The Wedding Favor (29 page)

“G
od
damn
it!” Ty swore. If she bolted in a cab he’d be back to square one.

Deaf to Matt’s threats and Isabelle’s pleas, he sprang up from his seat to give chase. But Cruella was quicker. Slinging her body halfway over the table, she caught a handful of his shirt, holding him back.

For a surreal moment his legs churned the air like a cartoon character’s, while his body stayed where it was.

Then his snaps unsnapped, Adrianna lost her grip. And he shot through the restaurant without a backward glance, shirt flapping open over his chest.

Hitting the sidewalk at a run, he spotted Vicky stepping into a cab at the curb. He caught the door before she pulled it closed, shoved her over with his butt, and landed on the seat beside her.

“
What the hell?
”

He grinned at her outrage. “Where we going?” he asked as the cab swung away from the curb.

“
I’m
going home.
You’re
getting out.”

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Matt spill out onto the sidewalk, head swiveling. His gaze skipped over the cab as it turned right onto Ninth Avenue, and Ty relaxed, stretched an arm across the back of the seat.

“Why not share the fare,” he said reasonably, “since we’re practically neighbors?”

“Because I can’t stand you, that’s why.” She scrunched against the opposite door.

“Come on, honey, I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You broke my heart.”

She didn’t sound heartbroken anymore. She sounded pissed. In fact, her defiant head toss reminded him of Brescia, just before she took a chomp out of him.

“Sweetheart,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on his fractious mare, “the truth of it is, I broke my own heart too.”

For a long moment she stared at him, blue eyes dark and unreadable in the streetlight. Then the cab stopped at a light. She shoved open the door and bolted out into traffic.

It caught him completely off guard. Blistering a curse, he dug out a twenty, jammed it in the slot, and shot out into the street—directly in the path of a black Hummer limo that was gunning it through the red light.

His reflexes saved him. Pivoting on one foot, he plastered himself to the cab as the Hummer blew past, its draft dragging at his open shirt. Drunk bachelorettes bobbed up through the sunroof, waving champagne and siren-calling him to join them. He tossed them a wave, grateful to be alive, then yelped when a taxi shot out from the curb, missing him by an inch.

“God
damn
it!” he ripped out. Only in New York would traffic be as thick as fleas at midnight! Stabbing his middle finger at the pokerfaced cabbie, he dropped an F-bomb on the whole damn city.

Gaining the sidewalk in one piece, he gulped a breath, spotted Vicky legging it down Forty-second Street, heading for Times Square. God
damn
it, he’d lose her there for sure in the post-theater throngs. He broke into a run.

Zigzagging between tourists, around light poles and trash cans, he cursed a blue streak under his breath. Never in his life had he chased after a woman. Now here he was, running through Manhattan
in cowboy boots
. Cowboy boots that were built—like he was—for swaggering, not sprinting.

Why the hell was she making this so hard?

She turned left on Seventh, making tracks. He barreled around the corner, closing the distance.

But now the crowd was thicker, moving like a herd of grazing sheep. It slowed him down. He wanted to scream.

Up ahead, Times Square opened out in a blaze of neon, as bright as daylight and teeming, as usual, with people of all ages and nationalities, gaping up at the huge billboards, trying to spot themselves on the screens that showed the street-level crowds.

Through the sea of heads, Vicky’s sheaf of blond flashed in and out of view. For a moment he lost her altogether, then spotted her again just a few yards ahead.

He was closing in when he got trapped at the light on Forty-fifth. She made it across, leaving him in the dust.

Gnashing his teeth, he craned his neck, glimpsed her dart into the Marriott Marquis. He bit out another curse. That place was enormous, which he happened to know because the grad school girls had taken him to its famous revolving rooftop restaurant. The hotel housed other restaurants and bars, too. Vicky could disappear into one of them, or cut through to another exit and out onto a side street. He’d never find her then.

The light changed at last and he bolted into the intersection, carving a path through pedestrians, throwing “sorry” over his shoulder as he jostled and wove.

Charging through the front door, he skidded to a halt, looking around wildly. To the right was a security desk; in the center, a circular bank of elevators. This wasn’t the hotel’s lobby—that was on the eighth floor, as he’d learned when the grad students tried to persuade him to get a room with them—but even so, guests and new arrivals crisscrossed the space, going in and out of the building and the ground-level shops.

Glimpsing blond hair disappearing into an elevator, Ty took a gamble. Darting through the crowd, leaping over a trailing suitcase, he hurled his body through the closing doors.

Chapter Twenty-seven

V
icky flattened against the wall as a body hurtled into her elevator, crashing against the back wall. The other woman in the car shrieked. Her husband yanked her behind him, legs braced to defend her against the half-dressed barbarian invading their civilized hotel.

Gaping at the invader, Vicky wanted to scream. How had he found her? Why wouldn’t he
leave her alone
?

Recovering herself, she lunged for the doors. Too late; they closed, and her palms slapped cold brass.

Frustrated and furious, humiliated and hurt, she spun around to confront, once and for all, the exasperating egomaniac, the insensitive jackass, the maddening
pain in her ass
who drove her to bail out on her own celebration and flee him through the streets of New York.

Then she got a look at his face. Her jaw snapped shut. Her neck hair stood up. And her fight-or-flight instinct turned on a dime, screaming in her head to
get the hell out of there
!

Simmering like a pot left too long on the stove, Tyrell scraped his hair back with his fingers and trapped her gaze. Sweat gleamed at his temples, his breath hissed through his teeth. Straightening to his full, impressive height and breadth, he seemed to fill the car. Vicky gulped. The couple wedged in the corner inched along the wall toward the door. With luck, they’d escape and call security before he could strangle her.

Then the elevator dinged, the doors opened, and all four of them tumbled out. The couple turned left and hoofed it down the hall. Vicky bolted right, but Ty caught her in two strides. Spinning her like a dancer, he pulled her against him, chest to chest, and strapped both arms around her.

“We can do this easy,” he growled, “or we can do it hard.”

“Or I can scream bloody murder,” she snarled back.

“Try it. I’ll stuff you down that laundry chute.”

“At least I’ll be away from
you
.”

“I’ll be right behind you. We’ll finish this in the basement, where no one can hear you scream.” His tiger eyes burned bright.

Damn it, she did
not
feel like sliding down the laundry chute.

“Get it off your chest, then,” she threw at him, bravely. “Tell me about your
aha moment
.”

His jaw went tighter. “You see? It’s that smart mouth of yours that gets me so hard I can’t think straight.”

Clamping her arm in an unbreakable grip, he marched her to the stairwell door, threw it open, and propelled her through. It fell closed with a sinister thunk.

Backing her against the dingy wall, he slapped his palms on the concrete, caging her in. The bare ceiling bulb glared down on his sun streaks, turning them to brass. His eyes were slits.

“I almost got creamed by a Hummer chasing after you.”

“Too bad. About the
almost
part.”

His lip curled menacingly. “I can turn you over my knee, tan that pretty fanny of yours.”

“Wouldn’t you just love to?” She curled her lip back at him. “I’m wearing the leopard spots. With the matching bra. Not that you’ll ever see them again.”

His eyes went dark. “You’ll show ’em to me,” he promised, and his voice rasped her skin. “Before the night’s over, I’ll peel ’em off you with my teeth.”

Her mouth went dry. Butterflies swooped in her stomach. How could she want him so badly after everything he’d done? After she’d come so far?

She tried to shove him away, but she might as well push against a barn. His chest was hard under her hands, hard and warm, rising and falling with his ragged breath.

Oh God. She should get her hands off him
right away
.

But his shirt was open, his chest hair tickled her palms. And his abs were
right there
. Like big squares of chocolate, only even more tempting. How could she not touch them?

She flicked a glance at his face, and wished she hadn’t. His eyes burned. She’d forgotten that he could read her mind.

“Go ahead.” His drawl was barely a whisper, hot and sensual.

She licked her lips. Dropped her eyes to his waist. Dragged her fingertips down, down, till her thumbs hit the first ridge, then the second. Then the third. His stomach quivered under her touch. Sweat filmed his skin.

She let a noise slip out, a wanting noise born in the wet heat between her thighs. It swirled up through her quivering stomach, curling around her thrumming heart until it spilled out in a moan that galvanized him like electricity.

His mouth came down on hers, hard and wet, kissing her like he was starving for it. He shoved her shirt up to her neck and pulled her bra down, popping her breasts out into his hands.

She went back at him the same way, slanting her lips, sucking his tongue. Sliding her hands under his shirt, raking her nails down his back. Lost in the heat, she forgot about heartache, about tomorrow, next week, next year. All that mattered was this minute, all she wanted was him.

The noises they made, the groans, the whimpers, were a language all their own, speaking need and saying
now
. She fumbled with his jeans while he opened hers, pushed his hand down the front. Slid his fingers inside her soaking panties, inside her. Drew the moisture out and rubbed it around.

Her fingers went nerveless, his button-fly beyond her. Pushing her hand aside, he freed himself, then wrapped her palm around him, so hard, so hot, and stroked himself with her fist.

“Oh God, please.” That was her own voice, begging. “Please, please, please . . .”

His lips dragged across her cheek, down her jaw, to her throat. “Tell me what you want, honey. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” she gasped out. “Inside me. Now.”

He let go of her hand. She kept stroking his cock as he pulled her off the wall and walked her to the railing. He pulled his hand out of her pants, and she tried to stop him.

“Trust me,” he said. Then he turned her around, bent her over the rail. Pulled her jeans over her rump, let them drop to her ankles.

“Mmm,” he hummed. Cool air fanned her buttocks. He palmed her cheeks. “Honey, your ass is beautiful. I could eat it up.” He took a bite.

“
Seriously? Now?
” Her whole body quivered. Behind her, he laughed, a hot, throaty sound. And peeled her leopard-spot panties off with his teeth.

He’d won that round but she didn’t care; the rip of foil riveted her. His knee spread her thighs. He must have felt her tense up, because he stroked a hand over her back. “Don’t worry, honey, you’re so wet I’m gonna slide right in.”

“Promises, promises,” she ground out through her teeth. Then, “Yes. Yes,” she moaned out, as he gripped her hips and thrust. “Yes,” as he buried himself, “yes, yes, yes,” as he pumped hard and fast.

She gripped the railing till it scored her palms. Her breasts bounced, her breath rasped. Turning her head, she watched him over her shoulder. His hair flopped over his forehead. His chest glistened with sweat.

He locked his gleaming eyes on hers. “I got you, honey,” he panted out. “Now touch yourself. Come with me.”

She could do this. She could come with him in the stairwell of a Times Square hotel. “Okay, yes.” She found the sweet spot. “Oh. My.
God!
”

His fingers dug into her hips. The cords in his neck stood out in ropes.

And then she squeezed her eyes shut, body quaking, heart pounding. Her knees folded and she let herself go.

They flew over the edge together.

A
door opened a few floors up.

Ty muttered a curse. This was no time for company. He was practically helpless, with one arm hooked under Vicky’s hips holding most of her weight, the other propped on the railing holding his own.

Then boots drummed the stairs, bringing Vicky to life. “You okay?” he asked, afraid to release her.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Her voice quavered, but she stepped away from his arm, had her jeans hoisted and zipped and her tits tucked in before he got his own fly buttoned.

It was a false alarm, though. The guy stopped at the floor above them, another door opened and closed, and silence reigned again.

Still, Vicky looked skittish; head down, hands clasped. He recognized the symptoms, a textbook case of quickie remorse. In a minute she’d try to bolt again just on principle.

He could
not
let that happen.

Draping an arm over her shoulders, he went for big-strong-man-reluctantly-asking-the-little-woman-for-help. “Honey, I’m afraid I need a hand. I must’ve pulled something in my back.”

Her eyes came up, guilt-stricken. “Oh God, it’s my fault! I practically collapsed after . . .” She let it trail off, blushing so red that he almost felt bad for faking it. Almost.

He grimaced, bravely facing the pain. “If you wrap your arm around me, I’m pretty sure I can make it to the elevator.”

“Sure, okay. Um, let me close your shirt first. People will think we . . .”

She was so damn cute when she was embarrassed. He held off teasing her—there’d be time for that later—and let her snap his snaps without bothering to point out that his fingers weren’t injured. It gave him a minute to admire her pink cheeks and long lashes without getting his nose bitten off.

“You can tuck it in if you want to,” he said when she finished.

She narrowed her eyes, but he must have managed to look innocent because all she said was “It’s fine like it is.” Then she stepped under his arm, looped hers around his waist, and helped him hobble to the elevators.

When they got in, he pushed the button for eight. “What’s on eight?” she asked.

“The lobby, honey. I’m checking in.”

“You are? Why?”

“No way I can get home with this back.” He wagged his head dolefully. “Last time this happened I was in bed for a week.”

“Seriously? Maybe we should go to the emergency room.”

“Been there, done that. They’ll just tell me to stretch out on a nice, firm bed.” The elevator stopped and he made a pitiful stab at hobbling toward the doors. She ducked quickly under his arm again.

“This is ridiculous,” she said as he headed for the check-in sign. “You can’t stay here for a week.”

“Where better? At least they’ll bring me room service.”

“I suppose. But . . .” She looked so confounded that he bit his cheek to keep from grinning.

“I need a room,” he said to the young woman at the desk, “with a king-sized bed.” Vicky stepped back as if to signal to the woman that she wouldn’t be sharing it with him. He bit down harder on his cheek. She’d be in his bed, all right. She just didn’t know it yet.

He signed the receipt, then they hobbled back to the elevator. When the doors closed behind them, he hit the button for twenty-six, then flicked a quick glance at Vicky. She looked skittish again, like guilt might not carry her as far as his room. So he tried a different tack.

“In case I didn’t mention it, you were amazing up on that stage tonight. You pretty much tore my heart out at the end. Even Cruella teared up.”

She turned a pretty shade of pink. The doors opened, and her arm looped around his waist again. “I was lucky to have such a great first role,” she said as he steered her to his room.

He swiped the card through the slot. “You’re too modest. I don’t know much about the acting business, but I can recognize talent as well as anyone.” He kept his arm over her shoulders as he limped inside. “And honey, you’ve got talent in spades.”

She smiled at him, shy and sweet. She hadn’t aimed that smile at him in weeks, and it hit him hard in the solar plexus. His heart skipped a couple of beats, then took off at a sprint. And his cock, that foolproof barometer of sexual attraction, stiffened again, not ten minutes after he’d come so hard he almost went down on his knees.

No question about it. Vicky got to him, inside and out. He locked the door behind them.

The bed looked huge in the tiny room, covered by a fluffy white comforter and eight giant pillows. He hobbled toward it and she went along willingly, supporting him when he leaned on her. This would be so damn easy.

Too easy. She’d think he flattered her just to get her in bed. And while that was true as far as the timing went, he actually meant every word he’d said.

He’d never convince her of that, though, so it was probably best if he made her good and mad one more time before he got inside her again.

Pausing at the bedside, he scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Of course, I have to take most of the credit. If not for me, you wouldn’t be on your way to stardom.”

She reacted automatically. “
Seriously?
You want the credit for my success, assuming it ever happens?”

He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “You bet I do. Hell, the whole fake flirtation was my idea. And it was me that wrecked the reception and landed us in the news.” He turned his free hand palm up, like it was obvious. “You have to admit it, honey. If not for me, you’d still be slaving away at Marchand, Riley, and White, wondering when Winnie was gonna bang your new secretary. You definitely owe me.”

Her brows slammed down. “The only thing I
owe you
, Tyrell Brown, is a kick in the nuts. I got fired because of you! I was investigated by the Committee on Professional Standards! I could’ve been disbarred!”

“But you weren’t, were you?”

“No, but—”

“So what’s the problem?” He ticked it off on his fingers. “You’re out from under Cruella’s thumb, away from a job you hated anyway, you get free coffee every day, and you’re finally doing what you always wanted to do.”

He could hear her teeth grind. She couldn’t deny it, so she went on the attack.

“Why are you in New York, anyway?”

“I got offered this teaching job. Thought I’d see how it fits.”

“And?”

“And I like it. More than I expected to. They offered me another year and I’m thinking about it.”

“Another year in New York?” She blanched. “What about your ranch? Don’t they need you there, doing ranch stuff?”

“Joe doesn’t need me day to day. And I can fly back whenever I miss it too much.” He cocked his head. “Make you nervous having me around the corner?”