked for it. And how could she complain when she was right where she wanted to be?

They poked along in silence, and it occurred to Chris that Kota was utterly relaxed, perfectly content here among the horses.

It made her ask, “Why Hollywood?” She'd never wondered before, because it seemed obvious: He'd gone to Hollywood to become famous, feed his bottomless ego, and make money hand over fist.

It didn't seem obvious anymore. “Why didn't you work with animals? That's where your heart is.”

“Vet school was the plan,” he said. “I got sidetracked.”

That sounded more like it, except, “Isn't it really hard to get into vet school? Academically, I mean.”

“I know this'll shock you, but I had a 4.0 when I dropped out of college.”

“Get out.”

“Already accepted to vet school at Cornell.”

“
Seriously?
I mean, wow. Huh.”

“Gee, thanks.” Dry as dust.

“Listen, I'm sorry. But it's not like you advertise your IQ. Your films—­”

“Gross hundreds of millions, of which I get a fat percentage.”

“Okay, but—­”

He cut in, clearly pissed. “I'm filthy fucking rich. I couldn't spend it in three lifetimes.”

“But—­”

He exploded. “What part don't you get? Money, fame, women. Cars, a jet, a fucking island all my own. It's the American dream, baby. Whatever I want, I can have.” He caught her chin and took her lips in a fierce kiss that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with control.

She didn't try to resist; she simply reached behind her back and grabbed a handful of nuts.

He froze.

She pulled her head away. “Say you're sorry,” she gritted past clenched teeth.

Tension vibrated through his huge frame. Sugar stopped walking. The herd gathered round.

Then, like steam through a pressure valve, he blew out a breath. His body deflated. “I'm sorry. I'm a dick.”

“You
are
. You are
such
a dick.” She resisted the urge to give a hard squeeze before she unhanded him. “What the hell got into you?”

He shook his head like he couldn't explain it.

“You upset everyone,” she said.

“I know. My bad.” He stroked Tri till he stopped quivering. The horses went back to their business; Cy resumed his patrol.

But Chris wasn't letting him off that easy. He hadn't hurt her, but he'd startled the hell out of her. “You're too big to pull that shit. It's scary.”

His whole body telegraphed remorse. “It won't happen again. I promise.”

“I'd feel better if I knew why you did it the first time.”

Sugar topped out on a bluff, and for a moment they simply sat and took in the view, the sea stretching to the horizon, glittering and empty and vast.

Then he nudged Sugar down the path toward the beach below. When her hooves sank into the sand, he stopped her with a word and slid from her back.

He lifted Chris down, holding onto her waist even after her feet touched the ground.

“I can't explain,” he said, “without sounding like an ungrateful asshole. I
am
rich and famous. I
do
have everything money can buy. There's not a handful of men in the world who wouldn't trade places with me.”

Looking up at him, she saw past the movie star to the troubled man inside. “Except you,” she said. “You wouldn't trade places with you.”

“Ungrateful asshole that I am.”

She touched his cheek, and he smiled. The shadows melted from his eyes. Kota couldn't seem to hold onto a bad mood—­another thing she liked about him. The list kept growing.

“Don't get me wrong,” he said, “there's a lot to love about my life, and I make the most of it.” He turned her around to face the water. “This right here is one of the highlights. And it's all ours, so strip down and let's get wet.”

It was too good to resist, but she fought it anyway. “I don't think—­”

“Good idea, don't think. Just swim.” He pulled off his boots, unbuttoned his Levi's. Her eyes followed his zipper.

He paused, jeans still hooked on his hips. “Sweetheart, that water's warm and wet, and once we're in it we'll both feel a whole lot better. So strip down to your skivvies and I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to.”

But that was the problem, wasn't it? She couldn't think of anything she didn't want him to do.

W
ADING IN,
K
OTA
tried to focus on the waves breaking against his thighs instead of Christy's hot pink panties and bra.

Hot. Pink.

The color was burned into his retinas. He dove through a chest-­high wave and swam out past the breakers. Treading water, he tried not to stare, but damn it, she took her time wading in, foam spraying her skin as the waves licked at her legs.

Then she knifed through a wave, surfacing to breaststroke toward him, sleek as a seal.

She stopped at arm's length to tread water, squinting in the sunlight. “Are there sharks out here?”

“I don't know. Let me check.” Ducking under, he got a shark's-­eye view of flashing silver legs and pink-­wrapped cheeks.

Circling her thighs, he skimmed fingertips over slippery skin, snapped elastic with one finger, caught her big toe and released it.

Then he peeled away and popped up where he started. “Only one, but he's big.”

She smirked, then dove. Silver and pink flickered around his thighs as she circled, more mermaid than shark. He waited, heart racing, for the stroke of her hand on bare skin—­

And she pinched him.

“Ow!”

She broke the surface, laughing.

He closed in until they were just inches apart, close enough to see the gold ring around her irises. Their legs brushed as they treaded water, neither giving ground.

“First you tickle me,” he said, “then you strangle my nuts, and now you pinch me. You're such a girl.” He made it a taunt.

“First you crush me to the wall, then you throw me over your shoulder, then you abduct me on your horse. You're such a caveman.” She made it a sneer.

He went nose to nose. “Me Tarzan, you Jane.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Cavemen don't talk much. We drag women around by their hair.” He took a handful of hers.

“You wouldn't dare.”

“There's not much I wouldn't dare.” He released her hair and gripped her hips with both hands. She was built for him, her curves a perfect fit in his palms.

He tugged her to him, and her breasts swelled against his chest, ballooning up from her pretty pink bra.

Until he unhooked it with two fingers.

He pulled back just enough to let it float out of the way. Then he slid a hand up to cup her. Her nipple hardened as he felt her up.

“Yep, you're definitely a girl.”

“And you're definitely a caveman.” Husky, like she liked cavemen a lot. “But—­”

“Okay.” He grabbed a handful of butt too.

“Not that kind of but.”

But . . . she didn't dislodge his hand. Their legs undulated in tandem. Her lips glistened with seawater. He licked it off with a slow stroke of his tongue.

She let out a little moan. Slid her palms up his arms and got a grip on his shoulders. Her breasts slipped and slid over his pecs. “We have to stop,” she murmured.

“No we don't.” His splayed hand crushed her against his hard-­on. She resisted by wriggling, making both of them hotter.

He licked her lips again. “Baby, let me in.”

She shook her head, but weakly. She was folding like paper.

Then he pushed his fingers inside those hot pink panties, and damned if her eyes didn't glaze with pure lust. It unchained his own, and he reached for the heat, finding it with his fingertips, wetter than water.

Christy quit resisting. She let him in, all right, between her legs, between her lips, kissing like she sang, with her whole body and soul. She tasted like salt and surrender, and he wanted to eat her alive.

They fought the swells, thrashing their legs, dragging each other under. On land he'd be inside her by now. But strong and motivated as he was, in choppy ten-­foot water, they were drowning.

He broke away at last. “The beach,” he got out. And they swam like Jaws was chasing them.

C
HRIS STAGGERED THROU
GH
the shallows to dry land, hands on her knees, sucking wind.

Kota charged up behind her, catching her waist, turning her, lifting her so her legs naturally hooked over his hips.

One huge hand cupped the back of her head, bracing it as he took her mouth, her tongue. His other hand supported her ass, fingers inside her panties, inside her.

Her conscience squawked. She ignored it, scraping nails over bunched shoulders, along straining triceps. Kissing him, soaking up his heat, his awesome strength.

He released her lips to drag kisses down her throat. “Baby.” His breath was a rasp. “It's a long shot, but you got any condoms on you?”

She huffed out a laugh; frustration and dismay. “Yeah, right here in my pocket.”

He dropped his forehead on her shoulder and shuddered out a breath. When he lifted his head, his jaw was tight, but his eyes were hot. “I'm not coming till I'm inside you, but there's no reason you have to wait.”