The Marriage Charm. Linda Miller Lael

They’d practiced on every horizontal surface available until it came time for her to enroll for fall college classes. They’d continued their relationship—or that part of it, anyway—even after that disastrous proposal of hers, followed by his humiliating rejection, in early July. All summer long, they’d been lovers. She’d still thought they had a future.

      Then he’d cut her loose.

      He’d wanted a summer fling, so why couldn’t she just do the same thing now?

      That annoying inner voice, the one she wished would shut up, whispered, Because that’s not you, dummy. Especially when it comes to this man.

      He was beautiful, too, with all that dark hair and those oh-so-blue eyes. At least she’d put on a new bra with matching panties when she’d gotten dressed, since that was all she had. She hadn’t done laundry in a while, thanks to the wedding festivities.

      He ran his finger along the scalloped lace edge over the curve of her right breast. “My X-ray vision missed this. Nice.”

      She retorted, “It’s a laundry issue, so don’t think I wore it for you.”

      “I hope you won’t mind if I admire it more off you than on.” He deftly undid the clasp in front and slipped it off her shoulders. At some later time, she’d probably resent that level of expertise.

      Don’t think about that.

      In his usual audacious way, he just picked her up and deposited her on the bed. His room was masculine, but then again, he was Spencer Hogan, male through and through. A rough-hewn bed with a headboard made of pine logs took center stage. It was covered with a bedspread in browns and greens patterned with pine trees, and there was a single dresser, a nightstand with a reading lamp and a door to what she assumed was a closet. A window with a view of the mountains drew the eye. No other decorations.

      The view alone was probably the reason there wasn’t a single picture on the wall. What was the point? No framed picture could match it, spring, summer, fall or winter, but her attention was currently riveted elsewhere.

      When he shed his clothes, she could see that his body certainly hadn’t changed, still honed and muscular, his broad chest tapering to a taut waist and narrow hips. She knew he worked out because she’d seen his truck at the local gym; Bex owned it and she went there, too. She also knew that he rode Reb every day, rain or shine.

      His aroused state reminded her that sexual attraction was never their problem, either. Any more than mutual appreciation of each other’s looks had been. On the physical level, they’d had no complaints.

      “You won’t need these.” Her panties went next as he hooked his fingers in the thin bits of lace and drew them down her legs.

      When he stretched out on top of her, her heart was beating at a pace that would send the average race car driver slamming into a wall at curve three. He stroked her breast and said the most romantic thing possible, which certainly didn’t help matters.

      “I’ve missed you.”

      Three simple words if you discounted the contraction. But he looked and sounded as if he meant them.

      He also looked hot. And sexy. And just...Spence.

      “Are you talking to me, or my breast?” Melody ran her fingers through his thick hair and let him have his way. “I—”

      He interrupted whatever she was going to say—she wasn’t sure what that was, actually—with another scorching kiss. Enough talking. That was also Spence. Pillow talk wasn’t his style. He was a man of action in every way, so that hadn’t changed.

      Neither had the way he could so quickly ready her with a touch, with his kiss; even a meaningful look could do the trick.

      Not that she really needed foreplay, but he was considerate enough to make sure by gliding his hand over the curve of her hip then sliding a finger deep inside her. “Wet and hot. You’ve missed me, too.”

      If only she could deny it.

      She ran her hands down his bare back. “Hurry.”

      The rasp of the drawer of the nightstand being pulled open momentarily distracted her from the haze of her lust-induced delirium, and he extracted a foil pouch, tore it open and covered himself. That was something else she’d address later. He had condoms on hand.

      He entered her in a slow movement that managed to convey that he wanted to go faster but wouldn’t rush it. He was the lover she remembered, finesse balanced by a hot-blooded approach to making love. He could accurately gauge her level of arousal and handle the situation accordingly.

      Then it all took off.

      He moved and she moved, lifting her hips in instinctive response, her body knowing what she wanted.

      Spence knew it, too. He increased his pace right on cue, the erotic rhythm perfect. She felt her climax building, did her best to put it off because it was embarrassingly quick, but couldn’t. She lost it.

      The most gratifying part, besides the orgasm of a lifetime, was that Spence lost it, too, and she was sure her reaction pushed him over the edge faster than he’d intended.

      Both of them breathless and perspiring, he pulled her with him as he rolled to the side. His tousled dark hair was in stark contrast to the white pillowcase. After a moment, he said in a voice that was much huskier than his usual cool tone, “And here I thought I wasn’t seventeen anymore. That was damn fast.”

      Clearly they’d both needed what had just happened, but if she analyzed it, she’d probably jump up, jerk on her clothes and run. So nix to the psychological aspect of what might have been a very big mistake.

      “No apologies necessary.” She drew her hand along the contours of his chest. He felt solid and very real, even in a surreal moment like the aftermath of wild sex with a man she’d vowed to avoid for the rest of her life.

      Bex and Hadleigh were going to strangle her for getting involved with Spence again—if she ever told them about this. Not to mention that it was Sunday morning. She was normally a regular churchgoer, but she’d just renewed her sinner’s card, instead, by making love with Mustang Creek’s most notorious bachelor.

      Not to mention her stupidity card.

      His breath was warm against her mouth, and his lashes lowered. “I’d like to make it up to you if you have the time. My unseemly speed, I mean.”

      There was nothing to make up.

      “I have to feed my cats. I haven’t done it yet this morning.”

      He laughed, his eyes a crystalline blue as he gazed at her. “Can I get a better excuse than that, please?”

      The second time they made love it was slower, more measured but just as intense, and she held herself together a little longer, but by the third time she hit that sweet spot, Melody wasn’t even sure she could remember her own name.

      In bed he deserved a Hollywood star on a sidewalk somewhere.

      Out of it, she wasn’t positive they understood each other. At all. Emotionally speaking.

      The buildup to the wedding had been trying, although she supported Hadleigh and Tripp with all her cheerleader might, even in those torturous shoes, pom-poms waving. They’d all been cheerleaders in high school, way back when...

      Spence said something, and she registered the cadence of his deep voice, but she was tired, physically and mentally. The sheets were soft and smelled faintly like him, and all the bustle of the past few days came crashing down. She and Bex had been running around like headless chickens, handling all the details to keep Hadleigh sane. Melody nestled into the pillow like a bear finding a cave as the weather turned cold.

      “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, I just asked you a question.” A gentle hand caressed her shoulder.

      “Hmm. What?”

      “You want to talk about