Stand-in Groom (17 page)

“There’s still so much we don’t know about each other,” Chelsea mused. “Yet here we are, about to live together as if we’re really married for a whole year.”

She found herself watching the loose-fitting cut of his jeans and the more snug fit of his T-shirt, the red cotton hugging his muscular chest and shoulders. His hair was still damp from his shower, combed back from his face and curling around his neck. He looked unbearably delicious.

“We
are
really married,” he said quietly.

She looked up and into the midnight brown of his eyes, and the entire world seemed to tilt around her. He was right. They
were
really married, with rings and a marriage license and everything. And in just a few minutes—if she could make her rubbery legs work well enough to climb down off this stool—they were going to go upstairs together and consummate that marriage.

He turned and took a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator, and poured some into one of the glasses. He paused and looked up at her, bottle
poised, ready to fill the second. She couldn’t begin to interpret the look in his eyes. “Do you drink wine?”

“Not usually. No. It’s not … I … No, I don’t.”

He nodded, setting the bottle down beside the empty glass as he took a generous sip from the other, swirling the wine around his mouth before he swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

He looked at her.
“I’m
the one who should be apologizing. It never even occurred to me to ask if you were a vegetarian.” He forced another smile. “I guess we could send out for pizza—” He swore sharply. “Except you don’t eat cheese, right?”

Chelsea slid off her stool and moved toward the end of the counter. “I’m not hungry right now. I’d rather see the rest of your condo anyway. What’s upstairs?”

Johnny looked at her, standing there, leaning slightly against the edge of his kitchen counter. She knew damn well what was upstairs. The bedrooms. His bedroom. His bed.

Heaven. Heaven was upstairs.

She smiled at him, a smile that was bewitchingly sexy, and he instantly released his disappointment.
Just like that, it was filed away, to be worked through at a later time. She was a vegetarian, and he was well on his way to becoming a master chef, specializing in dishes made with veal and lamb. By choice, his own wife would never taste his most magnificent creations. Of course, she would only be his wife for one year. But he refused to think about any of that now.

She held out her hand to him. “Will you show me the rest of your condo?”

She wanted to go upstairs.

He may have totally blown the chance for a romantic dinner through his ignorance, but there was no way he could possibly blow this. He’d wanted her for far too long.

Still, he couldn’t seem to do more than whisper, “I’d love to.” Her fingers were cool as he took her hand and led her back down the hallway. As they passed he grabbed her gym bag with his free hand and carried it with them up the stairs.

He tried to stop at the first door off the upstairs hallway. “This is my home office.”

But Chelsea only glanced in. “Which one’s your bedroom?”

“The door on the left.”

She slipped free from his grasp, and pausing only to glance back at him with another of those incredible smiles, she disappeared into the darkness of his room.

He followed her in, setting her bag down near the door.

The curtains were open, revealing more sliders like the ones downstairs and a similar view of the harbor. The moonlight streaming in gave the room a ghostly glow, and Johnny didn’t switch on the overhead light.

He watched her make her way around the big room. His closet door was open, and as she passed she fingered one of the shirts hanging there. She trailed her hand along the polished wood of his dresser, along the huge bookshelf that lurked against one wall, along the metal frame of the NordicTrack system he had set up with other exercise gear in the corner of the room, working her way around to his bed.

She turned to face him then, across the wide expanse of his bedspread. “I was thinking that right about now would be a really good time for you to kiss me.”

He took his time walking around the bed, each
step filled with the pleasure of his anticipation. She met him halfway, impatient with his pace, and kissed him, instead.

Her lips were so soft, her entire body melting into his. Johnny laughed aloud and heard her join in.

“This is going to be really good, isn’t it?” she whispered, looking searchingly into his eyes.

He could feel her heart pounding, feel his beating an answering tattoo. “Oh, yeah.” He kissed her again, harder this time. This was going to be beyond good.

He felt her hands sliding up underneath the edge of his T-shirt, her palms gliding along his bare back, and he knew, despite his intentions to make love to Chelsea slowly, he couldn’t wait a second longer.

He tugged at her shirt, pulling it free from the waistband of her jeans, filling his hands with the soft weight of her breasts as she fell back with him onto the bed.

Her legs were around him, and she kissed him fiercely. She tugged at his T-shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head, then did the same with her shirt. His fingers fumbled with the front clasp of her bra, and she quickly unfastened it for him.

He pulled back then, wanting to look at her, wanting to see her desire for him in the tautness of her nipples and the swell of her perfect breasts, in the way she lay there on his bed, half-naked and waiting for him, in the heat in her eyes.

“Touch me,” she whispered, and he did. With his hands, with his mouth. He buried his face in her incredible softness.

He could feel her unfastening her jeans, and he helped her pull them off. Her legs were long and smooth and gracefully shaped and he laughed again because he couldn’t believe he was actually running his hands along them.

Chelsea smiled at Johnny’s laughter as he slid her panties down her legs.

She pulled him down on top of her, and before he kissed her, he gazed into her eyes and gave her a heart-stoppingly gorgeous smile. “I’m overcome by the need to spout a cliché,” he told her.

“Such as?” Chelsea’s heart kicked into overdrive. Was he going to tell her that he was falling in love with her?

He gave her a kiss that rocked her as he ran one hand up her leg, all the way up her thigh and even farther. He touched her, gently at first, slowly,
softly, and all coherent thought vanished from her mind. She found herself reaching for the button of his jeans, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

“Such as, you’re so incredibly beautiful, just looking at you makes me dizzy,” he murmured, trailing kisses from her mouth down to her breasts.

He didn’t mention whether or not he loved her and Chelsea didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. And then she didn’t feel anything but desire as he shifted his weight to allow her better access to the zipper of his jeans, as still he touched her, stroked her, harder now, deeper.

It was her turn to laugh aloud as she wrestled the zipper down and discovered he was wearing no underwear—just the way she’d described that night on the phone. And, as she’d also described, his arousal gave her powerful proof of his desire. He was totally, incredibly male.

She looked up into his eyes and he caught his breath as she touched him.

As she gazed at him something seemed to explode, and the passion they had kept buried between them for so long fireballed. He kissed her almost savagely, possessively, and she kissed him back just as ferociously. She’d never felt anything
so intense ever before, and it terrified her, bringing tears to her eyes, but she couldn’t have stopped had her life depended on it.

His hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, driving her wild with need. He paused only to cover himself and protect them both, and then he was on top of her, between her legs, and she was lifting herself up, seeking him, wanting him, needing to feel him,
all
of him, inside her, possessing her.

Owning her, body as well as heart and soul. No,
no
. She couldn’t think that way. She
wouldn’t
think that way. …

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Chelsea, open your eyes.”

She did, looking up into his beautiful, familiar, lovely eyes. He watched her face as he filled her, his satisfaction evident in the hot, fierce smile he gave her. “Now you’re
really
my wife,” he said.

For a year. Only for a year. She pressed her hips up, pushing him deeply inside of her, in an attempt to show him that she was still in control. But she was the one who cried out.

And when he began to move, setting a rhythm that made her heart pound, she knew that when it
came to Johnny, she hadn’t truly been in control since the morning she asked him to marry her. Ever since that moment she’d been careening down a hill toward a cliff, in danger of falling crazily in love with this man, destined to crash, her life as she knew it shattered into a million irreparable tiny pieces.

But as she went over the edge, as her heart as well as her body was engulfed in waves of sheer, tempestuous, exquisite pleasure, she found a pure, uninhibited freedom in her lack of control. The fall would probably kill her, but dear God, all she was feeling was well worth it.

She felt Johnny’s release, heard him cry out her name again and again, his voice like velvet, both smooth and rough against her sensitized skin, as he drove himself deeply inside of her one final, delicious time.

She heard him sigh, a deep exhale thick with satisfaction, and she closed her eyes, waiting to fall like a stone back to earth, preparing for the shock of impact.

But Johnny’s arms were around her, holding her, keeping her safe. And she realized she wasn’t going to crash.

At least not for a year.

T
HE PHONE RANG
as the first streaks of dawn were lighting the sky outside the bedroom windows.

Chelsea felt Johnny reach for the receiver. “’lo?” He spoke softly, trying not to wake her. She heard him swear softly. “Did you try calling Carlos?” Another pause. “Yeah, I figured you did, but … How about Bobby?”

With his hair rumpled, his eyes sleepier than usual, and a night’s growth of beard on his face, he looked impossibly sexy. He looked like someone she would wake up next to in bed only in her wildest dreams.

“It’s me or no one, huh? Can you get the truck loaded for me?” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, Doreen, I know you’ve got stuff to do in the office, but last night was my wedding night, and my bride’s not going to appreciate me deserting her this morning for any longer than I absolutely have to, and—Yes, I said bride.” He laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m married. Wild, huh? She’s incredible, and I’m going to be in a big hurry to get back to her, so if you guys in the office can at least load the truck—”

Chelsea shifted, stretching her legs, and he turned to look at her, an apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I was trying not to wake you.” He spoke into the phone. “Hold on a second, Doreen.”

He covered the receiver, leaned forward, and kissed Chelsea on the mouth. “Good morning.”

She smiled at him, snuggling closer and sliding her leg across his. “Rumor has it I’m incredible.”

“Oh, yeah.” He kissed her again, longer this time, and she could feel his body’s instant response. “It’s no rumor—it’s the cold, hard truth. You’re totally off the scale.”

“Do you often get phone calls from women at dawn?”

He grinned. “Only from women named Doreen, who work at Meals on Wheels.”

She ran her fingers lightly across his chest, delighting in the feel of his muscles and the soft, springy hair that covered them. “She wants to take you away from me, huh?”

“Just for a couple hours. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Do you really have to go?” She let her hand drift lower, and he closed his eyes.

“If I don’t, some of these people won’t eat for a day.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “But I sure as hell can be late.” He brought the phone back to his ear. “Doreen? I’ll be there. In forty-five minutes.” He laughed. “I
know
it usually takes me ten minutes to get over there, but today it’s going to take me forty-five,
capisce
?”

As he reached to hang up the phone Chelsea straddled him and lightly ran her cheek against his morning beard as she kissed her way to his mouth. “Since I’m the one who’s making you late, maybe I should come along and help you with your deliveries.”

He lifted her chin with one hand and looked searchingly into her eyes. “Really?”

“I’d like to—if it’s all right with you …”

There was a softness in Johnny’s eyes as he gazed up at her. “You
are
incredible.”

Chelsea shook her head. “No, I’m not.
You
are.
You
want to make sure the people on that route get their food today.
My
motives are purely selfish. I want to get you back here, in bed, as soon as I can.”

He kissed her and she closed her eyes, aware that she had nearly revealed too much. She’d nearly told him the real reason she wanted to make his deliveries with him. She’d nearly admitted that she wanted simply to be with him. It was better to let him think her reasons were based on sex rather than some deep emotion she couldn’t even begin to identify—some deep emotion she
refused
to identify. And it would be better for
her
if she kept her straying emotions securely out of Johnny’s reach and firmly in control.

She kissed him again, closing her eyes, knowing that when it came to Johnny, her control was in short supply.

“You’re late.”

Johnny turned to look at Chelsea and smiled. “I
know, Mr. Gruber. But Evan got sick, and I was called in to drive the truck at the last minute. I got here as soon as I could.”

They’d made over a dozen stops, and almost every person they’d brought food to had informed Johnny that he was late. And every time they told him that, he’d looked at Chelsea and smiled, and she knew he was remembering, in detail, exactly
why
he’d been late.