Saying Yes To The Dress!: The Wedding Planner's Big Day / Married for Their Miracle Baby / The Cowboy's Convenient Bride. Cara Colter
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from telling him than she could have stopped those waves from pounding on the shore.
“They had a baby together. Suddenly, they were the family we had always been. That we were supposed to be. It was horrible, seeing them all over town, looking at each other. Pushing a baby carriage. I wanted it back. I wanted that feeling of being part of something back. Of belonging.”
“Aw, Becky,” he said softly. “That sucks. Really it does, but—”
But she had to tell all of it, was compelled to. “Jerry went away to school. My mom didn’t have the money for college, and it seemed my dad had new priorities.
“I could see what the community needed, so I started my event company.”
“Happily-Ever-After,” he said. “Even though you had plenty of evidence of the exact opposite.”
“It was way more successful than I had thought it could be. It was way more successful than Jerry thought it could be, too. The more successful I became, the less he liked me.”
“Okay. Well. Some guys are like that.”
“He broke up with me.”
“Yeah, sorry, but now is not the time—”
“This is the reason it’s important for me to say it right now. I understand something I didn’t understand before. I thought my heart was broken. It is a terrible thing to suffer the humiliation of being ditched in a small town. It was a double humiliation for me. First my dad, and then this. But out there in the water, I felt glad. I felt if I had married him, I would have missed something. Something essential.”
“Okay, um—”
“A grand passion.”
He said a word under his breath that they disapproved of in Moose Run, Michigan.
“Salt and pepper?” She did a pretty good imitation of his snort. “Why settle for boring old salt and pepper when the world is full of so many glorious flavors?”
“Look, I think you’ve had a pretty bad shake-up. I don’t have a clue what you are talking about, so—”
She knew she was making Drew Jordan wildly uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. She planned to make him more uncomfortable yet. She leaned toward him. He stopped talking and watched her warily.
She needed to know if the life force was as intense in him right now as it was in her. She needed to take advantage of this second chance to be alive, to really live.
She touched Drew’s back through the wetness of his shirt, and felt the sinewy strength there. The strength that had saved her.
She leaned closer yet. She touched her forehead to his, as if she could make him feel what was going on inside her, since words could not express it. He had a chance to move away from her. He did not. He was as caught in what was unfolding as she had been in the wave.
And then, she touched her lips to his, delicately, needing the connection to intensify.
His lips tasted of salt and strength and something more powerful and more timeless than the ocean. That desire that people had within them, not just to live, but to go on.
For a moment, Drew was clearly stunned to find her lips on his. But then, he seemed to get whatever she was trying to tell him, in this primal language that seemed the only thing that could express the celebration of all that lived within her.
His lips answered hers. His tongue chased the ridges of her teeth, and then probed, gently, ever so gently...
It was Becky’s turn to be stunned. It was everything she had hoped for. It was everything she had missed.
No, it was more than what she had hoped for, and more than what she could have ever imagined. A kiss was not simply a brushing of lips. No! It was a journey, it was a ride on pure energy, it was a connection, it was a discovery, it was an intertwining of the deepest parts of two people, of their souls.
Drew stopped kissing her with such abruptness that she felt forlorn, like a blanket had been jerked from her on a freezing night. He said Moose Run’s most disapproved-of word again.
She liked the way he said that word, all naughty and nasty.
He found his feet and leaped up, staring down at her. He raked a hand through his hair, and water droplets scattered off his crumpled hair, sparkling like diamonds in the tropical heat. His shirt, crusted in golden sand, was clinging to his chest.
“Geez,” he said. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. But I liked it.
“A girl like you does not kiss a guy like me!”
She could ask what he meant by a girl like her, but she already knew that he thought she was small town and naive and hopelessly out of her depth, and not just in the ocean, either. What she wanted to know was what the last half of that sentence meant.
“What do you mean a guy like you?” she asked. Her voice was husky from the salt and from something else. Desire. Desire was burning like a white-hot coal in her belly. It was brand-new, it was embarrassing and it was wonderful.
“Look, Becky, I’m the kind of guy your mother used to warn you about.”
Woo-hoo, she thought, but she didn’t dare say it. Instead, she said, “The kind who would jump in the water without a thought for his own safety to save someone else?”
“Not that kind!”
She could point out to him that he obviously was that kind, and that the facts spoke for themselves, but she probed the deeper part of what was going on.
“What kind of guy then?” she asked, gently curious.
“Self-centered. Commitment-phobic. Good-time Charlie. Confirmed bachelor. They write whole articles about guys like me in your bridal magazines. And not about how to catch me, either. How to give a guy like me a wide berth.”
“Just in case you didn’t listen to your mother’s warnings,” she clarified.
He glanced at her. She bit her lip and his gaze rested there, hot with memory, until he seemed to make himself look away.
“I wouldn’t have pictured you as any kind of expert about the content of bridal magazines,” she said.
“That is not the point!”
“It was just a kiss,” she pointed out mildly, “not a posting of the banns.”
“You’re in shock,” he said.
If she was, she hoped she could experience it again, and soon!
DREW LOOKED AT Becky English. Sprawled out, belly down in the sand, she looked like a drowned rat, her hair plastered to her head, her yellow shirt plastered to her lithe body, both her shirt and her white shorts transparent in their wetness. For a drowned rat, and for a girl from Moose Run, Michigan, she had on surprisingly sexy underwear.
She looked like a drowned rat, and she was a small-town girl, but she sure as hell did not kiss like either one of those things. There had been nothing sweet or shy about that kiss!
It had been hungry enough to devour him.
But, Drew told himself sternly, she was exceedingly vulnerable. She was obviously stunned from what had just happened to her out there at the mercy of the ocean. It was possible she had banged her head riding that final wave in. The blow might have removed the filter from her brain that let her know what was, and what wasn’t, appropriate.
But good grief, that kiss. He had to make sure nothing like that ever happened again! How was he going to be able to look at her without recalling the sweet, salty taste of her mouth? Without recalling the sweet welcome? Without recalling