One Wild Wedding Night

He mumbled something under his breath but she ignored him. Bridget watched his every move, knowing he had to feel her hot stare on him but not really giving a damn. The man was so powerful, the thick muscles in his arms and chest flexing and rippling beneath his long-sleeved black shirt as he worked. He was also so obviously uncomfortable around her. All because she’d made her intentions clear.

In Bridget’s opinion, it was about time someone did. Because Dean certainly hadn’t. Not when he’d been pretending to be Mr. Nice. And not tonight, when he’d grabbed her and bolted.

“So what is it you plan to do with me?” she asked, both because she wanted to know and because she liked the way the tips of his ears turned red when she said something outrageous. Asking him what he planned to do with her—with the emphasis on the word do—probably sounded outrageous to his strict FBI ears.

“I’m going to sit on you here until Monday morning, deliver you to the courthouse, watch you testify, then let you go.”

She knew what he meant but played dumb. Smiling as she leaned over from the couch, knowing her red gown gapped away from her chest, she murmured, “Sit on me? Sounds uncomfortable.”

Dean, who’d been squatting as he stuck bits of kindling into the woodstove, jerked his head up and stared at her. His eyes blazed with more intensity than the struggling flames and his mouth pulled taut. “Just what is it you’re trying to do here, Bridget?” he asked, sounding not only angry but intensely curious. As if he truly didn’t know.

How could he not know? Was he really ignorant to the fact that she was absolutely dying for him? Would give anything to have him, if only for a few hours?

Maybe. And if so, she really ought not to keep him in the dark any longer. So without another word, Bridget rose to her feet. She reached around to the back of her dress, slowly drawing the zipper down, letting the sleeves loosen and slip off her shoulders until the tops of her breasts were gradually revealed.

With a gulp of air for courage, she let the gown go, until it dropped to the floor at her feet.

“I’m trying,” she finally replied, “to finish what you started that day last August.”

THOUGH THE AIR hadn’t changed and he hadn’t moved a muscle, Dean began to sink down under an almost tangible weight on his entire body. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could only sit in shocked silence while Bridget let her wicked red dress fall away. Beneath it she wore even more wicked lingerie. Skimpy, tiny panties, wickedly seductive stockings and a red demibra that, as she’d threatened in the car, plumped her luscious breasts up rather than making any effort to cover them.

His hands clenched into fists and his mouth went dry. The heat blasting every inch of him had nothing to do with the fire he’d just started in the woodstove. And everything to do with her. How she looked. How she smelled. How she stared down at him with pure hunger in her eyes.

How he’d felt around her since the day he’d met her. Off balance, breathless, confused.

Captivated.

“I know you’re doing your job,” she whispered, “and I know there’s nothing personal about it and after Monday, we go our separate ways again. But we’re adults, we’re alone. We’re here for the next day and a half…and you wanted me once.”

He shook his head, denying that last part. “I have always wanted you, Bridget.”

He could have said more. Could have told her that he’d been attracted to her since the first time he’d gone into the dealership last summer. Or that he’d become addicted to her smile, intoxicated by her laugh as every day had passed. That on the day he’d kissed her, he’d been so out of his mind with desire for her that he’d walked around with a hard-on for two days.

And more…that it had infuriated him when his colleagues had badgered her for hours after Marty’s arrest. That it had killed him to stay away from her since.

But none of that needed to be said now. Not while Bridget was watching him with glittering wide eyes and moist, parted lips. Offering herself. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he murmured, watching her from below, sitting on the faux bearskin rug in front of the stove. He devoured her with his gaze, coveting the delicate curves of her breasts, dying for a taste of the dark nipples peeking through her bra.

She shook her head. “I’m not beautiful.”

He rose to his knees. Lowering his hands to her ankles, he fingered the straps of her high-heeled sandals, then moved his palms up her stocking-clad legs. “No, you’re stunning.”

She didn’t deny it this time, merely hissed in a breath as he reached the top hem of her sultry, thigh-high stockings. The breath was released with a tiny whimper when his fingertips transitioned from silky nylon to the silkier skin of her thighs.

“So soft,” he murmured. The skin was creamy and delicate, the limb slender and supple. He couldn’t wait to feel those legs wrapped around his hips as he finally plunged inside her the way he’d wanted to for so long. “I love the way you feel.”

She swayed on her feet. The movement brought her hip close to his mouth and Dean leaned forward to brush his lips against the lacy edge of her panties. “I’ll love the way you taste.”

“Oh, my,” she whispered, dropping her hands onto his shoulders, as if needing his support to stay up.

“I’ve got you,” he muttered, spreading his fingers around to grip her hips. Then he rocked her close to his mouth again until he was breathing directly onto the silky triangle of fabric covering that intoxicating spot between her legs.

“Dean…”

“Shh. Let me experience you. I’ve waited a long time and I want you in every way I can get you.”

She said nothing else, but sighed and lifted her fingers to tangle in his hair. Dean leaned into her again, brushing his lips over the elastic edge of her panties, then tugging at it with his teeth. Pushing them down to fall at her feet with the dress, he stared for a long moment, admiring her femininity, his mouth watering for more.

When he grazed his lips across her soft curls, he felt her quake in response. “I’ve still got you,” he whispered, seeing the way her skin quivered and flushed beneath the heat of his breath, the contrast from the cold air of the cabin.

“Good. I won’t be able to stay on my feet if you—”

He cut her off by opening his mouth on her, covering her mound and licking deep into her sweet, wet crevice. Fortunately, he had a good grip on the delectable curves of her ass because Bridget’s legs did give out. She cried out in stunned delight, collapsing back toward the sofa, Dean helping her down.

He remained on the floor. Kneeling between her spread legs.

“If this is how you start, I can’t imagine how you finish.”

He laughed softly. Staring at her soft body, cast in pools of light and shadow from the flames in the woodstove, he murmured, “Oh, Bridge, we started months ago.”

She glanced down at him and nodded. “I know.” Tangling her hands in his hair, she tugged him. “Come up here and kiss me.”

“I was kissing you,” he teased, dropping his mouth to the V of her thighs again. He flicked his tongue out to sample her pert clit, rewarded with her delighted gasp and the thrust of her hips toward his hungry mouth.

Dean devoured her, knowing there was so much more to be done but not ready to give up this particularly intimate pleasure until, hearing her frenzied cries and seeing the tensing of her muscles, he realized she was close to climaxing. “Come on, beautiful,” he murmured, wanting to take her there.

And suddenly he did. She arched hard, crying out in delight as tremors ran throughout her body.

Dean gradually worked his way up her body. Every taste whetted his appetite. Every brush of his lips sent fresh quivers through her. She was slender—not too curvaceous but so feminine she could illustrate the word. Soft everywhere. With smooth lines of creamy skin and delicate curves, every one of which he simply had to taste and stroke and adore.

Finally, when he thought Bridget was going to sob if he didn’t finish his leisurely journey northward, he moved over her and stared into her eyes. “I’m glad you let me catch you.”

“I think I caught you,” she murmured.

“You’re absolutely sure?” he asked, already past the point of no return but figuring he ought to pretend to be a gentleman.

She nodded. “Very sure.”

“Thank God. Because there’s no way I’m stopping.”

“I’d never forgive you if you did.” Tugging him close, she brushed her lips against his, then parted them and slid her tongue out to play with his.

Dean groaned, turned his head so he could get even closer, and explored her warm mouth. Their tongues danced wildly, as she began to push his clothes off him. He lifted himself away long enough to lose the shirt, but when she reached for his belt, he pushed her hand aside. “Better let me do that. I have about as much control as a horny kid where you’re concerned.”

Her eyes glittered, as if she liked that she drove him crazy. Hell, he liked that she drove him crazy. He went especially crazy when Bridget reached for the front clasp of her skimpy bra and flicked it open with her thumb. The lacy fabric fell away, revealing perfectly proportioned breasts.

She nibbled her bottom lip, as if uncertain of his reaction. “Not quite centerfold material…” she whispered. “I might have been, uh, exaggerating about the 34 C.”

“You are perfect, Bridget Donahue,” he said, his voice throaty as he studied the perfection of her, the soft skin, the dark puckered nipples that begged to be tasted.