Dream Wedding. Susan Mallery

solved her dilemma by wrapping his arm more tightly around her waist and drawing her closer. His cheek rested against her temple.

      “Women have always been available,” he said. “I don’t claim to understand what combination of genes and luck make that true. It started when I was about thirteen and it hasn’t let up yet. When I was younger, in my teens and early twenties, I took advantage of that fact.”

      He pulled back enough for her to see his face. His expression was earnest. “I was smart enough to be careful, so no one got pregnant and I hope no one got hurt. But it wasn’t my finest hour. Fortunately, it got old very quickly. I learned it was more fun when I got to know the lady in question and took the time to develop a relationship to her.”

      He pulled her against him again. She liked being close. For reasons she couldn’t explain, being with him made her feel safe.

      “A wise old woman, and I do mean that, helped me see the light. She was a shaman and had to be close to a hundred years old. Anyway, this wise old woman once told me that every time people make love, they give away a piece of their soul. If one makes love with the same person again and again, eventually they exchange souls and that is what was intended for married couples. But if one makes love with many people, one will find oneself with nothing left to give to the one who matters. Worse, we end up with no soul of our own.”

      “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but the theory has merit,” she said.

      “I agree. Now. At the time I was all of eighteen, and if I remember correctly, all I could think about was getting her great-granddaughter into bed, so I wasn’t the most appreciative audience.”

      The music stopped. They broke apart and applauded. “Let’s go get some fresh air,” Arizona said.

      She allowed him to lead her to the open patio at the far end of the room.

      The night air was clear and balmy. She reminded herself she was working and should be trying to get a story from him. But she couldn’t think about anything but the man standing next to her. There was something about him—something that called to her. If she was the kind of woman who believed in destiny, she would be willing to admit he was the one for her. But she wasn’t and he wasn’t. Still, he was a very good time.

      “You’re beautiful,” he said, leaning against the railing and drawing her against him.

      She supposed she could have resisted, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to be next to him, to feel his arms around her again. It was almost like dancing, but they were alone in the shadows and the only music came from inside her head.

      His face was so familiar, she thought. It was as if she’d known him forever. Had they really made love or had it just been a dream? Did he own a piece of her soul?

      “What are you thinking?” he asked. “Sometimes you look at me and you get the strangest expression on your face. I always wonder if I have spinach in my teeth.”

      “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. There was no way she could tell him she’d been thinking about that dream. He would want to know the details. He was already intrigued by the story of the Bradley family nightgown and the legend. She didn’t dare think what he would make of her story.

      “It has to be something,” he insisted. His expression turned teasing. “I have ways of making you talk.”

      “Some spell or curse?”

      “Nothing that drastic.”

      He tilted his head toward her. Instinctively she raised hers. This was not professional, she reminded herself, then she decided she didn’t care. They’d been heading toward this moment since they met. She wanted to kiss him. She needed to kiss him. She had to know if it was the same as she remembered.

      His mouth brushed against hers. They weren’t standing all that close. His hands rested on her waist, hers were on his forearms. For a second—as her body registered the sensations of his heat, the firm softness of his mouth—she couldn’t do anything more than absorb what was happening.

      Then she felt it. The absolute electrical jolt that shot through her. It was hotter and brighter than lightning. It was recognition and need and passion and color, as if every part of her being responded to this man. Even more terrifying, it was familiar.

      She knew what he was going to do even before he parted his lips. She knew the taste and feel of him. She knew how his hands would slide up her back, how she would step into his embrace, how their bodies would fit together. The knowledge only increased her desire. She wanted him because being with him was so incredibly perfect, she thought as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

      Her breasts swelled, that secret place between her legs dampened. She felt his hardness press against her hip bone. They breathed in sync. She tilted her head one way, he moved the opposite, so they could deepen the contact. Reunited lovers kissing for the first time.

      It was better than she remembered, she thought, then wondered how she could remember kissing a man she’d never kissed before. The dream didn’t count. It wasn’t real. Then she stopped thinking because her brain shut down. She could only feel him next to her, holding her, touching her. Their bodies fit perfectly together. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her fingers in his cool, soft hair. His shoulders were broad, as was his chest. Every part of him had been put together with her pleasure and enjoyment in mind...or so it seemed.

      Tongues circled and danced and mated. She wanted more from him. She wanted to feel him inside of her; she wanted him to claim her and mark her in the most primitive, primal way of all.

      At last, he drew back slightly, breaking the kiss. His breathing was as labored as hers. He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled.

      “Pretty amazing,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Even better than I thought, and I thought it would be great.”

      “Me, too.”

      He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, then brushed his thumb against her cheek. His eyes were bright with passion. She could feel the need radiating from him. Faint tremors rippled through his hands.

      “Chloe, I—”

      He lowered his head and she knew he was going to kiss her again. She also knew that this time they might not stop at kissing.

      “There you two are. We’ve been looking everywhere. Isn’t the ballroom lovely? They always do such a great job with the decorations.”

      Cassie’s voice cut through the quiet of the night. Instantly, they stepped apart. Chloe touched a finger to her mouth and wondered if her lips were swollen.

      “Hi,” she managed, hoping that her expression wouldn’t give her away. The last thing she needed was Cassie’s knowing glances, or getting the third degree when they were both home later.

      Cassie gave her sister a quick smile and turned to Arizona. “I wanted Joel to meet you.” She looked at her boyfriend. “Joel, this is Arizona Smith.”

      The two men shook hands. While Arizona looked elegant in his tailored tux, Joel was obviously ill at ease in his too-small navy suit. He had the disgruntled air of a man who would rather be home watching a movie on cable.

      Chloe suppressed a sigh. Joel was perfectly decent. A pleasant enough man, with short blond hair and pale blue eyes.

      “Did you catch the Giants’ score?” Arizona asked. “When I left my room, they were ahead three to two.”

      Joel’s sullen expression eased. “Dodgers tied it up in the eighth, but that was when we got here and had to park the car. I don’t know what it is now.”

      “I’m sure they have a television in the bar,” Arizona offered.

      “Great.” Joel turned his attention to Cassie. “Would you mind if we checked?”

      “Of course not.” She gave a little wave, then took Joel’s hand. “We’ll see you later.”

      “Save