Wildflower Wedding (13 page)

“I do. . . . It's just . . .”

“Just what? Maybe if I were the mayor of Cricket Creek with short hair and a suit and tie, you'd look at me differently.” He sighed and pointed to his head. “This is who I am, Gabby.”

“I know who you are! Reese, you're making more out of this than you need to.”

Reese shook his head. “I don't think so. Do you think I'll skip out on you like my father did? Are you afraid that I got the leaving gene?” He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a sad, level look.

Gabby felt moisture clog her throat. He was mostly right and she needed to admit it, but she was afraid that if she did he really would leave without giving her a chance. She turned around and went up on tiptoe to get the mugs more from wanting something to do rather than the coffee. Of course she couldn't reach them and with a groan of frustration grabbed the edge of the countertop and felt tears well up in her eyes. This wasn't the way this was supposed to go . . . or end. This was supposed to be the beginning of something wonderful.

“Let me help,” Reese said, but instead of reaching up for the mugs he gently turned her around and wrapped his arms around her.

Gabby leaned into his embrace and hugged him around his waist. He felt so warm and solid. She closed her eyes, loving the feel of his strong arms, the scent of his shirt. “I'm sorry,” she said against his chest.

“Ah . . . Gabby.” He hugged her harder and then reached down and tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “Baby, I don't want your apology. I want your trust and for you to believe in me.”

“If you had just left a note . . .”

Reese rubbed his thumb gently over her chin. “Agreed, I should have left a note. But that's not really the issue.” When she glanced away he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “Hey, you can't get rid of me that easily,” he added, but his grin looked a little bit forced.

“I don't want to get rid of you. I was upset that you were gone, remember?” She gave him a playful shove and tried to smile, but it wobbled just a little bit.

“Ah, Gabby . . . damn,” he said, and lowered his head and captured her trembling mouth with a tender kiss. Gabby fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned, deepened the kiss, scooped her up in his arms, and then lifted her up onto the counter. They tugged at each other's clothing, desperate to have skin on skin. . . .

“Baby, put your legs over my shoulders and hold on to the edge of the cabinets.” When Reese dipped his head and captured a taut nipple in his mouth, Gabby's breath caught. He licked and nibbled, sending a hot tingle zinging through her blood. And then his mouth was everywhere, hot, hungry. Gabby wanted him, needed him, his mouth, his hands . . . all of him. Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her to the edge of the counter, slid his hands beneath her ass, and held her captive while he drove her wild with his mouth. She arched her back and held on to the bottom of the cabinet, urging him on, until her world exploded.

She was dimly aware of him rolling on a condom. Before she could begin to recover, he threaded his fingers with hers, pushed her arms over her head, and entered her wet heat with one sure, hard stroke. With a soft cry Gabby wrapped her legs around his waist, matching the fast, hard lovemaking. She lost herself in the wild beauty of it, giving herself to him gladly . . . freely.

Her release rolled over her like a tidal wave, the exquisite pleasure almost painful in the intensity. She felt his muscles stiffen and when he thrust deep she clamped her legs around him, never wanting to let him go.

Reese released her fingers and when he would have moved she kept her legs around him, loving the weight of him, the feel of him surrounding her. She ran her hands down his back, feeling the sheen of sweat, loving the rapid beat of his heart so close to hers. He lifted his head and kissed her with another long, hot, passionate kiss, rolling to the side but holding her close.

“You drive me completely crazy.”

“You mean that in a good way, right?”

He chuckled. “Mostly.”

“I'll take it.”

“I could never,
ever
get enough of you.”

Gabby kissed the warm skin on his chest. “I know exactly how you feel.” She rested her head on his shoulder him but fell silent. She could get so used to having the strength, the comfort, and the security of having his arms around her. Falling in love with him was a heady, wonderful feeling. But could something this intense and powerful be her strong and steady . . . could it last?

Did she have the courage to follow her heart to find out?

As if reading her mind, something Reese was doing a lot of lately, he remained silent but kissed the top of her head. She hoped he had the patience to allow her to ease her way into this slowly, surely, erasing all doubts and fears along the way.

Hot and Spicy

T
RISH LADLED MORE FRAGRANT CHILI INTO THE PLASTIC
container and then snapped the lid in place. After putting it in a tote, she added a small bag of shredded cheddar cheese and a box of oyster crackers and spaghetti. She picked the package up with the intention of taking lunch over to Anthony but then lost her nerve. She'd seen him limp across the lawn earlier still using crutches and assumed he was finally staying home from the restaurant.

Craving Cincinnati-style chili, something she couldn't get in Cricket Creek, she decided to make a pot of her own. Taking some over to Anthony was the neighborly thing to do . . . right? Plus, she wanted to make sure he saw the new article she'd written about River Row Pizza and Pasta. She looked at the canvas tote in her hand and sighed. No big deal.

So why wouldn't her feet move?

Because seeing the man made her heart beat fast and butterflies flutter around in her stomach. That's why! But she really wanted him to read the article and make him say something nice to her for a change. Trish arched an eyebrow and grinned slightly. If he thought the cannoli he'd handed her yesterday with a mumbled apology for being such an ass the other night was enough, he was wrong.

Trish inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders but then remembered she was wearing sweatpants and a Cincinnati Bengals T-shirt. Damn, she should change into something more flattering and take her hair out of the sloppy bun.

“What?” she questioned through gritted teeth. She had no desire to impress the man, she thought darkly. She only wanted to do the right thing and take lunch to her injured tenant. Besides, being nice meant that he'd lease his half of the house longer. This was smart business too, Trish told herself, and then looked down at her orange flip-flops. She planned on killing the man with kindness. “Move!” she ordered.

A minute later Trish stood holding the bag in front of Anthony's door. She thought maybe she'd just hang the lunch on the doorknob, knock, and then hightail it back to safety, but of course Digger started making a fuss and before she could take off, Anthony opened the door.

Digger greeted her with enthusiasm. Anthony scowled.

“I made chili and thought you might like some.” She thrust the bag at him, trying very hard to ignore that he wore lounging pants low on his hips and no shirt. Did the man ever wear a shirt? His thick wavy hair was mussed as if he'd been lying down, and of course that thought had Trish imagining him in bed. God . . .

“Should I critique it?”

“If you want to. It's Cincinnati-style, sort of an acquired taste.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You put it over spaghetti, top it with the cheddar cheese and crackers. It's called a three-way,” she said.

He finally grinned. “A three-way, huh? Hmmm, haven't had one of those in a while.”

Trish felt her cheeks grow warm. “You are impossible,” she sputtered, and started to turn on her heel.

“Would you like to join me?”

Trish wasn't sure if he was still trying to get her goat with the three-way thing or if he was serious, so she said, “No!”

“Ah, afraid that I won't like your cooking, huh? So you can dish it out but you can't take it? Um, if you'll pardon the pun.”

“I won't dignify that with an answer.”

“Thought so.”

Trish glared at him and then, putting a hand on his chest, she pushed past him into the kitchen. Her traitorous fingers tingled from touching his warm bare skin. Digger seemed confused at what was going on and whined to go out, most likely to get away from their squabbling. Except it didn't feel like squabbling but something else entirely.

“Don't go far and don't chase rabbits.”

Trish put a saucepan on the stove to reheat the chili and then filled another pan with water to boil spaghetti. As she added a dash of salt she could feel his eyes on her and tried to act as if it didn't make her nervous.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, and then added, “Oh, right, you've already done that.”

“I told you I never came inside your home, Anthony. I know where everything is because I furnished this place,” she said. After tapping the spoon on the side of the metal pan, she turned to face him. “I felt sorry for Digger. Can you blame me?”

“I can try.”

Trish let out an exasperated sigh. She thought about leaving until she saw the slight grimace of pain that he failed to hide. She pointed to the chair. “Sit.” To her surprise, he did. She walked, or rather stomped, into the living room and grabbed a pillow from the sofa. After returning to the kitchen she pulled out another chair from the dinette table and put the pillow on it. “Prop your foot up.”

“You're pretty good at giving orders.”

“And you're pretty good at not following them.”

“Hey, you've gotta be good at something.”

Trish bent down and lifted his leg up and gently looked at his swollen ankle. “You've got stubborn down pat. Do you have any plastic bags? You need some ice on your ankle.”

“Top drawer.”

Nodding, Trish walked over to the stove and stirred the chili and then added the pasta to the water, all the while trying not to be intimidated that she was cooking for a chef. After filling the bag with ice, she walked back over and gently placed it over his ankle.

“Damn, that's cold.”

“That's the idea. Have you taken an anti-inflammatory?”

“Yes, this morning.” He gave her a salute. “It's driving me nuts that I can't run.”

Trish nodded. “So, what threats were used to get you to leave the restaurant?”

“Tessa threatened to whack me over the head with a spoon. And since I couldn't run . . .”

Trish laughed. “I like your sister.”

Anthony's features softened. “She enjoyed hanging out with you guys. It would be great if you did that more often. She sure needs it.”

“I'll remember that,” Trish agreed.

“And will you do me another favor?” he asked, and waited for her to answer.

“I'm not going to agree until you tell me what you want,” she said suspiciously.

And then he smiled.

Not just any smile but a genuine oh so sexy smile that made her toes curl. His smile was a lethal weapon. Trish knew she could never,
ever
give him an inkling of how it made her want to go over there and slide onto his lap. So instead she frowned back at him. “So, what do you want?”

He arched an eyebrow and the damned smile remained. “That's a loaded question. A couple of things, actually. First, don't overcook the pasta. I prefer it al dente.”

“Okay. . . .”

“And call me Tony. The only person who calls me Anthony is my mother, and that's only when she's pissed.”

“Then she probably calls you that a lot, Anthony.”

“Tony.”

He laughed again, disarming her even more. Flustered, she walked back in to the stove and checked the spaghetti for doneness. She turned the burner off.

“Where's your strainer?”

“You mean you don't know?” he asked, and then pushed up to his feet, knocking the ice bag to the floor.

Trish fisted her hands on her hips. “What do you think you're doing? Sit back down!”

“I think we already covered that I don't mind very well. Besides, it's above the fridge. You won't be able to reach it.”

“Sit down, I can do it.” She turned toward the fridge. At five foot eight, Trish rarely had trouble reaching things, but he was right. The cabinets above the fridge were tucked back too far. He came up behind her, and at well over six feet tall he easily reached over her head. Dear God . . . she could feel the heat from his body so very close to hers. Her heart hammered in her chest. “What's taking you so long?” she tried to ask in a testy tone, but of course it came out breathless.

“I thought it was up here,” he said, but Trish could tell by the slight amusement in his voice that he was lying. “Maybe not,” he admitted, and then she remembered she'd put the damned thing in the cabinet over the stove, easily within reach.

“Are you enjoying making me uncomfortable?”

“Immensely.”

“Back up or I'll stomp on your sore foot.”

“No, you won't. Why does having me standing so close make you uncomfortable?”

“You're invading my personal space.”
And it makes me long to turn around and wrap myself around you. Tilt my head up for a long, hot kiss.

“It that it?” he asked. But she was surprised to hear his tone wasn't teasing anymore. Surely he knew how sexy he was even with the constant scowl? When she didn't answer he abruptly stepped back, reached over the stove, and started draining the pasta in the sink. It occurred to Trish that he was divorced. Hurt. Had his confidence been shattered as well? “You can stop glaring at me now. I'm sorry. I don't know what gets into me sometimes,” he said quietly.

“I'm not glaring at you, Tony,” Trish admitted softly. She wanted to touch him, to explain, but didn't know where to begin. Trish used to feel so embarrassed to admit that her ex had cheated on her as if it were somehow her fault. Steve had a knack for making her feel as if every bad thing fell on her shoulders. Those days were done. “Not in the least.”

Tony went very still and then slowly turned around.

“Look, I don't know your story, but here's mine in a nutshell. My ex-husband cheated on me with his secretary, a woman half my age. To add insult to injury he got her pregnant.” She swallowed hard. “And I had always wanted a child . . . children, but he didn't. He . . . he told me that he turned to Heather because I'd let myself . . . go.”

“What a flaming idiot,” Tony said so hotly that Trish smiled.

“Thank you. Steve pretty much shattered what was left of the confidence he'd chipped away at for years.”

“I'd like to punch him in the face.”

Trish laughed. “I have to admit that I'd love that.” But then her smile faded. “So I get it. You start to wonder what is so unappealing about yourself.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he didn't look away or make a wisecrack.

“So, I'm about to tell you something and if you use it against me I really will stomp on your injured foot.”

“Go ahead.”

Trish felt heat creep into her cheeks, but she took a deep breath and said, “Anthony Marino, you are one sexy man. I would think that surely you must know that, but from the haunted look in your eyes I'm guessing you might have your doubts just like I do. You were testing the water with me, standing close, shirtless, no less, to see how I would react. So let me make it clear to you. You are superhot.”

Tony looked at her for a long moment. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why tell me?”

“I'm not coming on to you. Just being honest.” Trish tilted her head to the side. “Because I know how self-doubt feels. And . . . you might be kind of a jackass, but I can read people pretty well—it makes me a good writer—and if I had to guess, you were the injured party and I don't mean your ankle. Look, Tony, I know that you stepped up with your nephew and that you care about your sister very much. So whatever happened in your marriage isn't any of my business, but I think you were hurt. I'm sorry for that.”

When he glanced away Trish knew she was right. Her heart went out to him and that's when she knew she had to end where this might lead. Finding him sexy was one thing. Getting emotionally involved was another. She was just starting to find herself and she needed to not get lost in anyone else. Right? That's what her towering stack of self-help books preached. Rediscover yourself first, get centered . . . find a hobby! She'd been buying in to that whole scenario until Anthony moved in, turning her resolve upside down. Damn the man! Trish suppressed a sigh. Getting her groove back was one thing, but was she ready to put her heart on the line?

“Let's eat lunch,” she suggested, determined to change the topic. “Oh, and would you please put on a shirt? I'll even go get it.”