Love, Me (11 page)

“And that's why he sends you all the presents he does—because he's the only family you have?”

Chelsea shook her head. “Those presents aren't from Tucker.” She laughed. “Except for the truly trashy salt-and-pepper shakers he sends when he's on the road.”

“You mean there's someone else?”

“They're from me, Dakota,” she confessed, putting him out of his misery.

“What?”

“They're from me. It's like I told you—I've had to take care of myself from an early age. So I developed the habit of nurturing myself. I send myself cards…”

“What kind of cards?”

“They can be any kind that makes me feel better.” She chuckled. “I remember this one card. It was one of those really sweet, flowery, in-touch-with-your-feelings type of card. It said, ‘I don't know what you're going through, but I care.' “

“You're a crazy woman, Chelsea Stone,” Dakota said, laughing.

“Actually, I think it's an incredibly sane thing to do. We all need to take better care of ourselves. Maybe we'd start treating others better, too, if we did.”

“So you love flowers, and lingerie. What else do you love?”

“Bears. I especially love teddy bears.”

“That's it?”

“All I can think of,” she answered, still unwilling to admit her feelings for him when she wasn't certain his went past jealousy.

Screwing up his courage, Dakota blurted out the words he'd never said to anyone: “I love you.”

Her lip trembled. “I thought you were never going to say it,” she said, her eyes glassy as he pulled her into his arms.

“I love you, too, Dakota Law,” she whispered, as he crushed her against him in a breathless hug, mumbling something against her ear.

“What are you saying?”

“Hush, I'm praying for turbulence.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“Really?”

She smiled and shook her head. A wicked look gleamed in her dark eyes.

“Fetch me that blanket and pillow from the seat over there,” she told him.

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” he asked, reaching for the blanket.

“Just get the blanket.”

“But…”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Dakota. There aren't any other passengers. No one is going to see us. Haven't you ever done anything like this before?”

“No.”

“Well, I guess I'm going to be a bad influence on you, then.”

Dakota groaned. If Chelsea was confident before, now, knowing he loved her, she was cocky as hell. He was going to be in for some turbulent times—and he was looking forward to them with great joy.

“But what if the pilot comes back to use the bathroom or something and catches us?” he argued, but spread the blanket over them nevertheless.

“Then we'll just have to kill him so he doesn't sell the story to the tabloids,” she said matter-of-factly, nibbling on his ear.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” he asked, groaning as she pressed her hand against his straining fly.

“You mean protection?”

“No. I mean, if we kill the pilot, who's going to fly the plane?”

“Okay, so we let him live. We just make him promise not to tell your mother.”

“Deal,” Dakota agreed, chuckling until she made a bold forage at his zipper.

“Dakota?”

“Uh-hmm…?”

“Do you think your mother is going to like me?”

“What!”

“I asked if you thought your mother was going to like me. You are planning to take me home to meet your family, aren't you?”

The look on his face went from shock to amusement and was followed by a deep, satisfying belly laugh. “You know what? I am.”

“Dakota?”

“What?”

“This isn't going to work for me.” She shifted in her seat.

“Why not? 'Cause I got to tell you, it really works for me.”

“Because this outfit is all one piece. I'm going to have to stand on my head to get out of it.”

“Lost your nerve, have you?”

“Are you daring me, Dakota?”

“I'm daring you.”

With that she threw off the blanket and stepped into the aisle where she had enough room to peel out of the tight black cat-suit.

“You have any other dares you want to try out on me?” she demanded, standing before him with her hands on her naked hips.

“I might have just one or two—but I think I'll save them.”

“Why?”

“Because the Fasten Seat Belts sign just lit up,” he said, nodding toward the front of the cabin. He caught her as the plane gave a lurch and she fell into his lap.

“My prayers were answered,” he said, wrapping her in an encompassing embrace and pulling the blanket back over them.

“Dakota, I can't do this now!”

“Sure, you can. It will take your mind off the turbulence.”

His hands began roaming over her body beneath the soft blue blanket, driving her to distraction. She squirmed and gave tiny squeals of delight—noises he muffled with his deep, slaking kisses.

“You're going to have to learn to control those squeals that give us away, sweetheart, if you want to continue making love in public places.

And then he moaned as she shoved his pants down to his ankles and stroked him. “Hush,” she countered. “You have to learn to control yourself.”

His answer was to pull her astride him. The scent of his spicy cologne, her sweet perfume and sex mingled to permeate the air surrounding them, suffusing it with an erotic, electric charge that enhanced the very public private act they were lost in.

She wrapped herself around his hardness and slid back and forth in his lap, wet and easy.

“I love it like this, Chelsea,” he whispered hoarsely. “Every time I go into the kitchen I remember us together on the floor.”

Chelsea giggled and licked his throat. “I suppose one of these days we really ought to try a bed for novelty.”

She moaned then as he squeezed her buttocks and thrust into her deeply. She trembled around

him and cried out, gripping his powerful shoulders with her hands.

He teased her, thrusting slowly, withholding what she wanted until she begged prettily.

And then the minx, when she'd climaxed and he was climbing the crest of passion, said, “Did you hear that? Is that the pilot?”

His eyes flew open as he arched into a shattering climax of his own.

He looked into her eyes and saw that she was very satisfied with herself.

This was a woman who was going to keep him on his toes, drive him nuts and make him happy. This was true love.

T
HE PILOT DIDN'T
comment when Dakota carried a sleeping Chelsea off the plane, wrapped in a blanket.

He was taking care of her.

Something that made him feel very good. He'd needed that in his life.

Someone to take care of, someone to take care of him.

Someone to care.

When the limo pulled up to his house, he carried her inside and upstairs.

Pokey jumped down from the bed, wagging her tail and yipping.

“Yes, girl. I've brought her home.

“Home to stay.”

C
HELSEA AWOKE TO THE
sun streaming into the bedroom.

Dakota's bedroom.

As she rubbed her eyes, Pokey jumped up on the bed and lay at her feet with her tail thumping. The dog looked as if she were grinning. Looked like she was happy to see her.

She reached down to pet the dog, who took it as a cue to go find her tennis ball for a game of catch.

The pillow beside her had not been slept on. Had Dakota had second thoughts? Where was he?

She didn't have to wait long for the answer.

Within minutes, Pokey came bounding back with her yellow tennis ball in her mouth. She jumped back up on the bed and dropped it in Chelsea's lap.

“Okay, okay, I'm getting up. We'll go outside and play, you silly animal.”

Pokey yipped for her to hurry.

She threw back the blankets.

“Oopsies. I can't go outside. I don't seem to have any clothes on.”

“A capital way to start the morning, if you ask me.” Dakota strolled into the bedroom with a towel wrapped low on his lean hips and carrying a white wicker bed tray from which the most scrumptious aroma wafted.

“I had the cook make us cinnamon French toast, fresh-squeezed orange juice, hot Swiss coffee and strawberries and cream.”

“I take it you have a treadmill….”

“Actually, I have a more enjoyable method in mind for burning off the calories,” he said with a wicked wink. He set the tray down in front of her and whisked off his towel.

He leaned over the bed, picked up the yellow tennis ball and threw it into the hall where it bounced down the winding staircase. “Go fetch, Pokey.”

They both laughed as Pokey tried to make up her mind between the smells coming from the tray and her beloved tennis ball. The tennis ball won out and dishes clattered as she leaped off the bed and bounded from the room in search of it.

They sat in bed feeding each other between passionate kisses. The syrup wandered from the plate to their bodies and had to be licked off amid slaps and giggles.

The doorbell peeled and Pokey set up a commotion in the foyer.

“I'd better go see who that is before Pokey lets them in so she'll have someone to play with,” Dakota said. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a white terry-cloth robe. “Keep my place and remember where we left off, will you?” He bent to brush a kiss on her nose, then headed downstairs.

Chelsea waited, enjoying a spoonful of strawberries and cream. And then she laid down the spoon with a clatter. What if it was Melinda Jackson? She didn't want to be found naked in Dakota's bed by his assistant.

She got out of bed, went to Dakota's huge walk-in closet, selected one of his white shirts and slipped it on.

“I thought I told you to keep my place,” Dakota said, coming up behind her as she folded the sleeves back over her wrists.

“Who was it?” she asked, buttoning the shirt.

“A deliveryman.”

“Oh.”

‘It was for you.”

She turned. “For me?”

He nodded, and led her back out into the sunny bedroom where a giant teddy bear sat on a chair. Pokey stood beside it, looking up at it quizzically.

Chelsea started to cry.

“Now, now. Teddy bears aren't supposed to make you cry. You'll hurt his feelings.”

Sniffling, she went across the room to the stuffed animal that Pokey was now sniffing suspiciously.

There was a card in the bear's paws.

Chelsea looked back over her shoulder to Dakota.

“Open it.”

She picked up the envelope, slipped the card from the envelope and read.

She started to cry again.

“Oh, hell, I guess that means the answer is no, Pokey.”

Chelsea shook her head, ran across the room and threw herself into his arms.

“The answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Pokey barked as Dakota swung Chelsea around.

“We're getting married, girl. Go fetch. Go fetch my jacket.”

The dog dragged Dakota's jacket from the chair and brought it to him.

Dakota took a small black velvet box from his jacket pocket. After flipping open the lid, he held it out for Chelsea to see.

“Dakota! It's so beautiful,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes again. “But it's early morning. You couldn't have been to a jeweler's.”

Dakota smiled, pleased she liked the square-cut diamond flanked by two rubies that sparkled in the bright morning sunlight.

“I've had the ring for weeks. I just didn't have the nerve to come to you, to ask you to marry me until last night. Put it on your finger for me.”

Chelsea slipped the sparkling gem on the third finger of her left hand. “I'm engaged to be married. I can't believe it.” Grinning from ear to ear, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“I have to call Tucker and tell him,” she said, stepping back.

After getting the number where Tucker could be reached from his service, she dialed and got through.

“Hello, Tucker. Guess what. I'm getting married!”

“I know, babe. Congratulations.”

“What do you mean, you know?” she demanded, looking at Dakota.

“Your groom-to-be called me and asked my permission for your hand in marriage this morning. He said you'd told him I was your only family. You got yourself a proper suitor there, babe.”

“What did you tell him, Tucker?” she coaxed.

“I gave him my permission, of course. But I gave it on one condition.”

“What condition?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she waited for his reply.

“That I get to be best man at your wedding, of course. You know I seldom wear a tuxedo, but I do look rather dashing in one, if I do say so myself.”

“But of course, you'll be the best man,” she agreed. And then her dark eyes sparkled. “And, if you get with the program, maybe we can even make it a double wedding. Marriage is ‘in' in the nineties, Tucker.”

“Goodbye, babe. I'll talk to you later when the champagne wears off.”

Chelsea hung up the phone. “Tucker thought we were drinking champagne. Imagine, at this hour!”

“We'll have champagne at the studio after we record our duet this afternoon,” Dakota promised.

Chelsea wrung her hands. “I'm nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

Dakota laughed. “About the duet, or about marrying me?”

“Both.”

“I'm not letting you change your mind about either,” he vowed. “In fact, if I have my way there'll be a lot of songs we sing together.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My record company is considering trying an album like the classic with Tammy Wynette and George Jones.”

“Are you asking what I think you're asking?”

“I want you to be my partner in every area of my life, Chelsea.”

“Aren't you worried that we'll be spending too much time together?”

“Sweetheart, I've spent enough time alone.”