Maternity Bride

But all of that was nothing compared to what he felt now. As if a fist had slammed into his belly, his breath left him in a powerful rush the moment his gaze locked on the smooth, tanned surface of her back.

His gaze followed the column of her spine and rested on the curve of her bottom. His palms itched to stroke that expanse of flesh and then to explore further, beyond the boundaries of that incredible dress.

Mike’s groin tightened uncomfortably, and he had to muffle a groan as he gripped the chin straps of their helmets in one hand. He took three long strides and caught up to her easily. Taking Denise’s arm with his free hand, he said, “You should have warned me about that dress.”

She stopped and looked up at him. A knowing smile curved her lips, but she asked anyway, “What do you mean?”

What could he say? He wasn’t about to admit to her what that dress did to him. Nor, he thought with a glance at O’Doul’s front door, did he want to think about the impact that dress would have on the men inside. His gaze shifted to her again and Mike found himself staring into those deep blue eyes. After a long moment, she looked away and he took the opportunity to bring himself back under control.

“Let’s just say, I like a good tan. Especially when there aren’t any suit lines.”

She only smiled and Mike’s racing brain took care of the rest. Immediately, he imagined her nude, lying under the hot sun. And in his mind, he was right beside her, smoothing lotion onto her warmed skin. He could almost feel her soft, pliant flesh beneath his fingertips.

Great. Now he had that mental image to drive him nuts all night.

Steering her toward the door, he grumbled through gritted teeth, “C’mon. I’m hungry.”

The fact that he was hungrier for tanned, smooth skin than he was for pizza, had nothing to do with anything.

She should have gone to O’Doul’s years ago.

If she had guessed just how much fun the game of pool could be, she might have risked her father’s ire. Of course, she wasn’t sure if it was the game, or her teacher that she was enjoying so much.

She bent at the waist, set her left hand on the worn, green felt and laid the tip of her cue stick between her curled fingers. Behind her, Mike stood close and leaned over her, his right hand on hers, his chest pressed to her naked back.

Warmth seeped through him down to her bones and she felt the unmistakable, hard bulge of his groin against her behind. She swallowed and tried desperately to listen to what he was saying.

“Take your time, honey,” Mike whispered near her ear. “We’ve got all night to line this shot up.”

All night. She inhaled the scent of Old Spice and wondered why more men didn’t wear the old-fashioned cologne. Spicy and cool and sexy, it seemed to be everywhere, drawing her deeper into fantasies she had no business indulging and even less of a chance of experiencing.

He worked the pool cut back and forth between her fingers and instead of pool, her mind was caught on another mental image created with that smooth, in-and-out motion.

Glancing to one side, she noticed a biker Mike had called Bear, watching her with knowing eyes. Like the other men in the place, he wore jeans and leather and a leering expression that would have worried her if not for Mike’s presence. She turned her gaze back to the pool table in time to see her stick make contact with the cue ball.

Laughter rose up around the table as the white ball missed its mark by inches. Mike straightened up and Denise, suddenly so warm she could hardly breathe, took a step away from him.

“Hey Mike,” one of the men called over the pounding, pulsing beat of the music, “losin’ your touch?”

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” a woman in the crowd answered for him. More laughter and Denise was grateful for the smokiness of the room. Hopefully, it was enough to hide the flush she felt staining her cheeks.

The other man in the game, someone called Stoner, took his shot and missed.

“Our turn,” Mike said over the music and waved her back to the table.

“I think I’ll just watch for a while,” she said with a shake of her head. “You finish the game.”

“Sure?”

She nodded, knowing damn well the only reason she was quitting was because she didn’t know if she could take being that close to him again.

Denise held her pool cue and watched Mike pick up another stick and work his way around the green felt table. He paused every other step or so to exchange some comment with one of his friends and each time he smiled, the knot in her stomach tightened.

She swayed a bit unsteadily and tightened her grip on the stick in her hands, using it more for balance than anything else. Apparently, the beer she’d had with her pizza—the best pizza she’d ever tasted—had gone right to her head. Fog nestled in her brain and Denise struggled to clear it. Of course, the loud rock music blasting over the speakers, the crowded press of bodies in the place and the heavy cloud of blue-gray cigarette smoke wasn’t helping things any.

A huge man with tattooed forearms the size of ham shanks slapped Mike on the back in a friendly gesture that would have sent any other man sprawling to the sawdust-covered floor.

Not Mike.

The black T-shirt he wore hugged his shoulders and upper arms, defining muscles that seemed to have a life of their own. They rippled and shifted whenever he took a shot and Denise caught herself holding her breath to watch the show in admiration.

Foggy brain or not, she knew enough to realize that she was in deep trouble.

A moment later, the pool game ended when Mike sank the eight ball in a corner pocket. Cheers erupted and a dark-haired woman in jeans tight enough to cut off her circulation wrapped herself around Mike like a child’s grubby fist around a Popsicle stick.

Except that there was nothing childlike about the voluptuous brunette.

When the woman grabbed Mike’s face between her palms and planted her lips on his in a long, lusty kiss, Denise gritted her teeth and fought down the roiling in her stomach. She told herself that she had no claim on him. That it didn’t matter who he kissed. Or when. Logically, she knew that this wasn’t even a real date.

But logic had nothing to do with what she was feeling.

Mike pulled his head back, patted Celeste’s shoulder and peeled her off him. He shot a quick look at Denise’s tight features and felt...guilty, for God’s sake. Stupid. He didn’t owe her anything. He wasn’t her boyfriend—or God forbid, her husband. And the knowledge that he had no intention of getting involved didn’t do anything to quiet the storm inside him.

While he gave Celeste a gentle push toward her date for the night and walked toward his own, he told himself that Denise had no claim on him. He was as free as old Herman, up on the roof.

The fact that Herman was not real and permanently attached to the wooden building was beside the point.

When he reached Denise’s side, he took the pool cue from her and passed it off to another player.

“I don’t want to interrupt your fun,” she said loudly, to be heard over the music.

Sure you do, he thought. The look in her eye would have sliced Celeste to ribbons if the other woman had been aware of it. But he didn’t say that. Instead, as he heard the music change, he grabbed her hand and headed for the postcard-size dance floor.

She dragged behind him as he wended his way through the Friday night crowd. Once, she even tried to slip away, but he tightened his hold on her and kept walking. When he reached the small area where two other couples were already swaying in time to the music, he stopped and turned around to face her.

Her expression was mutinous, but he didn’t give a damn. He’d put up with the other men in the place ogling her all night and now, he wanted the chance to put his arms around her and hold her close. He wanted to show the rest of them that Denise was his.

At least for tonight.

He tugged her closer and she moved slowly, reluctantly.

“Dance with me,” he said into her ear and inhaled the delicate, flowery scent of her perfume.

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