Wedding Vows: Just Married: The Ex Factor / What Happens in Vegas... / Another Wild Wedding Night

5

“WHAT?” The word bounced around the inside of her car, even though her shock was only pretense. She’d known the moment Dexter asked her for a ride home that he had more than transportation in mind. You didn’t love a man for six years, live with him for five, without knowing a thing or two about how his mind worked.

Or have him know about how yours worked, she realized, as he gazed at her separated by nothing but a couple of feet of cold air, with an expression that suggested he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve been thinking about having sex with me, too. I know you’re too honest to pretend you haven’t.”

Which was exactly what she’d planned to do. Deny, deny, deny. She sighed out a breath of mingled frustration and—no, it was all frustration, both the irritation of a woman dealing with a man she thought was out of her life, and the huge dollop of sexual frustration that being around Dex again was causing. Because she couldn’t be near him and not remember how they’d burned up the sheets together. No matter their problems, their sex life had always been superb.

“I can’t—”

“Whatever else was wrong between us, you can’t deny that when we got naked, everything worked,” he said, oddly echoing her own thoughts on the matter. Then he reached over, and ran a fingertip under the hem of her skirt. “Or not even naked,” he mused, his eyes crinkling as memories rose around them. “Remember that time when we took my first brand-new car out for a spin?”

“No,” she lied.

Which was a huge mistake because then, of course, he had to remind her of an incident they both knew she remembered perfectly well.

“I’d only ever driven used beaters, and now suddenly I had a company car, and it was brand-new. We went to the dealership to pick it up. A silver GM sedan.” It had been a green Ford, but she refused to rise to the bait no matter how provocatively he behaved. She shifted an inch closer to her door, but he shifted, too, so his finger continued to trace the hem of her skirt which had, naturally, ridden up when she sat down. She could smack him away, but that would make an issue of something she preferred to ignore. Besides, what he was doing felt so good, and it had been so long.

“It was summer and you wore a red sundress.” He was right about the season, but she’d worn a blue cotton dress. She never wore red with her hair color. His wandering finger had reached the crease of her closed legs and he paused for a second. “Is any of this familiar?”

“Not ringing any bells yet.” Ha.

His voice grew husky. “We took a drive, didn’t know where we were going, didn’t care. We found ourselves down by the river. It was quiet, nobody around.”

Because he’d obviously carefully done a reconnaissance mission beforehand. When he’d pulled out a bottle of wine from his briefcase along with two glasses, she’d known it.

“Do you remember what happened then?” he asked, his voice so close, so deep and low, that she knew he’d moved closer.

“No,” she lied.

“That’s too bad. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.”

The touch of his finger doing no more than trace her hem, running along her upper thigh, was so erotic it was an act of will not to squirm, not to push his hand higher, where she needed release so desperately, or at least depress the handy button that would recline their seats. Or even better, act as they had that night he was describing, and simply crawl into the backseat where there was more room.

“I’m sure you’ve made lots of new memories since then,” she snapped.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” he asked her, as though she’d never spoken.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Not that long.”

Maybe she could force her body to remain still while that one finger played at her hem, never going higher or doing anything that would make it necessary for her to slap him down, but she couldn’t seem to control her breathing. Even as she tried to pretend she felt nothing, remembered nothing, a combination of his finger stroking her skin, his nearness, and the sweet, painful pull of memory was causing her breathing to speed up along with her pulse.

“We talked about my new job, and a new event you were organizing, and it seemed like we could do anything. We were young, smart, ambitious and we had each other. What an unbeatable team.” The finger stalled for a moment and she felt the tension in his hand as though a spasm of emotion had hit him. It felt like anger, but she had to assume it was guilt for throwing everything they’d had away.

Then the moment passed and the back-and-forth exploration of her thigh continued. He tugged her skirt up a full half inch, torturing her again with a slow track back, his finger pad tracing a line of heat across her skin.

“All the while we talked, I did this. Played at your hem, and you pretended you didn’t notice, like now.”

“I think your memory’s playing tricks.”

“And then, suddenly, you parted your legs and turned toward me.” He swallowed. So did she. Heat flooded her body as she remembered what came next.

“I thought I was so in control, touching you, turning us both on, but you were the one in control, weren’t you? You were the one with the secret.”

“No,” she whispered, but she wasn’t telling him she hadn’t had a secret, she was trying to stop the flood of memory that was as warm and thick as desire.

“When I got up to touch your panties, you weren’t wearing any.”

Oh, how she remembered. The feel of the air wafting up her skirt, the wanton knowledge that she’d stood by while he’d finalized paperwork at a car dealership, while they’d driven public highways, and all the time, underneath her cotton sundress, she’d been bare-assed.

“We were in the backseat so fast I ended up with bruised elbows and knees. We never did take off our clothes, did we? I ended up flipping that skirt up, pulling down the top of your dress to reach your breasts. You were always so sensitive there.” He laughed softly. “We were like a pair of kids going at it.” He sighed, obviously realizing that this little trip down memory lane wasn’t working. Her thighs didn’t ease open, though he couldn’t possibly know what torture it was to hold them closed against him. “God, I loved you.”

“But not enough,” she said, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her.

“Do you think we rushed into marriage too fast?”

She turned her head, wondering where he was going with this train of thought. “We knew each other a year. I guess I wish we’d waited. Long enough for me to realize you weren’t the kind of guy to stick with one woman.”

He pulled his hand back into his own lap and she fought the urge to grab it and put it where she needed, so urgently, to be touched.

“I wish I’d waited long enough to get a handle on those demons you carry around with you.”

“What demons?” she snapped. How like a man to cheat on her and then try and pretend she was the one with the problem.

“The demons that stopped you being able to trust.”

She was not going to have this conversation again. She’d moved on. “If I’m so full of demons, what are you doing still trying to get into my pants?”

A sigh of pure frustration rolled through him. “Hell if I know.”

6

THE READING TERMINAL MARKET was crazy. Naturally. It was a Sunday afternoon and every yuppie with a craving for organic arugula or some fresh monkfish had made tracks down here. Karen had a love/hate relationship with the market. While she loved this place simply for the fun of people-watching, she also suffered as only a woman who loves food and tries to live on fifteen hundred calories a day can suffer.

Since she’d barely slept thanks to Dex and his antics in her car last night, she felt weaker than usual. The worst part had been driving him to his hotel, with all the steamy atmosphere between them churning around with a lot of emotions. Anger, frustration, and a bitter kind of longing that hurt more than all the other feelings put together. How could she still want the man so much?

Dex was her ex. He had to remain that way if she had any chance of hanging on to her hard-won self-esteem.

She’d half thought he’d invite her up to his room and was ready to let him have it when he did. Somehow, the fact that he didn’t say any more than, “Thanks for the ride. Night,” was an added insult. He didn’t even ask her up to his room so she could annihilate the guy with a few well-chosen words that she’d been practicing for blocks.

How unfair was that?

The bakery smells were so good. There were blocks of cheese bigger than house steps and she wanted to buy one and gobble every succulent morsel. She loved cheese, every fat-saturated ounce. Hard cheese, soft cheese, runny cheese, blue cheese. Oh, stop it. She averted her eyes. She really shouldn’t be here.

But Ron had suggested the locale for their first coffee date and, under instruction from Dee, she’d agreed without quibbling. Now she was here she wished she’d quibbled big-time. She wanted to turn tail and head home. Apart from being exhausted, cranky and cheese-obsessed, she’d probably dressed all wrong for a first date with a stranger. Her jeans were casual, but she’d pushed her feet into high heels instead of giving them a well-deserved Sunday rest, and she was worried that the green sweater was too low-necked. The last thing she wanted to do was stick her boobs in some poor man’s face, so she’d added a scarf at the last moment, and now wished she could go home and start over.

Dee had made her promise to let her hair down, which she’d first assumed was some kind of veiled allusion to being open for sex with a stranger until Dee had clarified that she actually meant she should leave her hair unpinned and unconfined. “You have such great hair, that gorgeous red color and the natural curls.” And since Dee seemed to know what she was doing in the online dating world, Karen had been persuaded.

Now she suddenly felt like a country-and-western singer with too much of everything. Big hair, big heels, big breasts, big butt.

She was a few minutes early, because it was her way, and stopped to stare unseeing at a booth selling nothing but spices. She never should have agreed to this date with Ron the CPA.

Somehow, this was all Dexter’s fault. If he hadn’t got her so riled up she never would have agreed to a date with some guy she met over the Internet.

However, she realized that whatever her reasons for being here, she wasn’t about to stand this man up. It wasn’t his fault she was an idiot. So, they’d have coffee. An hour of her life would be wasted, and then she could get back to attempting to make something of the years left to her.

On that optimistic thought, she made her way to the busy coffee shop and immediately spotted Ron, who was standing near the entrance, obviously as punctual as she was.

He looked exactly like his photo. Exactly like a CPA. And suddenly she relaxed. He was reassuringly unassuming, no other women were covertly studying him or overtly drooling. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t forever be tempted to stray, which had to be a good thing.

She forced a smile to her face and walked up to him. “Hello, you must be Ron. I’m Karen.”

They shook hands. He seemed pleased by her punctuality, insisted on buying her a coffee and they settled at a table.

For a moment, neither spoke. Finally he said, “You’re very punctual. It’s a quality I admire.”

Oh, how old-fashioned he sounded. What was she even doing here? Her mind flashed back to the night before, when she’d been humiliatingly close to parting her thighs and doing her ex-husband in the parking lot. Something had to change, and fast. She smiled at him. “I feel the same way.”

Now that she looked at him, she saw that behind his glasses he had warm gray eyes. He was fairly forgettable until you took note of those eyes. He was dressed neatly, in jeans that bore such sharp creases she suspected he ironed them, a polo shirt he’d probably bought at Costco or Sam’s Club and a well-worn leather jacket.

Another pause ensued, while they both took refuge in sipping coffee, and finally she blurted, “I have no idea how to do this. I’m so sorry, it’s my first time.” She sighed, sensing the genuine niceness of this man, and opened up even more. “In fact, it’s been a long time since I had any kind of a date. I’m so out of practice I have no idea where to begin.”

It was as though her confession took all the awkwardness out of their date. Ron nodded with sweet understanding. “It sucks. Really.”

She was surprised into a spurt of laughter by his sad admission.

Then realizing how that must sound, he added, “I don’t mean meeting you, but online dating is a new skill you have to learn.” He shrugged. “I’ve been doing this for a few months now and I find the hardest part is that people often, when they write their profiles, put a description of what they wish they were like rather than something that’s actually true.”

She thought of the way she’d fudged her height, claiming to be five-four, and tried very hard not to blush.

“The worst thing for me was the bad spelling and grammar. I don’t think I’m too fussy, but if a man can’t spell relationship, I really don’t think I want to have one with him.”

“True. For me the biggest turnoff is women who are so obviously looking for the father of their future children that they all but ask you for a sperm count.”

Once again she laughed, sensing that maybe he wasn’t quite as dull as he appeared. “I’ve tried very hard to be honest,” he said.

“You told me all about your work,” she reminded him, “but very little about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’m thirty-seven. Single, I’m a CPA.”

“Whoa,” she said. “We’re getting back to your résumé again.”

“Sorry. I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Whereabouts do you live?” she asked, seeking for some topic that they could talk about.

“I’m within walking distance of Independence Hall,” he said and she wondered if he was being deliberately vague in case she turned out to be a stalker or crazy person.

“Wow. In Society Hill? That’s a nice area.”

He paused for a second, then said, “I inherited the house from my mother. It’s a Federal-style town house. She recently passed.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said with ready sympathy. She couldn’t imagine life without her mother, who was both nosy and annoying and the person who loved Karen most in all the world.

“Cancer,” he said. “It was very hard.”

She heard the almost hidden quiver in his voice and impulsively reached over to lay a hand on his. Because she didn’t know what to say, she said nothing, merely offered her silent support.

After a second, he said, “My only regret is that she didn’t get to see me settled, with grandchildren. It was her dearest wish.”

“I’m sure she was very proud of you.” She searched for something else to say. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No, I’m an only child.” And she received the impression that he’d been his mother’s pride and joy. She didn’t ask, but she suspected he’d never left home, had nursed his mother through her final illness and now, lost and alone, was trying to find a substitute.

“How about you?” he asked, obviously determined to steer clear of painful subjects.

“I’m divorced.” She didn’t think he wanted to hear the ugly details. Well, who would? So she merely said, “I’ve been single for almost five years now. I run my own wedding planning business.”

He began asking her precise and intelligent questions about her business and she felt that it was a relief to both of them to discuss something as impersonal as business.

At the end of an hour, she knew two things. One, Ron was a genuinely nice man, she suspected he was an excellent accountant, and two, she felt not the tiniest spark of attraction.

They exchanged business cards and agreed to meet for lunch one day soon. She had no idea whether either of them would follow up, but she was toying with the idea of hiring him for her business.

They shook hands at the end of their coffee date and he headed one way while she turned in the opposite direction.

She was trying to decide whether the coffee date had been a success or a disaster, when a voice hailed her, “Karen.”

She glanced up to see Chelsea standing in front of her, a canvas bag of fresh food in her arms. Beside her was her fiancé, David, loaded down with two more bags. She was struck with how good those two looked together, two tall, gorgeous people who were so clearly meant for each other you could feel their bond.

After the greetings were over, Chelsea turned to her lover and said, “David, do you see that fish market way over there?”

He glanced at his woman with slightly raised brows. “You mean the one with the long lineup?”

“That’s the one. Can you go buy six spot prawns and a pound of fresh crabmeat?”

He glanced from one woman to the other. “You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me, so you can do the girlfriend gossip thing, would you?”

Chelsea grinned at him. “Do you want what I can whip up with six spot prawns and a pound of crabmeat or don’t you?”

With a good-natured shrug, he said, “Goodbye, Karen.” And wandered off.

“That was rude. We’ll see each other at work tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow. Believe me, he’ll end up happy when his dinner is served. And I have to hear about your date.”

She made a wry face. “He was really nice. A truly nice man.”

“That sounds very unpromising.”

“It’s not his fault. I wouldn’t even be doing this if it wasn’t for Dee, my darling assistant who seems to think I’m in desperate need of a man.”

“She’s young, what does she know?”

Karen snorted. “She thinks she knows more than I do. Know what I found on my desk Friday morning?”

“What?”

“A box of condoms and a note from Dee reminding me to always play it safe.”

Chelsea had the kind of full-bodied laugh that made strangers stop and grin as though just being around her made them part of the fun. “What did you do with them?”

“I put them in my desk drawer. I have everything in there from hemorrhoid cream, which is good for minimizing puffy eyes on brides and their mothers before a photo shoot, to extra nylons, shoelaces, pins, tape, flower wire, film, batteries, hair spray, you name it.”

“And now you’ve got condoms.” She leaned closer so none of the fresh fruit and veggie shoppers would overhear her. “Maybe the CPA will get to sharpen his pencil after all.”

She snorted with her own, hardly dainty laughter. “Stop it. I’m thinking of hiring him to do my books. We talked a lot about my business, it was an easy subject for both of us and he asked intelligent questions.”

“Oh, poor guy. So the date was a disaster.”

She wondered what Chelsea was planning to do with that dark green spiky stuff sticking out of her bag and decided she didn’t want to know. “No, I wouldn’t say he was a disaster, just there was no big spark, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. I know. But maybe he’s worth giving another chance, seeing as sometimes people we spark off aren’t always good for us.”

“I so agree.”

Her friend drilled her with her gaze. “Speaking of bad news and sparks, how’s Dex the Ex?”

7

DEXTER WAS A SUCKER for punishment. He knew it, could curse himself as much as he liked, but all the cursing didn’t stop him from pulling up in front of Karen’s office for the latest wedding planning meeting. He’d had to cut short an earlier meeting with the developers of the mixed use complex he was designing in order to be here. He’d been far more delighted to bag this project than he should have been and he suspected his level of satisfaction was related to the fact that he’d be spending a lot of time in Philadelphia for the next few months.

In missile range of the redheaded termagant he’d so foolishly married.

It wasn’t like his buddy Andrew and Sophie couldn’t have a perfectly good wedding without him playing assistant wedding planner.

And yet, here he was.

He pulled in to park in the office lot and there was Karen’s car. A surprising shot of lust pummeled him as he recalled their all-too-short time together Saturday night when her mouth had told him no even as her body shouted yes.

What was he going to do about this very inconvenient thing he still had for his ex-wife?

Until he figured that out, he supposed he was going to play assistant wedding planner.

He was a few minutes early and it didn’t look as if Sophie was here yet, but they’d booked the last possible appointment so they could both get in a day’s work. Probably she’d be here any minute.

Loosening his tie, he went into the office anyway. He glanced around but the cute British girl wasn’t at her station or anywhere in the front area of If You Can Dream It. He walked toward Karen’s office and heard her voice. He was conscious of the familiarity of that voice, the slight breathlessness that he doubted she was even aware of. His day had been successful, the client had approved the more expensive option, the one Dexter had hoped they’d go with since it was both greener and preserved the architectural integrity of the building.

There was a time he’d have rushed to tell her the good news and they’d have celebrated. Now they were all but strangers to each other. And yet he knew every timbre of her voice as well as he knew every inch of her body. It was crazy.

When he got to her doorway he paused there, enjoying the view. She was talking on the phone, her bare feet up on the desktop, a sight he suspected not very many clients were privileged to see. Her feet were small, dainty, the toes painted bright pink. Her floral skirt had ridden up revealing a shapely thigh.

He rapped on the door frame and she turned, startled. When she saw him, she yanked her feet off the desktop and he watched, enjoying the sight, as her toes did a version of Riverdance under the desk until she located two high-heeled shoes and attempted to jam her feet into them while simultaneously dragging her skirt back into place.

She continued her conversation, to a florist he presumed, since the words rose and baby’s breath occurred so often.

Once she’d successfully navigated her feet into her shoes, she turned her chair, and thus her back, to him and continued her conversation. “What about the ribbon? Were you able to match the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses?” He watched her pick up the pen he’d given her and begin to doodle. “Mmm-hmm. Okay. I know it’s a difficult color to match, but the bride is very particular about tone.” She made a quick note. “Well, I think you should send over a sample of the ribbon and we can let the bride decide. Yes, I know. Right. See you.” And she hung up.

She let him stand there another moment while she made notes. Then she turned her chair so she was facing him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Didn’t Sophie get hold of you?” his ex-wife asked, rising and coming to stand in front of her desk.

He’d had his cell phone turned off while he was on-site with the client. Had he remembered to turn it back on? He didn’t think so. “Why?”

“She got held up at work. She rescheduled our meeting.”

“Oh.” He pulled out his cell phone and when he turned it on, there was the little voice mail icon. “Guess I forgot to check my messages.”

“Guess so.”

She didn’t move. If there was a posture for “there’s the door, don’t let it hit you on your way out,” she was demonstrating it. But he’d known this woman for a long time, and during the best of that time, intimately, and he knew she was skittish because she didn’t want to be alone with him. Not when they both knew that the fire that had always burned between them hadn’t grown fainter from time apart. If anything, it burned fiercer than ever.

Ever since that kiss the other night he’d been thinking that it was inevitable they’d end up back in bed.

He glanced at that sturdy-looking desk. Or not in bed.

“Has your assistant left for the day?”

“Yep, and I’m finished for the day, too, so I’ll let you know when the meeting’s rescheduled.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake.

Maybe if she hadn’t done that he would have walked away as she was pretending she wanted him to. But offering her hand like he was a casual business acquaintance?

She might as well have flipped him the bird.

He took her hand. Held it in his for a moment too long, felt the quiver running along her skin, the soft warmth of their palm-to-palm contact. Not letting go of her hand he took a step toward her.

She stepped back.

He took another step toward her.

“Dex, what are you…” Her hips bumped the desk and their gazes locked.

He watched the quick intake of breath, the way it raised her glorious, extravagant breasts against the silk of her blouse. Her mouth opened slightly and he moved in, taking her mouth as though he owned it because on some primitive level he did. Always had. Always would.

The sweet taste of her exploded on his lips and tongue and then he pulled her in all the way, tight against him so her breasts were pressing against his chest, her hips jammed against him, her butt pressed against the edge of her feminine desk.

For a second he felt her go rigid, thought she might push him away, but as quickly as her resistance rose, it receded and with a low moan in the back of her throat, she pushed her hands into his hair, pulled him into her.

He’d always loved her honest passion, the way she let him know what she was feeling and what she wanted. Mindless, they pulled at each other, the years of separation, the anger, the frustration falling away as they clawed at each other.

He had his hands shoved down her top, grabbing at her breasts, pulling them out of her bra so he could see them, feel them, taste them. She’d always been slightly embarrassed about the size of her breasts but he loved them. When he put his tongue to her nipple the flavor took him back to the first time they’d ever been together, when he’d discovered this woman was made for sex. Or, as he secretly liked to think, she was made for sex with him.

Her head dropped back as he curled his tongue around the sensitive point, pushed his knee between her legs until she parted for him. Without taking his mouth from her breast he reached under her hips and hoisted her up until she sat on the desk, her pretty floral skirt sliding up as he pushed it up, up, over her hips. She spread herself wide for him, her arms twined around his neck, her head thrown back as he pleasured her.

The joy of this woman was how well he knew her body, how intimately he could gauge her responses. Beneath his tongue her skin was heating and he could feel her pulse hammering. When he trailed a hand down between her thighs he found her as wet and hot as he’d suspected he would. He cupped her, making her moan and squirm against his fingers.

“It’s been so long,” he murmured against her plump flesh.

“Too long,” she moaned.

Slipping his hands beneath her hips, he peeled the tiny scrap of pale blue silk and lace that passed for underwear off her, bending as he slid the foolish thing down her legs and over the ridiculous heels. He was throbbing with need, so aroused he was in danger of embarrassing himself as he rose and slid open his zipper.

She reached between them, unbuttoning him and sliding her small, capable hands around him which didn’t help his self-control.

While she caressed him he returned the favor, cupping her heat, slipping one finger into that glorious wet until she squirmed against him. He knew her so well, he knew that she was as close to exploding as he was.

He looked down into her face, her eyes that clear blue-green, her cheeks flushed with passion, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, her lips parted and eager. He closed the distance between them, kissing her hungrily.

Had he ever wanted her this much? Had he ever wanted anyone or anything this badly? If so, he couldn’t remember.

She pulled him closer and as he touched the wet heat he suddenly checked himself as reality intruded. They weren’t married anymore. He had no idea if she was on birth control or what she’d been doing since they were last together. With a groan of gut-deep frustration he cursed himself for no longer carrying a condom in his wallet. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. The only prophylactics he owned were safely in his bedside drawer at home.

Pulling away slightly, then resting his forehead against hers, he admitted the awful truth. “I don’t have protection,” he gasped.

“Oh, no…wait, I’ve got some condoms in my desk drawer.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. On top of the hair spray, I think.”

He bounded around the desk and flung open the drawer. The oddest assortment of products greeted him. He dug around and found the unopened box wedged between a can of breath spray and a tube of Preparation H.

Whatever.

He didn’t let himself think about why his ex-wife kept a box of condoms in her desk drawer, simply decided to be grateful.

He tore into the box and swiftly sheathed himself, then holding his pants up with one hand, made his way back around to where his ex-wife still sat, leaning back, supported by her hands, still open for him.

Waiting.

He didn’t keep her waiting for long. Teasing her with his fingers, toying with her until her breathing grew shallow and raspy and she was moving against him, he brought her up and then pulling her hips to the edge of the desk, he stepped between her thighs and slowly eased into her. Oh, it felt so good, so right. He’d forgotten how amazing she was. Snug heat, the sweet slide as she thrust against him, the crazy dance she did with her hips when her excitement began to peak, pumping and corkscrewing around him until he had no resistance left.