Barbara Dunlop - Millions To Spare

“The good news is, we won the trophy. Got that baby up to fifteen miles an hour.”

She couldn’t help but grin at the pride that was evident in his voice all these years later. “And the bad news?”

“By ten o’clock on Saturday night, we realized we’d misplaced a few of the lawn mower and rototiller parts. My mom realized we weren’t in bed. And my dad realized he needed to teach us a lesson.”

Brittany cringed. “Ouch.”

“Ouch is right. But it was still worth it. We were boys. We accepted spankings as the cost of having fun. Besides, the go-kart was nothing compared to our next project.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“We decided to try parachuting off the roof.”

“Did your parents by any chance insist that you join the navy?”

“They thought it would improve my moral fiber.”

“And did it?”

“Not really, but it was a whole lot of fun.”

“Fun?” Brittany had seen enough movies to know the military wasn’t fun.

“Basic training was a piece of cake. There wasn’t anything a drill sergeant could do or say that my dad and older brother hadn’t been doing my entire life. And, after we got through basic, they let us blow things up, run obstacle courses and learn to use high-tech equipment. I thought I’d died and gone to adventure camp.”

Brittany found herself smiling. “I am so glad I’m not having your children.”

He went silent, and she immediately cringed.

Then she flipped onto her back to look up at him. “That was thoughtless. I’m sorry.”

He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his expression teasing rather than hurt. “I have a feeling you’d balance me out, Miss Pure-As-The-Driven-Snow.”

“Not anymore,” she reminded him, the memory suddenly blooming in her brain.

“No,” he agreed, his smile disappearing. “Not anymore.”

She was overcome with the desire to kiss him.

He obviously saw it in her eyes, because he leaned down, and his lips softly met her own, sweet, tender, so full of life and excitement.

Just here and now, she told herself. That was all they’d ever have.

“This is our last night together,” said Harrison as he pushed the bedroom door shut.

An hour had gone by since they’d separated, and Julia’s heart gave a little hitch at the sight of him.

“It’s also our wedding night,” he continued, starting across the floor to where she was curled up in an armchair.

He came to a halt directly in front of her. “What do you suppose the odds are I’m staying out of your bed?”

Julia had finished reporting in to Melanie, so she set the cordless phone down on the end table.

“Slim?” she offered, as his gaze swept the simple gauzy, white dress she’d slipped on after her bath.

“Nil,” he responded, his attention returning to her face.

“Nil,” she agreed with a nod.

They might as well make the inevitable decision up front. Real life might start again tomorrow, but tonight was theirs if they wanted it.

He reached for her hands and drew them up to the light, turning them over to inspect the palms. “If they did this right, my initials are somewhere in here. Tradition says that I’m not allowed to make love with you until I find them in the pattern.”

“What if Rania and her mother did it wrong?”

His twinkling gaze met hers. “Then it’s going to be a very, very long night.”

She wiggled her feet out to where he could see them. “There’s more down there.”

“Not a problem. I’m a patient man.”

She couldn’t resist. “That really hasn’t been my experience so far.”

“Are you tossing out a dare?” he asked, with a teasing touch of incredulity.

She gave a little shrug. “Why not?”

His smile broadened, and he turned her hands to inspect the backs.

“Is it like a bridal shower?” she asked, remembering the surreal experience. “Rania and Habeeba talked at me the entire time. They had to know I didn’t understand a word.”

Harrison’s expression turned grim. “That’s really unfortunate.”

Julia became worried. “That they talked?”

“That you didn’t understand it. Arabs are very sensual people, Julia. Rania and Habeeba were imparting the wisdom of the ages. All the secret, erotic arts are passed down from generation to generation at the henna ceremony.”

Julia opened her mouth in mock dismay. “And I missed it?”

“Worse than that. I’m missing it.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Why couldn’t you have learned Arabic instead of French?”

She withdrew her hands and folded her arms over her chest. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting my erotic arts could stand improvement?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little variety,” he deadpanned.

“Are you trying to ruin the evening?”

“I’d be happy to give you a few pointers. The groom gets an earful at an Arab wedding, too, you know.”

Really? Julia shimmied to her feet and gave him a saucy grin, pointing to her chest and putting a lilt in her voice. “On how to please me?”

He chuckled low. “You are one lucky woman.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that. She slid her palms up his chest, tipping her head and coming up on her toes for his kiss. “Go ahead, give me your best shot.”

“You sound like you’re planning to grade me in the morning.”

“You bet I am.”

“Okay,” he agreed. But instead of kissing her, as she’d expected, he tapped his index finger against her nose. “You wait here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get the ropes and feathers.”

She felt her eyes go wide.

“Oh, baby,” he drawled.

He was joking.

He had to be joking.

But an unexpected excitement mixed with the trepidation in her belly.

She coughed out a laugh to cover it. “I have to wonder what the hell those people are doing out in the desert.”

“They’re definitely not smiling because of the dust and the camels.”

“You are not tying me up.” She truly didn’t think she’d like that.

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“Given my recent near-kidnapping experience, I have bondage issues.”

He pretended to contemplate the problem. “What about the feathers?”

She thought about that. Feathers didn’t sound awful. In fact, they sounded kind of…interesting.

“The blindfold?” he pressed.

“Maybe we should stick to you finding your initials.”

“We can start there,” he agreed, drawing her back into his arms. “Then we’ll negotiate the rest.”

He leaned down and kissed her mouth.

She reflexively parted her lips, tipping her head, fitting perfectly to the heat and suction of his mouth. Memories swamped her senses, and she felt as though she belonged in his arms.

He flipped open a button on her dress, then another, and another.

“One of the rules of henna,” he whispered between sensual kisses, “is that you have to be naked while I find my initials.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“I swear it’s true.”

In the end, it didn’t matter. Because Julia wanted to get naked for Harrison, and she wanted Harrison to get naked, too. She wanted to press her skin against his and hold on tight for as long as she could possibly get away with it.

He pushed the dress from her shoulders, and it slunk to the floor. Her bra and underwear were simple, white against her tanned skin. He gazed down along the line of her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

She’d always thought of herself as ordinary, but she liked the desire she saw reflected in his steel eyes.

Her fingers went to the buttons on his shirt. He was back in Western dress-a crisp, white shirt and a pair of gray slacks. She pushed the smooth button through the hole, remembering the play of muscles on his broad chest, even as she revealed them one more time.

When she got to the bottom, she tugged the shirttails from his waistband, separating the fabric and running her fingers over his warm, taut skin. She leaned forward to kiss his pecs, leaving a damp, shining circle.

He cupped her chin and tipped it up, his lips hot and mobile where they came down on her mouth. She fought the distraction, dislodging the button of his slacks.

One of his hands went to her back, unfastening her bra, the fabric slipping away even as his hand slid down below the waistband of her panties to knead her soft bottom.

Then he slipped off the panties and stepped out of his slacks. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the big bed, depositing her on a billowy, satin comforter.

He dropped to his knees, his strong hands sliding over her body, across her belly, over her thighs to her knees and her feet. He repositioned himself, gazing at the pattern on her left foot.

“H.W.A.B.R.W.” he muttered.

She curled up on her elbow. “I don’t think my foot’s that big.”

He ran his fingertip along the arch. “It doesn’t really matter. I can’t read Arabic. Ahmed translates for me.”

“Now there’s a flaw in the game plan.”

His finger stopped on the tip of her ankle. “This might be a letter.” He cocked his head. “Or maybe a flower.” He kissed the ankle. “A lily? A poppy? Or maybe a scroll?”

Julia smiled down at the top of his dark head, feeling calm for the first time in days. “I’m thinking this is going to take a while.”

In response, he promptly kissed her calf, then the curve of her knee, her thigh, her hip, then the crest of her breast.

Sparks sizzled through her body, and she gasped in a breath. “Wow.”

He pulled back. “Is this too fast?”

“You got something in between?”

He slipped onto the bed next to her and gathered her in his arms. “I can see this is going to be quite the challenge.”

“I’m a fickle woman.”

“Fickle is fine. There’s nothing worse than predictability.”