Greta's lower lip slid out petulantly. “We never said we'd go dressed as bride and groom!”
Shane shifted her around so he could see her face and gently sifted a hand through the tousled mane of her long blond hair. “Greta, honey, you're looking at this the wrong way.”
Greta smoothed a hand absently across his chest. “And what, pray tell, is the right away?”
Shane reveled in the soft sensuality of her touch. “Our parents are still trying to make us cry uncle.”
A troubled light crept into her pretty blue eyes. “It's gone way beyond that, Shane.” In a low, sexy tone Greta filled Shane in on the meeting with her parents that morning.
Shane covered her hand with his own. “Did you tell them how you felt?”
“What's the point?” Greta blew out a soft gust of breath. “They don't listen. They've never listened. If I hadn't had my dancingâ” Greta paused and shook her head.
Shane let his hand slip beneath her hair. He'd seen how overbearing her well-meaning parents could be whenever they were trying to do what was best for Greta, and his heart went out to her. Tenderly he massaged the tense muscles in the back of her neck. “That's how you vent all your frustration, isn't it? By dancing your heart out.”
Her chin came up and she admitted in a soft, sweet
voice, “As well as every other emotion I might have. Works, too.” She made a weary face. “Usually.”
“But not today,” he observed, wishing they were back at the ranch so he could kiss her and just see where things went from there.
“No,” Greta said soberly, letting her hand fall like an anchor to her lap, then rest against his thigh. She sighed loudly. “Not today.”
If there had been some way to avoid the festivities, Shane would have suggested it. Unfortunately, there wasn't. “Look. It's a party,” he said amiably. “We'll go home, get cleaned up and head over. We can even leave early, if you want.”
For the first time since he'd arrived, Greta began to look hopeful. “You promise?”
Shane had never wanted to shelter and protect a woman more than he wanted to Greta at that moment. “We're newlyweds.” Shane bent, kissed her cheek and winked. “We can do anything we want and still be excused, as long as we use our passion for each other as an excuse.”
Greta brightened as she bounced off his lap. “You think so?”
Shane nodded firmly. “I know so.”
Â
SHANE HAD JUST TUGGED ON his black trousers and pleated white shirt when Greta dashed in, in a drift of perfume. Her pretty face was flooded with color, and she was wearing a kimono that stopped well above the knee, lacy white stockings and satin high heels. Shane's gaze traveled the length of her curvaceous dancer's legs wistfully before returning to her face. Damn but she was beautiful, with her makeup on and her pale-blond hair pinned up on the back of her head in a sexy swirl of
curls. And she wasn't even wearing her wedding dress yet. Clearly, he thought, she was the most stunning bride he'd ever seen.
“I need your help.” Greta grabbed his hand and tugged him anxiously toward the master bedroom where she had been dressing. “I don't think I can get into this dress by myself.”
To tell the truth Shane was kind of curious as to what she had on beneath that robe. He grinned wickedly, thinking this was certainly one way to find out. He spread his hands wide and fell in behind her, enjoying that view, too. “I'm here to serve,” he told her drolly.
Still clasping his hand securely in hers, Greta cast him a harried look over her shoulder. “I also need a little help with a petticoat.”
“Okay.” Shane paused, then had to ask, “What's that?”
“This.” Greta handed him a white cellophane bag about the size of a rolled-up sleeping bag with something gauzy inside. “Open it for me, and shake it out, will you?”
Shane did as ordered, and the stiff under-layers of the petticoat spread out like one of those highway cones, wide at the bottom, narrow at the top. “Hey, I think this thing could stand alone,” Shane said. He let go of it and stood back, and sure enough, it did.
“Tell me about it,” Greta muttered beneath her breath. Her eyes still firmly fixed on the petticoat, she shrugged out of her kimono and tossed it on the bed. “I don't know if I should step into it or put it over my head.” Completely oblivious to how sexy she looked in her white satin bustier, bikini panties, garter belt, and thigh-high stockings, Greta continued frowning at the petticoat.
Shane struggled in vain to keep the blood from pooling in his groin. Tearing his gaze from the soft curves of her breasts, spilling out of the low-cut satin-and-lace cups, he swallowed hard and attempted to moisten his throat. “Over your head.” He didn't think he could handle it if she bent over.
Figuring if they were going to get to that reception at all, they needed to get Greta covered as soon as possible, Shane grabbed the petticoat and helped slide it over her head. The opening at the waist was narrow, and momentarily caught around first her shoulders, then her breasts. Glad for the distraction, he had to help her extricate the layers of organza petticoat from the satin bustier, then smooth it down over her rib cage and settle it around her waist.
“Now take the two strings at the waist and tie them together loosely for me.” Greta turned away from him and braced her hands against the wall. She turned her head to his, and her face was suddenly, tantalizingly close to his. “Okay. Now pull them tight,” she ordered sternly as he breathed in the heavenly floral scent of her perfume. Her foot tapping restlessly, she waited impatiently for him to comply with her wishes.
He struggled with the strings, pretending he didn't want to ravish her then and there. “Tighter. Okay. That's good. Now knot it, just like that. Yeah. Now for the dress.”
He was ridiculously happy to be helping her with this. “Over your head, too?”
She nodded.
Shane's eyes widened with surprise as he picked up the delicate-looking satin dress. “Damn, this thing is heavy.”
Greta's lower lip took on a soft, kissable curve as she turned to face him. “Most wedding dresses are.”
He studied her curiously. “You know this from experience?”
Greta nodded and had no qualms admitting, “I was so excited when I got engaged to Walter, I couldn't wait to go wedding dress shopping. I think every woman feels the same way.”
Shane lifted the gown over her head and helped her into it. “Did you find one you liked?”
“No. I tried on dozens,” Greta admitted as she shimmied into the bodice, then smoothed it over her bust, ribs and hips. “But I didn't like the way I looked in any of them.”
A precursor to the fate of their union? Shane wondered as Greta turned her back to him, skirts rustling softly.
Being careful not to step on the hem of her wedding gown, Shane zipped and buttoned while Greta studied her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. He inclined his head at her wedding dress. “What about this one?”
Â
HER PULSE POUNDING, Greta studied her reflection. The white satin dress Jenna had deigned was sleeveless, with a jewel-necked, form-fitting bodice and full, poufy skirt. It was simple. Elegant. And paired perfectly with the narrow, satin-covered tiara Jenna had sent for Greta's upswept hair. “I do like it,” she murmured happily. It was the embodiment of all her childhood dreams.
“You ought to.” Shane grinned and rested his hands on her shoulders. He met her eyes in the mirror. “You're gorgeous,” he said softly.
When he looked at her like that, she felt like the only
woman in the world. Greta smoothed her hands across his chest. “You're gorgeous, too.”
Shane grinned. “I'm half-dressed.”
Freshly shaven. Blond hair damp and rumpled and scented with shampoo. Bootless, his shirt open and untucked, his bow tie hanging loose on either side of his collar, he was so heart-stoppingly sexy he deserved to be featured in a calender of gorgeous men. And if she didn't stop looking at him that way, he was going to guess what she had already begun to suspectâthat her childhood crush on him had deepened and grown by leaps and bounds in the time they'd been together. To the degree where she might very well be falling irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with him...and she might not want this make-believe-it's-real marriage of theirs to end when the time came. And that would be a disaster.
Especially with him looking at her as though he wanted to make mad, passionate love all night long for the second night in a row.
Reminding herself that she and Shane had agreed to end this farce when the time was right, she smiled. And told herself the best course of action was to get him all the way dressed, too. “Let me help you.” Trying not to feel so much like a schoolgirl on her first date, Greta grabbed the edges of his shirt and began buttoning it. When she'd finished, she fastened the black onyx studs that covered the buttons.
“We keep this up, we'll never get there,” Shane teased playfully as he opened his fly and tucked his shirt inside his black trousers. “I'll have you in that bed in no time flat.”
Her mouth dry, Greta tore her eyes from his obvious arousal. “I don't doubt it for a minute.” Her expression deceptively tranquil, Greta assisted him with the black
satin cummerbund and suspenders. Finished, she reached up to tie his bow tie. “And don't think it isn't where I'd like to be, too, rather than some guilt-provoking reception in our honor,” she told him honestly.
Shane caught the back of her palm and kissed it. “Then why don't we stay home?”
Greta sighed. “Because, as you said, if we did, they'd send out a search party,” she told him wistfully. “And when it comes to being found in compromising positions in bedâ” Greta paused and shook her head disparagingly “âbeen there, done that.”
“True. Althoughâ” Shane shook his head at her disparagingly “âthe first time, it was entirely innocent.”
Greta rolled her eyes as she helped him on with his tuxedo jacket. “Good luck convincing everyone
we
know of that.”
Before she could step back to admire her handiwork, Shane took her into his arms, holding her as close as her poufy skirt would allow. Greta tilted her head up to his. The dark tuxedo and starched white shirt made his skin look very tanned, his eyes very gray.
“Maybe they saw what we didn't,” he said softly, smoothing a hand down her spine.
“What?” Greta asked softly.
“This.” He slanted his mouth over hers, and she lost her breath at the first touch of his lips on hers. Everything around them faded until there was only the hot, silky pressure of his kiss. And once their lips had touched again, there was no stopping with just one kiss. Yearning swept through her in sweet, wild waves. Greta wreathed her arms about his neck and moved as close as her voluminous skirts would allow. Molding herself against him, she kissed him back again and again and again. With a low moan of satisfaction, he urged her
closer yet, wrapping her in the warm security of his tall, strong body, wooing and seducing until her whole body seemed to melt and come alive in his arms, and that was, of course, when the doorbell rang.
Swearing at the interruption, Shane lifted his mouth from hers. He rested his forehead against hers as they both caught their breaths. “Who in the heck is that?” he demanded.
Greta shrugged. She wasn't expecting anyone.
Frowning, Shane danced Greta backward over to the window. He continued to hold her close as they looked outside. A white stretch limo, decorated with pastel-colored streamers, was waiting.
Shane rapped on the window. The driver stepped back and looked up. Shane waved to the driver, acknowledging he'd been seen and they'd be down directly. “At least we'll get there in style.”
And thanks to their parents, Greta thought, on time.
Â
“I'VE NEVER SEEN THIS many cars in one place in my life,” Greta said as the limo approached the lovely Texas ranch where Shane had grown up. She stared in amazement at the vast collection of cars and trucks parked on both sides of the long paved drive leading up to the sprawling ranch house. “Unless you count a Dallas Cowboys football game.”
“Or the DFW airport parking lot,” Shane agreed.
Greta shook her head in exasperation, recalling what the newspaper article had stated. “Well, they said everyone in town was invited.”
“I know.” Shane compressed his lips together tightly. “I just didn't think everyone would accept, especially on such short notice.”
Greta looked at the tents erected on the lawn, the catering
trucks, the lights, the flowers. The videographer and photographer at the ready. She'd seen less production on a Hollywood film set. “Talk about going overboard,” she muttered. Clearly this was not going to be the cake-and-punch only event she had been hoping for. Worse, the more involved the festivities, the longer the receptionâand deceptionâwould last. “And are thoseâoh, my heavensâchairs? Shane!” Greta leaned forward urgently and gripped his arm. “Do you see that?”