Christyne Butler - His Destiny Bride

Her breathing grew short and choppy again as he slowly rubbed at her bottom lip with his thumb, the friction igniting a burst of need inside her. Of its own volition, her tongue darted out, licking the tip of his finger.

A low groan filled the air. His groan. He pulled her up hard against his chest.

Grabbing at wide shoulders, she stretched onto her tiptoes, bringing their mouths to within inches of each other as his hand moved to the nape of her neck.

Anticipation crackled between them and then his mouth crashed down on hers.

Her lips parted, giving permission to the hunger in his kiss, and he took it, deepening the connection in a searing and demanding way. She welcomed his desire and returned it, having never felt like this before.

This alive, this connected.

His jacket fell from her shoulders, the loss of the warmth causing another shiver to race through her, but he tightened his hold as the kisses went on and on. Finally, needing to breathe, they broke apart, his mouth moving to her neck. He made his way to her ear as his hands dropped to cup her backside, tucking her tightly to him.

“Should I go?” he whispered. “Tell me now.”

A flicker of awareness at his soft words stole through her.

Did she—was he someone she—

He pressed her even closer, the heat of his mouth on her skin incinerating her thoughts, replacing them with halfhearted mental protests. This was crazy. All of it. The whole night. She didn’t do this kind of thing anymore. The careless girl she’d been all those years ago was gone.

To be this way, with him...now...tonight wasn’t what she’d been looking for.

But was it what she needed? What she wanted?

The arguments rattled her brain. Yes, she should tell him to go. Ignore everything in her that screamed how much she wanted the exact opposite.

The last hour or so with this man had been the most fun, most wild, most perfect in a long time. This was reckless and wrong and she’d be anguished over her actions come morning, but would she regret more not taking this moment?

She didn’t know, didn’t care.

She wanted this. Wanted him.

“Stay,” she breathed as he sought out her lips again. “Stay with me tonight.”

As soon as she spoke, he leaned back. She could almost feel his gaze on her. Fear that he’d changed his mind lanced through her like a sharp stick.

She tightened her grip on his shirt and then his mouth was on hers again. Frantic touches, pushing aside pieces of clothing, shuffling to the large bed against the far wall. His sword, vest and shirt disappeared. He bumbled through removing his boots but took pleasure in the slow rasp of the zippers on hers.

Still on his knees, he tugged at the elastic waist of her skirt, skimming it over her hips and down her legs before getting to his feet again. Loosening the stays of her corset had him whispering a piratey “bloody hell” hotly against her skin when the cords tangled. They finally gave way and he left kisses in their wake.

She reached for her wig, but then he was kissing her again, capturing her hands in his. They collapsed back into the softness of the blankets, and she thought of nothing more than finding solace and pleasure with his every touch, rapture with every kiss and escape in his arms.

* * *

Something was...not wrong, exactly, but Nolan still felt as if he were suffocating beneath whatever was strangling him. He turned his head so breathing came easier and brushed at his face and neck, pushing the silky smoothness away, thinking it felt a lot like a cat.

If he owned one, which he didn’t.

What the hell was that?

It took a moment, but it all came back.

The pirate costume, the wig, the party, the drinking.

The girl.

Transfixed by her boldness in the bar, he’d been content to hold onto those sweet curves as they danced, enjoying the way she burrowed into his chest. Then their escape, him following her lead into the cold and to a dark room, her in his arms once more and then...

Yeah, and then.

He squeezed his eyes shut and raked his hand higher. His fingers tangled with the wig and he fisted the strands, faintly remembering taking it, and the mask, off sometime in the middle of the night.

He tossed it in the direction of the floor, the jerky movement causing the jackhammer ramming inside his head to go into overdrive. Then he went still; only his eyelids moved as he blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings in the dark room.

He remembered the room. Sort of. Stretching one leg, he felt the cool sheet against his bare skin. And he wasn’t lying in bed alone.

Forcing himself to sit up, he heard a soft feminine moan come from his companion as she rolled away, taking the majority of the sheets with her. He swung away as well, planting his feet on the floor, and waited for his head to stop spinning.

And to see if she woke up.

Nope, not another sound except for the gentle breathing of Miss Harley Quinn, alias...who knew?

This was not good.

He never got her real name. Never shared his.

Damn, what made him do such a thing?

Was it the booze? The rush of playing out a fantasy of being someone else for the night? The fact he hadn’t been with a woman in over a year?

Hell if he knew, but at least he remembered being sober enough to make sure she’d wanted him to stay.

Oh, yeah, she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.

After a quick search of the floor for most of his clothing, he found the bathroom. He took care of business, ignoring the glass-walled shower that beckoned, settling instead for washing the remains of the makeup from his face with a flowery-scented soap.

Dressing quickly, he checked for his wallet, keys and cell phone, all still in his pockets. It was almost 5:00 a.m. He had to get home. If the kids woke up and found he wasn’t there, they would call out the troops.

Namely, his brothers. A Murphy search party? No, thanks.

But first things first.

He reached for the door, realizing he hadn’t had to deal with morning-after awkwardness since his freshman year in college. At least back then he’d been gentleman enough to get the girl’s name first.

Oh, how times had changed.

He opened the door, allowing a shaft of light to fall across the bed, highlighting the lady’s curves and stopping him in his tracks.

The bedsheet only came up to her hips, leaving the rest of her bare for his viewing pleasure, including a tiny waist and the smooth expanse of her back. He noticed for the first time a script tattoo running vertically the length of her spine. It ended—or began—with a grouping of yellow flowers at the dip just above her luscious backside, but he was too far away to make out the words.

A part of him felt like a voyeur for even looking at her, despite the intimacy they’d shared last night, but he couldn’t help it.

Or his body’s reaction as the memories of the two of them flooded his head.

His gaze continued upward to a mass of red wavy hair, most of it pulled forward and disappearing over one shoulder except for a lone piece that curled—

Wait, red hair? Last night she’d been a blonde.

It had been a wig, part of her comic book character costume. She’d removed it during the night as well.

His gut clenched as he remembered the feel of her real hair trailing over his chest and stomach, but to see it now, the rich, vibrant chestnut color lying against her skin...

It was a very familiar color.

Nolan’s gaze ran the length of her once more before recognition slammed into him. Closing his eyes, he slumped against the doorjamb.

No, it couldn’t be. There was no way he had—they had...

It couldn’t be her.

It couldn’t be Katie.

He forced himself into the room and around the end of the bed. Tripping over his boots, he swore softly beneath his breath, grabbed the footwear and kept moving until he could see her.