Authors: Linda Francis Lee
Tags: #Women television journalists, #Man-woman relationships, #Single women, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Adult, #Fiction, #Athletes, #Texas, #Love stories
Suddenly Sexy (28 page)
TWENTY-FIVE
The bright neon Las Vegas night pulsed with heat and excitement. Katefelt them both. She also felt
the comforting firmness of Jesse's grip
on her hand.
But a second later, she felt a start of surprise when their limousine
pulled up in front of My Heart's
Desire Wedding Chapel just off the
infamous Las Vegas Strip.
"What?" she asked, staring at the tiny replica of a white clapboard
church. "What are we doing here?"
Jesse helped her out of the long, white car and gave her one of his
heart-stopping smiles, crooked, endearing, and sexy as hell. "You said
you'd marry me. I'm not taking a chance you'll change your
mind."
The driver popped the trunk and started unloading all sorts of wedding
items, then carried everything
into the chapel.
Kate was moved and excited. But. . . "How can we get married without
family?"
"Travis is here."
"Which is wonderful. You know I want him at our wedding. But what about
Julia and Chloe?"
His smile only broadened as he pushed open the chapel doors.
"Surprise!"
Her best friends stood with Travis, Julia in her short skirt and high
heels, Chloe with her china doll looks and sensible clothes. Suzanne
was there, looking like a society matron, and beside her Derek stood
smiling with pride. Then Carlen Chapman stepped out from behind Derek.
The elder Chapman looked older than Kate remembered, more subdued. She
knew that these men had
a lot to work out, but she was glad to see that
all of them were in attendance.
Even Belinda was there, walking up behind her son as the youngest
Chapman cast surreptitious glances
at his grandfather. But it was
Kate's mother who surprised her the most, stepping out from the small
crowd, looking like a beautiful earth mother with her long gray hair
braided and her gossamer skirts flowing.
She extended her arms. "My baby," she said.
It took only a second for Kate to relax into her mother's embrace. So
cherished, so rare.
"Kate, I couldn't be happier for you." Mary Beth reached out for Jesse,
tugged him close, then put
Kate's hand in his. "Take care of her, Jess."
Jesse assured her that he would. "That is, if she'll let me."
He turned to Kate. "Will you marry me? Here? Now? Not later. I don't
want to wait until after the PGA." He went down on one knee in front of
the group. "I was serious when I said that I would never leave
you again. Marry me now, and
be with me forever."
Tears burned in her eyes as she looked around her at the people she
loved and who loved her in return. And she knew that they loved the
real Kate. Not someone she was trying to be.
"I will," she whispered.
He lifted her up and twirled her around, then she was pulled off to a
back room where Julia, Chloe, Suzanne, and her mother prepared her for
the wedding. When Belinda seemed at a loss, Kate reached
out and pulled
her into the circle.
"You're family now, too," she said.
The women dressed Kate in a gown of white silk and low-heeled leather
shoes that were soft as butter. They did her hair and fixed her makeup,
and when she was ready she could only look in the mirror in awe.
"You're beautiful," her mother said, coming up beside her, hooking
their arms together. "This all reminds me of my first wedding. Young.
In love. Everything beautiful and perfect." Mary Beth sighed dreamily
and launched into a description of her many weddings, of her loves, of
her many different lives, as if yet again this event, as with all
events, was about her. "I love weddings. Did I tell you I met a new
man?"
Kate stared at her mother, panic starting to creep through her. But
Jesse must have sensed it, because in minutes he was beside her,
ignoring the dictate that the groom not see the bride before the
ceremony. He pulled her close and whispered emphatically, "You are not
your mother. This will be our one and only wedding."
He kissed her then, holding her secure, and she knew she wanted this,
had been waiting for this her
entire life.
An organist played the wedding march, and the handful of pews were
filled with her friends and family. Travis stood next to his father at
the altar. But it was Jesse whom she saw.
Her heart beat hard as she approached, a mix of fear and hope knotted
in her chest. She wanted this manâ she had always wanted him. But part
of her was still afraid.
Then he did something amazing. He pulled out two rings and handed her
one. His. When she caught a glimpse of hers, her mind swirled back in
time.
" We'll marry, you know." Her words from what seemed like a thousand
years ago. She six, Jesse ten. " We won't bother with a big, gigantic
wedding. It'll just be you and me and our families. But we have to have
rings. Real rings. A plain gold one for you so you won't look like a
sissy. And I'll have that really great kind with two hands locked
together holding a crown."
Jesse had remembered, as if he had tucked the memory away until it was
time.
It was time. Every doubt washed away, and when they were pronounced man
and wife, Kate realized that dreams do come true.
"I love you, Jesse. Do you love me, too?" she had asked all those years
ago.
And when he kissed her, finally, all these years later, he answered her
question.
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes."
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in Linda Francis Lee's
Sexy series.
On sale October 2004
   Chloe Sinclair plunged through the wind in a short
glittery
dress, high heels, and a tiny purse that
was more decorative than practical. She couldn't see a thing, didn't
realize she wasn't alone until. . .
She ran into another body. Hard. Jarring them both.
The impact sent her lurching forward, arms extended like she was
flying. It happened so fast that she couldn't regain her balance. Her
gloved hands hit the pavement first, the tiny chain on the purse like a
vice around her wrist. Next, her knees crashed into the ground and pain
shot through her. For half a second she lay there stunned.
"Are you all right?"
A man's voice, clear and deep, commanding, came at her in a disjointed
muffle through the wind. She tried to pick herself up, but before she
could manage, strong hands came around her and he swept her
up with
amazing ease. She tried to make out who he was, but he was much taller
than she, and she couldn't see more than his
shirt when he pulled her close, his body blocking the wind.
Huddled together, he propelled them the remaining few steps to the
hotel entrance. Despite the pain,
she was very aware of the man's
touch, of the way his arm was secure around her, the way he
controlled
her body with ease. She had an altogether foreign thought that she was
safe.
Once inside, he swept her through the lobby, but when they came to a
set of double doors leading to
the hotel bedrooms, she stiffened.
"Where are you taking me?"
"I'm staying here."
"You're taking me here, as in to your . . . your ..."
"Room?"
"Exactly," she stated primly. "I can't go to your room."
He made some kind of grumbling noise deep in his chest, but instead of
guiding her through the doors, he tugged her away and had her inside an
elegant ladies' room decorated in marble and brass. Thankfully it was
empty. Though not as thankfully, he slid the lock home.
"Now what are you doing?"
"You're bleeding."
"Bleeding?"
He pointed.
"Oh," was all she got out of her mouth when she glanced down at herself
and got a really good look.
Her once shimmering thigh-high stockings
were ripped beyond repair, blood and grit marking both of
her knees
like a six year old after a playground fall.
On top of that, she had never been all that great with blood.
"Oh," she repeated, this time sort of wobbly.
"Don't go weak willed on me now."
"I am not weak willed," she stated, her spine straightening.
"That's what I like to hear."
Next thing she knew, he had her up on the marble counter as if she
didn't weigh anything at all, her skirt riding high. That was when she
looked up and saw his face. Her first real look. She wasn't sure if she
sucked in her breath or if she sighed. She only knew that her world
went still.
They stared at each other, she on the sink with her chin tilted
slightly, he standing so close that his thighs touched her knees. He
seemed as surprised as she felt.
It seemed like an eternity that their gazes locked, but probably wasn't
more than a second.
He looked as commanding as he had acted. He was tall, his dark hair
brushed back, his dark eyes filled with intelligence, knowing, and
confidence. His autocratic control of the situation was apparent in the
hard line of his square jaw. This was a man used to getting what he
wanted.
He wore a finely made shirt that molded to broad shoulders and narrowed
into a lean waist and long legs. Standing there he appeared to be in
charge of his surroundings, not giving a second thought to being in a
ladies' bathroom with a woman he didn't know and with the door locked.
He didn't smile or say a word, though his gaze seemed to draw her to
him. But after another second, his eyes narrowed fractionally and he
gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, before he focused on her
scrapes.
"Let me look at your hands."
He didn't wait for her to agree. He took each palm, peeling the
shredded gloves away finger by finger. This time she knew
she sucked in her breath when his hands cradled hers, large and tanned,
hers pale
in comparison.
Fortunately, the gloves had protected her palms. Her forearms hadn't
been as lucky.
"These have got to hurt," he said, studying them.
Once he said it, she was reminded that they did.
He took one of the paper towels that were stacked in a functional brass
holder and soaked it with warm water, the hotel monogram going dark as
it got wet. Despite his commanding size, his touch was gentle
as he
cleaned the blood and grit away. The sting was blocked out by the
sizzle of sensation this hard-chiseled man caused. She watched him as
he concentrated on the jobâthe way his head bent
close so he could get
a better look, before he nodded in approval and started on her other
arm.
She was aware of every breath he took, the sound like a caress against
her ear. He cradled her arm as
he studied the wounds. She couldn't
remember the last time she had been touchedâby anyone. She
grew
lightheaded and she swayed.
He glanced up. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," she whispered.
Better than fine. She felt strange, hot tears of yearning burning in
her eyes as he nodded his head in approval and moved on to her knees.
But the torn stockings were in the way. Without hesitation, he reached
under her dress. She gasped. Like a lover, his strong hands brushed
against her legs. Her breath shuddered through her body, feelings that
had nothing to do with healing or wounds settling low until she felt
the need to press her knees together. But she couldn't because his
forearm and hand was in the way.
Her head swam at the feel of his fingers finding the tops of her ruined
thigh-highs, first one, his hands so close to the juncture between her
legs, then the other as he whisked them down and tossed them in the
trash.
The act wasn't intended to be sexual, but when the only physical
attention she had received in ages was when she got a manicure, this
man's touch made her world tilt even more. It was the sort of feeling,
she realized, she had waited a lifetime for. Intense. Like a dream from
which you don't want to wake up.
She had hammered her life into the contours she deemed acceptable. But
the reality of who she had become made her wonder at the price she had
paid.
Feeling this man's hands on her thighs, even innocently, made something
flare.
Rebellion against everything she believed to be proper?
Imprudence?
No, she realized. Nothing so complicated. It was hot, simple, and
unrestrained desire.
But she wasn't about to give in to something like that, least of all
with a stranger. She was smart. She
was sensible.
"I could have done that," she stated over the staccato dance in her
chest, her eyes shifting nervously as she tried to find some place else
to look besides the silky waves of his hair.
"No need now."
He concentrated on her knee. She tried to find the old Chloe, the one
she knew, the one who would demand that he take his hands off her.
"I was trying to sound intimidating," she said.
He glanced up at her, one dark brow rising. "I guess it was the squeak
in your voice that threw me."
"I did not squeak!"
"You did."
Her mouth fell open. "This really isn't going as it should."
"I didn't realize there was a certain way to do this."
"There is."
"I must have missed that day at school."
"Funny."
He smiled then, for the first time, she realized, and her breath caught
a little more. It was amazing, like the sun coming through a dark,
stormy sky. Then he straightened. "There. One knee done."
Sure enough, one side was cleaned. It still looked horrible, but the
grit was gone.
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"A paramedic?"
"Not that either."
"Then you just go around saving damsels in distress."
For reasons she couldn't fathom, that wiped every trace of humor off of
his face, the clouds returning.
"You've been reading too many fairytales," he said sharply. Then his
features settled back into that hard-chiseled command. "Would you
rather I had left you in the hotel driveway and continued on to find a
cab as I intended? Is that another rule I missed?"
He looked at her, his dark eyes direct as if he could see into her
mind, her heart . . . like he could see into her soul. She looked away,
then couldn't help herself. She glanced back.
Her voice caught in her throat. "You're laughing at me."
After a second, that half smile of his reappeared, reluctantly, his
head tilted every so slightly. "Never."
Then he returned his attention to his project. Her knees.
"This one's a real mess," he said, pressing a new paper towel to the
ragged skin.
"Ouch!"
He leaned closer, and she looked down at him, his hair thick and dark.
He didn't wear cologne, but he smelled clean and strong. She had a
startling image of him leaning close to kiss her. Sensation flashed
through her. Hot, sweet, and intense. She thought of touching him.
Reaching out. Of being a feline
instead of a llama.
This was the sort of man who made a woman feel sexy. Dark and
dangerous, commanding the world around him with nothing more than a
look and a few words.
A stillness descended over her, fine and crystalline, and she had never
been so aware ... of a man's hand on her knee. Of the way his strong
fingers splayed against her inner thigh. And when he looked up she was
sure he felt it too.
Their gazes locked, their bodies close. He glanced at her lips and a
teasing sweetness made her yearn even more.
But he was a gentleman.
After one last glance at her mouth, he returned his attention to her
knee. The outside world was forgotten. She felt cocooned by awareness.
She felt every time his thigh brushed against hers.
Everything that wasn't her, everything that wasn't Chloe Sinclair,
surged up. Suddenly she wasn't embarrassed at the thought of being
sensual. She wasn't afraid of being rejected.
And wasn't that really why she had been afraid to be sexy? The fear of
rejection?
Sitting there now, with this man touching her, this stranger with his
hands on her body, any sort of embarrassment she felt melted away
beneath the terror of what she wanted to do. Give in. Touch him back.
Good Girl Chloe Sinclair wanted to be sinfully sexy.
She felt dizzy at the thought, her heart beating hard as she clutched
her hands together to keep herself from doing what she knew she'd
regret. She thought of splashing cold water on her face. She counted to
ten, then twenty. She concentrated on all she had to do over the next
few weeks. She had payroll to approve. Find new advertising dollars.
Brainstorm new programming options. But when he finished with her knee,
he straightened again, his competence and composure disarming.
He stood there studying her, not smiling. Then his eyes drifted down
over her body, the dark of his eyes flaring with something hot. No one
had ever looked at her that way before, the heat tangible, making her
feel both panicked and excited.
Then everything changed.
It happened so fast that she didn't have time to think. One minute she
was holding on to being sensible Chloe, smart, sane, safe, her life as
it always had been. Then the next she whispered, "Kiss me."
One long beat of silence passed before a tremor raced through him.
She was being forward and inexcusably loose. But like a dam of
restraint had finally broken apart, water rushing through crashing at
her defenses, she didn't care. She wanted to lose herself in his arms,
just this once, with this stranger who would disappear from her life
when it was over.
Tonight, just tonight, she didn't want to be sensible or even smart.
She wanted to be free and wild, and filled with unchecked desire.
Frustration kicked inside her when he didn't kiss her. He only looked
at her, didn't reach out. He took
her in, and she cringed at the sudden
thought that even made up and not looking anything like her usual
boring self, he wasn't attracted to her.
What an idiot to think that a man this strong and handsome and clearly
powerful, would want herâeven with no names mentioned or strings
attached.
"Oh, God, I've completely made a fool of myself. I'm sorry." She tried
to get down off the counter, the movement reminding her of the scrapes
on her knees.
"You haven't made a fool of yourself," he said, his voice ruggedly
insistent, his body blocking her way. "You are beautiful and desirableâ"
Her snort was a knee jerk reaction, the old Chloe surging back
ruthlessly.
"âbut you don't know the first thing about me."
That stopped her. She cocked her head and studied him. Was he testing
her?
"You don't know me either," she whispered. She met his eyes, and she
bit her lip for a trembling second. "That's the point."
She startled him, and from the look of him she guessed he was rarely
surprised.
His brows slammed together. "I could be a ..."
"What? A murderer?"
"I am not a murderer." He sounded put out.
"Okay, then a Mexican bandit?" She tried to smile.
"Are we living in the same century?"
He looked at her lips again, despite his better intentions, and she
could see something that her inexpert eyes swore was desire. Hope
surged and she felt an impatient anticipation.
"Would it help," she asked breathlessly, "if I promised that I'm not a
bandit?"
She expected him to laugh, or at the very least smile. Instead his gaze
darkened. "I'm not so sure about that. With your innocent blue eyes and
mouth meant for sin, you look like you could easily steal something
I've never been willing to give," he stated cryptically.
But before she could question him, he groaned and cursed. Then this
stranger pulled her into his arms.
They clung together, the warmth of his body surrounding her. Their kiss
grew instantly hot, their mouths slanting together as if neither of
them could get close enough. His hands ran down her spine and she knew
with a heady sense of certainty that whatever his reasons for kissing
her, this wasn't about pity.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn't admit how many
times she had imagined something like this. In her dreams, in her
fantasies. Giving in to a forbidden passion.
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