The MacGregor Brides Read online

  She looked up at him as he pulled open the heavy smoked-glass door. Scents and warmth rushed out over her. Foolishly garish Christmas balls dangled from the ceiling and cheered her. "All right. Why not?" They were three deep at the bar, and voices were a flood of noise in the overheated room. She didn't hear what Branson said to the hostess, but she did see a folded bill pass from his hand to hers. And they were seated in the dining section, in a comer booth, in under ninety seconds.

  "This isn't the kind of place where you bribe the maitre d'," Gwen told him as she slid over the worn leather seat.

  "Worked, didn't it?" His dimple winked. "You needed to sit down, and you needed to do it as far away from the meat market in there as possible."

  "It's a popular singles spot," she said, and let her head rest against the high seat. "A lot of the hospital staff comes here to flirt or cruise for action." She laughed at his lifted brow. "And no, I don't come in often, because I rarely have the energy to flirt or cruise."

  "It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you put a little effort into the first part of that tonight." He took Gwen's hand firmly in his and looked up as the waitress wandered over. "We'll order drinks and dinner now," he told her, and rattled off his choice of wine, appetizers and entrees while the waitress scrambled to pull out her pad.

  "Medium rare on the steak," he repeated, "and we'll need a bottle of mineral water for the table. What did you say your name was?"

  "Crystal," she muttered, brows knit, as she noted down his order.

  "Crystal, we'd appreciate it if you'd snag a basket of rolls from the kitchen when you bring the drinks by. The lady's had a rough day, and she's tired. You'd know how long, rough days go."

  He beamed at her, looking so sympathetic that Crystal's irritated scowl smoothed away. "I'll say I do. Sure, I'll take care of that for you." I

  Gwen waited until the waitress walked off, then drew in a breath. "Branson, did you just order for me without consulting me?"

  "It won't become a habit," he said easily. "Your brain is tired and it's too overworked to be asked to make decisions. You need relaxation, red meat, and time to recharge. I'm providing them. And to show my heart's in the right place, next time we have dinner, you can order for me."

  "Really?" She smiled blandly. "How do you feel about sweetbreads?"

  He grimaced. "I could probably live my entire life happily without sampling internal organs."

  "Remember that the next time you decide what I'm going to have for dinner."

  "Deal. When's your next day off?"

  "I've got a half day Saturday and all of Sunday."

  "Will you go out with me Saturday night? You pick the when, you pick the where." She arched a brow. "The Marriage of Figaro is playing at the Conservatory. How do you feel about opera?"

  "I feel very warmly toward opera."

  She blinked twice. "You do?"

  "It's rewarding to surprise you occasionally." He smiled up at the waitress. "Thanks, Crystal." He took a roll out of the basket, broke it in two and buttered it before passing half to Gwen. "And I'm particularly fond of Mozart. I'll pick you up at seven. We'll have a late supper afterward, if that suits you."

  "Yes, I suppose it would."

  "Good. Then I'd like you to stay with me, let me make love with you. And I'd like you to sleep with me and have a very late, very indulgent breakfast in bed Sunday morning. If that suits you."

  She swallowed bread, chased it with the sparkling water he'd poured into her glass. "Yes," she managed, "I suppose it would."

  "Let me see," Julia demanded the moment Gwen stepped into the house. "Oh, I wish I could have gone shopping with you. Laura, Gwen's back and she's got shopping bags."

  "Is Laura here?"

  "Raiding the refrigerator. Of course." Julia grabbed a bag and hurried with it into the parlor. "She claims Royce dragged her out this morning to shop for baby things, and that she finally pleaded exhaustion."

  "What did they buy?"

  "Nothing yet. Apparently they just mooned. I'd love to have seen Royce mooning over bassinets."

  "We whittled it down to three choices." Laura stepped in, scooping up spaghetti from a bowl. "But we're having a major style clash over cribs."

  Gwen dropped onto a chair across from the heavily decorated Christmas tree, and curled up her legs. "You don't look the least exhausted," she said accusingly. If anything, she thought, her cousin radiated vitality and health. Laura's dark eyes shone, her golden skin glowed.

  "I'm not, but he was making noises about scouting for electronics, and I escaped."

  "Well, I'm exhausted." Gwen rubbed the bottom of one foot. Drawing in a deep, satisfied breath, she smelled pine and cinnamon and sizzling apple wood.

  She smelled home. "Serves me right for waiting until the eleventh hour to look for a new dress. I didn't need a new dress."

  "You certainly did, which I pointed out to you." Julia dived into the first bag. "A major date deserves a major dress."

  "That's the wrong bag."

  "Oh?" Julia tucked her tongue in her cheek as she separated tissue paper and drew out a lacy pink gaiter belt. "I'd say that depended on your point of view."

  "I'm always running my panty hose," Gwen began. "I thought it would be more practical if I…" Then she laughed, shrugged. "All right, I wanted to knock his socks off."

  "Believe me, when he gets a load of you in this, he's not going to be wearing socks, or anything else, for long." Julia slipped out the matching bra. A tiny white rosebud decorated its front hook. "Oh, honey, you'll destroy him." Laura set her bowl down, sat on the arm of Gwen's chair. "He's the one?"

  "I want him to be."

  "Anyone who sends you seven crystal swans would be hard to resist"

  "He'll be here in a couple hours," Julia began. "Why don't you hang around and get a load of him?"

  "I would, but I have a hot date with my husband. Come on, Gwen, let's see the dress."

  "All right, but remember, I spent four hours hunting it down, so be kind." She took the box out of the shopping bag and, rising, opened it to pull out a long velvet column in deep rose velvet.

  "It's beautiful," Julia murmured.

  "You don't think it's too much, with the jeweled band at the neck and cuffs?"

  "I think it's perfect for you." Laura reached out to run her fingertips over the smooth material. "Classic, elegant."

  "It's not terribly sexy. I tried to find something with a little more… less, I guess… but I kept coming back to this."

  "It's plenty sexy," Julia disagreed. "High neck, long, snug sleeves, the drape to the ankles. He'll wonder just what's going on under it. Then, when he finds out… Well, you know CPR, so he'll probably live through it."

  "Are you nervous?" Laura wanted to know.

  "No." Gwen smiled, carefully folding the dress in the tissue again. "It's the right time, it's the right man—it's just right. Now I'm going to go up and indulge in an incredibly long bubble bath and spend twice as long as necessary on my makeup and hair." She gathered up her bags and left the room.

  "Are you sure about this guy?" Laura asked Julia once Gwen had headed up the stairs.

  "I'm telling you, he's cross-eyed over her. And he's the first man to ever put that foolish look on her face."

  "Yeah, it is nice to see her look dreamy." Feeling lazy and content, Laura stretched her arms. "Where did the MacGregor find him?"

  "Old family connection. Gwen doesn't think Grandpa pulled the strings."

  With a laugh, Laura picked up her bowl again. "Foolish woman. He always pulls the strings." She cocked her head. "And you know, Jules, if she ends up in a serious relationship with this man Grandpa picked out for her, he's going to turn all his attention on you before much longer."

  "I'm on to him." Julia smiled smugly, and for her own amusement picked up a windup Santa that looked strikingly like Daniel. With a few quick twists of the wrist, she had him ho-ho-hoing. "Forewarned, pal," she said to Santa, "is forearmed." Laura snorted at the smug, knowing gri
n on the cheery and bearded face before grinning at her cousin. "You go right on believing that." At precisely seven o'clock, Gwen started down the stairs. She felt calm, steady, relaxed. The diamonds her parents had given her when she graduated from med school shot fire at her ears and gave her confidence. The froth she wore under the quietly elegant gown made her feel female, secretive, and amused

  She laid her wrap over the newel post just as the doorbell rang.

  And her steady system took a quick, shuddering leap as she opened the door and saw Branson in a formal tux, with a spray of white roses in his arms.

  "Oh, how lovely."

  "Wait." He stood just where he was and simply looked at her. "You are perfect. Gwendolyn, you leave me breathless."

  "Then I won't tell you how hard I worked at it." She smiled, took the roses from him. "I want to put these in water before we go. You don't mind waiting."

  "No." He took her hand and, with his eyes on hers, lifted it to his lips. "I don't mind waiting."

  Chapter 17

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  The parlor of Branson's hotel suite was filled with white roses just opening their fragile petals, white candles already softening the air with delicate light and scent. A small table was tucked under the window, where the drapes were drawn wide to allow the city to twinkle behind the glass. Silver and crystal gleamed against white linen.

  Gwen's heart gave a long, long sigh.

  "Do you have elves?" she murmured.

  "Just a very efficient hotel staff." He slipped her wrap from her shoulders. "I called just before we left the theater so they could have everything set up."

  "You've gone to a lot of trouble."

  "No, I haven't. Setting scenes is something I enjoy." He set her wrap aside, lifted her hand to press his lips to the palm. "And I did this for both of us. Of course, I ordered food without consulting you."

  "I think I can let that slide this time."

  "Cold dishes, so we won't have to worry about it. Are you hungry, or should we just work on the champagne for a while?"

  "Champagne sounds perfect."

  "Perfect is exactly what I want for you tonight" He took a single rosebud from the table, handed it to her before lifting the bottle of wine from the silver ice bucket. "The first time I saw you, I thought of a ballet, efficiently choreographed." She angled her head, smiling a little at the muffled pop of the cork. "Dancers are much more sturdy than many people think."

  "The best are strong, dedicated, tireless. You also made me think of fairies and storybook princesses." He handed her the wine. "Also stronger and more resilient than most people think. Still, it's difficult not to want to rescue and cherish a princess."

  "What would you rescue me from, Branson?"

  "For a night, one night, from reality." He touched his glass to hers. "To fairy tales and happy endings."

  "All right." She sipped, letting the wine bubble excitedly on her tongue. "But this is real, and I don't need to be rescued from it. Or want to be rescued from it. You don't have to seduce me, Branson. I'm here because I want to be here. Because I want you."

  "Seducing you, Gwendolyn, is my very great pleasure." He touched a hand to her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers for a quiet kiss. She wasn't nervous, not yet. And he wanted her to be. He wanted to watch those wonderful eyes go dark with nerves, with needs, with knowledge. He would, layer by layer, slide away the practical, until he uncovered the romantic she hid inside. It was the romantic he would awaken and pleasure. And cherish.

  When he found her, he would give her everything he had, everything he was.

  "Here." He plucked a strawberry from a bowl, swirled it into white chocolate. "Taste." She opened her mouth as he brought the berry to her lips, let the mixture of textures and flavors linger on her tongue. "It's wonderful."

  "Have more."

  He fed her small bites, slipping nibbling kisses between samples. And felt her first small shudder.

  "You've only to tell me what you like. When you want more. When you want less." Still touching only her face, he deepened the kiss, degree by aching degree. "When you're ready for all."

  "I'm not fragile." But her voice shook. He was taking her somewhere she'd never been, and the first steps were dizzying. "You don't need to worry."

  "Not fragile, perhaps, but precious." He took her glass from her unsteady fingers, set it aside. His eyes were dark and intense in hers.

  "And mine, tonight."

  Her heart did a slow spin in her chest when he lifted her into his arms. Perhaps it was foolish, but the image slipped into her head of a knight, armor glinting silver in the sun, lifting her astride his white stallion. Her lips curved as she pressed them to his throat. "You're overwhelming me."

  "I want to. I need to."

  The bed was turned down. The rose petals strewn over it made her heart stutter. Candles burned here, as well, soft, shifting light.

  "There's no time here," he told her when he set her on her feet beside the bed. "No world but this one. No one but us. Only you, Gwendolyn, and me."

  She believed him. This world he'd created for her was the only reality she wanted or needed tonight. She lifted her arms, wound them around him and let herself slide into it. Into him.

  His mouth was patient, persuasive, possessive one moment, teasing the next. She swayed, dizzy from the onslaught, and the fragile scent of roses and candle wax swirled in her head.

  Touch me.

  As if she'd spoken it, his hands skimmed up her sides, cruising over velvet, tracing curves. More. Still more.

  His mouth traveled down her throat, nuzzling gently, to where the jeweled band circled. And slowly, inch by inch, he drew the zipper down her back for the first sampling of flesh.

  Silk beneath velvet, he thought. And already warm. It was no effort for him to take care, to take time. Desire for her was an equal match with his need to give. He turned her until his mouth could savor the wonderful line, the back of her neck, the slope of her shoulder. When her arm lifted, hooked around him, his blood took a quick, hard leap. But his mouth remained patient, his hands gentle. She shivered, arched backward, when his hands cupped her breasts, when his thumbs brushed the swell and curve of them. Their moans mixed when he eased the gown from her shoulders and it slipped down to pool at her feet.

  "God." He'd never expected to find such a fantasy beneath. He'd prepared himself for her body, the wonder of it, the punch of desire. But the pink silk slip, the froth of lace, had his fingers flexing hard on her shoulders as he turned her to face him again. That sudden leap of lust in those smoky eyes had her heart slamming into her ribs. When his gaze left hers, traveled slowly down, she felt her skin go hot, her head go light.

  "I wanted to… surprise you," she managed, then took an instinctive step back as those eyes, nearly black now, whipped back to hers. There was something not quite civilized in them.

  She was all pink and white, like something deliciously forbidden behind thin glass. He wanted to smash the barrier and ravish, plunder, devour. He yanked a choke chain on desire and skimmed, fingertips only, over the subtle swell just above pink silk.

  "You stagger me."

  How could he touch her so gently, and look at her with such simmering violence? Her hand trembled as she loosened his tie, fumbled a bit as she undid his studs. "I want to see you."

  There were the nerves, he thought. Tiny fears flickering in her eyes, even as she stood her ground. And seeing them, feeling the tremor of those skilled hands, he tumbled the rest of the way into love.

  "Look at me," he murmured when she spread the formal white shirt apart. "I want to see your eyes when I touch you. I want to see what you feel when my hands are on you. Like this."

  He ran his hand over her skin above the sheer stocking. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught in her throat as he unsnapped the front garter.

  "You're shivering. I want you to." He flicked the next garter free. "And more than anything, I want… surrender." He eased her onto the bed, covere
d her body with his. His mouth crushed down on hers, giving her hints of dark and dangerous needs, hot-blooded urgency. Then it gentled, leaving her confused and unsteady.

  If the first steps into this world he'd created for her had been dizzying, these were staggering. His lips traveled down, savoring flesh. His hands traveled up, caressing it. A sharp lance of heat stabbed her, pleasure coated pain, as he took possession of her breasts, slipping her bra aside.

  Then the sharp flare of fire died to warmth.

  No one had ever touched her so. No one had ever incited such conflicting and overpowering sensations. Rose petals clung to her skin, sweet, romantic kisses. Candlelight glowed against her heavy eyelids, soft, romantic light. He murmured to her, approval, promises, his voice mesmerizing. Yet somehow his gentle hands had her pulse pounding like a drumbeat, and the lazy brush of his mouth stole each breath before she could draw it in.

  He wanted to give her everything he had to give. And he wanted to take everything she was. He rolled the stockings down her slim thighs, thrilling when her breathing grew thick and her movements restless.

  When she touched him, those elegant and competent hands roaming over him, fingers seeking, flexing, he had to take her mouth again or die.

  She moaned when his shirt was tugged away, when his flesh slid over her flesh. This was what she wanted, this intimacy of body to body and mind to mind. Her earlier nerves forgotten, she smiled against his mouth, framed his face with her hands. Pleasure was cool and silky. She wrapped herself with it.

  He knew that she floated, drifted. Her lazy sigh was another thrill for him. Slowly, slowly, he took her higher, until her sighs were gasps, until her eyes flew open in shock. Beneath his, her body arched instinctively, seeking more. Sensation spiked into sensation. She shook her head once, as if to deny what was happening inside her. His eyes were on her face, intense, concentrating on every flicker of emotion that passed over it. And his hands… oh, his hands were so quietly relentless. Heat slammed into her, a ball of lightning. The breath strangled in her throat. Pleasure was suddenly sharp and fierce, and endlessly thrilling. She heard her own moan, all but felt it rise up through her and thicken the suddenly heavy air. She shot to a peak, over, then shuddered down again.

  "Branson."

  "Again." He didn't want her to catch her breath, to clear her mind. Watching her, dazzled by her, he urged her to the next wave. And when he was sure she was ready, when he was certain there would be more pleasure than pain, he let himself ride with her. He was inside her, filling her, and moving with him was as natural as breathing. She gave herself, yielded herself. When his mouth came back to hers, she met it eagerly. When his hands closed over hers, she gripped them tightly to complete the union. Slowly, silkily, spinning it out, savoring it. They were mated, and they were matched. In his eyes she saw her own wonder. And her heart filled with joy the moment they rose and fell together.

  He pressed his lips to her throat and knew he'd never really made love before. He'd been as innocent as she, because he'd never known what it was to be in love with a lover.

  It was everything.

  "Gwendolyn. Beautiful, strong, outrageously sexy Gwendolyn."

  She felt happiness bubble. "Branson," she said, in the same sleepy tone, "Beautiful, strong, outrageously sexy Branson." He lifted his head. Her eyes were heavy and dark, her skin was glowing, her lips were softly curved. "I'm going to have a hard time ever letting you out of this bed."

  "Was I going somewhere?"

  "Not far, anyway." He traced the shape of her face with his finger. "There's a whirlpool tub in the next room."

  "Is there?"

  "I'm thinking I could let you get just that far. How would you feel about a hot, bubbling bath, a glass of icy champagne, and a man who already wants to make love with you again?"

  "I'd feel very interested. Wait." She took his face in her hands, brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was warm and deep. "I'd wondered what it would be like, the first time. How I would feel after knowing I'd shared myself with a man. Nothing I ever hoped for, no foolishly high expectation I ever built up, was as wonderful as tonight."

  Swamped with emotion, he lowered his brow to hers. "I don't know what to say to you now."

  "Tell me the night isn't over."