Wild, Wild Mother of the Bride (2 page)

There was no one out here to see her. No one to ask for explanations.

Perfect.

Her fingers brushed her stomach as she yanked the hem of her T-shirt over her head. Hot, sultry air caressed her nipples with rippling tendrils of warmth, making them stiffen to taut little points. A tingle spread from her breasts to her clit like an ethereal force connecting the two pleasure points.

She suddenly yearned to feel the same brush of night air along the seam of her aching pussy. With slow, deliberate motions, she unzipped her shorts and let them fall to her ankles. Her panties followed, leaving her naked to the assessing eyes of a million stars.

Her fingers drifted down the line of her stomach and plunged into the dark, neatly-trimmed curls covering her mound. The slick moisture clinging to the soft patch of fur transferred onto her skin.

Eliza's fingertips glided over the aching bud of her clit, drawing a strangled groan from deep in her chest. It lodged in her throat and she pressed her lips tightly together, delving deeper, prodding the entrance to her soaked channel with the tips of two fingers.

Her heartbeat quickened as a frisson zinged through her core, spreading outward from her pussy. Reluctantly, she removed her hand. She hadn't come out here to fuck herself under the stars, as romantic—
and pathetic
—a notion as it was.

Still, no wonder she wanted to linger here. This was the easy part. Once she had her costume on, the real show began. It would take every ounce of courage she possessed to march down the dirt road and knock on Jacob's door. Once he flung it open, she planned to shove him into a chair and perform a stripping routine she'd only seen flawlessly executed in movies.

More risks. More ways this could all go incredibly, embarrassingly wrong. Maybe she'd been too hasty leaving the comfort of the inn. Perhaps Jacob wasn't even home. He could have changed his mind and crashed in one of the men's rooms after a night of heavy drinking.

She should go back. Grab her clothes and forget this entire ridiculous plan. She could blame it on temporary insanity brought on by the full moon and going way too long without a good fuck.

A branch snapped, followed by the soft, unmistakable swish of a footstep, then another, through the grass.

Eliza's heart leapt into her throat. She whirled around, but, before she could face her assailant, arms snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against a wall of muscle. Her naked body molded itself to clothing, but there was no mistaking the heat emanating from the masculine physique drawing her close.

Cinnamon-scented breath caressed her temple. “I've got security cameras installed throughout the village, sweetheart."

Eliza's body gave an involuntary spasm of protest. Her pulse did a frantic somersault, then returned to a speed resembling normal levels when she recognized that the only immediate threat was to her ego.

"Jacob. I was—"

The lie died on her tongue. What? Getting naked for you? Planning to seduce you?
Think, damn it, think
.

"Just taking a stroll,” she managed to murmur at last.

The rich cadence of his laughter filled the silent night and sent a wave of longing to settle deep in Eliza's chest. She wanted nothing more than to turn around, plaster her breasts to his hard torso and kiss him until he shoved her against the wall and took her right here, in front of God, the stars, the cameras and anyone else who cared to watch.

Apprehension and the desperate need to prolong this closeness held her back. She cleared her throat. “Lovely night for a walk."

"Lovely night for a fuck?” he echoed in that low Texas drawl. He sounded somewhat startled, but a slight predatory edge sharpened his tone.

The tension stretching her nerves taut loosened a little, and she chuckled. “That, too."

Jacob leaned closer, until she could feel the pointed ends of the star he wore pinned over his heart. He was still in costume, then. A surge of molten heat drenched her pussy in fresh moisture. She'd thought about ripping off that sheriff's costume so often. Or better yet, fucking him while he kept it on, and simply pulling his long, thick cock through the slit in the trousers.

A low, frantic moan escaped her throat before she could stop it. She tried to cover it up with a cough, but instinctively knew it was too late.

He'd heard it. His warm palm splayed and molded to her ribcage, then drifted higher, cupping the underside of her breast. When she glanced down, it was to see silver moonlight kissing the knuckles of long bronzed fingers, the tips of which pinched her nipple tight enough to send a razor-edged stab of pleasure deep into her core.

Eliza sucked in a loud, startled breath.

Dear God, was that ... a
pistol
pressed to the small of her back?

"Oh!” she cried out as understanding slammed like a bolt of lightning into her addled head. Her knees took on the consistency of day-old Jell-O and she nearly staggered.

No,
that
was most definitely not a pistol. Against all odds, Jacob Clarke seemed very happy to see her.

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"Why, Sheriff, I do believe you're packing heat."

Jacob glanced down into the shadows hiding Eliza's face. She stood about a head shorter than him, but when she tilted her chin up and glanced over her shoulder like that, he could almost make out her chocolate-colored eyes.

Holding her felt surreal. For the last eighteen months, the woman had driven him half-mad with desire, and now here she was,
naked
, snuggled in his embrace. He held his breath, half-afraid she'd pull away if he squeezed her tighter, pressed her closer, nipped the sweet spot at the curve of her shoulder like he wanted to.

"What are you really doing out here?” His voice came out husky, coated with unrestrained lust.

"I was...” She hesitated, still staring into his eyes. When she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled lightly, he wanted to crush his mouth to hers. He resisted, barely.

"Yes?"

He wanted to hear her say the words, whatever they were. Maybe she was meeting someone, and he'd showed up just in time to spoil her plans. The thought of Eliza in another man's arms made his gut tighten in instant protest, but he had to know. If he wasn't welcome, he'd leave. He'd just turn around, walk right back to his house and pretend none of this ever happened. All right, so he'd probably have to down an entire bottle of whiskey to even dim the memory of Eliza's lush body beneath his hands, but he'd rather do that than make a fool of himself.

Eliza cleared her throat. She tilted her chin a fraction of an inch, stark determination written on her beautiful face. She'd clearly decided something in the last two seconds. Would she tell him what it was? Or would she let him figure it out for himself?

Either possibility made him slightly nervous, threw him a little off-kilter. Oddly enough, that felt about right. He was always a touch off-balance around Eliza, never quite sure what to expect.

She was sexy as hell, but her lush physical attributes didn't account for his complete and utter fascination with the woman. He loved the way she carried herself, as though constantly thumbing her nose at the world. On any given day, she wore leather pants and dyed hot pink streaks in her pixie-cut dark hair. Black lines of expertly-applied makeup rimmed her brown eyes, making them look huge, yet he'd never seen her wear any other cosmetics. No hint of lipstick ever marred the fullness of her soft pink lips, and her face always looked freshly-scrubbed. He loved that he could see the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. He wanted to kiss her there—and everywhere.

She was so unlike anyone else he'd ever met. And she certainly didn't look like any of his friends’
mothers
, for God's sake. Eliza Webber was a walking wet dream. And to his growing frustration, she was off-limits—at least as long as the wedding plans remained ongoing.

When Gavin had asked him to be his best man, Jacob had made a promise, one he intended to keep. He'd vowed to perform the role to the best of his abilities. He didn't know all the rules regarding wedding etiquette, but as far as he could tell, that meant
not
fucking the mother of the bride.

He'd done a pretty decent job of keeping his distance. All right, so he'd found a few excuses to see her more often than was absolutely necessary, but in all those long months, he'd barely even touched her.

Until now.

Jacob swore inwardly. Damn it, he needed to keep his hands to himself for just one more day. Then the wedding would be over, and he could ask her out on a date. A real date, with dinner and coffee and dessert, the kind that came with whipped cream he could spread all over her body—

"I've been a bad girl, Sheriff."

Jacob's head snapped up and his cock jerked against the flap of his trousers. He couldn't have heard right.

He opened his mouth to ask her to repeat that, but she chose that moment to shift in his arms. Before he knew it, Eliza's bare breasts were plastered to his chest and she stood on tiptoes, twining her arms around the back of his neck. Her lips hovered less than an inch away from his, so close he could feel her warm breath caress him when she spoke again.

"I know you closed down my brothel weeks ago, but a woman's gotta make a living.” She leaned closer and nipped at his bottom lip.

The sensation shot a bolt of liquid fire through Jacob's bloodstream. His hands glided down her back until he cupped her buttocks and pressed her firmly against his erection. “What on earth are you up to?” he murmured against her luscious mouth.

"I've been doing business on the side, Sheriff, without your knowledge. You'd have figured it out eventually, smart man that you are. So I figured, why not turn myself in?"

She winked at him, but there was something beneath the playfulness in her gaze. By the silvery light of the moon, he could make out a flicker of indecision, of apprehension. He recognized a pleading look when he saw one. She was putting herself out there, completely vulnerable to him. Naked in body as well as intention, she feared he'd reject her. Unless he was misreading her completely, she desperately wanted him to go along for the ride.

And damn, even though he had at least two good reasons not to do this—both of them sleeping in the twin inns just a few feet away—he knew it would take more willpower than he possessed to turn her away.

"Y'er saying I better do my job and punish you right well, then.” He fell back on the deep Texan accent he used when giving tours or speaking to tourists about the history of the area. If Eliza wanted him to be Sheriff Clarke for the night instead of just plain old Jacob, then that's exactly who he'd give her. For now. Later ... well, later she'd learn who he really was. And if Jacob was very lucky, she wouldn't run away.

Relief suffused her features, followed by something else he recognized—pure, unabashed lust. She fisted her hands in his shirt, and the knowledge she wanted him as much as he wanted her thrilled him to the depths of his soul.

A warning skittered around the edges of his mind. Having her here, playing the role of fallen madam, felt too good. Too right. He could easily picture her as a permanent fixture around Cowboy's Hideaway, long skirts swishing down the dirt road, tight red bodice pushing her full breasts up on display.

Damn.
That sight alone would draw tourists like no other marketing ploy he'd tried. But beyond that, he wanted her coming home to him each night. He could already imagine peeling off the costume from her beautiful body every evening, revealing the creamy skin beneath one velvety inch at a time.

A groan slipped from his throat. He had to rein himself in. Eliza Webber was not the type of woman who settled down with a guy. Marissa had told him as much in no uncertain terms—starting with the fact she didn't even know who her father was, nor had there been a male figure who'd featured prominently in her childhood.

As for Jacob ... Well, he'd grown tired of one-night stands long ago.

Determination lit a fire in his gut. He stared deep into Eliza's eyes and cupped her face in his hands. “Sure y'er ready for this?"

He saw her throat work as she swallowed hard before nodding. “I deserve whatever you do to me."

A shiver passed through his body as the depth of meaning in her words sank in. His balls tightened, drew up close to his shaft. Raw need clawed at his groin.

God ... Did she know about him? No, she couldn't have ... No one knew about his preference for dominant lovemaking. Not even his best friend.

Perfect
. She was absolutely fucking perfect.

On a rush of euphoric energy, Jacob lowered his head the remainder of the way and crushed her mouth with his.

No, Eliza wasn't going to be just another one-night stand. By the time the sun rose over the horizon, Eliza would be his.

Forever.

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Jacob smelled like leather, and earth, and mowed grass. Funny how Eliza had never noticed those things before. She guessed she had to be kissing him to pay such close attention, and it had taken her so damn long to get here.

But oh, the wait had been worth it. Every breath now flooded her with irresistible hints of his masculine tang. His scent teased her nostrils, while his taste—cinnamon and the faint flavor of red wine—filled her mouth.

Pulsing heat spiraled through Eliza's body. His lips were soft yet insistent, coaxing quiet moans from her throat. He swirled his tongue, swiped it along the top of hers. Heat blossomed in her lower belly and traveled swiftly to her pussy, where it blazed like a fire raging out of control.

Jacob broke away first. He pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to her lips, then followed it down along the line of her throat. Eliza tilted her head back, giving him greater access to pursue his leisurely journey.

He stopped when he reached the hollow at the base of her throat. So quickly she barely registered what was happening, Jacob grabbed both her wrists, then yanked them to the small of her back using an iron-hard grip. He stepped around her, pressing against her once more.