Winter Blockbuster 2012 (31 page)

Her gaze lifted to his. In the mirror, their eyes met. After the beat of a charged second, Rakin let his hands fall from her shoulders. Laurel’s breath hissed out.

“We should leave now,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” Laurel was only too grateful to bolt for the door—for, despite its size, the suite had become unexpectedly oppressive.

When next they returned to the hotel, they would be married.

CHAPTER SIX

“T
HE
Venetian?”

Laurel flung her head back to read the name spelled in vertically arranged letters down the outside of the hotel’s facade.

Her groom gave her a very white smile. “We’re going to have photographs taken—we’ll want something to remember the occasion by.”

She’d been wondering which of the popular chapels Rakin had chosen for their wedding. Now Laurel flicked through the possibilities in her head. The Chapel of Bells or the Little White Chapel. Or even a wedding out at Red Rock Canyon—but then they’d hardly be coming to the Venetian for photos. Now she couldn’t help thinking what others in the resort would make of the white petal-dress that pronounced romance—and bride.

Then she shrugged her self-consciousness aside. This was Las Vegas after all. Couples got married all the time. Most likely, no one would cast them a second glance.

That smile still played around Rakin’s mouth. “You said you wanted to one day visit Venice.”

Laurel smiled back.

But that turned to a gasp of awe as they entered the Venetian’s
lobby with its high, vaulted ceilings and ornate gold-framed painted frescoes that stretched across the vast space. “Oh, wow.”

“A ride on a gondola perhaps? Would that be enough of an adventure?”

“A gondola?” A gurgle of laughter rose in her throat. “Yes, please! I can think of nothing more romantic to do on my wedding day.” And Rakin had promised there’d be photos to remember the occasion by. Kara would be impressed!

“Good.”

Laurel was even more astonished when they reached the waiting gondola. White and gold, it floated in a canal surrounded by buildings that looked like they’d been transported from Venice to be set along the cobblestone walkways beside the canal. Looking up she could see balconies with pillars and arches and intricate wrought iron, all capturing the detail of a far-away place.

A woman stepped forward offering a bouquet of white roses with sprigs of orange blossom.

“That’s a bridal bouquet,” said Laurel. Then she got it. “For the photographs?”

Rakin introduced her to Laurel as the hotel’s wedding planner. The next surprise turned out not to be a photographer as she’d half expected, but a distinguished-looking wedding celebrant in a dark suit with a flowing robe over the top.

Laurel gasped as it all suddenly made sense. This wasn’t just about wedding photos…

“We’re getting married here?”

Everything was happening so fast.

The celebrant was already shaking Rakin’s hand. Then Rakin placed his hand beneath Laurel’s elbow and steered her to the waiting gondola. White petals drifted over them,
filling the air with fragrance. As they landed on the pathway, Laurel trod carefully over them, loath to spoil such beauty.

Once they were seated the gondolier pushed off behind them, and the gondola glided along the glass-like water of the Grand Canal.

The space in the gondola was surprisingly intimate. In front of them was the celebrant, his robes giving him a majestic appearance. The limited space forced Rakin’s thigh up against hers; and the taut pressure of the hard muscle caused a wave of warmth to spread through Laurel.

The celebrant began to speak. Laurel turned her head to find Rakin watching her with hooded eyes. Her heart thumped.

Excitement churned in her stomach.

When the celebrant started to recite the wedding vows, Laurel discovered that her voice shook a little as she repeated the words in the intimacy of the gondola. She was marrying Rakin Abdellah. Not for love… but for much more sound reasons.

When he took her fingers between his, she felt a little shock at his touch. Up until now this had been so businesslike, but his touch changed that… bringing a flare of heat.

The glint of gold gave her some warning as he slowly slid the plain, unadorned band onto her fourth finger. Her eyes leapt to his in surprise. She started to apologize for not getting him a ring, but the intense focus in his eyes silenced her. Her heartbeat quickened.

“You are now man and wife.”

Man and wife.

Laurel swallowed, the daze of disbelief and disconcertment growing more acute.

A month ago she’d been contemplating marrying Eli; now she was married to a man she hadn’t met until only a few
days ago. A man who had promised her adventure and business opportunities—not love—and in exchange she would pretend to be the wife he needed to nullify his grandfather’s threats. A man who had taken over her life… her thoughts… in a way she’d never anticipated.

Behind them the gondolier broke into song. The soulful strains of “O Sole Mio” wound their way around Laurel’s heart and tugged tight. Her fingers convulsed beneath Rakin’s. For an instant she wished this had been a real romance—the wedding of her heart.

But it wasn’t.

It was a convenient arrangement—for both of them. Yet Laurel knew there was more than that to what was passing between them. Rakin had promised her experiences she’d never had… and he was delivering on that. Her world had shifted. And somewhere in the change, she hoped to find herself. Someone who didn’t live to please others, someone who took joy in her own life: the Laurel Kincaid she’d never allowed herself to be.

“It is customary for the bridal couple to kiss beneath the bridges.” The celebrant offered them an indulgent smile.

Before Laurel could graciously tell him that a kiss wasn’t necessary, the gondola swept into the shadows under the bridge and Rakin’s head swooped.

His mouth closed over hers and the bottom dropped out of her world.

Rakin’s lips were firm—very male—brooking no resistance. She tensed under the unexpected arousal that spread through her like wildfire, and kept her lips firmly pressed together, telling herself Rakin was only doing this to indulge the celebrant. Yet he made no attempt to press further for a more intimate connection. Instead, after a pause, he brushed a row of flirty kisses along the seal of her lips.

With a final kiss on the side of her mouth, he whispered, “That dimple has been driving me crazy.”

And then the bridge was behind them, and they were out in the light.

Laurel couldn’t respond with a light laugh; instead she bit back a moan of feminine frustration as he lifted his head and put inches between them. But his eyes still held hers, radiating purpose. It took Laurel only a heartbeat of time to realize that his kiss had nothing to do with the watching celebrant, and everything to do with her.

He’d wanted to kiss her.

Flutters of apprehension stirred within her. Once again, her perceptions of their relationship had shifted.

Rakin bent his head toward hers. “Now the adventure starts for real.”

A frisson of excitement feathered down Laurel’s spine. Not for the first time she realized that Rakin was a devastatingly attractive man.

To catch her breath, and gain time, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Yet still she left her fingers tangled with his, reluctant to break the remaining link between them. The rich serenade of the Neapolitan love song swirled around her, causing a flood of long-banked emotions to overflow.

This was supposed to have been a lark, mixed up with a bit of business. So how had it become the most romantic experience of her life? When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring blindly at the stars overhead.

“They’re not real,” volunteered the celebrant. “If you watch carefully the sky keeps changing.”

Of course they weren’t real! Nothing about this crazy, wild ride with Rakin was real. It was an adventure. A fantasy. Her fantasy.

Yet in another way it was the most real thing that had ever
happened to her. She was taking risks. Risks she would never have contemplated before she’d taken a leap into the unknown, out from the safe world of being one of the Charleston Kincaids, to do things that Laurel Kincaid was never expected to do.

Like marrying a sheikh she barely knew.

“The next bridge is coming up,” the celebrant’s warning broke into her thoughts.

Instantly every nerve ending sprang to alert. Laurel’s heart was racing even before she met Rakin’s gleaming dark eyes.

As the gondola glided into the shimmering shadows beneath the bridge, Laurel braced herself. Yet no amount of bracing could prepare her for the kiss that finally came. It knocked the breath out of her soul.

This time, Rakin took his time.

And this time the kiss was different.

Laurel gasped as Rakin tasted her, his tongue sweeping over her parted lips into the moistness beyond. Her senses leapt, and she found herself responding with wild ardor, kissing him back, linking her fingers around his neck.

Laurel forgot about the celebrant—forgot about the gondolier punting behind them—and gave herself up to the passion. Hot and fiery, it ignited and burned along her veins until her heartbeat thundered in her head. And all the time “O Sole Mio” washed over them. She’d been transported to another universe, an exotic world light years away from anything she’d ever known.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Laurel had said very little since they’d alighted from the wedding gondola after exchanging vows.

Rakin was starting to wonder what was keeping her so preoccupied. When they’d returned to their penthouse suite
a feast was waiting. But Laurel had only picked at bits of smoked salmon and some melon; she hadn’t touched the sparkling wine Rakin had poured for her.

Now she blocked the open doorway leading out to the balcony that overlooked the acres of hotel gardens.

“You’re very quiet,” he said at last, coming up from behind her and placing a hand on her bare arm. “Don’t you want something more to eat?”

She drew a deep breath, then said in a rush, “You promised this marriage wouldn’t be about sex.”

He did a double take. Had Laurel thought his concern for her was a come-on? “It isn’t.”

“Then why…” She cocked her head and dropped her eyes to rest pointedly where his hand lingered on her forearm “…that?”

His gaze followed hers.
Ah
.

“I like touching—I’m a very demonstrative man.”

“Always?”

“Not always,” he admitted.

“Then when?”

When he liked someone. When he was attracted to someone. And both applied to Laurel.

He made a sound that was half sigh, half laugh. “Busted. It seems that some sex might be involved after all.”

But Laurel didn’t laugh along with him. Instead, her gaze lifted to his face. “Frankly, I’ve never known what the fuss is about.”

She said it with innocent artlessness that was an affront to his prowess. Rakin was utterly certain he could change her mind. Arousal leapt through him at the very notion of teaching Laurel about the adventures of love. Huskily he said, “I could show you exactly what the fuss is about.”

That evoked a startled look. The flush spread along her
throat, down over the décolleté that her exquisite white wedding dress left exposed. She tried to laugh—it came out a strangled croak. “No, thanks.”

But her eyes dropped to his bottom lip, lingered for a long moment, then leapt back to meet his before scuttling away. And in his trousers his erection grew rigid. Laurel was curious. And, forget killing the cat, her curiosity was going to be the death of him.

“Okay. No sex, only marriage,” he promised, and wondered how the hell he was going to keep such a stupid vow.

Her tongue moistened her lower lip. “I wasn’t even thinking about sex.”

Who was she kidding? She’d brought the damn subject up! Lowering his gaze to her lush, red mouth, he said softly, “Of course you were. You’re a very beautiful woman. You must fend off propositions all the time.”

“I try to head them off before they happen,” Laurel said with blunt honesty.

That brought his gaze back to her face and he searched to read what she was telling him. “You freeze them out?”

“Freeze sounds so… cold. I try to be a little kinder.”

He gazed at her for a very long moment. The green eyes were more vulnerable than he’d ever seen them. They’d turned the soft, delicate shade of spring leaves dampened by rain. Rakin got the impression he was seeing a side of Laurel that few people ever did.

“What are you thinking?”

He shook his head, doubting Laurel would be comfortable with his observation. “Eli was right.”

“About what?” she asked suspiciously.

“You really are a very nice woman.”

Her lips curved up. “The feeling is mutual. I think you’re
a very nice man. So if it’s not for sex, then why kiss me like that in the gondola?”

Rakin placed a hand on the doorframe on either side of her. “I could say to seal the terms of our agreement.”

“It’s a business agreement—it didn’t need a kiss to conclude it, and it definitely didn’t need two kisses.”

He restrained himself from pointing out she hadn’t rebuffed either kiss.

“I’m not going to lie,” he settled for saying instead. “I would very much enjoy making love to you. It would be an intensely sensual and pleasurable experience for both of us. Another adventure—more for you to discover, I have no doubt about that. But if you wish sex to play no part in our arrangement, I will respect that.”

But it would not be easy.

When she didn’t respond, he grew more serious. “What are you waiting for? Do you believe there’s someone out there in the world just for you? Someone who you won’t want to freeze out?”

“Honestly? Love’s been more than a little elusive. I’m not sure I really know what it is—even though I know there is a great deal more to it than sweet words. Kara and Eli have proved that to me.” She shrugged. “Frankly, I’d settle for a marriage with the promise of adventure rather than love.”

Relief filled Rakin, and the tension twisting his gut that all that talk about love and babies always brought drained out of him. “Adventure I can give you.”