The Wedding Assignment Read online

  She wanted Wiley Cotter. And he wanted her. Did anything else really matter, just now?

  Very quickly, the only thing that mattered was the fact that Wiley had finally pushed her wedding dress all the way to the floor, making a billowing pile around her ankles. She felt like Venus rising from the waves, or maybe like a mermaid granted the gift of a human lover for one stolen night.

  And when Wiley’s kisses followed the long curve of her inner thigh and then rose without warning to heat the juncture of her legs, she felt engulfed by something she had needed for what suddenly seemed like forever—something primitive and powerful, beyond words, even beyond thought.

  “Wiley-”

  She cried out his name and heard—or maybe felt—the low moan of his answer. Her whole body was quivering, shaken by the force of her desire and by Wiley’s masterful caresses. The heat of his hands on the backs of her legs made her want to lean into him, but the warm focus of his lips kept her trembling upright, caught on a single point of pleasure even while her whole body was overrun with sensation.

  She wasn’t prepared for the tremor that rocked her from within, or for the way it seemed to shake all her emotions loose inside her. She twisted her hands involuntarily in Wiley’s hair as she felt the first convulsive quaver, and then cried out with a long, astonished note of release that seemed to go on and on.

  When the room around her finally eased into focus again, Wiley had closed his arms around the middle of her body, his face pressed into her belly as he shook his head slightly against her warm skin.

  “Nothing,” he was murmuring, almost to himself. “There is nothing in the world like loving you.”

  She felt him kissing her navel, his long fingers splayed against her ribs and then traveling upward to glance over the still-taut centers of her breasts. Rae-Anne gasped and eased herself fully into his arms as he got to his feet, carrying them both onto the double bed.

  She was aching to feel him inside her, uniting them completely. And Wiley’s whole body felt so good under her hands, so familiar, so strong.

  Then why, as she ran her palms along the rise and fall of his rib cage, was he suddenly looking at a spot just above her eyes? Why, in spite of the undeniable hunger in his face, did he seem thoughtful, almost angry?

  “What is it?”

  The question came out in a gasp as the hard length of his arousal moved against her belly and the rough strength of his legs glided against her smooth skin. She wanted him inside her, she thought urgently, wanted to hold him in an embrace that could keep at bay everything that had come between them.

  The split second before he replied was just long enough to let in the thought that he might be worried about her getting pregnant. She hadn’t had time to come up with an answer when his answer knocked her off-balance from another direction.

  “Your hair.”

  “My hair?” At first she couldn’t imagine what he meant.

  “We have to do something about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no matter what Monsieur Antoine may think, it just doesn’t look like you.”

  He let go of her wrists and leaned closer to her. The warm weight of his big chest was pressing her into the bed, chasing away all of her less immediate concerns, and that included any concern about her hair.

  But he was refusing to give in to the way she arched against him. She could feel him holding himself back while he threaded his fingers through her hair and tried to make sense of the fancy combs and pins that held it in its elegant wedding style.

  “Leave it, Wiley.” She heard the pleading sound in her voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It damn well does matter.” Rae-Anne winced as he pulled a strand loose, his hands awkward among the careful braids and swirls the hairdresser had taken so long to create. “I’m not making love to some illustration in a bridal magazine, Rae-Anne. I’m making love to you.”

  “Oh, Wiley…”

  The worst of it was that she knew he was right. It wasn’t her—not the fairy-tale dress, the formal church wedding, the fancy hairstyle that suddenly felt so tight and uncomfortable. It wasn’t like Rae-Anne to let herself be talked into things she didn’t want to do, but she’d been scared, damn it, and more uncertain than she’d ever been in her life.

  And now she wasn’t. Now she felt stronger, more like herself. And she knew exactly what Wiley meant about her hair.

  “Here. Let me do that.”

  She moved against Wiley until her arms were over her head, and took over the job of disentangling the combs and undoing her French braid. Her shift in position left their bodies even more intimately coiled around each other, suggesting erotic possibilities that would have made Rae-Anne blush if they’d occurred to her in broad daylight.

  How was she supposed to keep her mind on the combs in her hair when she could feel Wiley’s flat stomach and strong hips and insistent arousal so close against her? She wanted to lose herself forever in the feeling of her breasts against the curling hairs on his chest, in the warm strength of his skin against hers. Concentrating on her hair was an almost impossible task.

  But she finally managed it. She shook her head and felt her hair loosening into a halo on the blanket beneath her. Wiley’s long sigh, as he watched her, was a kind of caress in itself, a silent tribute that suddenly made her feel more beautiful than she’d remembered was possible.

  “Rae-Anne.” Her name was a breath, a whisper, almost a prayer. “Now you look like Rae-Anne again. Like my Rae-Anne…”

  She murmured his name, and he captured the end of the sound with his mouth. Her soft cry of longing was cut off by the sensation she’d been aching for, of Wiley’s hand at the soft junction of her legs, Wiley’s knowing fingers finding the liquid core of her once again.

  She could feel his whole frame trembling above her, as if the effort of reining himself in was about to shake him apart.

  She knew exactly how he felt.

  “Please, Wiley…” She ran her hands one more time over the hard muscles of his shoulders and back and finally

  pushed her fingers into his hair, forcing his head up. His eyes, when they met hers, were as black as midnight.

  “We did the wedding dress.” It was all she could do to get the words out. “We did the veil. We did my hair. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand….”

  Her voice rose in a gasp as Wiley moved against her. He slid inside her so easily, so smoothly, that Rae-Anne suddenly couldn’t remember how or why they’d ever been apart. Her whole body welcomed him, clutching him with a strong, involuntary spasm that made both of them cry out in astonishment.

  Rae-Anne tried to call Wiley’s name, not sure whether her voice was working or not as she closed her eyes and curled her fingers into his hair. Under her palms she could feel his face twisted in what almost seemed to be pain, and the sound of his voice—ragged, almost desperate—made her think that whatever was hurting him came from somewhere deep inside.

  “Rae-Anne-”

  Any hope of holding back was gone the moment they joined together. They moved with a rhythm that came from the depths of the earth itself, fierce and yet somehow gentle. Rae-Anne felt herself rocked by it, caught up in its power, driven wherever the pulsing in her body took her.

  It took her faster and faster toward the release she wanted so urgently. She wrapped her arms close around Wiley’s big frame and held on to him as if he was the one fixed point in a universe that was starting to come apart around her.

  When it did, she felt rather than heard her long shuddering cry, and clasped Wiley even harder as the same primitive spasm shook his body, as well. For a long, soundless moment there was nothing in the world but the two of them and the spell they had cast with their loving.

  And for a long moment, that was enough.

  Chapter 5

  “Rae-Anne.”

  Wiley pulled the curtain open just slightly, letting the morning sunshine brighten the big bedroom.

  “Come on,
honey. We need to get moving. Company’s coming.”

  He’d never known her to sleep this hard for this long. She’d always been a light sleeper, like Wiley himself, and quick to wake up in the mornings.

  But she hadn’t even stirred since Wiley had eased out of bed an hour earlier. The sound of the shower hadn’t wakened her, and neither had the smell of the coffee Wiley had brought from the office after using the phone.

  He stood watching her now, still reluctant to disturb the sleep she so obviously needed. The morning sun coming through the window glinted off the small gold locket around Rae-Anne’s neck, the one item she hadn’t taken off in last night’s sensual free-for-all.

  He remembered the locket. It had always seemed to have sentimental associations for Rae-Anne, although Wiley wasn’t sure what they were. He was perversely glad the ornament she’d chosen to wear to her wedding was something of her own, not a gift from Rodney Dietrich.

  The locket wasn’t the only thing that caught Wiley’s attention. He couldn’t help noticing the faint purple smudges under Rae-Anne’s eyes, clearer now that most of her fancy makeup had worn off.

  Several times yesterday afternoon he’d had the impression that she was holding herself upright by sheer force of will. Maybe this deep sleep was just her body’s declaration that force of will couldn’t keep a person going forever.

  He could see one of her hands just above the edge of the blanket. It was clenched into a fist, protective, childlike. It made him want to curl his fingers around it, to climb into bed beside her and wrap her sleeping body with his strength.

  Good, Wiley, he told himself silently. Then you can move on to other productive, professional kinds of behavior, like making love to her again even though that’s the one thing you swore you weren’t going to do.

  Actually, it wasn’t the only thing he’d promised himself.

  He’d sworn he wasn’t going to touch her, too.

  Or kiss her.

  Or even think about kissing her.

  That one had gone by the boards the first moment he’d seen her on the steps of Rodney Dietrich’s ranch house. And he hadn’t wasted his time getting past the others, either.

  Face it, Cotter. He knew his expression was grim as he pulled another curtain open slightly to let a little more morning light in. Promises aren’t your thing. You should know that by now.

  He did know it. He’d avoided promising anything at all to Rae-Anne when they’d been lovers before, for the very good reason that he’d known his job could drag him away from her without any warning. Wiley wasn’t in any position to give Rae-Anne the things she’d wanted—a permanent home, children of her own, the security of knowing that the man she loved would always be there for her.

  Rodney Dietrich was in a position to promise Rae-Anne those things. And the fact that she’d made love with Wiley last night didn’t change that.

  Hell, they’d both been swept away by the moment, overrun by old longings that Wiley, for one, thought he’d conquered once and for all. Last night, anything and everything had seemed possible.

  But it was morning now. And in the bright light that crept around the curtains he’d drawn, it was easy to see that making love couldn’t change a damn thing between him and Rae-Anne.

  “Rae-Anne.” He leaned over the bed and shook her gently but insistently. “We’ve got visitors on their way. And my guess is you’d prefer to be dressed when they get here.”

  She awakened slowly, blinking her eyes in protest against the light. Her auburn hair was tangled across the pillowcase, a dark contrast to the white linens and Rae-Anne’s porcelain-fair complexion. Wiley watched her turn her face halfway into the pillow and then go suddenly still.

  She seemed to be thinking hard. Her forehead was creased, her expression serious.

  “You in there, honey?” he asked.

  Her blue eyes flew open wide at the sound of his voice. She looked almost afraid, and her voice, when she said his name, had a note of something very like despair in it.

  “Oh, God,” she said. Her words were half-muffled by the pillow. “Wiley. It is you. It really happened.”

  “It wasn’t all a dream, if that’s what you’re thinking.” It was an effort to sound nonchalant about it, but Wiley didn’t trust himself to do anything else. Letting himself get close to Rae-Anne had been a bad mistake last night. And aside from the personal possibilities for disaster if he let it happen again, he needed to keep his head clear for Jack’s arrival, which should be any time now.

  “Oh, God.” Rae-Anne sounded at least as remorseful as Wiley felt. It was enough to bolster his resolve and keep him moving until he was standing several feet away from the bed. Getting close to her last night had been a mistake. The look on Rae-Anne’s face only confirmed it.

  Then why, he wondered fleetingly, was the dismay in RaeAnne’s blue eyes making him ache this way inside? It wasn’t simple desire he was feeling, not by a long shot. It was something more likeDisappointment. He’d actually been hoping, in some hidden corner of himself, that she might wake up with that languid, contented look on her face, that glowing smile that told him she was still wrapped in the pleasures of some warm fantasy world and wasn’t at all averse to the idea of easing back there and taking Wiley with her. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d missed seeing her look at him that way.

  Dream on, Wiley, he told himself. The days when RaeAnne Blackburn would smile at him that way were long gone. Nothing between the two of them could be the way it had once been. The best he could hope for was to get her free of the man she’d mistakenly gotten tangled up with, and then to bow out of her life a little more gracefully than he had the last time.

  So he clamped down hard on the disappointment inside him and told himself it was a good thing Rae-Anne seemed so troubled and distant toward him this morning.

  “What did you mean about visitors?” she asked, frowning at him, gathering the red blanket around her bare shoulders. “Where are we, anyway, Wiley? What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, if you’d deign to let me in on it—”

  “I will. Or maybe I’d better let my brother do it. He knows more about this case than I do.”

  “Your brother? What are you talking about?”

  “My brother Jack works for the FBI. That’s how I happen to know so much about your friend Rodney.”

  She sat up, tossing her thick auburn hair out of her eyes. Wiley felt another little clutch low down in his belly at the thought of smoothing out those dark red tangles with his fingers, and watching Rae-Anne’s hair catch the morning sunlight and turn to gold.

  He growled a silent warning at himself and moved a little farther from the bed.

  “This is the FBI’s case, not mine,” he said bluntly. “I’m only along as a favor to Jack. He’s on his way here now, with a couple of colleagues. That’s why I figured it was time to wake you up.”

  He didn’t like the way Rae-Anne’s silence stretched on, or the lost look that had come into her blue eyes. She seemed to be grasping at one thought after another and not feeling reassured by any of them.

  She started to speak, then caught herself. There was something unbearably vulnerable in the way her eyes had widened, and it was all Wiley could do to hold his ground on the other side of the bedroom. If he took one step toward Rae-Anne, if he let himself answer the unspoken plea he saw hovering on her parted lips, he would be lost, too, and that wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  “Come on, honey,” he said. His voice had roughened with the effort of keeping himself still. “Jack and his boys could be here any time now. I suggest you get into some of those clothes in that suitcase I brought.”

  He watched as her gaze swung toward the spot on the floor where her wedding gown had been. Wiley had gathered the big, billowing pile of satin and lace into his arms earlier this morning. He’d hung it carefully in the closet next to his chauffeur’s suit, fighting off the shaking in his fingers as he’
d done up the pearl buttons that had turned into such a wildly erotic prelude to seduction last night.

  It was better to have cleared away that graphic reminder of their lovemaking, he told himself. Did Rae-Anne see it that way, too, or was there something else behind the sudden, unsteady breath she drew in as her eyes met his again?

  “Oh, God.” Her eyes seemed bluer, more enormous than ever. “You didn’t—come back because of this?”

  “This” was the rumpled bed they’d been sleeping in. And Wiley knew without asking that it also meant the passion of their lovemaking last night.

  He couldn’t let that get in the way of what he was really here to do. And so he summoned up as much willpower as he could muster and said, “We both got carried away, honey. It happens. But this morning we’ve got to get down to business.”

  For a long moment she just stared at him. Then she slid to the edge of the bed and stood up without speaking. Wiley tried to order himself to look away, but it didn’t work. He didn’t miss a single detail, from the way she winced when her blistered feet hit the carpet to the feminine sway of her hips as she headed for the other bedroom. His body had responded immediately to her loveliness, her nakedness, and it took a moment to register that she had closed the door between them with a very definite click.

  Good, he told himself. That’s what he wanted.

  Then why, when he heard the car pull up outside the cabin a few minutes later, was he still rooted in the same spot, still listening for faint sounds inside the other room as though they might answer all the questions Rae-Anne had left unspoken between them?

  The room was full of people.

  At least, that was her first impression. Furious though she was with Wiley, she at least had to admit it was a good thing he’d wakened her and suggested that she get dressed. It would have been awkward as hell meeting these strangers without any warning at all.

  It was hard enough to keep her thoughts straight as it was. And the whole thing was made even more disconcerting by the fact that two of the strangers looked so much like Wiley.