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As the plane steadied and the other anxious passengers relaxed, Annie’s gaze locked with Dakota’s, and an awkward silence stretched between them. Although their fingers were still entwined, neither attempted to break the connection.
Annie watched his chest rise and fall, wondering if the contact had made his heart beat as erratically as hers. Not likely, she thought. Things like rapid heartbeats and stomach butterflies didn’t happen to men. Not men like him, anyway.
She slid her hand away and immediately folded up the tray and latched it, telling herself that her reaction had been perfectly normal. Just airplane jitters. She hadn’t been electrocuted by six foot plus of beautifully sculpted male. Tall and sinfully handsome didn’t affect her anymore. Her ex-fiancé had curbed that craving long ago.
Mary popped her headphones off and grinned. “That was fun, wasn’t it? That roller-coaster action.”
“Yeah.” Dakota clasped his hands in front of him as though ensuring they wouldn’t collide with Annie’s again. “We’re having a blast, aren’t we, darlin’?”
“Oh, sure.” Annie nodded, hoping she appeared calmer than she felt. Her heart had yet to resume its steady rhythm.
Two
Annie sat beside Mary on a gold-flecked bench in the tiny waiting room of the chapel, gazing at the decor. “This place is—”
“Gaudy,” the other woman provided with a smirk.
Annie nodded. Gaudy fit. Everything, including the textured wallpaper, had been gold-leafed. The design on the maroon-and-royal-blue carpet clashed with the green drapes, the kind, Annie mused, Scarlett O’Hara had fashioned a dress from. In her opinion, Scarlett’s imaginative dress certainly looked better than the windows here did. She gazed around again and winced, then widened her eyes when Dakota entered the room, carrying a bouquet of white roses and a yellow corsage. He slipped the corsage onto his sister’s wrist and handed Annie the roses.
“They sell flowers here,” he said by way of explanation, his shoulders rising with a slight shrug.
Pleasantly surprised by the thoughtful gesture, Annie thanked him, while Mary reacted like a dutiful sister and stood to fuss with his hair. As Mary brushed a stray lock from Dakota’s eye, Annie hugged the delicate bouquet to her chest and studied him. Not only had the groom provided flowers, he’d worn a suit, one that appeared tailor-made for his wide shoulders and slim hips. The black jacket intensified the depth of his eyes as a white Western shirt, adorned with chain-stitch embroidery and tiny glass beads, emphasized the copper glow of his skin. In lieu of a tie he wore an engraved silver bolo.
As Mary attempted to right Dakota’s hair, Annie noticed it appeared to have a mind of its own. When the tousled chunk his sister had meticulously finger combed came falling back onto his forehead, she couldn’t help but smile. Annie liked the way his hair rebelled, thinking it fit his renegade style. Even impeccably dressed, Dakota Graywolf had an untamed quality.
Eventually Mary gave up on her brother’s hair, choosing to peck his cheek with a quick kiss instead. Much to Annie’s amazement, Dakota responded favorably to his sister’s affection, returning her kiss with a hug. Apparently the rough-and-tumble cowboy hadn’t outgrown the need to be mothered.
Mary spoke quietly to her brother, then turned to Annie. She looked pretty, her black hair flowing like a river of silk and her strong features softened by an artful hint of makeup. The yellow corsage matched the flowers sprinkled on her chiffon dress, reminding Annie of prom night rather than a tacky Las Vegas wedding.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Mary said. “I need to powder my nose.”
“Okay.” As the other woman headed in the direction of the ladies’ room, Annie chose not to follow. She’d powdered her own nose quite enough. She’d labored over her appearance far longer than necessary, especially considering the circumstances surrounding this wedding.
Besides, if she wanted to peer at her carefully coifed image, all she had to do was gaze into the gilded mirror that, at the moment, reflected the back of Dakota’s head and the thick black mass brushing his collar.
Why were men always graced with the longest eyelashes and most luxuriant hair? An impressive gene pool had certainly given Dakota both. And more. Unfortunately, even his imperfections, like a crooked eyebrow interrupted by a narrow scar, managed to bewitch her.
Dakota tapped a booted foot while Annie nibbled her bottom lip and watched his patience wear thin. The wedding prior to theirs had gotten a late start.
“Shouldn’t be much longer,” she said.
He stopped tapping and looked down at her, dark eyes roving. With an impassive gaze, he examined her from the top of her loosely styled hair to the tips of her satin pumps. She knew what he eyed in between was white silk embellished by a strand of pearls. Annie had chosen a simple yet elegant dress for her unconventional wedding. The timeless style complemented her figure without flaunting the abundant curves she often struggled to conceal. In her opinion, fashionable women should appear lithe with long graceful lines, not top-heavy with hips better suited to a fifties pinup.
Dakota sat beside her, and Annie glanced down at the simple bouquet on her lap, recalling the lavish details of what had almost been her first wedding: the carefully chosen china patterns, the gilded invitations, the Victorian-style gown she’d burned just hours after she’d caught Richard in bed with Sheila Harris.
Three days before their wedding date, she’d stumbled upon her fiancé, her college sweetheart, in bed with a former lover. Richard, a gifted quarterback, had been a popular man on campus with his California tan and easy smile.
Annie had been young and naive where Richard was concerned, believing she could change him. She’d known about his wild flirtations but was certain “the right woman” would make a difference. Annie had fallen into an age-old trap—the good girl hell-bent on redeeming the handsome bad boy.
A good girl. A virgin. That was her, all right. Since she had saved herself for a traditional wedding night, she’d convinced Richard to wait until they were married to consummate their union. And after that devastating relationship had faltered, she’d spent the following years nit-picking anyone who could have been a potential partner. Till this day, she still hadn’t come across a man worth giving herself to.
Annie sighed. Richard had apologized profusely after she’d caught him cheating with his old flame, claiming it had happened in a “moment of weakness.”
Yeah, right. It seemed every man she knew had experienced a weak moment or two with Sheila Harris. Including Dakota.
“Annie, where’d you go?”
Rather than turn to the sound of Dakota’s voice, Annie continued to stare at the roses on her lap. “What?”
“You were zoning out.” He drummed his fingers against his chair. “I guess you were thinking about him, huh?”
“Him?”
“That Joe-college jock you were engaged to.”
Annie flinched, hating that Dakota had tapped into her thoughts. Why, damn it, couldn’t she just forget all the pain associated with her last wedding? The gut-wrenching ache of betrayal? “You know darn well his name was Richard. And I wasn’t thinking about him. I was just wondering what’s taking them so long to get to us.”
“Liar.”
True, she thought. She had lied. And if there was anything she despised it was lies, betrayals, half-truths. “Being here like this reminds me of what happened,” she said, struggling to steady her voice.
When Annie glanced up, Dakota trapped her gaze. Like polished onyx, his eyes reflected the light spilling from the chandelier. A man had no right being that striking, she thought, that physically appealing. Especially a man like Dakota.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Annie looked away. Was he apologizing for his involvement with Richard’s old girlfriend? For that awful night both he and Richard had made her cry?
Dakota and Richard had met for the first time at Jill’s twenty-first birthday party. And as Annie recalled, they’d despised each other on sight. From the moment she had introduced them, tension filled the air. Anyone within breathing distance could feel their testosterone levels rising. And to make matters worse, they had nearly come to blows over Sheila Harris—the sultry coed who had crashed the party just so she could keep an eye on Richard. The very woman who had ultimately worked her way back into his bed. After she’d tumbled into one with Dakota.
Annie and Richard had quarreled that evening. She had been angry that her boyfriend cared about who his ex-lover had attached herself to, and Richard had insisted that Dakota had hit on Sheila just to taunt him. Sheila, on the other hand, had behaved accordingly. She’d clung to Dakota like a curvaceous vine, flaunting her handsome catch.
Annie had cried herself to sleep that night, believing both Richard and Dakota should have respected her enough to avoid a public scene over Sheila Harris. Of course, like a naive little fool, she’d forgiven Richard just days later, when he’d presented her with a diamond ring and a proposal of forever.
Annie glanced at Dakota. How could this be happening? How could she be minutes away from marrying a man just like Richard?
She took a deep breath and told herself to relax. She wasn’t in love with Dakota, nor had she promised to keep herself pure for him. The wedding night of her dreams wasn’t going to happen with Dakota Graywolf. This was only a marriage of convenience—a business arrangement.
She gazed around the gaudy room, then closed her eyes. And it couldn’t possibly last.
The small wedding party gathered at the back of the chapel as The Reverend Matthews, a white-haired man cloaked in a jeweled robe, took them through a brief narration of the ceremony. Although Dakota’s concentration wavered, he caught what he considered the gist of it. Bea, the minister’s equally tinseled wife, would provide the music, while Dakota stood at the flamboyant altar and waited for Annie to walk down the lavishly carpeted aisle. Mary would be there, as well, serving as witness and bridal attendant.
When the minister lifted his satin-draped arm and explained at what point the rings would be exchanged, Annie piped up. “We don’t have any.”
“I do.” Dakota reached into his pocket and produced a white-gold band set with a marquee-cut diamond and an intricate inlay of semi-precious stones.
Annie studied the ring glinting against his hand. “Is it one of yours?”
He nodded. He’d designed it for her for this day, but he couldn’t tell her that. He doubted she’d be pleased about the secret he and Harold had been keeping. But then Dakota wasn’t about to reveal the role she’d played in his recovery. He would rather die than suffer the mortification of her knowing the truth. Overcoming his paralysis and the impotency that had accompanied it wasn’t something he could discuss with Annie. The loss of his virility, no matter how temporary, had made him feel like less of a man.
Annie leaned in close, drawing his attention back to the ring. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, “but you didn’t have to give me something so extravagant. I didn’t expect a ring at all.”
Her floral scent drifted to his nostrils, reminding him of how long he’d been waiting to bury his face in the fragrance of her hair.
Dakota shrugged and made a fist, pressing the diamond into his palm. “It’s no big deal.”
It was, of course. It hurt that she didn’t want to make love with him. And now he couldn’t help but wish that he’d kept his mouth shut about her other wedding. Richard had cheated on Annie with the same woman that Dakota had been with only months before. Mary had told him how upset Annie had been over that ordeal, how she’d felt as though Dakota had betrayed their friendship by “getting involved with Richard’s old girlfriend.”
Dakota shook his head. His “involvement” had been one stupid night that he’d regretted every day since.
Sheila had been a brazen one. Wearing a skimpy red dress designed to make a man drool, she’d sashayed up to him at that party and tossed her head, spilling golden waves around her shoulders. His immediate thought had been that she’d looked like a harder version of Annie. Blond and luscious, only lacking the inborn grace. But that hadn’t mattered at the time, especially since Annie had been milling around the party with her Joe-college boyfriend.
Sheila made her first move by pressing her hand to Dakota’s forehead. “You’re hot for Richard’s little girlfriend, aren’t you? Burning right up with a fever.”
Dakota’s knees nearly buckled. No one had ever challenged him about his sexual attraction to Annie, the all-consuming ache he couldn’t seem to shake. “Yeah, right. I’ve known her since she was a kid.”
“Well, she’s hardly a kid now,” the blonde purred. “And you get excited just watching her breathe.”
Dakota jerked away. “What the hell do you want?”
Sheila’s painted lips curled into a naughty smile. “To make you forget all about her.”
He should have walked away then. Game playing wasn’t his style, but he wanted nothing more than to get Annie out of his system. Destroy the heat that surged through his blood every time he laid eyes on her.
The night had gone from bad to worse with Richard getting in his face, hissing words that were much too true. “What’s the matter?” the jock had snarled in a quiet, menacing voice, “Are you stuck with my leftovers because you can’t get the real thing?”
Blinded by rage, Dakota had lunged at the other man, knocking him against a wall. Richard had the woman he wanted, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. Nothing but take Sheila up on her offer. An offer that had made him sick and remorseful the following morning.
Swapping Sheila for Annie hadn’t worked. And in the process he’d humiliated Annie and disgusted Mary and Jill, the women he cared most about.
“Looks to me like you folks are ready.” The minister’s voice boomed in Dakota’s ear, jarring him from his disturbing thoughts.
Ready. Right. To marry a woman who had no intention of making love with him, of forgiving him for his sins. Annie had to suspect how many Sheila Harrises had slithered in and out of his bed. But that was his past, Dakota thought, the type of man he was before the accident.
“Sure,” he said, faking a smile. “We’re ready.”
They took their places quietly, and when Bea began to plunk out a wedding march, brother and sister both turned to view the bride. As her hourglass figure swayed, Dakota’s blood tingled. Annie Winters looked like a goddess: white-blond hair, a flowing white dress and a bouquet of white roses. As unique and pure, he decided, as a freshly fallen snowflake.
She stood beside him and stared straight ahead as the organ music ended and The Reverend Matthews began to speak. Dakota focused on Annie, on the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, highlighting her hair and illuminating her skin with a warm glow. The moment she repeated her vows and her gaze met his, his chest constricted. Her voice was soft and barely audible, but the words sounded sincere, as though they should have been spoken for another man, one she wanted to marry.
Dakota said his vows in the same near whisper, then removed the white-gold band from his pocket. The ring slid easily onto her finger.
“I pronounce you husband and wife,” The Reverend Matthews said in a clear, strong voice, then smiled at Dakota. “Mr. Graywolf, you may kiss your bride.”
Dakota turned toward Annie, and their eyes met. She looked sweet, he thought. Warm and girlish, yet womanly. He leaned in close and swallowed. “I’m supposed to do this,” he whispered, praying she wouldn’t flinch at his touch.
He skimmed his fingers down her back. Her whisky eyes grew doelike, but she didn’t pull away, so he caressed her skin through the silk.
He encountered the outline of her undergarment, a wisp of lace beneath her dress. Closing his eyes, he brought his mouth to hers, then felt an immediate shiver rock them both.
Her lips yielded beneath his, just enough to send red-tipped sparks along his skin. Did she feel them, too? he wondered. The tiny, burning flames?
Annie placed her hands on Dakota’s shoulders, intending to steady herself, but as her fingers crept forward, she caught a lock of his hair. That midnight hair. Thick and rebellious.
Without a second thought she parted her lips and allowed her husband access. Their tongues met in a desperate embrace, like strangers clinging to each other in a storm. No, she thought, a hurricane. A hurricane of desire. And loneliness, at least for her. It had been so long since she’d allowed a man to hold her close.
When the kiss ended, they stared at each other—an intimate gaze that defied all logic, all common sense. She watched him take a breath and felt her own hitch shakily. He towered over her, yet somehow their bodies seemed to fit. Still locked in an embrace, his pelvis brushed her stomach in a sensual tease, his chest a wall of iron against her breasts. Her nipples were hard, she realized. Hard and aching.
He dipped his head again, and she whispered his name and inhaled the faint spice of his cologne. It blended with a hint of leather and a pinch of tobacco, making him smell the way she imagined a reckless cowboy was supposed to smell. Earthy, masculine and forbidden.
He tasted forbidden, too. Heady, like a man who sipped brandy while he made love—satisfying a woman with slow, intoxicating strokes. Annie could almost imagine the naked feel of him, the virile mass of muscle and sinew beneath satin sheets. She moved closer and deepened the kiss, brushing herself against him. He groaned and licked her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.
Annie dived into a dream…a fantasy…a hotel room for lovers. If they shared a honeymoon suite tonight, they could soak in a heart-shaped tub, he could shampoo her hair, she could lather his….
“Oh, my goodness, they’re going to eat each other alive.”
Bea’s shocked words broke the spell. Annie’s heart jumped to her throat before she gave Dakota a quick, forceful shove. He staggered, frowned, then looked as embarrassed as she felt.
The minister, Bea and Mary all stood together, each with vivid expressions. Bea’s mouth was agape, the minister wore a tight lip even though a smile danced in his eyes, and Mary, her dear friend, grinned like a hyena.
“That’s it, then?” Dakota asked gruffly. “We’re married?”
The Reverend Matthews nodded and extended his hand. “Yes. Congratulations.”
The men shook hands and the minister bumped his wife’s shoulder. “Oh, yes, congratulations,” she squeaked.
Mary embraced Annie. “Now the kids will be legally yours.” She chuckled. “You know, come to think of it, my brother is legally yours, too.”
Annie sent the other woman a weak smile. Legally maybe, but not emotionally. Her honeymoon fantasy was just that. A fantasy. One she would never act upon. Once the adoption was final, this marriage would undoubtedly end. Dakota Graywolf was much too wild to remain married, and she was much too smart to expect otherwise.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. No matter how luscious Dakota had tasted or how good he had felt, she knew better than to get addicted to the wrong kind of man. The intensity of their attraction meant nothing in the scheme of things. Absolutely nothing.
Three
Dakota gazed around Annie’s kitchen. Daisies popped out at him from everywhere. The wallpaper, towels and pot holders all displayed the white-and-yellow flower motif. Even the sunny-colored dining table sported a centerpiece sprouting silk replicas of the sissy blooms. The kitchen, he decided, along with the rest of the colorful house, had not been decorated with a man in mind.
The fifty-some-year-old ranch-style structure itself wasn’t the problem. It offered plenty of windows, quality carpeting, fresh paint and well-crafted cabinetry. The master bathroom had been an addition, but it flaunted an antique claw-footed tub big enough for two. And the front porch presented a California-country view and an old-fashioned swing perfect for cuddling.
He looked over at Annie, who at the moment prepared dinner while bouncing Jamie, their two-year-old on her hip. Dakota shook his head. He actually had a wife and kids. Him. The confirmed bachelor.
Dakota scooped the tomato wedges he’d sliced into a wooden-style salad bowl and studied Jamie. The boy had a cherub’s face, full and round with animated features. A mop of black hair, similar to his own, dusted the child’s ears and fell upon his forehead in neatly sheared bangs. Jamie had attached himself to Annie like a clinging monkey, his big brown eyes watching Dakota’s every move. The boy had been three months old when his parents died. Annie was the only mother he would ever remember.
When Dakota smiled and winked, the boy fisted Annie’s T-shirt with chubby brown fingers and buried his face against her shoulder, tiny lips quivering in what looked like fright. Great. His son thought he was a two-headed monster in cowboy boots.
Annie stirred the simmering spaghetti sauce. “How’s the salad coming?”
He glanced down at the bowl filled with a lush variety of fresh vegetables and fragrant herbs. She had an impressive little garden out back and plenty of room for a barn. Temecula, the small Southern California town in which Annie lived, offered sights, sounds and smells Dakota considered cowboy friendly. Its Old West history included the Pechanga Indians, the first of the Butterfield Overland Stages and turn-of-the-century cattle drives.
“Fine. About ready for the dressing.”
