She Woke Up Married (14 page)

“Great song, Paris, it’s so us. That night you were mine, completely, you gave your love so sweetly. That night, the light of love was in your eyes, but did you love me…tomorrow?” Turner paraphrased the lyrics of the song into his own version.

“Shut up and dance, Reverend.” Paris pressed herself closer to him.

He felt his body respond to her. Lust shot through him like a hot Vegas night. His mind flipped back to their wedding night, when he’d made love to Paris for the first time. She had been his, completely.

He would never forget unzipping the red sequined dress to reveal her naked back. He’d slid his hands across her smooth skin and slowly moved the straps off her shoulders until the dress had fallen to the floor. Then he’d spent quite a while learning her body from the back. He’d glided over every valley and curve with his fingertips until she’d leaned back on him, overcome. Then he’d turned her body toward him and learned the front of her just as slowly. Every time she’d moved to hurry things along, he had moved them toward a slow, smoldering, aching heat instead.

That night it had seemed that every touch had made their desire stronger. He’d taken his time
with her that night. She’d reached an orgasm at least three times before he’d even entered her, and he’d known the deepest pleasure imaginable as she’d finally begged him to slide himself into her. Even then he had done one teasing, smooth, motion at a time so she’d climax as he moved into her.

Now he was so glad he had taken so long that night. That night, and their time in New York, might be the only memories he’d ever have of making love to Paris.

Tony caught Turner’s eye when he moved by the bandstand with Paris, and he gave him a thumbs-up. Turner hoped that meant he’d keep up the slow set for a while.

As they danced he ran his hand from her neck down her bare back. The dress was similar. Low in back, low in front, and clinging to her every curve in between. He felt the desire for her rise in him so deeply that it shocked him.

She felt it too.

Whatever was going through Turner Pruitt’s head right now, she could feel the results pressed up against her. Paris had her eyes closed, and her body felt delicious in Turner’s arms. Something about this hormonal roller coaster called pregnancy must have hit the hot-to-trot track tonight. A wave of pure lust hit her hard—mostly in every spot where his body was
touching hers. He had one amazing, throbbing, hard-on there. She just hoped they moved into another slow song so she could enjoy it longer.

As if in answer, the singer started a slow grinder with a deep base beat. “Unchained Melody”—the old Righteous Brothers’ song. A very sexy song. And she felt every word of that line about
I hunger for your touch.
Because Turner Pruitt was nothing if not a man with a slow hand.

He could make love to her for hours and keep himself under control until she thought she’d either scream or just pass out with pleasure. She remembered finally begging him to let her have him inside her. Even then it had been the most intense
entering
she’d ever experienced.

She’d had many lovers over the years, but nothing,
nothing
compared to the talent of the ever-so-talented Mr. Pruitt. She was glad she’d finally gotten her memory of their wedding night back, because no girl should forget a night like that.

Her breasts ached against him as she remembered his mouth on her—his sweet mouth.

Mmmm.
She felt herself seriously considering taking Turner back into her bed. And what better place than the Four Seasons hotel. No roommates to walk in or hear her scream with the pleasure he would undoubtedly give her.

“Turner,” she said. She noticed that her voice gave away her desire right off. He noticed too.
She put her lips next to his ear and brushed against his earlobe when she whispered.

“I have a hotel room next door in the Four Seasons.”

Turner pulled back a little, and she saw that his eyes were full of a faraway kind of dream. She hoped it was of her.

“I was going to tell you that I’d decided to hang out with Marla and Anton for a few days…” She got that much out and had to take a breath in as he moved her into the dance.

“…and have a little spa break.” She let him lean her into a not-too-far-down dip. He was so strong, the way he led her, and his body moved with hers in perfect rhythm.

He wound his arm around her waist and put his lips against her temple, then slid down to her mouth, where he just gently played at a kiss. It made her crazy.

“So I was wondering if maybe we could have a little alone time. I mean, no Millie, no Sarah, just…” She lost her ability to speak when his mouth slid down her neck and across her shoulder. She was only aware he had danced them into a dark corner. She felt for the key card to her room in her tiny evening bag.

“Let’s go.” She showed him the key.

“Wait,” Turner whispered in a husky, dark voice next to her ear. He kept her there, moving his body against her like he was stroking her.
The heat from his body matched the heat from her own, and she shuddered against him. She put her arms around his neck, and he ground into her even deeper with a sensuous movement that echoed the music.

“I need your love, Paris,” he echoed the lyric.

She was beyond speach and felt like she was going to have an orgasm on the dance floor. If he even so much as brushed her breast with his fingertips…she would.

The song ended, and he held her close. Then he walked her off the dance floor and past Marla. Marla just waved her acceptance of their departure, and Turner saw Anton coming toward her, so Turner knew Marla was in good hands.

Good hands. He kept Paris close to him as they walked out of the Mandalay Bay and crossed over to the Four Seasons. She’d already handed him the key to her room and whispered the number to him. Thirty-ninth floor. Three-nine oh-one. The very top.

In the elevator he kissed her hard. He took her mouth like a delicious, forbidden fruit and showed her what he was going to do to the rest of her body with his kiss. He wanted to run his mouth all over her again. His hunger for her was so evident that he wondered if he could keep the control he’d had their first night. She moaned and pulled him against her harder, her
hips pushing against him, her mouth responding to his.

He found the room and inserted the key. God, give me a green light, he prayed. It blinked green and he pushed open the door. They got far enough in for it to close behind them and he threw the dead bolt. Sealed in.

Paris, Paris. He was in Paris heaven again. He murmured her name against her mouth. He let go of her long enough to strip off his jacket and shirt and pants and anything else that stood in his way.

She started to peel her dress off, but he stopped her. He just stood in front of her, looking at the lust and desire he had created in her. Her lips were swollen with his kisses. Her face was flushed pink. Her breasts…he stepped closer and ran his mouth across the soft skin that showed above the neckline of her dress. He put his hand behind her head as she leaned back to let him kiss her neck. Her flaming red hair curled and draped across his hand.

He moved his hand to her shoulder and slid one thin strap off. He ran his tongue down to the rosy tip of her left nipple. He noticed how much larger the dark bloom of her breast was—this must be what he’d read about. He ran his tongue around the circle and held her beautiful, full breast in his hand. She made a lusty, low sound and slid her own hand down to press between
her legs. That was just so sexy. He slipped the other strap off while he held her nipple in his mouth, heating it and teasing it with the tip of his tongue.

He wanted to devour her, but he wanted to savor every moment of that devouring. He helped her dress fall below her legs and helped her peel off the silky panties that she had on.

This was the first time he’d gotten to touch her belly. He stopped what he was doing and ran his hand across the small bulge that contained his babies. It was amazingly hard. He felt reverent and grateful that she’d opened herself to him tonight.

If only she knew how beautiful she was, carrying his children this way. Even more beautiful than before, because the spirit of their hearts was contained within her.

He let his fingertips smooth down into her heat. She was dripping wet, and when he pressed inside her he started a fire that made her shudder and grab his shoulders. He knelt down and put the heat of his mouth against her until she screamed and dug her nails into his skin. He stopped and lowered her backward onto the bed. The room was warm, and the darkness outside was punctuated by the sparkle of Las Vegas. In that light he could see her magnificent body, beckoning to him.

Paris couldn’t let this man do to her what he’d done before. She would never be able to stand the slow, wild pleasure this time. She had to have him now. She was going to make him want that so bad he’d have to break down and move into her. She ached to have him throbbing inside her.

If he wanted foreplay, she’d take him to the edge of insanity. His amazing body was too much to wait for. His broad shoulders, his tumble of brown hair, his handsome face that had grown so serious and manly since she’d known him so many years ago.

She pulled him down beside her and pushed him on his back so she could straddle him. Not to set him inside her, yet, but to tease him with her body. She slowly brushed each tender, burning part of herself against him. She brushed her nipples against his own. She trailed her breasts across his strong, muscled chest. She brushed her on-fire, wet darkness against him until his erection got even harder. Still she teased him…with her fingertips, with her mouth, until she could feel his resolve dissolving. She pushed against him and arched herself up. He touched her breasts and leaned up to put them in his mouth. She moved downward to let him.

But she was going to be the one this time. She was in control. She was…

His mouth gave a gentle suck to each of her nipples. Now those were her weakness. He
knew that, she was figuring out. He played that hand to the hilt. Each touch of his tongue drove her deeper into madness. He reached her and pressed his thumb into the heat, gently, over and over. Damn him. She spun out of her mind and felt her body climax hard against him.

But this time he had mercy on her. He lifted her slightly and slid his glorious, full, burning hot, hard and throbbing erection into her at the same time she reached the peak of shuddering waves of pleasure. It made her roll back into her own pleasure once again, and he moved her gently on him until he knew she was done. She rested against him for a moment.

Then he began to move. He was so gentle, but his gentleness was driven by his desire. The feel of him inside her made her head spin and her body ache for more. She moved with him, and lifted herself up slightly, only to slide the entire shaft of him back inside her again. He moaned and she felt him begin to lose control. She loved that. She reached her fingertips behind them and brushed the edges of his thighs and upward…so gently, but so effectively, that he yelled out her name again. She quickened her movement and he grabbed on to her thighs, pulling her harder against him. She watched his face this time, with her eyes on his eyes. She watched him lose himself, and still he didn’t climax.

“Let go.” She heard her mouth move, and the
words came from her. “Just let go,” she whispered, bending close to his ear, then moving back up to watch him.

Watching him let go was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. He was destroyed with pleasure. She had destroyed him. And she let go again, herself, tingling from the tips of her nipples to the tips of her toes and every other place she had. It was so strong she was shocked. A black sky engulfed her and filled with spinning stars. He kept moving ever so gently until the stars became the lights from the night sky again, and she collapsed on top of him.

A long, silent time went by. Turner moved her to her side and held her for what seemed like hours. He got up and pulled the covers out from under her, then wrapped them around them both. They lay together, and she drifted off. As she drifted off, she was aware that Turner was not asleep. He was beside her, thinking. She could almost hear him thinking.

Turner watched his wife sleep next to him. He was going to treasure every moment of this. It was the natural order of what their lives should be. They should be husband and wife, and their love should be a deep well to draw upon to help them through this life. They should be together like this, with the joy of their future awaiting them.

Sounded like one of his wedding ceremonies.

Turner pushed a stray red curl off Paris’s nose, and she reached up in her sleep to brush the tickle away. He caught her hand in his and held it gently. He looked down at her empty ring finger. He should fill that finger with a wedding ring. But he’d like it to be real this time.

When she woke up, would Paris be different?
Would she surrender to this love, to this marriage? Or would she push him away again and lock her heart up in that prison that he couldn’t find the key to?

What was the key? Where had things gone so terribly wrong for Paris? So wrong that she would be convinced her own babies would be better off without her? What made her so sure of her own horrible flaws that she would deny herself her own babies?

He must find out what had happened to her when she was a child. He knew the basic facts, but he needed more. He must find out every detail. He wanted the mother’s medical records and the police files and the social services files. If he knew for himself what had happened, maybe he could help Paris.

Turner let go of her hand softly. He must find the answers he needed. Their children needed a mother, and he…well, he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted Paris. He wanted to have her be his partner in life and raise their children with him.

He had no idea when he’d fallen in love with her, but it had started long ago and begun rekindling when they’d been in New York. He’d seen something in her before he’d even known she was pregnant. Something special. Someone who needed him. He’d known at that moment that he’d married her as much for him
self as for her—or any of the other reasons he could think of.

But what he wanted was looking pretty impossible right now, unless she had a big turnaround.

This momentary evening of passion was wonderful, but in his heart he knew it was going to make her even worse. She’d be angry at herself, and at him.

He slid out of bed quietly, and after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he gathered up his clothes, which were strewn all over the bedroom.

Paris had really booked quite the suite, with a small living room separate from the bedroom. He left the bedroom and walked into the living area. He twisted the blinds open enough to enjoy the spectacular view of the Vegas strip. He probably would have chosen to face the mountains and desert, but he bet the lights made Paris feel more like she was back in New York.

Turner glanced in Paris’s direction as he heard her move in the bed. She had just rolled over and gathered all the covers around herself like a cocoon. He laughed softly. She was nothing if not focused on self-preservation.

But then she’d been without parents since she was about eleven or twelve.

Again he felt compelled to find out the details of the story. He had an idea of where to start. St. Mary’s had been her home since she was young. The priest there would be able to tell him some
thing, surely. He might protest at first, but if he knew what Turner was trying to accomplish, he would undoubtedly give forth. Sort of professional courtesy—clergy to clergy. Turner would be sure and wear his collar.

Turner went over to the wet bar and poured himself a glass of water. The ice cubes clinked in the bar glass as he walked over to one of the living room chairs. He positioned it so he could watch Paris sleep and made himself comfortable.

She looked like a painting. Her long, wavy red hair flowed over the pillow and over her bare arm as if someone had arranged it that way. How he wished he were an artist so he could capture her beauty forever. She slept as if she were happy. The tangle of soft cotton sheets and silky coverlet hid most of her body except for her foot. It was a very nice foot.

He sipped the water and let the quiet mellow him. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been working and how nonstop he’d been worrying until just now.

Just for this moment he could stop and enjoy the pleasure of knowing she was peaceful, and well loved, and they weren’t at each other’s throats. Actually her throat had taken quite a bit of his attention tonight. Kissing her neck was amazing.

He sat back in the chair and relaxed, trying not to think about his to-do list, or future prob
lems, or anything but just this moment. It was a good moment.

But it wouldn’t last long. When she woke up the moment would be over. How can you love a woman so much and know that she was going to make you miserable at the same time?

Turner decided to leave her here in the peaceful, after-sex bliss of this moment and go back to his place. Then when she woke up in the morning she’d only have the memory of last night instead of a confrontation in the light of day. Good plan.

He finished his drink and got up out of the comfortable chair. His clothes were stacked on the sofa, and he quietly slipped them on. His wallet was still in his jacket pocket, and all was well. Maybe he’d grab a midnight burger on the way home from Digger’s All Natural Drive-In. Best fries in the entire state of Nevada.

He better be sure about this because once that door closed behind him he wouldn’t be able to get back in. He stood for one more minute in the opening to the bedroom, leaning against the wall, watching her. “I love you, Paris,” he whispered.

Turner slipped his jacket on and went to the door. He slipped the chain off and wished he could lock her back in there after he was out. She’d be okay. Marla’s room was right next door,
and Anton’s was on the other side. He made sure the door closed tightly behind him as he left.

“I see kitty has claws,” Millie said.

“What?” Turner asked.

Millie put her finger on Turner’s chin and indicated that he had a scratch across one side.

“Oh.” Turner smiled.

“Tamed?”

“Not by a long shot. You’re up late, Millie.”

“The Hot Line was open late tonight. I had to wait till Sarah was asleep. She’s such a wet blanket when it comes to stuff like this. Miss Goody Two-shoes.”

Turner laughed. “Anything fun?”

“Na-a, just the usual.”

Well,
Turner thought,
it’s safe sex at heart.
“Want some of my fries? Digger’s Natural.” He waved the brown paper bag made out of recycled paper in the air.

“Yum. Dish ’em,” Millie said. She took up her usual place at the dining table, fuzzy slippers, curlers and all. She buttoned up her quilted robe high on her neck. The air conditioner was up high. He knew she liked it warmer. He went to the thermostat and turned it down.

Turner looked back at Millie and noticed that the dinette set was getting a little beat-up looking. He might have to get a new one soon. Its
white plastic fifties top had seen a few too many nicks, and the chrome was fading on the legs.

Too bad they didn’t have an actual dining room to put a new one in instead of the strange little bump-out at the end of the living room, next to the kitchen.

Another bathroom would be good, too. “Millie, my love, I think we’re going to have to get ourselves a bigger dwelling. It seems I’ll be having a pack of babies and you and Sarah, and heaven knows who else will show up.” Turner went to the kitchen and got the ketchup bottle out of the fridge.

“True. We should get a place in the burbs with a fenced backyard and a sandbox, and maybe we’ll get a yappy dog. And I’ll get a cat. A Siamese cat.”

“I figured as much. Want to go house hunting?” Turner asked.

“Sure. Now what happens if Miss Snottypants gets a grip and wants to play mommy?”

“That’s
Mrs.
Snottypants, remember? I hope she likes the place is all I can say. I’ve got enough in savings for a down payment. Shall we ask her, or just surprise her?” Turner sat down in his usual place and tore the fry bag down the middle. He shook the ketchup, popped it, and squirted some squiggles on the fries.

“I say surprise her. She’s been an awful brat.”

“True. I’ll think that over. A yappy dog, you say?”

“The babies would love it…eventually.”

“It’s not going to be a palace.”

“We’ll be fine. What about you, Rev, will you be fine?”

“I’ve got some work to do. We’ll see. I have some ideas.”

“Speaking of ideas, I think Sarah’s got some ideas where you are concerned, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I sort of noticed, but I’ve been awfully busy with the chapel and Paris and all. I was hoping it would fade away in the face of reality.”

Millie shook a fry at Turner. “It don’t just go away. I’d say she’s thinking she’ll step in when you need her the worst.”

“I’m in love with Paris, Millie.”

“Isn’t love just a stinker? You would fall for some ornery gal with a big chip on her shoulder. But what’s to do? I’ve been there. I always seemed to fall for those good-looking slick talkers that played a good game…high rollers. They’re fun for a while, but when their luck runs out they are just plain mean.”

“I’m glad I’ve got you now, Millie. Are you up for a couple of rugrats?”

“You bet. We’ll have to clean up our act a little, though.” She popped a fry in her mouth. “I’ll
stick to selling fancy lightbulbs over the phone, and you better stop gambling.”

“I don’t gamble, Millie.” Turner let Millie have the last fry.

“I know, I just couldn’t think of anything else. You’re just an all-around clean machine, Turner.”

“How about next time a girl from high school I had a crush on shows up I won’t marry her within four hours?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Turner got up and gathered the French fry mess. “I guess I get to sleep in the land of precious tonight, formerly my own room. I hope those bears let me have a corner of the bed.”

“Holler if they give you any trouble. And Rev, make it clear to our little nurse-in-training, Sarah, that you’re not interested. Up front is best.”

He gave Millie a peck on the cheek. “I will. Good night, dear.”

“Nag, nag.” Millie smiled. “Good night.”

The bed was occupied by six large lady bears with hats. He moved them onto the floor. He was beat. Tomorrow was the beginning of many things. He thought about Paris, in her lovely hotel bed. He wondered if she’d be angry because he left.

Hell, she’d be angry if he left or if he didn’t. He was better off out of pitching-a-fit range.

Paris threw the covers off her and got out of bed. She walked from one end of the suite to the other, noting the empty bathroom with the door partly open.

Well, well, well. Turner Pruitt had taken a powder on her. She sat on the side of the bed and looked down at her toes while she still could. The red paint from Millie’s pedicure day was chipped and faded.

That man. He’d done it to her again. Why was it she couldn’t keep her panties on around him? Where were her panties? If he thought for a minute that this little momentary lapse on her part changed anything, he was delusional. She looked around the room in a daze and pushed her completely insane hair out of her face.

She was just going to have to be stronger where he was concerned. Paris got up and looked in the dresser mirror. That was a mistake. She rubbed at her face…dry skin. This desert sure hadn’t done anything for her complexion. She was a mess.

Marla would be shocked to see her up this early, but she’d set up a massage, a facial, a manicure and pedicure, and a hair treatment, and that was going to take all day.

She smoothed her hands over her neck and suddenly remembered Turner’s mouth, hot against her skin, making her crazy. That man was one amazing lover.

Paris decided not to think about last night. Fiddle-dee-dee, as Scarlet would say. She decided not to even think about it tomorrow. She was just going to indulge herself.

The phone was right next to the bed, and clearly marked buttons gave her room service in moments. She felt the urge to eat a New York kind of breakfast.

“Hi, can you bring up breakfast to 3901? Toasted plain bagel, smoked salmon, cream cheese, capers, no onions, fresh squeezed orange juice, two pots of tea, one peppermint, one English breakfast. I’ll be here. How long for that? Fine.”

She was going to have a great day. She wasn’t going to think about Turner, or Millie, or that Sarah person, or anything else. After all, she deserved it.

“It was mighty nice of them to let you girls hang out with me.”

“Um, Anton, I think it was the other way around.” Marla’s muffled voice came from the underside of the maternity massage table. “This is just heaven, Paris. You’ll love it.”

“I’m next.” Paris’s masseuse was an older
woman, but her hands were strong and she was making Paris’s legs feel
so
much better while she waited for the special maternity table. They had just been aching something terrible lately. Probably the extra weight.

“I see naked women all day long in New York. Turn them upside down and they all look the same.”

“So you told the staff. Now pipe down, Anton, we are trying to relax. If you don’t have any good gossip, we don’t want to hear from you.”

“Well, let’s see. Rita’s been dating a prince.”

“You mean like, a prince of a guy?” Marla asked. “What else is new?”

“No, I mean an actual prince of some obscure sort of Danish Copenhagenish province or something. He has an accent like a slab of budda on a brioche.” Anton waved his hand downward, since he was on his back.

“Cut it out, you’re gonna make me hungry, and I have many miles to go before I eat,” Paris grumbled.

“Your turn, Mrs. Pruitt.” The masseuse helped Marla up, and she and Paris switched tables.

“Mrs. Pruitt.” Anton giggled.

“Paris Pruitt.” Marla giggled too.

“You two are like…high school. And since you are so childish, you might as well know, my real name is Patricia. Patricia Pruitt. Now how in the hell did I end up being Patricia Pruitt?”

“I think it had something to do with a magnum of Rhoederer Brut champagne,” Marla said.