May The Best Man Wed

His smile returned as he chucked her under the chin as if she were no more than a child. “Good night, Savannah-Banana.”

Slick! Sis! Savannah-Banana! Not to mention the obligatory darlin’ and sweetheart. She watched him walk away, welcoming the relief, resigning herself to the irritation, surprised by a piddling curiosity. That’s as far as she dared to delve into the emotions that suddenly seemed ready to capsize her.

He turned as he reached his car. Too late, she realized she hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He rested his hand on the car’s side.

“Just so you won’t be disappointed.”

In one smooth motion, he hurdled himself behind the wheel. He looked down, back at her, wriggled his eyebrows.

“All precious parts intact.”

She fixed him with her longest stare of the night. “I don’t know if I like you.”

He grinned, all little boy now. “You like me.”

He drove off. Probably to look for the devil himself, she decided. She headed home, vowing to dream of McCormick and that they would be wonderful dreams. Instead she found herself lying wide awake in bed, contending with the fear that had threatened to topple her since she’d opened her office door that morning. She waited and waited for sleep to come. But even counting curses against Cash Walker instead of her usual recitation of fundamental strategies for achieving success in the twenty-first century didn’t do the trick.

Savanna woke the next morning without dreaming of McCormick, but the two hours sleep that had finally come were enough to restore her. With the day’s new coherency and a review of her daily planner, which was always within reach, also came the realization that she hadn’t told Cash about his fitting today. It was totally unlike her to be so inept. Only yesterday’s unusual circumstances permitted her to forgive herself and move on to fixing her blunder. Now if McCormick were here, she could simply call him and he would see his brother got to the fitting. Problem solved. Except McCormick wasn’t exactly here, was he?

She didn’t allow the thought to go any further. In the day’s new light, she refused to entertain any more doubts about her fiancé’s untimely trip.

She’d just have to make certain Cash got to the appointment herself.

“I’M SORRY, Ms. Sweetfield.” The Walkers’ maid came back on the phone line. “I knocked very loudly on his door but there was no answer.”

“Are you sure he’s in there?”

“I heard snoring, ma’am.”

Savannah released an exasperated breath as she checked the clock. No self-respecting individual sleeps until nine on a weekday. “Is anyone else home?”

“No, ma’am. Mrs. Walker just left for the salon and Mr. Walker is at the office, of course.”

“And I suppose Sam drove Mrs. Walker to her appointment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, I doubt the bedroom door is locked. Just go in and give him a good, hard shake. That ought to do the trick.”

“Oh no, ma’am,” the other woman protested. “I couldn’t do that. He’s a grown man.”

“So he claims.” Savannah sighed again. “Listen, I’m coming right over. If, on the unlikely chance he does get up, don’t let him leave the house before I get there. He has an appointment at eleven and he’s not going to miss it.”

She arrived at the Walkers’ three-story Georgian in record time. Still, it was almost nine-forty. She’d been up for over four and a half hours already. The most Cash had probably done in that time was roll over.

She marched in as soon as the front door opened. “Which room is he in?” she asked the maid as she started up the stairs.

“Second floor, fifth door on your left, ma’am.”

Savannah reached the second-floor landing and strode down the hall to Cash’s room. She rapped on the door loudly. Without waiting for an answer, she twisted the knob. By the time Cash showered and dressed, they’d be lucky if they made the appointment on time.

“Cash?” She announced herself to the lump burrowed beneath the bedcovers. She marched to the window and threw back the curtains. She turned, triumphant. Still no sign of life from the bed. She marched to the bed, put her hand on what she presumed was a shoulder and gave it a good shake. “Cash, get up now.”

With a groan, he rolled over. His eyes still closed, he warned, “You’re gonna pay for that, Angeline.” Grabbing Savannah’s hand, he pulled her down onto the hard heat of his body.

Her mouth opened, only to be covered by his, his hands capturing the back of her head, thrust into her hair, holding her fast. He crushed her lips beneath his own, the kiss hot, urgent as if he’d been waiting his whole life for her. Shock, outrage and a sudden sense she had never been kissed before filled Savannah. Her anguish seemed to fall, matter no more beneath a passion and, heaven help her, a pleasure spreading, flowing through every inch of her, striking her senseless.

She squirmed, but her movements, the friction of muscle and flesh, were desire’s dance. An unintelligible plea came from the back of her throat, but Savannah could no longer be sure for what she begged. Her efforts had eased her lips wider, unwittingly provoking that hard, wonderful mouth deeper. She tasted a wildness, the sting of uncontrol. She stopped squirming. Her hands fisted against the sides of the body blanketed beneath her, against the heat, the power, the scorching need.

With a fierce twist of her head, she wrenched her mouth free. She held the breath that would come out as a gasp.

“You’re in bigger trouble now.” His hands reached for her once more.

“Cash!” she snapped, an inch from his face.

He opened his eyes; she filled his vision. “Whoa!” His head jerked back, surprise taking all the hooded sensuality out of his features. She wanted to jump up and run from his provocative power searing her body. She didn’t move. She’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction. It was too late anyway. She’d known his kiss, even though it had been meant for another and meant nothing. Yes, that was the thought she would cling to when the memory came.

She tasted her lips. “I see you had that drink after all last night.”

Amusement moved into his features. The sensuality had already returned. “You should have come with me, Savannah-Banana.”

“It’s a regret I’ll learn to live with.” With as much dignity as possible, she rolled off his body and rose from the bed. She looked down at him with perfect composure. “Get up and get dressed.”

He shrugged. “Okay, but I’ve got to warn you I sleep in the nude.” He started to push back the covers.

“I already knew that.” Savannah moved to the door, adjusting the starched collar and cuffs of her shirtwaist, as his rich laughter came. “You have a fitting at Mr. Max’s Formal Wear today. We’re to be there in less than an hour. I’ve never been late for an appointment in my life and I don’t intend to start now.” She walked from the room without another look at him.

He sank back against the pillows as the door closed, Savannah’s sweet taste and soft warmth still holding him like a dream. He had drunk too much last night for the first time in many years. Yet it was also the first time he’d been home in many years. A throbbing ache began in his head. He closed his eyes, but not to relieve the pain. No, he welcomed the pain. He closed his eyes to wipe out the memory of the moment that had just happened. Desire only strengthened. He opened his eyes, everything too real. He had wanted Savannah. He had touched his lips to hers and tasted the sweetest of promises. He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He shook his head. “Hell.” He laughed again, this time at himself as the need clutched him.

Savannah made it as far as the second stair before she gripped the rail to steady herself. Still, sensation overwhelmed her. Every boundary she’d ever crafted seemed to have dissolved, leaving her vulnerable. It’d been the surprise, the shock, that’s all, she told herself. Nothing more, nothing more. Still the urgency rose.

She watched him come down the stairs twenty-five minutes later. “You forgot to shave,” she noted.

He smiled at her. “I didn’t forget.”

“I hope you at least brushed your teeth.” She turned to the door.

“Why? You gonna kiss me again?”

She spun around, angry with him, even more furious with the desire spiked by the mere suggestion. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t—”

“Now you’re flattering me, Savannah-Banana.”

She forced her expression bland. She didn’t have to tell him how much she hated nicknames. She had the feeling he already knew.