Montana Passions: Stranded With the Groom / All He Ever Wanted / Prescription: Love

“Sounds good.”

She went to the chef-quality fridge and brought out a bottle of Pinot Grigio. “Do the honors?”

He opened the wine and poured them each a glass. Then she started on the salad, keeping an eye on the chicken as she worked, and chattering away about the happenings at the library, about the Historical Society meeting she’d held on Wednesday.

“There was much concern over how the storm had ruined our ‘wedding reception.’ The society members were hoping the event would generate a few generous donations.”

“Understandable. Did you tell them how grateful we were that they left all those sandwiches—and what they’re collecting for a rummage sale?”

“I didn’t,” she confessed. “But I guess I should have.”

He knocked back a big slug of the excellent wine to keep himself from flinging the glass to the hardwood floor and hauling her into his arms. “Speaking of the rummage sale, I should have brought back that reindeer sweater—not to mention the ugly coat, the jeans and those beat-up sneakers. Sorry. I completely forgot.” His mind had been filled with her, with the shining central fact that he’d see her face again. One more time.

Before the end.

“No one’s even going to notice that stuff is missing, believe me.” She sipped from her own glass—much more daintily than he had. “But if you’re feeling really guilty, you could make a donation.”

“I’ll do that.”

“It doesn’t have to be much. And you’ll have the society’s undying gratitude.”

“Never hurts to build goodwill.” He knew he should have choked on those words. After next Tuesday, he’d be the lowest of the low in her eyes. No amount of goodwill would help him then.

She nodded. “Never hurts.”

Never.

The word got stuck in his mind.

Never to hold her again…

Never to see her smile at him…

Never to look into those wide brown eyes…

He set his wineglass on the counter—a stupid move, and he knew it. With both hands empty, the urge to fill them with her softness was nearly over-powering.

She watched him, her eyes tracking from his face, to his glass and back to his face again. After an endless few seconds of that, she set down her glass, too.

Behind her at the stove, the chicken sizzled in the pan, giving off a mouthwatering, savory smell. The salad sat, half-made, beside her glass.

And he couldn’t stop himself from thinking…

If she were someone different, or if he was.

If those vows they’d exchanged Saturday in the town hall had been the real thing.

If she were truly his wife.

This would be their life, here, in this graceful old house, her in her apron, the chicken on the stove, the salad on the counter and the potatoes in the oven.

The two of them, talking about what had happened at work, sharing the little details of their separate days, before they sat down to dinner.

Together.

And later, he’d take her to bed—their bed.

He’d hold her and kiss her—kiss every last inch of her. Until she was pliant and heated and ready to have him. He’d enter her slowly, by aching degrees…

“Oh,” she said quietly, the word like a yearning sigh between them. “Oh, I did miss you.”

It was too much. More than he could bear. His need to touch her took over. He reached out.

With a cry, she swayed toward him. And he wrapped his arms around a miracle.

Katie. Right here. In his hungry arms.

He rained kisses on her soft, flushed cheeks. “I missed you, too. So damn much.”

“Oh, me, too. I missed you.” She let out a giggle and a sweet blush stained her cheeks. “But I already said that, I know I did. I—Oh, Justin. You should kiss me.” She tipped up that plump mouth. “You should kiss me right now.”

“You’re right.”

He took her lifted mouth. And she gave it, eagerly, sending a blast of heat exploding through him. She opened for him, so he could plunge his tongue inside and taste her—so sweet, so eager, flavored with wine.

She wore a kitten-soft sweater over a skinny wool skirt. It wasn’t enough, to feel her through that fluffy sweater. He eased it up—just a little. He wasn’t going to go too far.

He put his hands on the velvety, warm flesh at the small of her back. She moaned into his mouth. He sucked in the sound, breathing in her breath, letting it back out so she could take breath from him.

He muttered her name, between deep kisses on her open lips. “Katie, Katie, Katie…” And his hands…

He couldn’t stop them. They wandered up her back, found the place where her bra hooked and eased those tiny hooks apart.

Yes! He brought his hands around, both of them, between them, and he cradled her small, round breasts, groaning at the feel of them, the soft, slight weight against his palms. He scraped her nipples with his thumbs and then caught them, each one, between thumb and forefinger, rolling, pinching a little, just enough to make her push her hips against him, just enough to make her moan.

More.

He had to have more of her.

He had to have all of her. Stark need pounded through him as his blood spurted, thick and hot and hungry, through his veins.

He raked that sweater up, losing her mouth so he could kiss her chin, scrape his teeth along her throat, nipping and licking as he went. He nuzzled the fluffy sweater, but only briefly. And then he found her breast.

He latched on and she cried out, clutching his head. He drew on the sweet peak, working his teeth against it, making her cry out again.

As he suckled her, he let his hands slide downward, over the glorious inward curve of her waist and out, along the warm shape of her hips beneath the nubby wool of her skirt.

The skirt was in his way and he wanted it gone.