Alphas of Red Moon Ranch Complete Series Page 6

  Holly glanced at Alice, who looked just as surprised to see him. She lifted her palms in a helpless shrug. Holly had planned to tell Chris about the marriage; she’d just decided to tell him with a ring already on her finger. To avoid a situation like this.

  “Chris, how did you get here?” Holly finally asked.

  “Through your father. He told me you were one legal document away from eloping and I should come and knock some sense into you.” He was smiling. A smile he reserved solely for moments when he thought he was the funniest guy in the room. “I’m kidding,” he added when he realized he was the only one amused. “He just mentioned it was a small wedding and you weren’t sending out invitations, so I figured I’d save you the phone call.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” Holly said. As usual, he didn’t listen closely enough to catch her sarcasm.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alice mouth, Do you want me to—? followed by a finger-slitting-across-the-throat gesture. Holly snorted a laugh, which made Chris look. Alice folded her arms and covered her tracks quickly with, “So what’s this emergency?”

  “Oh. Well, Mr. Wright has regretfully sent me in his stead. Big, overseas meeting. Germany. I’m sorry, Holl.”

  He gave Holly’s shoulder a squeeze; he knew how much her father’s lack of time for her got to her. The news did sting; unfortunately, Chris was also the last person she wanted comforting her. “It’s fine,” she said, brushing him off.

  “Who’s going to walk you down the aisle?” Alice asked, the sudden disruption of the wedding plans making her voice reach an octave too high.

  “Oh. Well, if you need a strong male figure in your life, I can do it,” Chris offered casually. As though that hadn’t been his plan all along.

  “Oh, hell no—” Alice started.

  “Alice,” Holly interrupted, eyes pleading. “Can you give us a second?”

  Alice looked reluctant, but then gave a nod and left. Not without shooting Chris daggers on her way out. “She’s charming. As always,” Chris scoffed as the door closed behind Alice. When he turned back to Holly, however, his voice softened. “So is that a yes?” He stood close enough for her to smell his cologne—a muted, perfumed smell, like flowers pressed in the center of an old book.

  “Yes, of course,” Holly said. Her voice was nearly breathless.

  A grin cut across his features. “Good.”

  Chris swiveled around on his polished shoes and walked out victoriously. However, before he could make it out the door, Holly spoke out. “Chris.”

  He turned. She stepped over to meet him, her heels clicking on the wooden floors, and looked him dead in the eyes. “If you stand up and object or in any way try to ruin this wedding, I swear, my soon-to-be husband will tear your throat out. Understood?”

  Chris’s mouth opened, and then shut, like a fish on a hook. Outside, she heard the piano music start up. Her cue. She nodded with a curt, professional, “Good,” and then turned to face the doors. “Keep up, please.” She was glad he couldn’t see her face, because she was secretly grinning like she’d just won the lottery. Had she really said that? Maybe she was going to like Mrs. Holly Westmore after all.

  Holly reached for the door handle and, in one moment of decisiveness, pushed through. The view on the other side nearly took her breath away.

  This was not how she’d thought her wedding would go down, in the middle of a ranch farm, thrown together at the last second by Jacob’s family. But she’d tried it her way once before. In a church, surrounded by flowers, white walls and high ceilings. Didn’t work out so well the first time. And this—the rustic benches, the fresh air, the arbor entwined with lilies—it just felt right.

  And then there was the man (oh, the man) grinning crookedly at the end of the aisle.

  Her breath caught when she saw him. He wore black slacks and a formal black jacket, with a crisp white shirt and smart navy vest underneath. And, of course, that damn John Wayne-style Stetson hat that he’d worn the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Who knew that she would be in a wedding dress, only a week later—?

  The look on his face when he saw her was equally priceless. He didn’t take his eyes off her—not once—as she walked down the aisle. She could feel Chris’s unease beside her, but she no longer cared. Out of the corner of her eye, in her row (her side was nearly empty while Jacob’s was very filled), she could see Alice, blubbering as promised.

  Finally, she stepped up beside Jacob. Her heel caught on the stand, however, and she nearly tripped backwards. Two hands reached out for her—Jacob caught her first. “I’ve got her from here,” he said to empty-handed Chris and flashed him a smile. Holly could have sworn he’d extended his canines just for that smile. Chris muttered something congratulatory under his breath and backed away onto the bench. Holly settled in beside Jacob and bit back a smile.

  “My, Mr. Westmore,” she murmured, “you clean up well.”

  “I’m full of surprises, Mrs. Westmore,” he told her as they turned to face the minister. He didn’t let go of her hand, instead holding it tighter.

  “Everyone, if you will now take your seats so we can begin,” the minister’s voice rang out. He started in on the ceremony, but Holly could barely hear his words above the sound of her blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t focus on anything except this man beside her—this Beast in all his glory—rugged and loving and hers. Even the small distance between them felt too far and she found herself watching his chest to measure his breaths, then his lips, and his eyes. He caught her staring, gave her a wink. Sparks exploded inside her chest. Yes, she was proud to stand beside this one.

  “Jacob Westmore.” The minster’s voice broke her train of thought. “Do you take Holly Wright to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to cherish her, protect her, and love her for eternity?”

  “I do,” Jacob said without a second’s hesitation. His voice was heavy with purpose, but he smiled when he looked at her. He gave her hand a small squeeze and she gripped back.

  “Holly Wright. Do you take Jacob Westmore as your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to support him, guide him, and love him for all eternity?”

  She stared at Jacob in front of her. Jacob, strong, sturdy. A man who wanted her exactly as she was, no trimmings or adjustments needed. A man who would protect her at every turn. A man who would defend her and simultaneously give her the strength to defend herself. She looked into those deep, warm eyes and she knew.

  Holly smiled. “I do.”

  “Does anyone object to this union?”

  Silence from everyone. Even Chris.

  “Then I now pronounce you man and—”

  Before the minister could finish, Jacob grabbed Holly’s face and kissed her, hard. Hoots and cheers roared up from Jacob’s side of the room (and Alice). Holly laughed against his lips and then drew her hands to his shoulders, kissing his back. The cheering intensified.

  “Are you happy?” he murmured when they sealed the kiss.

  “Yes,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “Of course.”

  Making His Mark

  (Part 2)

  Chapter 16

  I do.

  Two little words and, suddenly, Holly (thirty-nine, lonely, doomed to live out her life with ten cats and a bottle of unopened wishes) was no longer just Holly. Now, she was Mrs. Holly Westmore. Wife to the Alpha of Red Moon Ranch. One kiss and she was falling, quickly, the inertia of her life scattered like ripped buttons over the floor.

  Worse, she found she liked the fall. She liked the floating feeling of her feet off the ground.

  Luckily for her, Jacob had a habit of lifting her and pinning her against things. Like when they stumbled back to his ranch from the wedding ceremony and he carried her through the door and then—lips on hers—pressed her up against the wall.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Westmore,” he growled against her mouth.

  “Thank you, Mr. Westmore.” She grinned, knocking his Stetson hat to the floor so she could draw her f
ingers though his thick salt-and-pepper hair. His hair was soft, his sun-kissed skin was soft, but his hands were rough, his tongue demanding. He grabbed the curve of her hips, the roundest part of her hourglass figure, and pulled her flush against him. Her wedding dress bunched up around her awkwardly, layers of white ruffled fabric between them, and she hooked her arms around his strong body. Her head tucked against his shoulder as he ravished her neck and chest with hungry kisses and her gaze fell out the full wall-length window. Jacob Westmore had the best view on Red Moon Ranch, with his cabin right at the top of the lolling hill, and she could see the dark outline of the forest and the mountain range. The nighttime sky stretched out, filling the window with a canvas of stars.

  “Am I dreaming?” she murmured.

  Jacob pinched her nipple through her dress. She gasped and giggled. “Don’t seem like it,” he drawled, that cocky smirk stamped on his face.

  “Mmm.” She kicked out of her heels, dropping nearly an inch, and then murmured, “What do you say we move to the bedroom?”

  “I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard all night.” Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. He quickly retracted his remark with, “Y’know. Besides the vows.”

  Now it was her turn to smirk. “Life with you is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  He snarled playfully and she shrieked, zipping out from his arms. She raced into the bedroom with Jacob quick on her heels and no sooner had she gotten on the bed then he pounced on her, pinning her there. The second he settled on top of her, the mood shifted. Their playfulness dissipated in the cool dark shadows of the bedroom and Holly felt a slow burn hum through her blood. Her body grew hotter, a warmth that settled between her legs, where she could feel herself start to get very slick very fast. Her wrists were shackled above her head by his long fingers and her heart rate quickened, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as she stared into the dark obsidians of his eyes.

  His gaze remained locked on hers as his free hand danced down her sides, tracing the curves of her figure. From the swell of her breasts, down the dip of her waist, to her round hips, Holly felt his touch travel, slowly, painfully slowly, and she swallowed as her thighs clenched in anticipation.

  “It unhooks in the back—” she started, hoping she could speed this process along a little by giving him some insight into her (admittedly complicated) wedding dress.

  “Leave it on,” he ordered. There was a thickness to his voice, a tone she was quickly learning to recognize, and it drew a shudder from her.

  Wedding dress fetish? Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that this was their wedding night and, for the first time since he’d seen her, he could finally, truly, claim her as his own. As though the dress—like the ring—was a mark of his territory, something he could be possessive over and proud of because it was his.

  The Virginia Woolf-admiring feminist in her balked loudly at the idea, but her clit swelled so fully she could feel the sensitive nub poke out of its hood and brush against her panties with uncomfortably intense spikes of pleasure. Et tu, body?

  Well. Why couldn’t she have her cake and eat it too? Especially when her cake was a dominant, viciously sexy Alpha who looked at her like he had half a mind to devour her. His hand reached her garter belt and he snapped it off her thigh with a single flick of his fingers before he rolled her stockings down her legs. Each movement was deliberate, his touch electric, and she felt like she was going mad.

  Especially when he licked his lips and she saw the hint of fang there, extended past his lip. And then she remembered, quickly, that her husband wasn’t all human, that he was half Beast as well and this night was more than a wedding night. He wanted to take her, fully; he wanted to bite her and Mark her as his.

  He’d explained that much to her before. In the dark, in his bed, the night she’d found out he was a shifter. The night he’d explained to her that he suffered a terrible affliction and that, if he didn’t make his mate soon, he could change into a bear and never change back.

  “What is the Mark?” she’d asked, comforted by the blanket of nighttime shadows.

  “A bite,” he’d told her, his voice like dark honey.

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Only for a second.” He’d hooked an arm around her then, holding her in close, and whispered into the shell of her ear, “And then I’m yours for a lifetime.”

  And it sounded great, in concept, but suddenly, bare and vulnerable underneath him, with wedding jitters still zipping under her skin, she was getting cold feet about the whole getting Marked by an animal thing. Trapped underneath him, Holly said, “Kiss me, please.”

  “Where?” he asked, that smug look playing on his face.

  She wet her lips. He took the hint and arched over her, closing his mouth over hers. She pressed her tongue in and tasted him—warm wood, barley and hops, fiery passion. She flicked her tongue over his fangs—definitely extended. He shuddered at the sensation. He wanted to bite her; that much was clear.

  She freed a hand from his grasp and drew it through his hair. Stroked it back, petting the Beast. Shhhh. She buttoned her bottom lip between her teeth briefly and then whispered, “Um…I know we talked about…Marking me…but what if we save that for another night?” Confusion flicked over his eyes—his animal was probably half-tempted to rip her head from her neck with one swipe of its paw—but she drew her nails over his scalp, trying to sooth him. “It’s just…I kind of wanted tonight to be…our wedding night. Just us. Not the Beast.”

  As though the animal were some third party, some yappy dog they could kick out of the room and close the door on. If Jacob was frustrated, however, he didn’t show it (bless him). Instead, his expression softened and he cupped the side of her face in his palm and ran his thumb lovingly over her bottom lip. “Of course,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice almost made her throat tighten with emotion. “Tonight is about you.”

  “Us,” she corrected. “Just us. No Beast.”

  His eyebrows knitted, as though that was a distinction he’d never even thought to make, but even if he didn’t understand, he nodded once and kissed her mouth softly. Her fingers gripped his hair tighter and she deepened the kiss, drawing a new growl from him as his hips jutted against hers. She could feel it—now that his fangs were tucked away there was a much more immediate need pressing hard against her thigh. A whimper escaped Holly’s mouth as her legs wrapped around his hips and her feet crossed behind him, trapping him in against her. She needed him, now more than ever.

  Jacob, too, was done with the foreplay. She could hear it in the speed with which his belt clicked and hissed as he ripped it out of his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them over his hips. She felt his hand reach down, felt him peel her panties off, and then—oh God—felt him rub the head of his cock between the petals of her sex.

  She was wet—so wet—and he slipped against her easily as he rubbed it up and down. She burned for him, wanted him inside of her so badly, but he teased her a moment longer. His cock head bumped into her clit and she whimpered, rocking her hips against it for friction.

  “Ask for it,” he demanded, right when she felt she absolutely couldn’t take a second more of the deliciously agonizing torture.

  “Please,” she begged, surprised by the thick lust in her voice. “Please, I need you inside of me.”

  His eyes flashed (good girl) and he pushed inside of her. She gasped at the intrusion and felt him fill her. There was no pain this time; even as thick as he was, she was dripping wet and he slid inside easily.

  He grunted—a dark, delicious noise from deep in his throat—and his hands clasped over her hips, holding her in place. He hung over her as he thrust inside of her, each motion a slow, mountainous build. Holly surprised herself with her willingness to let him take the reins.

  “You’re my princess,” he said and she felt it, felt like royalty lying back on his plush bed while he gyrated his hips in ways that made her toes ting
le. Holly wrapped her arms around him and reveled in the warmth of him, his wiry chest hair tickling her breasts and her pebbled nipples, which had fallen out of her dress. As his eyes locked on hers, she felt his hand leave her hip and slide down between their bodies, underneath the bunched up fabric of her dress, and found their way between her legs. He found her clit quickly and she felt his thumb bump against the protruding nub. Her breath caught in her throat and, within seconds, she was writhing underneath him. He rubbed slick circles around her most sensitive spot again and again.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, “oh God, oh God, oh God—”

  She was white-knuckling on the edge when his thumb pulled back. No! Her eyes flashed open and she looked at him, confused, and gasped. He wore that cocky smirk and just said, “Not yet, princess.”

  How did he know—? Before she could ask, he crushed her mouth with his. She shoved her tongue past his lips, desperately licking every inch of his mouth as her hips rocked pleadingly against his. He worked her up like this three more times—or four, or five, or a hundred, she lost count—rolling his thumb over her aching little clit until she was teetering on the edge, pulling away until she caught her breath, and then doing it all over again.

  She couldn’t remember ever being this turned on in her life, this desperate for a man, and her body broke out in a light sheen of sweat as she hit that familiar edge. He hungrily licked the salty sweat off her throat and she whimpered, ravished by lust, her head spinning. She bit her lip and tried to hold off so he wouldn’t pull away, but her thighs quaked around his hips and she could feel her clit throb against his soaked finger. Everything inside her got tighter and tighter and she trapped him against her, her arms and legs tight around him and she finally whispered feverishly, “Please, please, please, Jacob!”

  This time, he didn’t stop. Instead, he flicked his thumb over her nub faster and his hips hammered against hers as he murmured in the shell of her ear, “Cum for me, Holly.”

  His growled voice, his wood-musk smell, his deep cock and talented fingers, all pushed her over the edge. Holly’s world exploded around her. She cried out loudly and gripped him tightly as though holding on for dear life as her orgasm wracked her body with tremors, wave after wave throbbing around his iron-hard dick. Her eyes squeezed closed so tightly, she saw white (thought: if angels could make love, this is how it would feel). Her nails raked over his back and she heard him grunt.