He was about to suggest they ditch the barbecue when his mother strolled up to them. “Your father sent me over here to tell you that if you two don’t break it up soon, we’re going to have to hose you down.” She smiled with motherly delight.

  Ryder cast a glance over his shoulder and sent a knowing nod in his father’s direction. Jordan was keeping a shrewd eye on them from his wheelchaired post near the buffet tables.

  “We were just about to dance,” he told his mother. “Care to join us?”

  She laughed with amusement. “I don’t think so. It’s not safe to get between the two of you. You’re sending off sparks.”

  Ryder chuckled and led Monica toward the crowd of dancers. As they moved away, he heard someone ask his mom in a low whisper, “Did her shirt say what I think it said?”

  And Ruth Ann’s unruffled reply: “She’s from Chicago, dear. You have to expect these things.”

  …

  Ryder and Monica stood on the porch, arms casually wrapped around each other like a long-married couple, waving goodbye to his parents. The party had finally wound to a close around midnight, but it had taken another hour to clean up all of the food and put away the tables, benches, and chairs. Luckily all of the townsfolk had stuck around to help out, and Ryder’s kitchen was littered with every covered dish imaginable. Where his refrigerator had before contained only the bare minimum of milk and lunch meat, it now overflowed with half a roast pig, beans, cobbler, pies, chocolate-covered Rice Krispy squares, and some strange pink concoction that could have been a casserole or a dessert. They honestly didn’t know. Monica suspected that, whatever it was, it would still be in there a month from now.

  Josie and Matt never had shown up, but no one seemed concerned about their absence. They’d been on stand-by for a flight out of Honolulu, apparently, and couldn’t be certain when they’d arrive home.

  Monica and Ryder waved to his parents as they drove away, Jordan’s wheelchair strapped in the back of the truck while he leaned against the passenger-side door with his casted leg stretched across the seat, his foot resting on Ruth Ann’s lap. Monica turned her face into Ryder’s chest to stifle a yawn as the truck’s taillights drifted out of sight.

  “So what did you think of your first full-blown barbecue?” he asked, stroking the back of her head.

  “I think you people eat entirely too much meat.”

  “Yeah, well, you try roasting tofu over an open pit.” He pinched her behind playfully.

  She jumped slightly at the intimate tweak, but didn’t move away. She was getting more and more used to Ryder touching her—everywhere and all the time. She kind of liked it.

  “The music left a lot to be desired.”

  “You don’t like country-western, I take it?”

  She didn’t dislike it, exactly, she just wasn’t used to it. And some of the songs they’d played as the night wore on…well, they ranged from being hard to grasp or a little too twangy for her tastes, making her more fully understand the term “redneck.”

  “I liked your neighbors, though. They seemed really nice.”

  “They are. They didn’t seem to mind that you were from the big city, either.”

  She scowled at him, even though her eyes were turning gritty with exhaustion.

  “Your little plan didn’t work, did it?” he asked quietly.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she had to swallow before she could speak. “What plan?”

  “The plan to alienate yourself from my friends and family.”

  Her mouth fell open in shock. And then she managed a small gasp of indignation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. If you’d wanted to endear yourself to them, you would have put on the jeans I brought back from town for you, left my shirt on over your gay rights statement, and worn your hair down to hide the pink streak. Since you made a point of wearing your hair up, repainting your nails that grassy color, and drawing attention to your political views, I figure you wanted them to take note of how different you are from the folks around here.”

  He turned her toward the house and guided her through the front door, closing it behind them. “I didn’t catch on right away, mind you. I had a couple close calls about the hair and tank top before it all clicked.” With a hand at the small of her back, he led her down the hall toward the bedroom. “But once I realized what you were trying to do, I also realized it wouldn’t make one damn bit of difference. My folks are totally enamored of you. They think you’re Betty Crocker and Marilyn Monroe all rolled into one.”

  Monica snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right.” The Marilyn Monroe thing she could understand. But Betty Crocker? No way.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said in answer to her silent thought. “I married you, and that’s good enough for them. It also doesn’t hurt that I can’t keep my hands off of you, and they saw that, too.” He slipped his hands down to cup her bottom and emphasize his point. “Face it, sweetheart, you could have a third head and they’d still adore you.”

  “A third head?” she shot over her shoulder with a frown. “Is there a second one somewhere that I don’t know about?”

  He swatted her behind. “Don’t be a smart-ass—you know what I mean. Like it or not, you’re stuck with us.”

  Only until we get my money back, she thought, but didn’t put voice to the words. It surprised her how much the idea hurt. And how much the notion of being stuck with the Nash family didn’t scare her the way it should.

  The plan had always been to simply fake being married until she could get her money back from Matt and pay Ryder the amount she’d promised him. But could she help it that she was beginning to get kind of attached to Ryder? The man had hands that could make a statue blush. And he’d been entirely too sweet to her since they’d gotten back from Hawaii.

  And his family…they seemed to accept her unconditionally, welcoming her with open arms. Regardless of her belly button ring and magenta hair and liberal views.

  It made her feel like a fraud, and she wondered what she would have to pierce or tattoo to truly turn them off. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen when she and Ryder announced that their entire marriage had been a sham. If people from this area still lynched, she’d be swinging from the nearest tree, that was for sure.

  Two steps into the bedroom, Ryder darted past her and moved toward the nightstand. Straight for the condoms, she suspected. He’d made no secret of his raging libido. Monica suspected that if they hadn’t been surrounded by a hundred people this evening, he’d have laid her down on one of the picnic tables beneath the moon and stars and given his new condom collection something to glow about.

  Her heart sped up at the mental image. She’d have let him, too.

  Even now, after hours of making pleasantries with virtual strangers and being so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, she wanted to feel his hands and lips on her skin. She wanted to be wanted the way Ryder wanted her—always.

  It didn’t bode well for her future. But Monica refused to think about that now. She kicked off her sandals and lifted the crop top over her head.

  Ryder turned just as she was shrugging out of her skirt and tossing it into a corner. He cocked his head and shot her an appreciative grin. “I love a woman who can read my mind.”

  “It wasn’t too difficult,” she told him, walking across the carpeted floor and slipping her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. “You’ve been pressing your mind into my hip all night.” Her hand grazed the bulge at his groin while she crushed her breasts to his shirt-clad chest. His mouth twisted in a lopsided grin. He was absolutely adorable when he knew he was gonna get some.

  She took the packs of condoms from his hand and tossed them on the bed, then began releasing the fastening of his jeans.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he tsked and caught her hands to halt their progress. “You are entirely too dictatorial in the bedroom, darlin’. How about you let me drive this time?”

  “You drove last time,” she grumbled. But a flutter of anticipation swept through her belly at his suggestion.

  “No.” His hands eased up her arms in a light caress. “I sat in the front seat, but you definitely drove.”

  She lifted her eyes to his face and stuck out her tongue. He leaned forward in a lightning-quick motion and caught her tongue between his teeth. She felt the pressure of his nip, but it didn’t hurt.

  Then he let go and said, “You’ll put that to use later. For now…” He shuffled her against the bed until her knees hit the edge and she toppled backward.

  He was still fully clothed. She was entirely naked. The scuff of his well-worn jeans rubbing the insides of her thighs caused an involuntarily shiver to course through her veins. Leaning into her, he brought her calves higher, toward his waist, and she locked her ankles behind his back.

  “So which do you want to try first?” he asked, reaching behind her for the boxes of protection. Holding one in each hand, he shook them until the contents rattled, and waggled his brows at her suggestively.

  She studied her options, then tilted her head to the side and met his gaze. “Which do you think?” she said, leaving him in no doubt that she had a definite preference.

  He grinned and threw the mint ones over his shoulder. Then he handed her the condoms and began to strip. By the time he’d discarded his shirt, boots, and pants, she’d opened one of the small plastic packets and sat on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting to suit him up.

  But when he finished, he took the condom from her and quickly rolled it over his rigid arousal. Grabbing her legs, he put them back around his waist and lifted her off the bed so that she rested above him, his arms and abdomen taking her weight. Her fingers drifted through his short hair, her breasts pressed against his firm pectorals.

  He lifted his face, and she kissed him. His lips were warm and soft and tasted of the beer he’d finished just before they’d come in for the night. Loosening his hold a fraction, he let her slide an inch down his body. His penis pressed at the hot opening of her thighs. She moaned low in her throat, kissing him harder, grinding her tingling, sensitive breasts against his chest. With his palms on her buttocks, he moved her again, letting her glide onto his waiting erection. The sensation was so fierce, so carnal that she couldn’t hold back a gasp of pleasure. Her mouth parted over his, finally letting air between them.

  “The lights,” she whispered.

  Her whole being raced with building passion, electric shocks of need darting over her skin and through her very bone structure. But as much as she wanted to stay like this, to fall down on the bed and let Ryder begin moving inside her, she really did want to experience the full effects of his extra special condoms. She wanted to see them coming together.

  Gripping her bottom more tightly, he walked across the room to the light switch. Every step, every motion of his body shifting against hers, had her panting in agonized pleasure. The movement forced him more fully into her damp heat until she couldn’t bear it another moment.

  And then he reached the doorway and flipped off the lights. The room went pitch black, and Monica had to blink several times to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The flesh of her back, damp with perspiration, touched the wall as Ryder adjusted his stance, bracing them both.

  His lips traced the line of her throat, his tongue darting out to touch her pulse points. He moved, drawing out of her slightly. She sucked in a breath. “Oh my God,” she rushed on an exhalation of breath. Her cry echoed through the unlit room.

  He thrust into her and then slid back out. Her nails curled into his shoulders.

  “Look,” he commanded, and his voice sounded none too steady, either.

  She glanced down and saw the greenish-yellow luminescence of the latex surrounding his penis. Her stomach clenched, she watched him move in and out, each stroke highlighted by the glow-in-the dark condom.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t keep her eyes open, staring at the sight of their bodies coming together, of his piercing invasion as he drove inside her over and over and over. Squeezing her eyes closed, she let her head fall back against the wall and clutched at his biceps, tightening her legs high around his waist and tilting her hips to meet his thrusts.

  Ryder’s fingers gripped her ass, watching as his own hips surged against her, as they worked to reach the peak of ecstasy awaiting them.

  “Now,” he bit out in a rough whisper, and she felt herself building toward a shattering climax.

  She gasped, her muscles tightening. He brought his mouth down to hers in a bruising kiss while the friction of their bodies rocking together heightened every emotion. He was plunging in a short, fast rhythm now, and she held him even closer as she stiffened.

  A rush of sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt before exploded in her belly and she screamed. With one last driving thrust, Ryder shouted, too, and let himself hurl over the edge right along with her.

  Some way—and Monica wasn’t really sure how, nor did she care—Ryder managed to get them both back to the bed. He relaxed against the headboard while her cheek rested below his collarbone and her fingers drew lazy circles through the crisp blond hair on his chest. Under the sheets, her left leg was draped over one of his, and she honestly didn’t care if she never moved again. She’d never felt so content, so absolutely boneless and comfortable.

  Ryder wound one finger in her hair. “I’d say those things were worth the extra money,” he commented softly. He let the curl fall loose before beginning to twist another strand. “I’ll have to tell Walter they work real good.”

  She lifted her head slightly, making at least a partial effort to look into his eyes. “Who’s Walter?”

  “Owns the store in town. You met him earlier; he’s a friend of Pop’s. That was the first box of glow-in-the-dark condoms he’d ever sold, and he wanted to know how they turned out.”

  “Oh no,” she moaned in mortification. “You mean someone at the party knew exactly what we’d be doing tonight?” She shook her head and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

  “I’m pretty sure everybody had a clear idea of what we’d be doing tonight.” His palm slipped from her waist to the curve of her hip and buttock. “We weren’t exactly subtle.”

  She groaned and slipped farther under the covers. “I’m going to sleep now. Wake me when I won’t be embarrassed to ever look another human being in the eye.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think I can wait that long,” he said. Then he whipped the covers to the side and jumped out of bed.

  Monica sat up, her spine straight, her lips pursed as she glowered at him. “What are you doing?” she all but snapped as he flipped on the overhead light.

  “Exploring,” he said, coming back to tower over her. “I want to take a closer look at this tattoo of yours.”

  Then he grabbed her ankles and gently yanked her to the bottom of the mattress. She gave a yip at the sudden movement as she fell back and slid across the cool sheets.

  “I know it says something,” he told her as he knelt on the floor and spread her legs. “But frankly, I was just too damn preoccupied to care the last couple times I visited the area.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Monica asked, lifting her head slightly and feeling somewhat awkward at her position on the bed. She was far from shy, but it did feel kind of odd to have Ryder fixed on studying a decidedly private area of her anatomy as something other than straightforward foreplay.

  That’s what she got for having a tattoo put there.

  “Let’s see.” He leaned forward, propping an elbow on either side of her body, his face so close that his warm breath ruffled the springy curls at the apex of her thighs.

  “It’s a little green frog with some kind of hat on, I can see that.”

  Her stomach clenched at his close observation, the heat from his breath sending shivers of excitement over her suddenly cool skin. “A crown. It’s a frog prince. The hat is a golden crown.”

  “Ah, a frog prince with a golden crown. I’m beginning to suspect your obsession with fairy tales is rooted deeper in your psyche than I thought.” The tip of one finger ran back and forth very lightly over the tinted skin. “First the hair climber thing, and now I discover my little Rapunzel has her very own frog prince painted in a very intimate place. Hmmm. I wonder what would happen if I kissed this little amphibian.”

  Monica all but groaned as his head lowered and he placed a soft kiss on her tattoo. So much for his inspection not being foreplay. She watched as he lifted his head, a superficial frown curving his lips.

  “Nothing. Turning a frog into a prince with a single kiss must only work when a princess does it.”

  He placed his palms on her waist and brought her lax body into a sitting position, his mouth pressed to the flesh around the ring in her belly button, his tongue flicking the little piece of silver back and forth erotically. She shuddered—literally shuddered—at his touch.

  “Luckily,” he continued in a low, somber tone, “I have my very own princess right here.”

  If he only knew what his words did to her. Her blood tingled beneath the skin, and her heart wept for his utter gallantry. She’d tripped over enough frogs in her lifetime; Matt was only one in the long line of slimy pond-dwellers she’d hooked up with. Ryder, on the other hand, was every hero she’d ever read or dreamed about, all rolled into one magnificent creature. If only he realized what he was doing to her very soul.

  Ryder continued, his words bathing her in the warm glow of complete and utter pleasure. “And the only frog she’s going to be kissing in the near future is me. I may not be a prince, but I am a pretty good hair climber. I’ve got the right boots for the job and everything.”

  She tried to smile, but the effort got lost in the feel of his rough palms on her sensitive skin. He put his hands on her torso and she leaned back, arching her spine as he slowly returned her to sprawl on the bed.

  “But I’m getting sidetracked,” he said. “I want to know what this little piece of paper in the frog’s hands says.”