Rio Grande Wedding Part 18

His eyes glowed. His grip on her arms was loose, but firm. Intent somehow. She let go of a shaky breath. "Then we have a deal." Again she bit her lip. "There is one more thing."

He stepped back as she moved away, crossing her arms. "Everyone knows me here. The only way this will work is if we pretend that I've been seeing you since you arrived. We have to pretend that we fell in love."

A wicked, wicked grin, one that showed that half moon of dazzling teeth, illuminated his face. He lifted one black, arched eyebrow. "In love, eh?"

Abruptly, she sank to a chair and covered her face. "Oh, this is so weird. I swear I'm not playing a game with you, okay? I'm a widow and I have been for a long time, so I'm not just trying to ... get your attention." She dropped her hands. "I really loved my husband. I still miss him. This is just an act."

He swallowed the smile. "I understand, Molly. We pretend only."

"Right. Okay, but this is the weird part they have to believe us. Or everything will be worse. A lot worse. My brother, especially. Can you pretend to be wildly in love?"

He inclined his head, and she felt his gaze slide over her hair, touch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her hands. Mockingly, he pursed his lips, as if considering, and tsked. Sighing heavily, he said, "Well, I will try."

She gave him a faint smile. "You're teasing me."

He laughed, and it occurred to her that she had not heard the sound before. It rolled from his chest, as welcome as a desert rain. He moved close and held out a hand to her.

"Come."

Warily, Molly accepted his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her heart stuttered for a moment, as antic.i.p.ation or fear or something rose in her chest.

Then he cupped her face in his palm and bent to kiss the other cheek. A wash of his hair touched her nose, and she caught her breath defensively against the wealth of scent that came with him, a scent unlike any she'd ever smelled, anywhere on the earth.

It was his flesh, his hair, his honor."Gracias," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," she said, and pulled back. "Let's get this in motion now. You have to come to the hospital with me."

"To see Josefina?"

"Yes," she said. Squarely, she met his eyes. "And to show them we are in love."

"Ah." Again that new wickedness showed in his expression. "Should we ... try to see if we can do it?"

"What do you mean?"

He stepped close, lifting his hands to her face. "Practice?"

Before she could protest, Alejandro bent again and pressed that beautiful mouth to hers.

His mouth.

She closed her eyes, letting everything she was flow to that place, putting every thought, every caution on hold so that she could indulge the purely physical pleasure of kissing Alejandro.

There was the scent, first of all. She knew there had never been a man who smelled this good. And there was the sound, a soft sound of air moving through their lungs.

But mostly, there was touch. His magnificent mouth, wide enough, and full enough for a truly sensual kind of kiss that needed no tongue, only the slight, explorative movements of flesh against charged flesh, a slide, a press, a purse, a release.

Have mercy. She made a soft sound and moved a little closer, feeling now things just beyond the field of actual touch the suggestion of his chest very close to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the knowledge of his belly and s.e.x so very close to her own.

As if her mouth surprised him, he lifted his head and their eyes met for one electric moment ofdazzlement and pleasure and surprise, then he bent again, this time with more intent, his hand sliding from her face to the back of her head, the fingers long against her scalp, bracing her as he tilted his head and fitted their mouths more closely together. There was no fumble, no misstep, only a surprisingly harmonious meeting.

Somehow, she found her hands on his chest, not to push him away, but to steadyherself so that she could tilt her head, part her lips a little. And yet, still, even though she tasted the warmth of his breath, sensed the moistness of his tongue beyond his barely open lips, he restrained himself. He only kissed her lips, delicately, first the lower, then the upper, then a corner. Soft kisses, whispers, a slight sweep of tongue over her lower lip, a sweep that sent a rocket of sensation through her body.

She tugged at his hand. "Alejandro," she said softly, and opened her eyes. "Please ...I ...".

He dropped his hands, stepped away. "Good practice, no?"

She nodded, resisted the urge to put her hand to her tingling lips. "Yes." She swallowed.

Suddenly, the enormity of her every action since this man had landed literally on her property sunk in, and she found herself disoriented. Lost. Shaky. Scared. "We'll go to the hospital in a couple of hours. I think ... uh ... I need to get a few hours of sleep." She backed away. "Josefina will sleep till morning."

"Molly, I did not mean-"

"It isn't you." She managed a very small smile. "I'm just tired."

He nodded, frowning. "Sleep then. I will make some coffee for you when you wake up, no?"

Molly blinked. "Okay."

Chapter 7.

Alone in her bedroom, Molly closed the door and shed her clothes hastily, as if they contained the poison that was corrupting her blood. Shrugging into a thick robe, she gathered clean underwear and toiletries, and went to the bathroom for a shower, moving furtively through the hall, her head down, afraid to look up and see him and-

What? Throwherself on his mercy? Her face flamed as she imagined herself begging him to make love to her. Now. Any way he liked. Just so she could shed her clothes and put her whole self against his nakedness.

What was it about him, anyway, that inflamed her so intensely? She wasn't a woman given to such l.u.s.tful imaginings. She just ... didn't do it. s.e.x had been a pleasurable discovery, and one she enjoyed, but it was like gardening or painting satisfying but not electrifying.

But from the moment she'd first seen Alejandro's face, she'd been aflame.

In the bathroom, she locked the door, glared atherself and said, "Don't you dare make a fool of yourself, Molly."

She turned the water on. Hot. Hothothot . Steam curled up the walls, misted the line of small windows where greenery lived, enveloped her in its embrace, and somehow, it helped.

Alejandro had put his finger on the problem last night. She was lonely. Not only that, she was living in a lonely place, a place she'd bought as a newlywed, and worked on with her husband. She had believed the rooms would one day be filled with the laughter of children.

Instead, she lived here alone, outside of town, where she couldn't even see a neighbor's lamp burning in the night.

She put her hand flat against the varnished pine wall Tim had been so proud of, and she remembered his hand that white, freckled, golden-furred hand resting there, too. As if making up for the months in which she had finally begun to miss him less, wave after wave of tactile, physical memory a.s.sailed her. His laughter in her ear. His bony feet.

His thick blond hair and st.u.r.dy shoulders. The little paunch he put on in the winter.

It seemed odd to her, suddenly, that she had begun to believe that her penance was over. She had managed to walk upright through her grief, had not fallen to drink or depression or any of the other pitfalls that might have lessened her virtue in grieving.

What, exactly, had she hoped to gain in that virtue?

The answer was inexplicable and yet perfectly clear in terms of emotional logic: she had, somewhere in her, expected to get him back. She showed the universe she could be tested without cracking, and she'd been waiting, with half-held breath, for the universe to give her back her husband.

The recognition hit her like a blow.

Kissing Alejandro had brought home the futility of that secret, illogical wish. If her husband was coming back, she wouldn't betray him by l.u.s.ting after another man. She wouldn't have allowed a kiss.