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“Well, does it?” he roared.
“No,” she said in a small voice.
“Okay, then.” He nodded. “Now, do you think I get this way around women I think are ugly?”
After a small hesitation, she shook her head.
“Then I think you owe me an apology.” Pete released her and rolled off the bed, stalking to the window. How in the hell had this gone so wrong? He took stock of himself with vague surprise: rigid muscles, heavy breathing, big scowl. Who was this guy? It certainly wasn’t Peter S. Dale, Senior Account Manager. How had he gotten this pissed off?
A pair of soft, warm arms slipped around him from behind. “I’m sorry, Pete,” Melinda said. “I’m sorry.”
He could feel those spectacular breasts up against his back, and her legs brushing his. Her hands moved from his stomach up to his chest, her fingers combing through the hair and then tracing his nipples, which hardened immediately under her touch.
He closed his eyes as she smoothed her way down his belly again, to the springy hair just south of it. And bit back a curse as she took his cock into her hands and worked her woman voodoo on it until he felt like he could smash through stone walls with the thing. He was so hard it hurt.
Before he knew it, Mel had dropped to her knees in front of him and taken it into her mouth. Nothing had ever felt so good …
He stood there for a moment, lost in the sensations of it. Warm and wet, her tongue sliding along him, her hand wrapped tightly at the base. Ahh.
But he wasn’t going to let her apologize this way. He slid his hands over her head, tunneled his fingers into her hair, and destroyed what was left of her updo. Then he took her by the shoulders and pulled her gently to her feet. “Come here, Mel.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, honey. You do everything right.” He kissed her, loving the way her hair now tumbled free around her shoulders. He palmed her breasts possessively.
And she kissed him back without hesitation. “Then why …”
“Because,” Pete said, “I want to make love to you.” He took her by the hand and led her to the bed again. “If that’s all right by you.”
She nodded shyly and sat down.
He went into the bathroom and got a condom from out of his toiletries kit. He ripped open the packet, took it out and she helped him roll it on, her touch a sweet kind of torture.
“Now, where were we?” Pete asked ruefully.
Mel scooted to the middle of the bed, lay down and opened her legs. “Right here?”
“Yeah, right about there.” He winked at her. “And the view is to die for.”
MEL’S PULSE SKITTERED crazily when he looked at her that way, as if she were truly some kind of knockout. But men just got excited in the face of the female anatomy, didn’t they? A centerfold in the privacy of the bathroom would probably produce that same glazed expression.
Then Pete launched himself at her like some kind of animal, and she didn’t have time to be cynical. Because … dear God … his face was between her legs and his mouth was right there, and his big hands cupped her bottom, and her heels were hanging over his broad shoulders.
His hands pushed her thighs even further apart to give him better access, and she thought she’d split in two.
The tension in every muscle built until her insides went molten and poured towards where his clever, teasing tongue was. She was barely aware of thrashing against him, her body trying to celebrate and escape simultaneously.
She heard herself scream, felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled in satisfaction, registered the exultation on his wet face, framed by her thighs.
Then he moved over her, slid himself into her a couple of inches, and closed his eyes at the evident pleasure of it. Maybe he was trying to hold himself back. He opened his eyes again as if to ask permission to be rough.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He drove into her with such force that she could almost feel him in her throat, making a sound that could have expressed either ecstasy or pain. “Melinda,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay … I like it.”
He pulled out and drove in again, and a tension coiled low in her belly at the sweet friction of it. She clutched helplessly at his shoulders, his neck—he was slick with perspiration and need. He smelled of sweat and man and her own essence.
She met him stroke for stroke, echoing his rhythm. When he bent his head to her nipples again, the tension low in her gut grew almost unbearable and she begged for release.
Pete slid a hand between their bodies and found her clitoris with his thumb. He toyed with it, massaged it as he pumped into her … and again she came apart, lifting off the bed and locking herself against him.
Electrified, spasming around him, she felt him tense, curse, and explode inside her before falling exhausted to the mattress on top of her. “Now,” he said raggedly, “will you please, for the love of God, just say it?”
It took her a moment to register what he was talking about. Then she laughed weakly. “I’m … I’m beautiful?”
“Damn straight,” said Pete. “Not only that … you are one hot piece of ass.”
Since he said it in a tone that was close to reverence, she didn’t take offense. Instead, in a state of wonder, she reached out and stroked his damp chest, which was still heaving—and because of her. Her, pudgy Melinda Edgeworth.
“In fact,” Pete continued, “I wish I could do you again right now. Instead, we’re going to have to wait a little while.”
Mel snuck a look at the digital clock on the bedside table. “Oh, my God! I have to get back downstairs.”
“Why?” he asked. But he knew why. People would notice they were missing.
In fact, a peculiar expression formed on his face. One that she found hard to interpret. It wasn’t exactly embarrassment. Nor was it fear. It was halfway between guilt and trepidation.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you looking like that?”
“Like what?” Pete wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Like … I don’t know …” She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “As if …”
They both jumped as a heavy knock sounded on the door. “Pete? Pete, are you in there?”
“Shit!” he whispered. “Please don’t tell me that’s—”
“Mark,” Melinda said, gulping.
He vaulted off the bed and pounced on her dress, then her panties. He threw them at her. Then her bra. “Get into the bathroom!”
Melinda ran.
5
PETE TORE AFTER HER and grabbed a towel, which he wrapped around his lower body. Then he sprang towards the bed again, yanking the spread up over the tangled, sweaty sheets. It reeked of sex in the room. He headed for the sliding glass doors, which he opened to the balcony.
“Pete!” yelled Mark. “Open the door. I know you’re in there.”
Shit—the first place Mark would check was the bathroom. Pete wrenched open the door, put a finger to his lips, and dragged the still half-naked Melinda out. She now wore her bra and panties, but hadn’t made it back into her dress. He pointed silently to the balcony. She sprinted.
“Mark, what the hell, man?” he called. “Hang on a minute—I was about to get in the shower.”
“Dale, open this door. I have a bad feeling about who’s in there with you!”
Pete spied Mel’s purse on the dresser, and her shoes near the bed. He scooped everything up and bundled it onto the balcony after her. Then he pulled closed the heavy drapes.
Casually, he strolled to the door and opened it, yawning. “Mark? To what do I owe this honor?”
Mark loomed over him in his tuxedo. His breath reeked of Scotch. “Where’s my sister?”
Pete put on his best puzzled face. “Huh? Why? Where’s your bride?”
“Changing into her going-away outfit. You know we’re spending the night at the Ritz. Where’s my sister?”
“Melinda? I have no idea. I took her a glass of champagne out on the beach, asked her to dance. We talked for a little while. Then she said she’d rather be alone.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He eyed Pete’s towel and pushed past him, scanning the room but finding nobody there.
Back in high school, some asshole on the basketball team, Barton something, had asked out Melinda and tried to feel her up. He’d complained about spending a bunch of dough on dinner and not getting to see her tits.
Mark had beat him to a pulp when he found out. Pete was pretty sure that Barton had carried home his torn-off arm, his nose and possibly his head. Or so the rumor went.
Since Mark was now a full foot taller and half again as wide as back then, Pete wasn’t interested in true confessions. He valued his arms. He didn’t need his nose kicked inside out. And kissing up to corporate clients would be a tad difficult without a head.
Pete aimed a convulsive smile at his friend. “Dude, you paranoid freak. Did you really think I was having some sex orgy up here with Melinda? Please.”
“All I know is that she’s missing.” Mark poked his head into the bathroom. “And so are you.”
“I’m not missing. I’m right here.”
“It smells like sex in this room,” Mark growled, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
Pete produced an embarrassed, hangdog expression. “Dude. There are channels on the television for single men. What can I say?”
“Nice. So you’ve been sitting up here jacking off? Is that why you missed the cutting of our cake?”
Pete dragged his hands over his face. “Mark. I was there for the ceremony, which is what counts. I made sure everything was perfect for the reception. As an account manager for a major hotel, how many times do you think I’ve seen wedding cake being cut? We do receptions here every weekend. I can only take so much bland white frosting.”
Was that an outraged snort from the balcony? He hoped not.
Mark’s head swiveled toward it. He turned to Pete, his eyes narrowing again. “That noise …” he said slowly. “You’ve got her outside!” In four strides, he was whipping open the drapes.
Son of a bitch! “Mark, I can explain—”
He stared. There was nothing there but the moonlight. Nothing below but sand, lit by lanterns, and dark sea. No scantily clad Melinda. Not a shoe, not a hairpin, not a sign of her anywhere.
“Do you feel stupid, now?” he asked Mark.
Because he sure did.
His buddy wouldn’t give him an inch. He looked back into the room. “No, I don’t. There’s a sweating bottle of champagne on the desk, and two glasses on the nightstand, one with lipstick on it. This room reeks, and you’re acting strange. If it’s not my sister you’ve had in here, then who is it?”
Pete shrugged.
“Kylie. Kylie’s been missing, too. Are you slipping it to my aunt?”
“Mark, there are a lot of women at the wedding, okay? Maybe I don’t feel like kissing and telling.”
“Are you saying that the woman is married?” Mark looked genuinely shocked.
“I’m not saying anything! Jeez, will you get out of my face and stop giving me the Spanish Inquisition? I’m a consenting adult, so is she—and that’s really all you need to know, my friend. Now, get back to your bride before she thinks that you’re screwing around on her.”
Mark frowned. “I’m worried about Melinda. Mom said she went to her room with stomach issues, but she’s not answering the door.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Pete told him. “She may have taken something to knock herself out. Like Benadryl.”
“Or maybe she’s passed out. Mom said she was pretty sure she’d had a bottle of champagne by herself.” Disapproval permeated Mark’s voice.
“Well, there you go. She’s sleeping it off.”
“If she’d just trim down a little bit, she’d find a boyfriend with no problem.”
Anger bubbled up inside Pete. “You guys need to ease up on her. I think she looks great just the way she is.”
Mark snorted. “Well, ask her out on a date, then.”
“I just might. How would you like that?”
The growl came back instantly, and Mark glared at him. “I wouldn’t. In fact, I’d take you apart. I’d rip off your arm and beat you with the bloody stump. Then I’d rip off your head. I’d friggin’ kill you …”
“Good to know,” Pete said, nodding. “Good to know.”
MELINDA’S KNEES WERE SCRAPED, and so were the undersides of her arms. That’s what she got for playing monkey-girl and climbing from Pete’s balcony to the one right next to it, heart in her throat as she straddled the wall between the two and clung to it and the railings. Thank God the occupants of the room hadn’t been there.
She was now fully dressed except for her shoes. She’d even wriggled back into the much-despised Spanx, which she’d dug out of Pete’s trash can so he wouldn’t find them. Mel took in the view of Biscayne Bay below, with the shadowy silhouettes and brightly lit windows of other buildings in the background. Miami was just waking up for the evening, its residents languidly having a cafécito and anticipating the night ahead.
Mel herself was all gringa: she yawned, sleepy from the champagne, the lack of food, and the mind-blowing sex. But then she shrank back, fully awake, when she heard Mark prowling outside and Pete’s voice saying to him, “Do you feel stupid, now?”
She sagged with relief. She’d made the right call in shimmying over to the next balcony, a plus-sized Spiderwoman in nothing but her bra and panties.
Mark was giving poor Pete the third degree in there, pointing out the champagne bottle, the glasses, the rumpled bed … really, he was way out of bounds. Pete was playing the wronged innocent, lying through his teeth for her. And here she was, a grown woman, skulking in the shadows so that her brother wouldn’t know she’d had a fling at his wedding.
What was this, the Middle Ages? Mark was behaving like a caveman, and they, Pete and Mel, were allowing it.
Then again, Mark had always had a temper, a protective streak a mile wide, and a wicked right hook. She didn’t want to see Pete hunting for his nose on the beach in the moonlight. She didn’t want a rift between the two friends, either.
