First Love - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 04] Page 9

  Roman paused in front of their door, the key in his hand and a goofy grin on his face.

  "What?"

  "You," he said. "And here I thought that I was the businessman in the family."

  She felt the blush creep up her face. "Yeah, well, it might be a stupid idea"

  "It's not."

  "Tell that to my father."

  "I just might do that," he said, then laughed at her look of absolute horror. "Don't worry. I promise to only mortify you a little bit. But the man's going to be my father-in-law soon. He needs to realize that you've got a head on your shoulders, and you know what to do with it."

  He looked at her with such fervent sincerity that she was certain her heart was just going to melt on the spot. "I love you, Roman. You know that, right?"

  "I figured it out," he said. "I'm perceptive that way."

  He pushed open the door and they half tumbled into the room. Julia had a quick flash of the interior, her brain making note of the charming paint job and the perfectly suited furniture. After that, though, her brain moved on to more interestingand prurient things. Like Roman's lips on her neck, his hands on her ass, the way the length of him pressed hard against her as he assaulted her senses with kisses and caresses.

  Her heart stuttered, and her body started to fizzle under his touch. It had been this way from the first time they'd metbarely able to keep their hands off each other. They fit , plain and simple. And the miracle that she'd found such a perfect man never ceased to amaze her.

  "I've been wanting to touch you like this all night," he said, his voice as hard as his body. "I can't believe I kept you out in public instead of bringing you straight here."

  "Me either," she said, smiling against his mouth. "I figured you were getting tired of me."

  Her voice was laced with a tease, but he pulled back anyway, his eyes serious as they looked into hers. With his hands, he framed her face, held her steady.

  "Never," he said. "I could never get tired of you."

  Her heart skipped a few more beats, and for about the millionth time, she thanked God and fate and good clean living that the Universe had seen fit to bring this man into her life.

  His hand slid down to cup her gently between her thighs, and that was the extent of rational thought. After that, instinct took over, and lust, and the only thought in her head was to touch and be touched. And the only word her addled brain could form was, "Now."

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  For that special wedding night, consider abstinence before the wedding. Hold off for a month, and your wedding night can be just like that first time. It takes a little willpower, but when you get right down to it, who's more motivated than a bride-t&be?

  from Planning the Perfect Honeymoon

  Now . Just three little letters, one small syllable, but that little word held more power than any he'd ever heard before.

  She wanted him. And damned if he didn't want her right back, even more than he'd wanted her yesterday or the day before. Every day with Julia seemed to offer more, and if the desire that flooded his body kept increasing at such an exponential rate, Roman had to fear that he'd be dead before they reached their wedding night.

  Not that he intended to linger on that fear. Not with such a warm and willing woman pressed against him.

  His woman.

  He still couldn't quite get used to that. Lord knew he'd had women beforeplenty of womenbut none that made him feel the way Julia did. None that burrowed into his heart and made a home there.

  "Roman." Her soft voice held a demand.

  "I'm right here, baby." His hands stroked her bare back. The woman had a flair for fashion, and Roman thoroughly approved, especially when that meant backless halters held together with nothing more than two strings tied behind her neck and another two tied at her waist.

  "How expensive is this top?" he asked, his fingers fumbling with the bottom knot.

  "I love you," she said, "but if you rip my Dolce & Gabbana, you'll be hearing about it on our fiftieth wedding anniversary." She reached back herself, pushing his hands away, and her nimble fingers had the tie free in no time.

  The halter hung loose from her neck, and as she reached up to take care of the final knot, his hands stroked up, his palms cupping her firm breasts. Her nipples were hard pearls against his palms, and he rubbed slowly, a circular motion designed to drive her wild.

  It worked, too , he thought as he heard his name, little more than a moan as it escaped her lips.

  A soft brush of fabric over his hands as the halter fell off, and then she stood before him, bare from the waist up. They hadn't switched on a light, but the curtains were open, and the lights of South Congress filtered through, illuminating the interior. The soft orange glow of streetlamps mixed with storefront signs painted her skin with translucent gold, lighting her from the inside.

  He reached up and took the clip out of her hair, then watched as the mass of curls tumbled just past her shoulder. The light caught the strands and they seemed to spark in the dim illumination. She was on fire, a wicked angel there just for him.

  Roughly, he pulled her toward him, his fingers going automatically for the waistband of her flirty skirt. He tugged it down, delighted by her little shimmy of help.

  She eased out of the skirt, kicking it aside to land in a pile a few feet away. A testament to her passion, he thought. Clothes were one thing Julia Spinelli treated with the utmost respect.

  Not that he could care less about her clothes at the moment. Not when he was staring at this goddess of a woman, standing in front of him wearing nothing but yellow Sponge Bob panties.

  He did a double take, then chuckled. "Not what I expected," he said.

  Color lit her cheeks. "I wasn't expecting to see you when I got dressed this morning. They're comfortable."

  "I hope so," he said, still fighting back laughter. "I never thought Sponge Bob could look so sexy."

  "Roman!" Her voice held both censure and amusement. "Okay, now you have to marry me, because you know my dirty little secret. I love cheap underwear from Wal-Mart."

  "It's cute." He held up his hands before she could smack him. "I mean it. Got any other dirty little secrets?"

  She made a face. "I like peanut butter M&M's. I keep a stash in my purse."

  "You're a wild woman."

  "That I am." And then, wearing only her cartoon panties, she walked toward him, her hips moving like a runway model's. He tried to swallow, but couldn't quite manage. Julia knew her appeal. She might be unsure about her ability to run a motel or to mix with the folks in his hometown, but she knew her effect on a man. And it awed him that he was the man she wanted to bewitch.

  "What do you think?" She did a turn, then posed. "Are you going to keep me? Despite my questionable taste in underwear?"

  "Sweetheart, you couldn't get away from me if you wanted to."

  She moved toward him without an ounce of shyness, in total command of the room. She stopped only inches from him, and the air between them practically crackled with electricity. She reached a finger out and ran it down the front of his shirt, then hooked the tip of her finger over the waistband of his jeans.

  "I seem to be at a little bit of a disadvantage," she said.

  "I disagree," he said. "I'm pretty sure the advantage is entirely yours."

  She laughed, and he pulled her close, kissed her once again, hard. Her mouth opened to his, and he deepened the kiss even as his hand dipped down, his fingers knotting in the panties. And then, he ripped. Bye-bye Sponge Bob.

  Julia's startled gasp, laced as it was with passion and need, told him he'd done exactly the right thing.

  "Baby," he said reverentially, "you're so beautiful."

  A delightful flush spread over her cheeks, and she shifted a little, one arm moving to cover her breasts.

  "No, no," he said. "None of that." He ran his hands over her arms, then pinned them at her sides. He was already rock hard, and he stepped closer, wishing he'd had the foresigh
t to remove his clothes, too. He was so turned on, he was about to burst, and all he wanted was to lose himself inside her.

  Except that wasn't really all. No, even more, he wanted to drive her over the edge. To take her as far as possible and then pull her back to him.

  He cupped his hands over her breasts, delighted by the way she trembled, as if just that touch would make her come. He stroked and played, then lightly rubbed his palms over her nipples.

  In front of him, Julia moaned, her eyes closed. "I can't I can't stand up. My knees"

  "Shhh," he said. "I've got you."

  He slid one hand down her belly, his fingers finding their way between her thighs as he bent to take one pert breast in his mouth. She gasped and shuddered, and he felt raw male power surge through him.

  She was wet, ready for him, and when he slipped a finger inside her, her body clenched around him, her hips bucking as if to draw him in even more.

  It was, finally, all he could take.

  With his free hand, he fumbled with his belt, managing to loosen it, then his pants.

  He couldn't touch her and rip the damn things off at the same time, though, so he spun her around, moving her the few short steps to the wall and wordlessly pressing her hands against it. Her back was to him, her adorable ass right there for him to stroke.

  "Roman," she whispered.

  "Stay," he ordered, his voice soft, but firm.

  He kicked out of his shoes and managed to free himself from the damn pants. His shirt was still on, but he didn't worry about that. He moved to her, erect and full of need, and pressed against her from behind. He slid his hands around her, cupping her breasts as she arched her back.

  She lifted herself on her tiptoes, her bottom pressed upward as if silently demanding his touch.

  He didn't disappoint her. His cock slid between her thighs, stroking her sex from behind in slow, rhythmic movements designed to take them both over the edge.

  She moaned, then spread her legs wider, a little quiver running through her body telling him just how much she needed this.

  "Tell me you want me," he whispered, then nipped at her ear with his teeth.

  "I want you." Her voice was breathy, full of need.

  "Tell me to touch you."

  "God, yes, please. Touch me."

  He pressed his lips to her neck, kissed her. Inhaled the scent of her hair, and concentrated on memorizing the curve of her ear. He had to get his mind off how turned on he was, or he'd come right then. And he wasn't ready for that yet.

  "Roman" Her voice was desperate, demanding.

  "Hush," he said. "Soon."

  Keeping one hand on her breast, he slid the other down between her thighs. His fingers sought out her clit, her startled gasp letting him know when he'd found the perfect place. He stroked slowly, wanting to drive her crazy. And as he did so, he moved his hips forward and back in a slow, undulating motion, so that his cock rubbed gently against the soft skin of her ass and thighs. That way, he was driving them both crazy.

  She moved against his hand, and he could feel the need flowing off of her, mixing with his own desperation. She reduced him to passion more than any woman he'd ever been with. Just one look, and she could take him down. But now, like this, he wanted it to be about her. He wanted to be the one to reduce her to neediness, to lust.

  He moved his hips, thrusting forward and back in an almost hypnotic motion designed to take them both to the precipice. And then, when he felt himself getting too close, he pulled back. But not for her. His fingers kept touching, kept stroking, until he felt her tense under his touch. She was on the edge, and he was determined to take her over.

  "Now," he whispered. "Go over for me."

  That was all it took, and he felt her explode in his hand, her body breaking into a million little pieces and him the only thing holding her together.

  She twisted as the depth of it passed, turning so that she was facing him, her eyes unseeing, then clearing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Roman," she whispered.

  "Hmmm?"

  She brushed his cheek with a kiss, then pulled back. This time, her eyes were hard and determined and very full of need. "I swear if you aren't inside me in the next thirty seconds, I'm calling off the wedding."

  He laughed, then circled her waist with his hands. "Sweetheart, I don't think that will be a problem."

  Julia had never thought of herself as the kind of woman to simply let a man take charge. For that matter, she'd always been the one in control in past relationships, leading her boyfriends along on a leash and watching from a pedestal as they did her bidding. It almost made her ashamed to admit it, but it was true.

  Not so with Roman.

  She was completely lost to his power over her. Totally submissive to him, and loving every touch, every command.

  His hands were tight around her waist, and she gasped slightly as he lifted her, pressing her back against the wall, then sliding her down just as he impaled her on him. His hands slid down then, cupping her bottom, as he pressed against her, his mouth crushing against hers before sliding down to nestle in the curve of her neck.

  She couldn't move, but it didn't matter. He did all the work, lifting her and slamming her back down against him with each thrust. Their breathing came fast and hard, a rhythm shared as something wild and whirling grew inside them, danced around them, and then determined to push them over the edge.

  "I can't" Roman muttered. "Too fast I'm sorry."

  "God, no. Not too fast," she whispered, as his fingers tightened on her and he exploded inside her. They crumpled to the ground as his knees gave out, him on his back, breathing hard, and her sprawled on top of him.

  "I think I've died and gone to heaven," he said. His hands were on her back, stroking lazily up and down.

  "Yeah?" Her voice was just as languid, but she managed a tease. She rocked her hips just a little, felt him stir inside her. "I don't think you're quite dead yet."

  A slow grin started at the corner of his mouth. "What can I say? You've revived me."

  She wiggled her bottom a little, feeling him harden and fill her. "Yeah, I guess I have."

  It was her turn to be in control now, and she loved that. Loved the give-and-take this relationship with Roman offered. Loved everything about him, for that matter.

  She was his, and he was hers.

  Even now, that simple fact could make her dizzy.

  "What?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.

  "I'm going to marry you," she said, and the wash of pleasure she saw pass over his face in reaction to her words nearly undid her again.

  "Wife," he said. "I like the sound of that."

  "Me too," she whispered. But after that, she quit talking. His fingers had sneaked between their bodies and were now doing a number on her senses. And it was all she could do to keep her head on as she rode him to one more mind-bending orgasm.

  Spent, she rolled off him as he murmured a protest. "Not staying on you," she said, managing to force the words out. "Wouldn't survive another round."

  "We should move to the bed," he said.

  "Can't. No bones."

  He started to push himself up, fell back against her. "Me neither." He managed instead to reach forward to grab the end of the bedspread. One tug and he managed to pull it off the bed. He spread it over them, and she started to drift toward sleep in his arms.

  A single thought passed through her mind, promising to color her dreams: Today had been perfect. Tomorrow would be perfect. And absolutely nothing was going to spoil that.

  * * *

  Had he known about it, Marv Spinelli would have argued with his daughter's assessment of the next day's perfection. To his mind, the day started off bad when the sun streamed in through the thin curtains at some god-awful early hour, and it got worse when his do-gooder wife dragged his sorry butt out of bed and insisted they walk down Main Street.

  Leaving the Inn meant seeing Sonntag House right next door, and that sight sparked his temper all ov
er again. Marv felt his blood pressure spike and he fisted his hands, working to calm himself down. Deep inside, he knew that he should just let it go. He'd won, after all. Putting the Inn up had been the final coup, a middle finger raised and aimed at Robert Sonntag and the whole Sonntag clan.

  But Marv had wanted the house and he hadn't gotten it, and that still rankled. He didn't like losing, and resentment had been stewing for years. Maybe he could have burned some of it off if he'd come back to Texas once or twice in the years since the Inn had been erected. But he hadn't. And when Julia had told him who she was marrying, every old injury and pain and resentment had come barreling back down on him and was now churning in his stomach like a monster fighting to get out.

  "Marv. Let it go." Myrna's hand was on his forearm, her eyes aimed, like his were, at Sonntag House, a bit dilapidated but still regal.

  He snorted and turned away. "I've got it under control."

  Myrna pursed her lips, clearly not believing him, but she said nothing, and they walked in silence up Main Street, Marv stewing and Myrna worrying.

  When they reached the Old German Bakery, Myr-na's hand closed like a vise around his wrist. "Oh, Marv, honey," she said. "Doesn't this just look fabulous?" She'd parked them outside the bakery's window and was inspecting each offering with the intensity of a diamond cutter.

  "Looks like food," he said. "You wanna go in, we'll go in. But don't stand out here slobbering like Humphrey."

  Myrna's mouth curved into a little moue. "I should have brought him. He's probably missing me something awful."

  Marv fought the urge to rub his temples. "He's a slobbering, farting pain in the ass. He's happy if he has some food to eat and someplace to crap it out the other end."

  His wife gave him one of her rare sour looks. He held up his hands in surrender. "All right. All right. Sorry. I'm sure the mutt's having a fabulous time. Probably turning cartwheels having the house to himself."

  "We should have brought him."

  "He's fine with Marcella."