People wait for years to get tickets to the Masters!"
"The daughter of the tournament coordinator was a sorority sister of mine. I told her that my husband-to-be, the infamous Rucker McClure, loved golf more than anything in the world except me and grits. And that tickets to the Masters would be the best wedding present I could give him."
The look in his eyes was so loving that she gazed back in rapt silence, her mind blank and an awed little smile on her lips. He put his arms around her and studied her upturned face.
His low, gruff voice nearly melted her. "I take you to be my wife, to love and cherish, no matter what, for as long as I live. And afterward, too, if there's any way to arrange it."
She smiled wider at his somewhat practical rendition of the vows. "I take you to be my husband, to love and cherish, no matter what, for as long as I live. And afterward, too, because I'm sure you'll need someone to keep you out of trouble in heaven."
He sighed happily and brushed a kiss across her mouth. "You've got me, ladybug. You've got me for good."
"I'll never let you go," she promised.
Never .
"Never," Dinah whispered out loud. The sound of her own voice woke her from the uncomfortable half-sleep. The panic of disorientatlon, of waking too many times in too many strange and unpleasant places, jerked her eyes open in cold fear.
She sat in the floor on the truck's passenger side, her legs bunched against the door, her blue wool poncho wrapped around her. Overhead the windows let in the dim light of early dawn, and she glimpsed the tops of an oak grove. Rucker lay on his back on the seat beside her, his knees drawn up awkwardly.
He had his face turned toward her. The sight of him sleeping only inches away was another shock, but of a different sort. She was still desperate and vulnerable, but she wasn't alone anymore. I love you so much , she thought.
Thinking of nothing but that, she made a soft, keening sound of happiness and scrambled to her knees. Trembling, Dinah slowly joined her mouth to his.
For just a second his mouth remained relaxed in sleep, then its subtle tightening warned that he was groggily aware of her presence. Dinah was too reckless to stop; he would push her away at any moment, but she'd take as much of his affection as she could until then.
She nuzzled his mustache, then ran her tongue over his lips and pressed her mouth tighter to his. To her amazement his mouth became mobile, accepting, giving. A shiver of desire ran through her like wildfire.
His blue, quilted outdoorsman's coat was unsnapped. Dinah placed a hand, palm down, on his broad chest. The heat and hardness of it radiated through the soft plaid shirt. She stroked lightly, then lifted her hand to his throat, where she drew a fingertip along the ruddy skin.
She dipped down to the collar of his white T-shirt, where curly hair peeked out. Still kissing him. Dinah brushed her finger across that hair, remembering how many wonderful times she'd nestled beside him with her cheek against the tickling fur.
He inhaled roughly and stirred. Deep in his throat he made a small, primitive sound that was a pure masculine response to her touch. Dinah kissed his chin, his jaw, his forehead. She stroked his hair and studied his face with an almost reverent gaze.
Her other hand trailed lightly down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans. Oh, how he had loved her uninhibited caresses. So many times she had wakened him this way, her hands bawdy and her kisses delicate until he reached for her. eager to return the attention.
Dinah slipped her palm over the front of his jeans and found him eager now, though he still breathed with the languid rhythm of sleep. The slow heat of desire rose inside her, and her swollen breasts ached with sensations that only his hands could soothe.
Dinah rested her forehead against his. "Oh, honey," she mouthed silently. "I want you so much."
She knew that as soon as he woke up, which would be any moment now, he'd be
"The daughter of the tournament coordinator was a sorority sister of mine. I told her that my husband-to-be, the infamous Rucker McClure, loved golf more than anything in the world except me and grits. And that tickets to the Masters would be the best wedding present I could give him."
The look in his eyes was so loving that she gazed back in rapt silence, her mind blank and an awed little smile on her lips. He put his arms around her and studied her upturned face.
His low, gruff voice nearly melted her. "I take you to be my wife, to love and cherish, no matter what, for as long as I live. And afterward, too, if there's any way to arrange it."
She smiled wider at his somewhat practical rendition of the vows. "I take you to be my husband, to love and cherish, no matter what, for as long as I live. And afterward, too, because I'm sure you'll need someone to keep you out of trouble in heaven."
He sighed happily and brushed a kiss across her mouth. "You've got me, ladybug. You've got me for good."
"I'll never let you go," she promised.
Never .
"Never," Dinah whispered out loud. The sound of her own voice woke her from the uncomfortable half-sleep. The panic of disorientatlon, of waking too many times in too many strange and unpleasant places, jerked her eyes open in cold fear.
She sat in the floor on the truck's passenger side, her legs bunched against the door, her blue wool poncho wrapped around her. Overhead the windows let in the dim light of early dawn, and she glimpsed the tops of an oak grove. Rucker lay on his back on the seat beside her, his knees drawn up awkwardly.
He had his face turned toward her. The sight of him sleeping only inches away was another shock, but of a different sort. She was still desperate and vulnerable, but she wasn't alone anymore. I love you so much , she thought.
Thinking of nothing but that, she made a soft, keening sound of happiness and scrambled to her knees. Trembling, Dinah slowly joined her mouth to his.
For just a second his mouth remained relaxed in sleep, then its subtle tightening warned that he was groggily aware of her presence. Dinah was too reckless to stop; he would push her away at any moment, but she'd take as much of his affection as she could until then.
She nuzzled his mustache, then ran her tongue over his lips and pressed her mouth tighter to his. To her amazement his mouth became mobile, accepting, giving. A shiver of desire ran through her like wildfire.
His blue, quilted outdoorsman's coat was unsnapped. Dinah placed a hand, palm down, on his broad chest. The heat and hardness of it radiated through the soft plaid shirt. She stroked lightly, then lifted her hand to his throat, where she drew a fingertip along the ruddy skin.
She dipped down to the collar of his white T-shirt, where curly hair peeked out. Still kissing him. Dinah brushed her finger across that hair, remembering how many wonderful times she'd nestled beside him with her cheek against the tickling fur.
He inhaled roughly and stirred. Deep in his throat he made a small, primitive sound that was a pure masculine response to her touch. Dinah kissed his chin, his jaw, his forehead. She stroked his hair and studied his face with an almost reverent gaze.
Her other hand trailed lightly down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans. Oh, how he had loved her uninhibited caresses. So many times she had wakened him this way, her hands bawdy and her kisses delicate until he reached for her. eager to return the attention.
Dinah slipped her palm over the front of his jeans and found him eager now, though he still breathed with the languid rhythm of sleep. The slow heat of desire rose inside her, and her swollen breasts ached with sensations that only his hands could soothe.
Dinah rested her forehead against his. "Oh, honey," she mouthed silently. "I want you so much."
She knew that as soon as he woke up, which would be any moment now, he'd be
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