Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom. Jackie Braun
pulling the bulky sweater she wore with them. He pulled it over her head and then sucked in a breath at the pale perfection of her skin, which was in striking contrast to the lacy navy bra. Then, heaven help him, Stephen couldn’t stop his fingers from inching aside the lace. He heard her echo the groan that tore from his own chest before she leaned forward and fused her mouth to his. This kiss, like the one they had shared in the car that night, was wild with need. His body responded instantly.
Stephen prided himself on his finesse as a lover, but just now he felt as desperate and out-of-control as a teenager. He didn’t tease and tempt her with lingering caresses and sensuous nibbles. He wanted, so he took. His mouth plundered and devoured while his eager fingers grasped and clutched and tugged away the last barriers of her clothing.
Below him on the bed, Catherine gave a sexy little moan, her own hands making fast work of ridding him of the clothing he wore.
When he was naked, and straining over her, she ran her delicate hands up his chest and then fisted them in his hair, pulling him down for another hot kiss.
“Now.” She breathed the word into his mouth. “Please, now.”
“Say my name,” he commanded, using every ounce of self-control to pull back just far enough so he could look at her. “I want to hear you say my name.”
He watched her lips curve into a smile that was sensual and oddly shy. “Stephen,” she whispered.
That was all it took. One word. His name. He brought their bodies together quickly, the need so fierce it astounded him. This kind of passion, this kind of emotional connection represented uncharted territory. Below him, Catherine responded, rhythm matching rhythm, need matching need, heat matching heat until they were both flung over the edge of sanity on a shattering climax. On the freefall back to earth he heard her call out his name again.
Then, using the language only those most dear spoke to him in, she whispered, ‘ ‘Mi amor.”
Afterward, he rolled to his side and gathered her to his chest, where she settled one hand over his still hammering heart. It felt for all the world as if she belonged there in the loose circle of his arms, her body limp from release, her head tucked trustingly beneath his chin. And the raging need he’d felt a moment earlier gentled into something far more disturbing.
The gulls woke him. Their irritating squawks blasted rudely through his dreams and had Stephen rolling onto his side, arm outstretched and seeking the warm, curved comfort of a woman’s body. It came into contact with cool cotton and nothing more. He sat up and blinked in sleepy confusion at the rumpled sheets.
“Catherine?”
He found her puttering in the little kitchen, humming in that endearing off-key way of hers. She wore only his shirt, and he thought she looked sexier than a lingerie model. She had placed the sandwiches they’d bought at the deli on plates and was doling out pasta salad when he came up behind her and scooped her hair aside so he could kiss the back of her neck.
“Hmm. I like that.”
“I’ve noticed,” he replied, still amazed by what a responsive woman lurked beneath her quiet composure.
She turned, looped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a greedy passion that one would not suspect from such an otherwise generous woman.
“I seem to have worked up an appetite.”
“Me, too,” he agreed, as he began to unbutton his big shirt to reveal the feminine perfection beneath it.
It was another hour before they sat down in the cozy kitchen to eat their lunch.
The day was ending, Catherine knew. The magical, wonderful hours were drawing to a close. She wanted them to last, worried that once she and Stephen returned to dry land whatever spell the beautiful waters of Lake Michigan had cast would be broken, and if that happened she knew her heart would shatter as well.
The wind had picked up, making quick work of their sail back to the yacht club. Once there, she helped him unload their gear from the day. Then she waited in the car while he made arrangements for the boat to be stored for the winter.
“Are you tired?” he asked as they drove home.
“Exhausted,” she said with an exaggerated yawn. “Can’t imagine why.”
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
She straightened in her seat. “Now?”
“It’s on the way home.”
“Who?”
“My grandmother.”
Catherine wanted to meet his family. She knew what his grandmother meant to him. The woman had been like a surrogate mother, giving him the love and encouragement the Danburys had withheld, filling in the blanks of his rich heritage. Oh, yes, she wanted to meet her. But right now?
“Oh, Stephen. My hair is a mess and I…” she flipped down the visor to check her reflection in the mirror. Tilting her head to one side, she blanched. “Oh, my God! Is that a whisker burn?”
He chuckled. “My grandmother is near-sighted. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, but look how I’m dressed.” Her clothes were rumpled from an afternoon spent on the floor of the stateroom.
“My grandmother won’t be offended. There’s no need to dress for dinner at her house. It’s a casual affair, believe me.”
“Dinner? She’s having us for dinner and you never said a word about the invitation before now?”
“It’s a standing invitation. She makes enough for an army every Sunday. Whoever stops by is welcome.”
“Who else stops by?”
“My aunts, cousins, their families.” He shrugged.
“They’ll all be there?”
“Some of them, sure.”
“You said before that they knew about our arrangement. I’ll feel…awkward in their presence.”
“They know about our arrangement,” he acknowledged. “They also know I would never bring someone I didn’t care about to dinner.” He took her hand, kissed the back of it. “I want you to meet my family, Catherine. Will you do me the honor?”
When he put it like that, she couldn’t refuse. “It’s me who is honored, Stephen.”
His grandmother’s house was not especially large, nor was it in an exclusive neighborhood. But there was no denying its charm. With its stone façade, it reminded her of a fairy-tale cottage. Chrysanthemums bloomed like pots of gold in the flower beds, where other perennials had already enjoyed their glory and had now been cut back in preparation for winter.
The instant they stepped across the threshold they were surrounded by boisterous, enthusiastic relatives of varying ages and sizes, all chattering excitedly. Some spoke in English, some in Spanish. All with the kind of welcoming fondness that Catherine had thought only Hollywood could manufacture. She was kissed and hugged by people she had never met before and whose names had already become confused.
“Welcome, welcome,” a plump older woman said, wiping her hands on an apron as she crossed the room to where they stood just inside the door. It was as far as they had gotten before being surrounded by family members.
“Abuelita,” Stephen said with a grin. “I’d like you to meet Catherine. Catherine, this is my grandmother, Consuela Fuentes.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Señora Fuentes,” Catherine said. She had barely gotten the words out when she was wrapped in a pair of surprisingly strong arms and soundly kissed on both cheeks.
“You will call me Abuelita, yes?”
“Abuelita.” She tried out the word, liking the way it sounded. Stephen’s family nodded their approval.
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