LITMIR.BIZ

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Heart reigned in the shady nook that smelled so sweetly of olives. Beyond the garden, tourists chattered as they posed in Pirate’s Alley snapping pictures. In the distance street musicians played jazz.

      Jake wanted to hate Alicia for complicating his life but reason told him he was equally to blame. He didn’t want to marry her, but with every word that the priest uttered binding him to Alicia Butler, his desire for her grew until it felt like a crushing weight. Indeed, ever since he’d agreed to the marriage, thoughts of a naked and eagerly writhing Alicia in his bed had consumed him. All night long he’d lain awake in his bed and thought of her lying in hers downstairs, and he’d wondered if she was thinking of him.

      Why did she have to stand so close to him in the dense, humid air so that with every breath he inhaled her perfume?

      They say a little piece of paper doesn’t matter; that it changes nothing.

      They don’t know crap. He felt trapped—doomed. At the same time his body raged to have her again. And again. He burned as if he had a fever. His feelings for this woman were illogical and out of proportion to any he’d ever felt for another.

      Get a grip.

      To distract himself Jake stared up at the triple spires of St. Louis Cathedral towering above their small wedding party hunched together beneath the hurricane-damaged trees. The only guests were his secretary and her bored-looking son, whose dark head was bent over some electronic device.

      Thankfully, no member of his own family or Alicia’s was present to witness this farce.

      It didn’t console him that Alicia seemed equally miserable. Her slim fingers that gripped his arm for support shook. Her carriage was rigid; her lovely face ashen.

      His heart caught. Why should he sympathize? With a little imagination, surely she could have dreamed up a better solution than a sexless marriage that was already driving him crazy.

      A man forced into a shotgun marriage should get something for his trouble, Jake thought gloomily. Why had he stupidly agreed not to sleep with her?

      He’d been sober, that was why. He never thought straight sober.

      Too bad he wasn’t sober now. Thanks to the shots of whiskey he’d drunk to give him the courage to show up, he felt dangerously near some breaking point.

      The late-evening sunlight sifting through the oaks caressed her high, classic brow and made her creamy skin glow. Every time their glances met, her large, dark eyes shot sparks. Why did she keep licking her plump, sensual mouth? Didn’t she know that the sight of her tongue had him remembering all the erotic places her moist lips and tongue had touched him with deft little strokes?

      His gaze drifted over her straight chiseled nose, her delicate chin and her long graceful neck. Her white lace sheath was skintight, showing off her flawless figure even as the purity of its color made her look virginal. How could a pregnant woman whose breasts were swollen look so untouched and sexy?

      Hell.

      “Jake, will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?” Father Alex asked.

      Alicia’s hot, dark eyes flashed when they met Jake’s again, causing his blood to quicken.

      “I will,” he whispered hoarsely through clenched teeth.

      No matter how he fought to blank out her soft response as she pledged herself to him forever, when her husky voice said, “I will,” something shifted inside him and the dark need to claim her obsessed him all over again.

      Suddenly he couldn’t wait to slip his ring on her finger. He didn’t want other men looking at her or touching her without knowing who she belonged to.

      She was his wife. His. Period.

      As the priest continued to drone, Jake’s blood buzzed with fierce passion. Damn it, he wanted to at least kiss her. Wasn’t that part of this hellish ceremony?

      After an interminable amount of sanctimonious verbiage, the priest finally pronounced them man and wife. “You may kiss your bride,” he said.

      In a flutter, Alicia tried to turn away, but Jake grabbed her slim wrist and spun her into his hard arms. Cutting off her startled cry of protest, he claimed her mouth with his.

      Her hands came up to push against his wide chest, but at the first touch of his lips, she sighed and then whispered his name.

      “Jake, oh, Jake …” Her dark eyes were aflame with needs as deep and dark as his own. Rising onto her tiptoes, her arms circling his neck, she clung, leaning into his body.

      She was soft and warm. Waves of hot pleasure washed through him. Her lips parted, inviting more.

      Maybe everything about their marriage was wrong, but this felt right. Too right.

      She was shaking, and so was he as his tongue swept inside her warm, honeyed mouth.

      His kiss was needlessly aggressive, possessive and primitive. Once he’d started kissing her, some force outside him took over, and he couldn’t stop himself.

      He’d married her, hadn’t he? She was his. If his pulse had been racing before the kiss, her satiny mouth and honeyed taste made it accelerate to rocket speed.

      Ever since he’d kissed her that afternoon she’d shown up on his doorstep, he’d thought about doing it again, thought about it too damn much. The night he’d spent in the swamp to get his head straight had changed nothing.

      His arms crushed her body to his. He wanted her to moan, to press her slim body and heavy breasts closer, and to go limp and beg. The longer he kissed her, the more he wanted from her.

      “Jake, we’re in public,” she whispered shyly. Her slender hands fells away from his neck and wedged themselves between their bodies. Pushing against him, she stared up at him with eyes filled with a mixture of longing and embarrassment.

      Slowly her puny efforts penetrated his lust-charged brain, and he realized he was way out of line.

      What the hell was he doing? Cursing his damnable weakness for her, he let her go and pivoted free.

      Blushing, Alicia fell back a few feet. Turning her back to him, she wiped her mouth and smoothed her hair with hands that trembled.

      When Vanessa’s sharp, questioning gaze sought his, he felt like an idiot, so he scowled back at her, willing to keep her damn mouth shut and mind her own business for once. She did, but her expression softened as she regarded first him and then his wife.

      Then he realized Vanessa wasn’t the only member of their little party who was gazing at them with rapt fascination. Her son had stopped playing with his electronic device, and Father Alex had dropped his Bible and looked agitated as he stooped to pick it up.

      Feeling a growing pressure to say something or do something, he turned on Alicia. “Well, now that we’ve gotten the ceremony out of the way, Vanessa can drive you home. I’m going back to my office.”

      Alicia’s cheeks flamed with wounded pride. “But it’s Saturday.”

      “So?”

      “But … I mean … when will you be home?”

      He didn’t want her to know how profoundly she affected him. He didn’t want any of them to know.

      “This is hardly a real marriage,” he said beneath his breath. “So don’t wait up. Watch a movie. Read a book. Pet the beast. Frankly, I don’t care what you do.”

      She turned so white, he was afraid she’d faint. He was reaching for her when Vanessa rushed to her side.

      More than anything he wanted to take Alicia in his arms again. He wanted to drive her home and spend the night with her, but his feelings were too raw and charged.

      His bride’s stricken expression made him feel like a heel. He’d hurt her, and he felt bad about that, too.

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