McFarlane's Perfect Bride / Taming the Montana Millionaire: McFarlane's Perfect Bride

He stuck with the truth, painful as it was to reveal. “I think you want me to be a better man.”

She gazed at him for a long time. And then, finally, she conceded, “Yes. That may be true, to an extent. I would like you to be the best you can be. Tonight, though, I see that you already are a good man. A man capable of honesty. Of trust. And I understand what you’re telling me. I already knew—or at least, I knew the part about how you’re not up for anything long-lasting. We talked about it before, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I remember everything. Every look. Every smile. Every word we said.” He swore low. “I sound like an idiot, some hopeless fool …”

“No. You don’t.” She reached out her hand to him. He met her halfway, in the middle of the table. Palm to palm, they wove their fingers together. “You don’t sound like a fool, not in the least.” Her soft mouth trembled on a smile. “I’m so glad that you’re here. That it’s not over, after all.”

He shoved back his chair and stood. She stood with him. And then, hands still joined, in unison they stepped toward each other around the table. Once she was close enough, he reeled her in. She felt like heaven in his arms.

“No, it’s not over,” he said, staring down into those beautiful misty eyes. “Not yet …”

“Not yet …” she echoed, lifting her mouth to him. He took it. Wrapping her tighter, closer, he kissed her deeply, learning all the sweet, wet surfaces behind her parted lips.

When he lifted his head, it was only to slant it the other way and claim her lips again. He could have stood there in her kitchen, holding her, kissing her, until the sun came up.

But then the kettle whistled and the coffeemaker beeped. He let her go so she could brew her tea and pour his coffee.

They sat across from each other again.

He stared at his untouched mug, at the fragrant curl of steam rising from it. “Jerilyn told CJ what happened Saturday, the crisis with Jerilyn’s father. He said your dad flew in from Denver to help. Jerilyn says she has hope now, that things will be all right.”

“CJ told you what Jerilyn told him?”

“He did.”

“I think I would call that actual communication—and the beginnings of trust, as well.”

“So would I. Due in large part to you, Tori. I’m trying, I really am, to take your advice, to let him know I’m on his side, that he can count on me. I think it just may be working—at least a little.”

“I’m so glad.”

“You haven’t touched your tea.”

She tipped her head to the side the way she always did when she was studying him. “And you aren’t drinking your coffee.”

He confessed, “I’m thinking about holding you in my arms again. And I’m also thinking that if I start kissing you, I won’t want to stop.”

“Would that be … so bad?” Her voice was shy, hesitant. Her eyes were anything but.

“Uh-uh. Not bad at all. It would be really, really good. But I don’t want to rush you into anything you might regret.”

Her smile was full of feminine intent. “How long do you plan to stay here in town?”

“I have to leave Wednesday, for meetings in Philadelphia. But I’ll be back by Friday afternoon.”

Steadily, she held his gaze. “I meant, how long are you planning to be living in town? When will you be leaving for good? “

“If the resort deal works out, I’ll be here into the winter, at least. But after CJ returns to school, I’ll make my home base back east, and only be in Thunder Canyon on and off.”

“And CJ starts school …?”

“At the end of August.”

“A little over two months from now.”

“That’s right. Is that somehow significant?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Because?”

She pushed her chair back again, leaving her tea still untouched. “Because two months will go by too fast. And it seems to me that we shouldn’t waste a day, an hour, another minute of the time we have together.”

He stared at her. And then, slowly, he rose to his feet. They faced each other, with only the round kitchen table between them. He asked, rough and low, “What are telling me, Tori?”

She approached him slowly, untying the sash of her robe as she came. When she reached him, she dropped the sash to the floor and eased the robe from her shoulders. It fell away without a sound. Underneath she wore a short summer nightgown with tiny satin straps that tied in charming little bows at her shoulders. That nightgown revealed a lot more than it covered.

His desire, carefully banked until then, flared high. “You are so beautiful.”

“Take me in your arms, Connor,” she whispered, lifting on tiptoe, her breasts brushing his chest, making the flare of desire burn all the hotter. “Take me in your arms and hold me all night long.”

Chapter Six

Connor’s newfound conscience urged him to argue with her, to tell her she ought to think twice about this, to grab her by the shoulders and put her firmly away from him, to speak reasonably about taking their time, to remind her again about not rushing into anything she might regret later.

But she had it right, after all. They didn’t have a lot of time. Just one short summer.

And wasting a minute of it, now they were both on the same page about where they were going?

Uh-uh. No way.

He wrapped his arms around her, good and tight. And he kissed her, deeply. Endlessly. His mouth locked to hers, drinking her in, he bent to scoop her up high in his arms.

She pulled her soft lips from his just long enough to fling out a hand in the general direction of the great room and to whisper, “That way …”

He claimed her mouth again and started walking, carrying her out of the kitchen, across the great room, to her bedroom not far from the entryway. The door was wide open. He went in.

At the side of the bed, he lowered her feet to the rug. Dizzy with the scent of her, with the taste of her, and the soft, arousing feel of her body so close to him, somehow he still managed to break the incredible kiss.

He knew that they had to be at least a little bit responsible. “I should have thought of this.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t have condoms …”

She surged up, caught his mouth in a swift, hot kiss, and then sank back to her heels again. “It’s okay.” She rested her small hands, palms flat, against his chest. “I have them.” Her dreamy gaze turned rueful. “I always wanted to be ready, in case it ever felt right with someone. It never did—not in the whole time I’ve lived in Thunder Canyon. Not until tonight …”

“Well.” He ran his palms down the silky skin of her arms. So smooth. And she smelled so good. Like fresh, ripe strawberries and sugared lemons, both at the same time. “Okay, then.”