The Wedding Band (9 page)

He spread the pasta on parchment. “Something like that.”

She huffed. “The arrogance.”

“I almost had you on the porch.”

“Pfft. I had an itch on my arm and you happened to scratch it.”

He snickered.

She took a measured sip of wine. It wouldn't do to get drunk. Besides, even if it was noon in L.A., it was breakfast time here.

Which meant she was drinking with breakfast. Way to kick off the week.

She set her glass on the counter. “It can't be nine o'clock yet. Wouldn't bacon and eggs be more like it?”

“Look around,” he said. “You see any clocks?”

She looked. No clocks.

“I don't know about you,” he said, “but my life's scheduled down to the minute. Studio, set, meetings, read-­throughs, more meetings, photo shoots, interviews.”

He spread another handful of pasta on parchment. “When I come here, I don't give a shit what time it is. I do what I want, when I want.” He shrugged. “Pasta for breakfast? Why not? With wine? Why not?”

She couldn't think of a good reason. Besides, she'd been up all night, with just a nap on the plane. She'd eaten next to nothing for twenty-­four hours. And, well, pasta.

She picked up her glass. “Okay, I'm good with that.”

T
HEY ATE
A
LFREDO
in the deep shade of the porch, at a café table barely big enough for their plates.

At a table that small, intimacy was on the menu, which was exactly why Kota chose it. He was close enough to see the gold flecks in Christy's caramel eyes.

Lunch had lightened her mood. “This is amazing.” Her eyes rolled in ecstasy. “The pasta, oh God. And the sauce. So creamy, but so light.”

He topped off her wine, even though it would probably put her to sleep. The truth was, he could use some shuteye himself. Just a catnap before sex. Then another one after.

Meanwhile, he enjoyed her enjoyment, happy to contribute to her wonderful ass.

Around them, peace reigned. The dogs snored under the table. Sunlight glinted off the water. A breeze fanned the stray hairs trailing from Christy's messy bun.

His gaze lingered on creamy shoulders. “You'll want to stay in the shade at midday, or you'll burn to a crisp.”

“No problem. I'm going straight from this table to bed.”

He smiled.

“For a nap,” she clarified.

“Sure.” He nodded agreeably. “A nap sounds good.”

“Alone.”

“Up to you. I'll fight you for the hammock.” He aimed a thumb over his shoulder where it swayed in the breeze. “Or we can share. It's big enough for two.”

“That'll be the day.”

“Your loss. It's the best napping spot on the island. And it's not like we could have sex in it, if that's what you're worried about.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Believe me, I've tried,” he went on, “and I'm too damn big.”

“And so modest.”

He wagged his head. “You've got a dirty mind. I noticed it before, the way you always find a double meaning—­a
sexual
meaning—­in every innocent remark.”

She snorted. “No, that would be you.”

He gave her a pitying look. “You can try turning it around on me, but we both know you just proved my point with the hammock thing. What I
meant
is I'm too heavy. I start moving around and the hammock always flips over. And nothing kills the mood like a face-­plant on the floor.”

He spread his hands. “As for what you
thought
I meant, well, I've never gotten that far before flipping. But now that you mention it, you're probably right. I'm probably too big.”

“Wait a minute.
I
didn't say you were too big.”

“And why would you? It's nothing to complain about, right? I mean, I get a lot of oohing and aahing, but no complaints.”

She laughed, finally, just when he was starting to wonder if she'd left her sense of humor on the plane.

With a lazy turn of her wrist, she wound her fork in the pasta, then she sucked it off—­just a quick slurp and a flash of tongue—­and his head spun a dizzy loop.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the woman. Either way, he liked it.

Under the tiny table, their knees brushed lightly. And she didn't pull away.

W
INE FOR BREAKFAST
didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Honestly, through wine goggles, Chris's situation looked a lot less dire. Sure, she was stranded on a desert island with a guy her body wanted to jump but her mind said was off limits. That part was no fun.

But there was plenty of good stuff too.

For one, he could cook. For another, he'd showed her the wine cellar—­stocked! For another, he was funny. For another, he was hot.

Oh wait, hot wasn't good. Hot made her life suck.

She pushed her wineglass away, better late than before she did something stupid.

Like put her hand on his thigh.

His thigh, which was muscled and tanned and so close to hers that their knees were touching. Not her fault! The table was teeny-­weeny. Four legs couldn't fit under it without making contact.

Anyway, back to handling his thigh. She couldn't. But she wanted to. His legs were
soooo
long and lean.

She sat back in her chair to steal a look. Sneakily and unobtrusively. And he just happened to lift his foot to scratch Cy, making his quadriceps flex in all their magnificence.

Go figure. All her life she'd been an arm girl. Now she was a leg girl too. All because of that thigh. And his calf was glorious too.

Even his foot was nice. Even his toes.

Who had nice toes? Only Kota. He could be a toe model.

She reached for her wine again. Might as well, right? Enjoy the buzz before she crashed. Cuz when she woke up, she'd be back to reality. Back to fretting about her precarious career and her nerve-­wracking plot to salvage it—­

Nope, don't go there now. Just enjoy the buzz.

“We can arm wrestle for the hammock,” Kota offered.

She laughed. “Gee, I wonder who'll win.”

“I'll give you a handicap.” He set their empty plates on the floor and propped his elbow on the table.

When she simply looked at him, he took her wineglass and set that on the floor too, then positioned her elbow on the table and clasped her hand in an arm wrestler's grip.

She laughed again at the comical contrast; his arm made four of hers, and her hand disappeared in his grip.

She went for a quick slam, hoping to catch him off guard.

He gave her a pitying smile.

She shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

“Whatever. Now listen up, because I'm gonna teach you how to win any match with any man. It'll come in handy if you're ever down on your luck and need to make a quick buck.”

“Let me guess. I should flash some tit.” She whipped her shoulder strap down. His eyes darted to her breast, and—­wham—­she took him down.

Then up went her strap.

“What the hell!”

She snorted a laugh. “I traveled with a
band
. I know the power of the tit.”

He looked stunned, then offended. “So you flashed 'em around to get what you wanted? A little nipple for a better seat on the tour bus?”

“Don't talk to me about flashing the goods.” She drilled a finger into his biceps.

He didn't deign to answer.

Instead, he positioned their arms for another round. “Let's try that again.”

Down went her strap; slam went his hand.

“I can do this all day,” she said.

“Me too.” He grinned.

“Perv.” She shook off his hand and stood up. “Out of my way, loser. I've got a date with the hammock.”

H
ALF-­DOLLAR-­SI
ZED AND ROSE-­PETAL
pink, Christy's nipple was burned into Kota's brain.

He watched her sashay to the hammock, then roll in like a sack of potatoes. Tri danced around underneath until she scooped him up, showing a mile of leg and almost landing on the floor in the process.

Then the lucky dog snuggled into her armpit and the pair of them corked off in five seconds flat.

Rubbing his knuckles where they'd whacked the table—­twice—­he considered the awesome power of the tit. Muscles were no match for it. Money? A joke. Brains? Get real.

The tit reigned supreme.

Now for another glimpse.

He left Cy cleaning the plates and tiptoed across the porch. Carefully, he sat on the side of the hammock. Then, in one suave move, he straightened and rolled, pushed her up on her side, and spooned her, all with barely a ripple.

Tri wriggled out from under her side, shot him a dirty look, then curled up against her breasts and corked off again.

Christy snored through the whole thing.

Which was a major disappointment. He'd hoped for some groggy, half-­drunk, half-­asleep horniness, where her defenses dropped and she melted into him and they ended up on the floor, but not until he'd proven he wasn't too big for hammock sex after all.

Instead, she slept on, while his conscience fought a dirty little war with desire.

Desire had him sliding the strap down her shoulder, not far enough to see more than the swell but enough to slip his hand inside if he wanted to. He wanted to. And what was the harm? He'd felt up sleeping women before.

Sleeping women, his conscience pointed out, who'd already let him feel them up when they were awake.

Conscience had Ma on its side.

With a sigh of defeat, he lifted her head and slipped his arm under to pillow it. Then he burrowed his nose in her rose-­scented hair and dropped off to sleep curled around her.

 

Chapter Nine

C
HRIS WOKE UP
sweating, sandwiched between a tiny fur ball and a giant man.

Sweating was her least favorite temperature. When she exercised, she always chose an air-­conditioned gym over a sticky set of tennis.

Normally she'd elbow her way out of a sweat sandwich as fast as she could.

Normally.

Instead she lay still, more focused on the hunk at her back than the hair stuck to her neck. Kota's long legs spooned hers, a perfect fit. One arm pillowed her head—­and what a pillow it made. The other lay along her side, his big hand cupping her thigh.

And that wasn't the half of it. His chest—­that monument to chests the world over—­curved around her back. And his groin—­enough said—­cradled her butt like a sling.

No, she wasn't going anywhere. Not yet. Not for a while.

She dozed instead, in and out, half-­thinking, half-­dreaming. Enjoying.

Until Kota came to.

It was a process. A deeper breath, a twitch of her pillow. A squeeze of her thigh, probably a reflex.

Then he was awake, conscious. And instantly aroused.

She pretended she was still asleep as his erection grew from average to Kota-­sized.

He gave her thigh another squeeze, then a stroke. Then his thumb slid up under her hem. She could actually feel him fight the urge to go all the way up to her ass. When he didn't, she gave him points for decency, then took some back when he crept up to the edge of her panties.

He settled there, apparently satisfied with sweeping his thumb back and forth.

The problem was,
she
wasn't satisfied.

It was wrong, she knew that. She was worse than a betrayer, she was a horny betrayer, this close to doing something so skeevy, so unforgivable that she might just as well throw herself into the sea and be done with it.

And yet, his thumb. His chest.

Then he moved his leg, a sensuous slide that elevated the back of her knees to first place on her list of erogenous zones.

He blew on her neck, a silky movement of air that only made her hotter.

He must have noticed the change in her breathing, because his teeth came out, scraping over her shoulder. His hand on her thigh moved higher, his thumb hooking under the lace edge of her panties.

Time to stop this, stop him. Some lines simply couldn't be crossed.

Then he nosed her ear. “Your scent drives me crazy.” His gruff, sexy whisper made her mouth water.

“I-­I don't wear perfume.”

“I know.” His leg kept up that slow slide. His hand crept higher. And higher.

“Listen, Kota—­”

His teeth closed on her earlobe, possessively. His thumb pushed higher, lifting the elastic, clearing the way for the rest of his fingers.

Into her panties they slid, sliding over her belly, and lower. She forgot what she was saying as the doors of hell swung open. The flames leaped and snapped.

Then from under the table, Cy shot from a doze to DEFCON 5 in one beat of a heart. Tri sprang off the hammock to rush to his side. Chris tried to sit up, Kota tried to hold her down, and in a blink and a blur, they landed on the floor.

“God
damn
it, Cy!” Kota's roar deafened Chris. “There better be goddamn insurgents on the beach.”

Flat on his back underneath her, Kota had taken the brunt of the fall. She tried to roll off him, but his arms caged her. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked in a much gentler tone.

“I cracked my funny bone again. Otherwise I'm good.” Too good. Good enough to pick up where they left off.

Which wouldn't be good at all.

Kota must have had the same idea, because he didn't waste any time. Her thighs were spread now, instead of glued together. He went straight for the wet and the heat . . .

And Cy trotted around the corner with the newlyweds in tow.

“Howdy, neighbors,” Tana sang out. Then he spotted them on the floor. “Shit, Kota, I told you to put a mattress under that thing.”

Kota clunked his head on the floor. Clunk clunk clunk, like if he clunked it enough he'd wake up from a bad dream.

Helping Chris to her feet, he addressed his brother through his teeth. “Nothing better to do on your first day of marriage than pester us?”

“We're ready for a break. Figured you would be too.” Tana grinned, and Chris felt a flush wash over her; embarrassment and residual arousal. Dropping her eyes, she brushed uselessly at her wrinkled sweat rag of a dress.

Kota tugged her against his chest, probably to hide the erection digging into her spine. But his hands on her shoulders felt supportive. And possessive.

“We were napping,” he said with an edge.

Tana's “mmm-­hmm” sounded as skeptical as the situation deserved. He hooked an arm around his wife's waist. “I told Sasha about your horse whispering. She wants to see for herself.”

Chris could hear Kota's teeth grind. But he did a fair job of giving in gracefully to his new sister-­in-­law.

“Sure,” he said, “we'll meet you in the meadow.” And turning Chris by the shoulders, he hustled her through the door.

I
NSIDE,
K
OTA PUSHED
her against the wall.

“I can rip this dress off you now,” he said, “and get this done quick. Or we can wait and take our time once we get rid of my idiot brother. Your call.”

He voted for
now,
quick and dirty, to take the edge off the lust that was tearing him apart. She was rumpled and tousled, her skin sheened with sweat, and he wanted to fuck her more than he wanted to breathe.

But he didn't want to scare her, so he gave her a choice while he shamelessly cheated, catching her face in his hands, thumbing her cheeks, taking her lips in a kiss that left nothing to chance.

And it worked, of course it did. She caught his wrists and held on as she kissed him back, knees buckling, hips grinding.

Then . . . footsteps on the porch.

What the fuck?

The screen door opened and he stepped back from Christy, her shape tattooed in fire on his skin.

“Oh, hey.” Sasha had the decency to look contrite, unlike Tana, who grinned shamelessly over her shoulder. “Sorry to bother you again,” she said, “but can I use your bathroom?”

Kota pointed down the hall, too frustrated for words.

Christy took off in the other direction, red as a tomato.

Tana took a step back, out of arm's reach, taunting him with that grin. “Don't blame Sasha. I put the notion in her head that she had to pee. Told her she shouldn't drop her panties in the woods, what with all the spiders and snakes.”

Kota advanced on him.

Tana broke up laughing. “You shoulda seen your face, man. Both times.”

Kota shoved him out the door. Tana kept laughing.

Off the porch. Still laughing.

“You got a death wish, you little shit?”

More side-­clutching hilarity.

Then Kota started laughing too, at his idiot brother, at the look he imagined on his own face.

That was the great thing about Tana. He put things in perspective just by being alive.

T
HE SUN WAS
low in the sky when they reached the meadow. Leaving the others to wait in the shadows that reached out from the woods, Kota stepped into the light, moving slowly, fanning the tall grass with his fingertips.

The horses sensed him immediately. Sugar lifted her head, nostrils flaring. She started forward, then stopped, scenting the other humans standing in the shadows. She'd learned caution the hard way.

But Kota's pull was strong. He clicked his tongue and she nickered back at him, carving a line through the grass until he was scratching her chin. She nuzzled the jeans he'd put on, going for the Jolly Ranchers stuffed in the pocket.

“Pushy girl, aren't you? Like all the ladies around here.” He unwrapped one and she took it from his palm with soft, whiskery lips.

Cy thought he wanted one too, until he tried it. He spit it out on the ground, where Blackie scooped it up.

From across the meadow, they came to Kota as they had before, circling and prodding. He handed out Ranchers all around, with a second for Sugar because she loved them the best.

Then, patting her neck, he whispered in her ear. “Time to show off for those pushy ladies. You play the traumatized horse, I'll play the hero who tamed you.”

Curling a hand in her mane, he boosted onto her back and used his knees to urge her toward the trees.

C
H
RIS WATCHED THEM
come with her heart in her throat. It was breathtaking, like a scene from a movie, the bare-­chested warrior returning from battle astride his proud destrier, both of them washed in golden sunlight.

“Wow,” Sasha breathed beside her. “That's”—­she swallowed audibly—­“amazing.”

Fanned out behind him, the other horses followed, trusting Kota's lead. He held the whole herd in the palm of his hand.

Drawing up, he swung the chestnut so she stood broadside to Chris. And he beckoned her.

Without hesitation she raised her arms, and he lifted her up in front of him. “Swing a leg over her head,” he said, and she did, glad she'd put on capris. Then he locked an arm across her middle, crushing her against him, and with a squeeze of his knees, they were running.

“Eee!” The wind whipped her shriek into thin air and tore her hair from its bun. Lacing her fingers through the chestnut's mane, she hung on for dear life as the mighty muscles pistoned beneath her, while behind her, all around her, Kota shielded her like a fortress, his body effortlessly in synch with the horse, as if they shared one mind.

Across the meadow they tore, Tana and Sasha streaking alongside them astride a great black horse. Sasha's eyes were wide and wild. She held her arms up like she was riding a roller coaster, trusting Tana to keep her safe.

“I want to do that,” Chris shouted into the wind.

“Go ahead, I've got you.” Kota's arm cinched her tighter.

One hand at a time, she released the horse's mane, only to cling to the strong arm at her waist.

Then she let go, reaching for the sky, taking the wind square on the chest. She felt herself come unmoored, held fast only by Kota, but that was enough.

Inside her, a reckless laugh spiraled up and up, until out it spilled, happier than song, wilder than sex. It was joy unleashed.

It was awesome.

And it changed everything.