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  White Wedding

  by Ursula Sinclair

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  White Wedding

  Copyright 2010 by Ursula Sinclair

  ISBN: 978-1-936394-05-0

  Cover art by Dara England and Charles Paz

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  For all those who dream about having a white wedding.

  Chapter One

  The day had gotten away from him. After checking his watch, Ross Marshall decided to walk back to his office anyway. It was only a few blocks; besides, a little fresh air—at least, as fresh as it could get in Los Angeles—never hurt anyone.

  His meeting that evening had been successful, and he’d agreed to take the job. There would have been a time his security firm, The Guardian Agency, would have taken any job that walked through the door. Not anymore—now he could afford to pick and choose. He employed fifteen men he hired out as bodyguards to Hollywood’s elite, and another five whose specialty was commercial security. It was his area of expertise, but he wouldn’t be able to start the new job for another week. He had to follow up on some previous work. One requiring him to travel to a sunny, less smog-filled location, and the building he had to evaluate happened to overlook the Caribbean Sea.

  Yeah, at times his life was hard. He grinned.

  As he neared the church on the corner, his footsteps slowed. A white Hummer limousine was parked at the curb in front of the church. Curious, he slowed down even more as he approached the car. He wasn’t alone. A handful of people had stopped on the sidewalk to watch the partially open door of the church.

  “I think it’s a wedding?” he heard the woman in front of him say. She might have been correct because right beside him, the words ‘JUST MARRIED’ were spray-painted across the back window of the limousine.

  “No one famous,” someone else said. “I don’t see any paparazzi.”

  A man chuckled. “Probably hiding behind a bush.”

  Ross grinned at the man, but a sound from the doorway had him swinging his head back in that direction.

  “Oh, I hope we get to see the bride,” another woman said.

  “Wait, I think that’s her.”

  The door opened wider, and a woman in a wedding dress ran out of the church. The lights flanking the walkway illuminated the garment, causing it to sparkle against her warm brown skin; a trail of white floated like a cloud behind her over the stone steps.

  His lungs stopped working for a second at the picture she created. It took another second for his brain to register what he had seen.

  She ran out of the church alone.

  “Wait!” The shout came from a woman in a long emerald dress clutching a small suitcase in her hands. She made her way quickly down the steps. The would-be bride had reached the sidewalk, but stopped and turned to wait for the woman to catch up to her.

  Ross heard her say, “Here, you’ll need this.” Then she shoved the suitcase and a purse toward the bride.

  “I…I’ll call you in a few days.” Her voice was soft, shaky. They hugged; the bride’s back was to him, but he could see tears in the other woman’s eyes. Whatever had happened, he was sure no wedding had taken place. He felt something stir in his chest for the woman in white. She turned around and, for an instant, their gazes collided.

  Her lush mouth trembled in an oval face. Large, dark eyes were red from crying, but her makeup remained intact. She was close enough he could reach out and rub the tear tracks from her face. His hand rose to do just that, but instead of touching her he turned his arm and opened the rear door of the limo.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, still watching him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She glanced away before climbing in, pulling her dress and train up and out of the way. He shut the door and stepped back. A woman near him on the sidewalk said to no one in particular, “I wonder what happened to the groom?”

  To his surprise, an angry voice behind them answered. “The bastard was kissing the best man in the damn dressing room.”

  He turned toward the voice. It was the woman who had come out of the church bringing the suitcase, and who closely resembled the would-be bride.

  She snorted before continuing. “Thank God, before the ceremony.” After making that announcement, she turned and ran back up the stairs. By then, other people drifted out of the church.

  “Show's over,” Ross said, and continued on his way back to the office to retrieve his car.

  But even after he’d arrived home and packed his bags for his early-morning flight, he wasn’t concentrating on work. Instead, he couldn’t get the image of the sad, soulful eyes of the beautiful almost-bride out of his head.

  ***

  The cab pulled up in front of his hotel on the island of Margarita, but he wasn’t tired after his long flight. It had been a few years since he’d last visited the island, and it hadn’t changed much. The sun was hot and the water looked inviting. He took a deep breath; now this was fresh air. The myriad and flavorful scents of the island filled his lungs.

  The office building requiring his services was located just a few blocks down the street from his hotel, but he didn’t have to be there until tomorrow. After checking in and putting his suitcase in his room, he took off his jacket, changed into Keen sandals, and headed for the elevators. His destination—a closer look at all that blue water from the beachside bar, and the babes in barely-there clothing. He had to walk through the pool area to get to the beach access, and he did it slowly.

  There were a few bodies worthy of a second—okay, maybe a third—look. Movement in his peripheral vision had him turning his head to see a body poised on the diving board—a body he’d like to more than look at. Her skin, a natural, honey brown, glowed with health against the bright orange strips of cloth covering strategic areas on a beautifully sculpted body. A body curving in perfectly where it needed to and out again, without an ounce of unnecessary flesh. The woman raised her hands above her head, bringing his attention to her taunt stomach, and pulled her full breasts—which were neither too small, nor so large they had to be fake—up and almost out of her top. She took one hop off the diving board and executed a perfect dive into the pool, barely causing a splash.

  She swam underwater for half the length of the pool before surfacing and swimming above to the other end. Walking up the inlayed steps, she got out and headed over to a lounge chair. Drawn to her, he retraced his steps. As she toweled off her hair, he observed her. Her back seemed to be a study in curves, and he grinned at the two dimples peeking at him above her bikini line. They sat in the middle of the handles of a scissors tattoo. Ross wanted to dip his tongue into each indentation and trace the tattoo lines. His grin widened in appreciation of a rear as perfectly prop
ortioned and enticing as the front.

  She turned and, glancing up, spotted him staring at her. Her eyes widened an instant before he recognized her.

  “Do I know you?” Her voice was husky, sexy and sweet at the same time. His balls tightened just thinking about her whispering his name like that into his ear. Her lips were wet from the pool, cranberry-colored and puckered like she was already preparing for his kiss. He stifled a groan.

  “We met last night,” he said, holding out his hand. “But weren’t introduced. My name’s Ross Marshall.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her dark chocolate-colored eyes closed briefly and then reopened to look right at him. “Yes, I remember. Are you following me?”

  “I could be, but I’m not—not yet.”

  She smiled, showing no fear of him, and took his hand. The neurons in every cell of his body fired on contact, right down to the ones in his toes. Her beautiful eyes widened, and the touch of sadness he’d read in them disappeared for a moment. Meanwhile, his heart thudded against his ribcage in a bid for release. God, she was lovely. He silently swore to himself he’d do whatever he could to continue to banish that look of sadness from her eyes. She pulled at emotions in him no other woman ever had. Hell, his heart never beat like this for a woman, and he would find out why her.

  He took the end of the towel she held in front of her. “May I?” he asked.

  She released it and sat down on the side of the lounge chair, turning her back to him so he could finish drying her hair. He sat beside her and rubbed the towel from her scalp to the ends of her hair until it was as dry as he could get it. When he finished, he ran his fingers through her tresses to get the tangles out. Her hair was soft and curled around his thumb. He gathered it all together and pulled it back to make a short ponytail resting at her nape.

  He lifted the wet tip to his nose. “I can smell the chorine in your hair.” And it turned him on. Damn. Chorine, of all things. Hell, everything about her led him to one thought. Staking a claim, one without an expiration date. Her ex-fiancé was a fool.

  He wasn’t.

  “I know,” she said, unaware of his thoughts. “I think they dump the stuff in there by the boat-load.”

  She twisted around and he reluctantly released her hair, dropping his hand to rest on the lounge chair near her waist. Her thigh brushed up against his, but he didn’t move or stand up to give her room. They were so close—if he leaned forward, even a little, his shirt-covered chest would rub against her bare arm.

  He captured her gaze instead, silently wanting her to give him a chance. At what, he wasn’t sure. But he had to try.

  “You still haven’t told me your name.”

  “Shanna Stiles.”

  “Would you like me to help you wash it off, Shanna?”

  Her eyes flickered wider in surprise. Not giving her an opportunity to respond, he stood up and offered his hand. Without taking her gaze from his, she wrapped the damp towel around her waist and raised her small hand to his. He liked the color of the nail polish painted on the tips of her nails. Instead of the white he’d seen before, it was frosted orange to match her bathing suit.

  With a smile on his face, he closed his hand around hers and expelled the breath caught in his lungs, and realized she did the same. Whatever was going on between them, she must have felt something, too. He tugged her hand gently to pull her up. She bent down and stood up with a matching beach bag. The top of her head reached his chin.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Shanna said.

  Chapter Two

  What the hell had happened to Kevin and me? How could she not know he was gay? Shanna always thought she’d had pretty good gay-dar—obviously not. And the man was fabulous in bed. How the hell could he have been that good if he was gay? She damn well knew she wasn’t the only one leaving their bed satisfied. Maybe he was bisexual. Well whatever his sexual preferences, she was just glad she’d found out before she married him. Saved herself a world of grief. She couldn’t believe her best friend, LaToya, when she said she’d seen Kevin in the changing room kissing Ben. Just minutes before she walked down the aisle to marry him. The bastard! How could he do this to her?

  She’d asked her sister, Eboni, to go and get their parents and the priest. When they came back, she’d told them she was calling off the wedding and why. Her mother wanted to kill Kevin. Her father had to stand in front of the door with the priest at his side to prevent her mother from chasing down Kevin and doing him bodily harm.

  “This makes no sense, sis,” Eboni said. “Are you sure?” They both turned to look at LaToya sitting on the bench. Her only attendant besides Eboni.

  “I know what I saw,” LaToya said, lifting her chin in the air. “Kevin’s lips attached to Ben’s, and arms all wrapped up in each other.”

  “That’s it. I’m leaving,” Shanna said. “I have to get out of here.”

  “At least talk to him first,” Father Thomas advised.

  She shook her head, yanking the veil off her hair and tossing it on the floor. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “The limo’s out front,” her father said. “You go ahead and leave if you have to; we’ll make an announcement to everyone.”

  “I’ll go and talk to Kevin,” Father Thomas stated.

  Shanna didn’t wait to see what happened next, or who did what, and she didn’t want to hear anymore. She ran out of the room, down the hallway, and through the front door, right into the waiting limo. The limo took her straight to the airport where she changed her clothes along with the plane tickets for Bermuda to a single ticket to Margarita. It was the next flight out. She’d never been there, and couldn’t give a damn about the cost. In truth, she just wanted to find someplace no one would think to look for her to give herself time to think, to release the future she’d planned for herself.

  She understood why she’d left her wedding, but why was she now heading back to her room with a stranger in tow? That reasoning was one she didn’t want to dwell on too closely. She remembered him from last night. Remembered those amber eyes. Even though the encounter lasted mere seconds, in the midst of all that turmoil, his presence had still registered around the region of her bruised heart. Calming her then and now. When she’d seen him again, and touched him, the bruise seemed to retreat a little. Maybe he could help that bruise retreat a little more. She needed him to hold her. She needed to feel wanted. She needed.

  She released his hand, stopped in front of her door, and took out her key card. Glancing up at him once, she reassured herself the desire was still there. Like a beacon, it drew her. She opened the door and stepped inside. He followed behind her, and she heard the soft click of the door as it closed. Walking over to the side table, she put her bag down on it. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. You?”

  “No.” She dropped the towel, headed in the direction of the bathroom, untying her bikini top as she went and letting it drop to the floor. Pausing only long enough to pull off the bottoms, she dropped those, too. She left the bathroom door open and moved over to the shower stall, turned on the water, and stepped in. The water further warmed her already overheated skin, so she adjusted the temperature, making it a little cooler. A sound had her glancing toward the doorway. Naked, white male stood there.

  At six feet of solidly-packed, chocolate muscle, she’d always thought her fiancé—ex-fiancé—Kevin had a fine physic, but he held nothing over Ross. His was not the body of a muscle-bound wrestler. Instead, Ross’ muscles were lean and tight, more fluid, built for movement, but still powerful. A faint line of dark hair separated broad shoulders and taut pecs. He was over six feet of tanned toned ripped male, and then some. His more than ample sex grew, straining outward, pulsing as she watched, and his abdominal muscles clenched. Her inner muscles tightened in instinctual response.

  “Can I come in?” he asked. His voice was husky and had her shivering in spite of the warmth radiating off her body.

  Her gaze lifted to his face. Separately, his featu
res were striking, but together they were downright lethal. Brown wavy hair fell across a high forehead; long lashes framed amber colored eyes, his nostrils flared as if he was having trouble breathing. And she wanted to feel the press of his lips on hers, all over her. She especially wanted to grab hold of that slightly fuller lower one. She couldn’t wait to touch him, period—or have him touch her.

  She'd left all rational thoughts behind her yesterday. It was too painful to think. She pushed the shower door open wider for him. The complimentary little shampoo bottle slipped from her hand to his and she turned around. It didn’t take him long to lather her hair. His large, soap-filled hands covered her entire scalp. His touch was a caress massaging, soothing, and cleansing all at the same time. A purr of pleasure left her throat. His fingers moved to her shoulders then glided around to her breasts. For a man with such strong hands, he was very gentle. Her nipples peaked into sharp points at his touch.

  She raised her hands above her head, encircling his neck; white suds ran down her chest. Lost in sensation, she tilted her head back and to the side to let the water wash the soap from her hair. Shanna gave him full and uninhibited access to her body. He laid his hands on her forehead, catching water and pushing it backward to finish rinsing her off. Then he wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She loved the contrasting feel of his masculinity, all silky flesh encased in iron, grinding against her rear.

  “I need you to make love to me. So you better have a condom.”

  His hardened body froze behind her. “Shit. Still in my wallet in my pants' pocket.” He turned her to face him. “We won’t need it just yet, I promise. Trust me.”

  “Trust isn’t something I’m willing to feel right now.”

  He moved his hands to her shoulder and neck. “Then let me help you with that.”

  When she angled her head back more, his lips covered hers and he plundered her open mouth. With one kiss he took everything, became everything and gave her even more. Maybe even more than she’d bargained for, there was so much tenderness. He managed to breach her surface emotions and reach the very essense of her. She moaned as he sucked on her tongue.