Chapter Eleven
A t the pool, Meg watched Torie wrap two future beauty queens in beach towels. The happy kisses she planted on both noses testified that she was all bluster when it came to complaining about her kids. Kenny, in the meantime, was refereeing an argument between two young boys with hair as dark as his own, while a little girl with her mother’s butterscotch curls stole the disputed rubber raft from behind their backs and ran into the pool with it.
Eventually Meg managed to excuse herself to use the bathroom only to find Spence waiting in the hallway with a fresh glass of wine as she came out. “I seem to remember you were drinking the sauvignon blanc.” He hit the consonants hard, like a man with no patience for any language other than English, then poked his head into the bathroom. “Kohler toilet,” he said. “But those are my faucets. Brushed nickel. Part of our Chesterfield line.”
“They’re . . . lovely.”
“Sunny designed them. That girl is a whiz.”
“She seems really accomplished.” Meg tried to ease away, but he was a big man, and he blocked the hallway. His hand settled into its too-familiar spot in the middle of her back. “I have to fly back to Indy for a couple of days. After that, I need to make a quick run to London to check out a cabinet company. I know you’ve got a job, but”—he winked—“why don’t I see if I can arrange for you to get a couple of days off and come with me?”
She was starting to feel a little queasy. “Spence, you’re a great guy . . .” A great guy with a chunk of barbecued chicken wedged in his front teeth. “I’m really flattered, but . . .” She tried to look besotted. “You know I’m in love with Ted.”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “Meg, honey, chasing after a guy who’s not interested in you will rip the hell out of your self-respect. Better to face facts now because the longer you put it off, the harder it’ll be.”
She wasn’t giving up that easily. “I don’t actually know that Ted’s not interested in me.”
He moved his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve seen Ted with Sunny. The way the sparks are flying between them. Even somebody half blind could tell those two are made for each other.”
He was wrong. The only genuine sparks had come from Sunny. The rest had come from the Beaudine voodoo machine. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what kind of woman Ted needed, but it wasn’t Spence’s daughter any more than it had been Lucy. Still, what did she know? Maybe Sunny, with her advanced degree and engineering mind, was right for him.
“Now, I know he’s just coming off an engagement,” Spence said, “but Sunny’s smart. She’ll take her time. He already treats her like she’s the only woman in the world.”
Obviously, Spence hadn’t noticed that he treated every female that way. “Ted and Sunny together.” He chuckled. “Now that would really clinch the deal here.”
Right then, she figured out the answer to the question everyone in town had been asking: Why had Spence changed his mind about Wynette?
Last spring, Spence had rejected the town in favor of San Antonio, but a little over a month ago, he’d reappeared and announced that Wynette was once again in the running. And now Meg knew it was because of Sunny. His daughter had first met Ted when he was still engaged to Lucy. But he wasn’t engaged now, and what Sunny wanted, Spence would do his best to make sure Sunny got.
“Tell me about your new Cleaner You toilet,” Meg said. “I’m dying to hear the details.”
He eagerly launched into a description of a toilet that automatically washed the user’s butt. That quickly led to his next favorite topic, her life in Hollywood. “All those famous people’s houses . . . I’ll bet you’ve seen some great bathrooms.”
“I mainly grew up in Connecticut, and I spend a lot of time traveling.”
That didn’t stop him from asking if she knew his favorite stars, a list that included Cameron Diaz, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and inexplicably, Tori Spelling.
The fireworks began as soon as it was dark. While the guests gathered on the back lawn, eleven-year-old Peter Traveler, Shelby and Warren’s son, raced around the yard with his friends, and the sleepy younger children curled up on oversize beach towels next to their parents. One of Torie’s daughters entwined her fingers in her mother’s hair. Kenny and Emma’s three children sprawled across their parents, the smallest tucking herself under her father’s arm.
Meg, Spence, Ted, and Sunny sat on a blanket Shelby provided. Spence squeezed in too close, and Meg eased onto the grass. Ted braced his weight on his elbows and listened as Sunny enumerated the chemical compounds used to make specific colors of fireworks. He seemed fascinated, but Meg suspected his mind was someplace else. The guests cheered as the first pinwheels exploded in the sky. Spence dropped one hot, hairy paw over Meg’s hand. The moist evening air made the stench of his cologne more pungent, and as a rocket shot into the air, the black stone in his pinkie ring winked at her like an evil eye.
The cologne . . . the heat . . . too much wine . . . “Excuse me,” she whispered. She extricated herself and made her way through the blankets and beach towels to French doors that opened into a spacious family room. The cozy, English country decor featured soft-cushioned couches and easy chairs; end tables holding magazines and silver-framed family photographs; and bookcases displaying model airplanes, board games, and a complete set of Harry Potter.
The door opened behind her. Spence had followed her inside, and her stomach clenched. She was tired, out of sorts, and she couldn’t take it any longer. “I’m in love with Ted Beaudine. Passionately in love with him.”
“You’ve got a weird way of showing it.”
Shit. Not Spence at all. She spun around to see Ted standing just inside the French doors, his tall, absolutely perfect body silhouetted against the night. A rocket exploded in the sky forming a golden starburst behind his head. It was so infuriatingly predictable she could have screamed. “Leave me alone.”
“Passion sure does make you crabby.” As he moved away from the door, the golden sparks tumbled to oblivion in an aerial waterfall. “Just checking to see if you’re okay. You looked a little peaked.”
“The stench of too much cologne, and that’s bull. You want to get away from Sunny.”
“I don’t know why you’d say that. She’s a real smart girl. Hot, too.”
“And she’d be perfect for you, except you don’t really like her, not that you’d admit to disliking anybody except me. Still, if you can manage to fall in love with her, you’ll have that awful golf resort built before you know it. Spence told me himself that a match between you and Sunny would seal the deal. That’s why he came back to Wynette.” She shot him a dark look. “As I’m sure you’ve already figured out.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “Wynette needs the resort, and I’m not apologizing for doing everything I can to make it happen. There’s hardly a person in this town who won’t benefit.”
“You’re going to have to marry her, then. What does one man’s happiness mean against the well-being of the multitudes?”
“We barely know each other.”
“Not to worry. Sunny’s a woman who goes after what she wants.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’s just having fun.”
“ Au contraire. You are the one and only Ted Beaudine, and the mere sight of you makes women—”
“Shut up.” Harsh words, gently delivered. “Just shut up, will you?”
He looked as tired as she felt. She slumped down on the damask upholstered couch, propped her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in her hands. “I hate this town.”
“Maybe. But you also like the challenge it’s giving you.”
Her head shot up. “Challenge? I’m sleeping in a hot, unfurnished church and selling Bud Light to pampered golfers who can’t be bothered to recycle their beer cans. Oh, yeah, I love the challenge all right.”
His eyes seemed to see right through her. “That only makes it more interesting, doesn’t it? You’re finally getting a chance to test yourself.”
“Finally?” She jumped up off the couch. “I’ve kayaked the Mekong River and gone diving with great whites off Cape Town. Don’t talk to me about tests.”
“Those weren’t tests. That’s your idea of fun. But what’s happening here in Wynette is different. You finally get to see what you’re made of without Mom and Dad’s money. Can you survive in a place where Spence Skipjack is the only person impressed by your last name and where, let’s face it, nobody likes you?”
“Torie sort of likes me. And Haley Kittle.” The way he was studying her made her uncomfortable, so she went over to the bookcase and pretended to inspect the titles.
He came up behind her. “It’s interesting watching you. Can Meg Koranda survive on nothing but her wits? That’s the real challenge for you, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t exactly right, but he wasn’t entirely wrong, either. “What do you know? You’re the all-American success story in reverse. Raised by rich parents and brought up with all the advantages. You should have ended up as spoiled as me, but you didn’t.”
“You’re not spoiled, Meg. Stop saying that about yourself.”
Once again he’d unbalanced her. She stared at a row of reference books. “What do you know? You’ve never screwed up in your life.”
“You’re wrong there. When I was a kid, I vandalized the Statue of Liberty.”
“You and a Magic Marker. Big deal.” She ran her thumb down the spine of a dictionary.
“Oh, it was worse than that. I climbed into the crown, broke a window, and tossed out a No Nukes banner.”
That shocked her so much she finally turned to face him. “Lucy never told me about that.”
“Didn’t she?” He tilted his head so she couldn’t quite see into his eyes. “I guess we never got around to talking about it.”
“How could you not have talked about something so important?”
He shrugged. “Other things on our minds.”
“The experience must have been at least a little traumatic.”
His expression relaxed, and he smiled. “It was the worst moment of my childhood. And the best.”
“How could it have been the best? Surely you got caught?”
“Oh, yes.” He gazed at the English landscape hanging over the fireplace. “I didn’t meet my father until I was nine—long story—and when we did meet, it didn’t go well. He expected something else in a kid, and I expected a different kind of father. We were both pretty miserable. Until that day at the Statue of Liberty.”
“What happened?”
He smiled again. “I learned I could count on him. That changed both our lives, and from then on, nothing was the same between us.”
Maybe it was the wine. The fact that they were both tired from a long day and the strain of dealing with Spence and Sunny. All she knew was that they were staring into each other’s eyes one moment, and the next, for no discernible reason, they both moved, and their bodies touched. She tilted her chin and he lowered his head, his eyelids dropped, and just like that, they were kissing.
She was so shocked that her arm flew up and banged him in the elbow, but her clumsiness didn’t stop either of them. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head to exactly the right angle. She was too curious and too turned on to pull away.
He tasted good, like beer and bubble gum. His thumb slid into the tender place behind her earlobe while his other hand tunneled into her curls. No doubt about it. She was on the receiving end of one of the best kisses of her life. Not too hard. Not too soft. Slow and perfect. But of course it was perfect. He was Ted Beaudine, and he did everything impeccably.
She didn’t remember putting her arms around his shoulders, but there they were, and as his silver tongue worked its magic against her own, she melted.
He eased away first. Her eyelids fluttered, and as she gazed up, she met a look of shock that must have matched her own. Something had happened. Something unexpected. And neither of them was happy about it. Slowly he released her.
She heard a noise. He straightened. Sanity returned. She hooked a piece of hair behind her ear and turned to see Sunny Skipjack standing inside the French doors, hand at her throat, her customary self-confidence crumpling. Meg had no idea whether the kiss had been the same impulsive act for Ted that it had been for her or whether he’d known Sunny was standing there all along and recklessly initiated the kiss to discourage her. Either way, he regretted it, something that was as clear as the trembling in her knees. He was tired, his defenses had been down for once, and he knew he’d just screwed up royally.
Sunny struggled for composure. “One of life’s awkward moments,” she said.
If Sunny bolted because of this, the people of Wynette would sure enough blame Meg, and she had enough problems without that. As she gazed up at Ted, she reassembled her features into a portrait of a damsel in distress. “I’m sorry, Ted. I know I can’t keep throwing myself at you like this. I understand how uncomfortable it makes you. But you’re just so . . . so . . . frickin’ irresistible.”
One dark eyebrow shot up.
She looked over at Sunny, girlfriend to girlfriend. “Too much wine. I swear it won’t happen again.” And then, because she was only human, “He’s so vulnerable now. So sweet and helpless from the mess with Lucy. I took advantage.”
“I’m not vulnerable or helpless,” he said tightly.
She pressed her index finger to his lips. “An open wound.” With the dignity of a brave woman suffering from unrequited love, she edged past Sunny and headed for the patio, where she reclaimed her purse and set off for what currently passed as her home.
She’d just washed her face and slipped the happy printing company T-shirt over her head when she heard a car outside. A random Texas serial killer could have just shown up, but she was putting her money on Sunny Skipjack. She took her time hanging the Modigliani dress in the old choir robe closet, then let herself out the door by the altar into the main section of the church.
She was wrong about Sunny.
“You forgot your party favor,” Ted said.
She didn’t like the heady rush she felt at the sight of him standing at the rear of the sanctuary holding up a wooden paddleball stenciled with an American flag. “Shelby had a basket of patriotic yoyos, too, but I figured you’d like a paddle better. Or maybe that was just me projecting what I thought you needed.” He slapped the paddle hard against his hand.
Although her happy printing company T-shirt hung over her hips, she wore only an ivory thong beneath. She needed more clothes, like chain mail and a chastity belt. He took a few swipes at the rubber ball with the paddle and sauntered forward, his eyes all over her. “Thanks for helping me out back there with Sunny, although I could have done without your commentary.”
She eyed the paddle and then him. “You brought it on yourself. You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
His brow knit with phony indignation. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I did not. You were all over me.”
“In your dreams.” He gave the paddleball an extra-hard slap. She cocked her head. “If you break a window with that thing, I’m reporting you to my landlord.”
He caught the ball, gazed at what he could see of her bottom, and ran his thumb along the curve of the paddle. “The strangest idea just came into my head.” The high ceiling fan ruffled his hair. Once again, he slapped the paddle against his palm. “I’d tell you about it, but it’d only make you mad.”
Sex hung in the air between them as explosive as the evening’s fireworks. Regardless of who had initiated their kiss, something had irrevocably shifted between them, and they both knew it.
So much for playing games. Although nothing was more repugnant to her than becoming another of Ted Beaudine’s sexual conquests, the idea of making him one of her sexual conquests was worth pondering. “You can have any woman in this town. Probably in the whole state. Leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because you’ve treated me like crap ever since I got here.”
“Wrong. I was perfectly nice to you at the rehearsal dinner. I didn’t start treating you like crap until after Lucy ran off.”
“Which wasn’t my fault. Admit it.”
“I don’t want to. I might have to blame myself, and who needs that?”
“You do. Although, to be fair, Lucy should have figured it out before things went so far.”
He gave the paddleball a couple of whacks. “What else have you got on your grievance list?”
“You forced me to go work for Birdie Kittle.”
He dropped the paddle on the brown chair, as if the temptation to use it was becoming too strong to resist. “It kept you out of jail, didn’t it?”
“And you made sure I was paid less than the other maids.”
He played dumb. “I don’t remember that.”
She nursed all the injustices. “That day at the inn, when I was cleaning . . . You stood in the doorway and watched me nearly kill myself trying to turn that mattress.”
He grinned. “I have to admit, that was entertaining.”
“Then, after lugging your bag of clubs for eighteen holes, you gave me a one-dollar tip.”
She shouldn’t have brought that up because he still held a grudge. “Three holes you cost me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that all my new head covers are missing.”
“You were my best friend’s fiancé! And if that’s not good enough, don’t forget that I basically hate you.”
He hit her full force with those golden brown eyes. “You basically like me, too. Not your fault. It just happened.”
“I’m going to make it un-happen.”
His voice turned to smoke. “Now why would you want to do that when we’re both more than ready to take the next step? Which I highly recommend we do naked.”
She swallowed. “I’m sure you’d like that, but maybe I’m not ready.” Coyness wasn’t her strong suit, and he looked disappointed in her for making the attempt. She threw up her hands. “Okay, so I’ll admit I’m curious. Big deal. We both know what that leads to. Dead cat.”
He smiled. “Or one hell of a lot of fun.”
She hated that she was seriously thinking about going ahead with this. “I’m not seriously thinking about going ahead with this,” she said, “but if I were, I’d have a ton of conditions.”
“Such as?”
“This would only be about sex—no cute pet names, no nighttime confidences. No”—she wrinkled her nose at the idea—“friendship.”
“We already have a kind of friendship.”
“Only in your twisted mind because you can’t stand the idea that you’re not friends with everybody on the planet.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”
“It’s impossible, that’s what’s wrong with it. If this went any further, you could never tell anybody about us. I mean it. Wynette is the gossip capital of the world, and I have enough trouble on my plate. We’d have to sneak around. In public, you’d need to keep on pretending to hate me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I can handle that easy.”
“And don’t even think of using me to discourage Sunny Skipjack.”
“Subject to discussion. That woman scares the hell out of me.”
“She doesn’t scare you at all. You just don’t want to deal with her.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I’d need to talk to Lucy first.”
That caught him by surprise. “Why would you have to do that?”
“A question that once again proves how little you know me.”
He reached in his pocket, pulled out his cell, and tossed it to her. “Go for it.”
She tossed it right back. “I’ll use my own.”
He pocketed his phone and waited.
“Not now,” she said, starting to feel more frazzled than she wanted to be.
“Now,” he said. “You just told me it’s a precondition.”
She should kick him out, but she wanted him too much, and she was predestined to make bad choices when it came to men, which was why her female friendships had always been so important. She shot him a dirty look, the closest she could get to a face-saving gesture, and stomped toward the kitchen, where she banged the door behind her. As she grabbed her cell, she told herself she’d take it as a sign if Lucy didn’t answer.
But Lucy answered. “Meg? What’s up?”
She sank down on the linoleum and pressed her spine to the refrigerator door. “Hey, Luce. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” She unstuck a Cheerio she’d dropped that morning, or possibly last week, and crumbled it between her fingers. “So how’s it going?”
“It’s one in the morning. How do you think it’s going?”
“Really? It’s only midnight here, but since I have no idea where you are, it’s a little tough to allow for time differences.”
Meg regretted her testiness as Lucy sighed. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll . . . tell you as soon as I can. Right now everything’s a little . . . confusing. Is something wrong? You sound worried.”
“Something’s wrong, all right.” There was no easy way to say this. “What would you think about—” She pulled her knees tighter against her chest and took a deep breath. “What would you think about me hooking up with Ted?”
There was a long silence. “Hooking up? As in—?”
“Yes.”
“With Ted?”
“Your former fiancé.”
“I know who he is. You and Ted are a . . . couple?”
“No!” Meg dropped her knees to the floor. “No, not a couple. Never. This is just about sex. And forget it. I’m not exactly thinking clearly right now. I should never have called. God, what was I thinking? This is a total betrayal of our friendship. I shouldn’t have—”
“No! No, I’m glad you called.” Lucy actually sounded excited. “Oh, Meg, this is perfect. Every woman should have Ted Beaudine make love to her.”
“I don’t know about that, but—” She pulled her knees back up. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Are you kidding?” Lucy sounded almost giddy. “Do you know how guilty I still feel? If he sleeps with you . . . You’re my best friend. He’d be sleeping with my best friend! It’ll be like getting absolution from the pope!”
“You don’t have to sound so broken up about it.”
The door opened. Meg quickly lowered her knees as Ted ambled in. “Tell Lucy hello from me,” he said.
“I’m not your messenger boy,” she retorted.
“Is he there right now?” Lucy asked.
“That would be a yes,” Meg replied.
“Tell him hello from me, then.” Lucy’s voice grew small again, full of guilt. “And that I’m sorry.”
Meg cupped her hand over the phone and gazed up at him. “She said she’s having the time of her life, screwing every man she meets, and dumping you was the best move she ever made.”
“I heard that,” Lucy said. “And he’ll know you’re lying. He knows things like that.”
Ted rested the heel of his hand against a top cabinet and slanted her his superior look. “Liar.”
She glowered at him. “Go away. You are totally creeping me out.”
Lucy sucked in her breath. “Did you just tell Ted Beaudine that he was creeping you out?”
“I might have.”
Lucy let out a long exhalation. “Wow . . .” She sounded a little dazed. “I sure didn’t see this coming.”
Meg frowned. “See what coming? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Love you. And enjoy!” She hung up.
Meg snapped her phone closed. “I think we can safely assume Lucy’s recovered from her guilt.”
“Does that mean she gave us her blessing?”
“Me. She gave me her blessing.”
He adopted a faraway look. “I sure do miss that woman. Smart. Funny. Sweet. She never gave me a moment’s trouble.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry about that. I knew it was boring between you two, but not that bad.”
He smiled and stretched out his hand. She let him pull her to her feet, but he didn’t stop there. In one smooth motion, he drew her against him and began kissing the breath right out of her. Because of their height, their bodies were a surprisingly comfortable fit, but that was the only comfortable thing about this lusty, bone-shattering kiss.
He smelled so good, tasted so good, felt so good. The heat of his skin, the feel of sturdy muscle and hard tendon. It had been so long.
He didn’t grab her ass or shove his hand under her shirt where he would quickly have discovered lots of bare skin bisected only by that fragile ivory thong. Instead, he concentrated on her mouth, her face, her hair—stroking and exploring, sliding his fingers through her curls, finding her earlobes with his thumbs. It was as if he’d memorized a diagram of all the nonobvious erogenous zones on her body. It was heady and thrilling and oh so arousing.
Their mouths parted. He pressed his forehead to hers and spoke softly. “I’d like to go to my place, but I’m not risking having you change your mind on the way, so it’ll have to be here.” A nibble at her bottom lip. “Doubt it’ll be the first time two people have got it on in that choir loft, although I thought my days of getting sweaty on a futon had ended when I graduated from college.”
She tried to get her breath back as he caught her wrist and drew her out into the church. “Stop.” Her heels skidded on the old pine floor. “We’re not taking another step toward that futon until we have The Conversation.”
He wasn’t dumb. He groaned, but he stopped walking. “I’m disease free. There’s been nobody since Lucy, and since that was four fricking months ago, you’ll have to understand if I’m a little impatient.”
“Nobody since Lucy? Really?”
“What part of four fricking months don’t you get?” He regarded her stubbornly, as if he expected a fight. “And I don’t go anywhere without a condom. You can make whatever you want out of that. It’s just the way it is.”
“You being Ted Beaudine and all.”
“Like I said.”
“Four months, huh? It hasn’t been nearly that long for me.” A lie. Her disastrous affair with Daniel, the Aussie river-rafting guide, had ended eight months ago. She’d never indulged in one-night stands, something she attributed to the conversations her mother had initiated about sex. Unfortunately, those conversations hadn’t kept her from making some bad choices. More than one of her friends had said Meg deliberately chose men she knew would never commit because she wasn’t ready to be a grown-up herself.
“I also am disease free,” she said loftily, “and I’m on the pill. Don’t let that stop you, however, from using one of those condoms you undoubtedly purchase by the gross. Since this is Texas, land of the barely concealed weapon, if I got pregnant, I would locate one of those weapons and blow your brains out. Fair warning.”
“Good. We’re clear.” He caught her wrist and dragged her up the winding choir loft steps, not that he had to do much dragging.
“I also don’t do one-night stands,” she said when they reached the top. “So consider this the beginning of a short-term sexual commitment.”
“Even better.” He whipped off his T-shirt.
“And you can’t let me get fired from the club.”
He stopped. “Hold on. I want to get you fired.”
“I know,” she said, “but you want uncomplicated sex more.”
“Good point.” He dropped the T-shirt.
Before she knew it, they were on the lumpy futon and he was kissing her again. His hands curled around the bare cheeks of her bottom, and a thumb slid into the top of the silky floss that rode in her crack. “I pretty much enjoy it all when it comes to sex.” His erection pressed hard against her leg. “You be sure to let me know if I do anything that scares you.”
The blood supply that normally fed her brain had surged to other parts of her body, so she had no idea whether he was putting her on or not. “You worry about yourself” was the best she could do.
He played with the floss for a long, heated moment, then withdrew his thumb to drag it over her dragon tattoo. Although she loved the fantasy of having a man slowly undress her, she’d never known one of them who did it really well, and she wasn’t giving Ted a chance to be the first. Sitting up on the narrow space beside him, she leaned back on her heels and pulled her T-shirt over her head.
In the age of silicone-enhanced breasts, hers weren’t particularly memorable, but Ted was too much of a gentleman to criticize. He paid attention, but he didn’t make any clumsy grabs. Instead, he curled his fingers around her rib cage, pulled himself up using only his spectacular abs, and bestowed a slow trail of kisses across her midriff.
Her skin pebbled. It was time to get serious. She was naked except for her thong, but he still wore his khaki shorts along with whatever was or wasn’t underneath. She tugged the fastener to find out.
“Not yet,” he whispered, pulling her down next to him. “Let’s get you warmed up first.”
Warmed up? She was ready to ignite!
He rolled to his side and offered her body his complete attention. His gaze lingered on the hollow at the base of her throat. The curve of her breast. The pucker of her nipple. The patch of ivory lace below her belly. But he didn’t touch any of it. Any of her.
She arched her back, inviting him to get to it before she went up in flames. He dipped his head toward her breast. She closed her eyes in anticipation only to feel his teeth nip at her shoulder. Had the man never studied basic female anatomy?
It went on like that for a while. He investigated the sensitive spot at the inside of her elbow, the pulse point at her wrist, and the bottom curve of her breast. But only the bottom curve. By the time he touched the soft skin of her inner thigh, she was quivering with desire and fed up with his torture. But when she rolled over to take control, he shifted his weight, deepened his kisses, and somehow she was once again at his mercy. How could a man who’d gone four months without sex be so restrained? It was as if he weren’t human. As if he’d used his genius inventor skills to create some kind of sexual avatar.
With the world’s largest erection.
The exquisite torture went on, his caresses never quite reaching where she so desperately needed them to be. She tried not to moan, but the sounds slipped out. This was his revenge. He was going to foreplay her to death.
She didn’t realize she’d reached for herself until he caught her hand. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
“Allow it?” With lust-fueled strength, she twisted out from under him, threw one leg across his hips, and yanked at the snap on his shorts. “Put up or shut up.”
He trapped her wrists. “These stay on until I take them off.”
“Why? Are you afraid I’ll laugh?”
His thick hair was rumpled from where she must have dug her fingers into it, his bottom lip a little swollen from where she might possibly have bitten it, his expression vaguely regretful. “I didn’t want to have to do this yet, but you’re leaving me no choice.” He flipped her beneath him, pinioning her with his body, fastened his mouth on her nipple, and delivered the perfect suction, just this side of pain. At the same time, he slipped a finger under the thin strip of lace between her legs and then inside her. She groaned, pulled her heels high on the bed, and shattered.
As she lay helpless in the aftermath, his lips brushed her earlobe. “I thought you’d have a little more self-control. But I guess you did your best.” She was dimly aware of a tug at her lace chastity belt, then the slide of his body down over hers. He caught her legs and parted them wide. His beard stubble brushed the inside of her thighs. And then his mouth covered her.
A second cataclysmic explosion claimed her, but even then he didn’t enter her. Instead, he tortured, comforted, tortured again. By the time her third orgasm hit, she’d become his sexual rag doll.
He was finally naked, and when he entered her, he did it slowly, giving her time to accept him, finding the perfect angle, nothing clumsy, no groping, no accidental finger scratch or elbow jab. He delivered a steady angled stroke followed by a hard thrust, flawlessly orchestrated, designed to deliver maximum pleasure. She’d never experienced anything like it. It was as if her pleasure was all that counted. Even as he came, he supported his weight so she didn’t have to bear all of it.
She slept. They woke, made love again, and then once more. Sometime during the night, he drew the sheet over her, brushed her lips with a kiss, and left.
She didn’t fall back to sleep right away. Instead, she thought about what Lucy had said. Every woman should have Ted Beaudine make love to her.
Meg couldn’t argue with that. She’d never been loved so thoroughly, so unselfishly. It was as if he’d memorized all the sex manuals ever written—something, she realized, he was perfectly capable of having done. No wonder he was a legend. He knew exactly how to drive a woman to her maximum sexual pleasure.
So why was she so disappointed?