Be My Midnight Kiss Page 10

  “Now, Gavin,” she murmured. “Make love to me now.”

  Instead, he lifted her and set her on legs that wouldn’t hold her, steadying her with his hands at her waist.

  “No, sweetheart. Not in the heat of the moment.”

  “You want me. I know it, and you do, too.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s enough for tonight.”

  He looked at her sadly. “I’m beginning to think I want more than tonight.”

  “Do you always get what you want?” she whispered.

  “I can’t tell you. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you. I only know that when we make love, it’s not going to be a whim, not one of your flings. You’re still not ready, darlin’. And I can wait. Not easily, damn you, but I’ll manage.”

  Her body edgy and aching, Steph’s temper spiked. She’d love nothing better than to stomp off and never see him again—except that wasn’t at all what she craved to do with this excess of energy she was dying to spend in another fashion.

  But he stood there looking at her, blue eyes sparking yet resolute, patient and seeing too much. Steph had a sense that she was fighting a battle for her life. He would change her. This couldn’t last—they were too different—and where would she be then? Who was she if not Steph the Bombshell, with hot and cold running men?

  “I can’t be an Ellie, Gavin.”

  He smiled. “I happen to like Stephanie Hargrove, saints preserve my black soul.”

  She relaxed enough to laugh. “You are certifiably insane, you know that?”

  He shrugged and turned away. “I’ll make coffee.”

  Steph sighed. “It’s a lousy substitute for sex.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, darlin’. Just consider it foreplay.” He picked her up and strode inside with her. “Stay a little longer, would you?”

  How could anyone remain angry at this man? She relaxed in his arms, enjoying an odd sense of freedom that the night would not, as so many of her other nights with men were, be about sex. He was the oddest person. He baffled her and enraged her… “Can I keep my balusters?”

  He glanced down in surprise. “Of course.” He didn’t ask what she would do with them, didn’t make fun of her for wanting them as souvenirs of a day she wouldn’t soon forget. “With a little more practice, I’m betting you could turn one that would fit exactly on my stairs.”

  She blinked, absurdly pleased at the notion. “Really?” Then doubt crept in. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I have to believe for both of us.” He seemed perfectly serious.

  She stared at him and marveled at the kindness that was so integral to his nature. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered.

  He set her down on a bar stool in the beautiful kitchen he’d restored, trapping her between his arms and the counter, his eyes hot and blue and kind.

  “Guess we’d have to take that journey to find out.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then drew away with an obvious reluctance that pleased her enormously.

  “I’d best be making that coffee now.”

  Steph swiveled to watch him, her greedy eyes following every move he made.

  Chapter Eight

  “No, you cannot wear your favorite LBD for your wedding,” Jeanette said firmly. “Little black dresses are boring and predictable and not at all bride-like. Now strip and close your eyes.”

  “This sounds kinky. You’re scaring me a little.”

  Jeanette snorted. Scarlett and Sophia snickered. “As if. Do it, and nobody gets hurt.”

  “I guess it’s a little reassuring,” Scarlett mock-whispered, “That Scary Jeanette hasn’t been completely lost inside Nettie.” Laken grinned at the name Jeanette’s new daughter, Walker’s six-year-old orphaned niece they’d both adopted, had given the woman she adored above all others.

  “I’m not afraid of Scary Jeanette,” Laken declared.

  “Then you’re the only one of us.” Scarlett’s grin was huge.

  “Be afraid,” Jeanette intoned. “Be very afraid. Your wedding is in my hands.”

  Laken pressed the heel of one hand to her breastbone. Truth to tell, she was terrified of everything these days. She had no clue how to be a mother, and the best man in the world didn’t seem to understand that he was in the worst possible hands and—

  “Uh-oh. Stop it, girls,” Sophia ordered. She stepped up to Laken and placed one hand on her cheek. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  Laken stared at the older woman, eyes brimming. “I don’t think so.”

  Eyes soft, Sophia wrapped her arms around Laken and drew her head to her shoulder, patting her back as if Laken were the infant. “You trust Michael, don’t you? My son is a good man.”

  “He’s the best,” Laken’s voice cracked. “But I’m not. I’m so afraid I’ll ruin his life.” There. She’d said it.

  Kindness radiated as Sophia shook her head slowly. “The only thing that would ruin Michael’s life is to lose you.”

  Scarlett approached from the other side. And clasped her hand. “I thought I was all alone in the world before I found out that I had family in Texas, and even then, once I found Nana, I was so sure I didn’t belong here.” Her eyes went dreamy soft. “It’s almost easier to keep being alone, isn’t it? You can close up tight and stay safe. But love…love is the most terrifying thing in the world when you don’t think you deserve it.”

  “I don’t,” Laken whispered. “I don’t deserve him. He’s such a good man.”

  “Would it help for me to tell you a few of his less attractive aspects?” Sophia volunteered. “Bring him down to size? Because he is just human, you know. Yes, he’s got a big heart and he’s very earnest. He’d give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it.”

  Laken nodded, feeling worse by the minute.

  “But have you ever noticed how he bangs his toothbrush on the sink? Or how he can leave a hundred pounds of hair in the bristles of his brush for eons? Or how he’s a little casual with whether his underwear makes it into the hamper or under the bed?”

  “Oh, man, I know! I swear that man keeps buying new underwear when he just needs to pay attention what he’s got already—”

  The other women were laughing, and suddenly Laken could breathe again. “He’s not perfect.”

  “He’s not,” his mother agreed.

  “You don’t have to be perfect either,” Scarlett noted. “All you have to do is love him. You can do that, right?”

  “Oh.” Laken pressed her breastbone again, where her heart was too big for her chest. “I can’t imagine not loving him.” She made a face. “Annoyingly cheerful as he might be.”

  “I know, right?” Sophia beamed. “I could never be in a bad mood with him around. It’s so aggravating.”

  Laken drew a deep breath for what felt like the first time in ages. “Thank you.”

  “So are we through trashing Michael?” Jeanette asked. “Can we get on with trying on this dress that’s going to make his eyes pop out of his head?”

  “Really?” Laken settled. “Gimme.”

  “Clothes off. Eyes closed.”

  Everyone knew you didn’t change Jeanette’s mind when she wasn’t ready.

  Laken sucked in a breath and pulled off her shirt, then shucked out of her jeans. “Okay, I’m ready.” She squeezed her eyes nearly shut.

  “I can see you peeking. Do I need to blindfold you?”

  “Man, you’re harsh.” But her words were muffled as fabric slid over her head and down her body. It felt cool and sleek and so, so soft. “Can I—”

  “Not yet,” Jeanette snapped. A zipper at her back slid up, then a hook was fastened over the middle of her back.

  “Oh…” Scarlett breathed.

  “It’s…perfect.” Tears in Sophia’s voice.

  Jeanette fiddled a little at the hem, then at last she said, “Okay, open your eyes.”

  Laken did—and lost her breath all over again.r />
  “Well? What do you think?” Jeanette snapped.

  “I’m…it’s…I look…”

  “You don’t like it.” Jeanette stepped forward as if to unfasten the back.

  Laken slapped her hands away, baring her teeth. “I am never taking this off. How on earth—Jeanette, you are a genius.” Laken turned back and forth. “I need to see the back better.” Even the three-way mirror didn’t tell her all she needed to see.

  “Turn around. There’s another 3-way behind you.”

  The back was…low. But not bad-taste low. It hit just beneath her shoulder blades, then skimmed her waist so that the indentation she was starting to lose seemed as if she hadn’t yet. Then it followed her hips and down her legs to her ankles in a long, fluid line. In the front, some sort of miracle kept it close to the lines of her body but not so much that her tiny-but-growing baby bump was showing. The bodice framed her breasts in a way that could have been provocative, but because of the palest sheer cream insert was tasteful. Pale lace more cream than white cupped her bountiful baby bosom. The entire gown was a shimmer of cream lace with red chiffon beneath, and it paid lip service to the flamenco dress she’d teased Sylvie about wearing. Done in a far-updated and classier version, a ruffle fell from between her breasts angling to the hip, then trailing in a curve to her hemline, drawing the eye away from her middle and adding a flair of drama she fell in love with instantly.

  She pressed her hands over her mouth, and her eyes filled. “Jeanette…” She whirled. “I am never taking this off. Oh my sweet heaven…I look like…I look…”

  “Graceful and sexy and ripe. You’re a classy fertility goddess,” Scarlett supplied.

  Jeanette only smiled.

  “Michael is going to die. His eyes are going to pop right out of his head,” Scarlett said. “He’s going to want to grab you and blow off the wedding while he carts you off to—”

  She cast a glance at her mother-in-law, soon to be Laken’s, too. It was almost like they were…

  “Sisters…” Laken marveled aloud. “Scarlett…you’ll be sort of my…sister.”

  “No sort of about it, kiddo.” Scarlett clasped her hand, and Laken held on tight. Then she reached for Sophia. “And now I have—”

  “A mother,” Sophia supplied. “If you’ll have me.”

  “Oh, I will…I want that so much. Good grief, what’s happened to me?”

  “Sweetgrass,” Jeanette said, standing behind her, pride in her gaze. “Sweetgrass happened to you. Welcome to the insanity.” Jeanette started laughing, and all of them joined in.

  After a moment and hugs all around, Jeanette was all business again. “Okay, time to take it off.”

  Laken clutched her hands over her chest. “Do I have to?”

  “You planning to hide here until the wedding?”

  “Could I?”

  Jeanette shook her head. “Something tells me Michael and Jackson both would notice your absence.”

  Laken did sort of want to just stare at herself in the mirror for another hour or two, then just hide away until all the hoopla was over.

  Scarlett seemed to understand better than the others. “Once you get past the terror,” she leaned forward to murmur. “It’s actually pretty great to be the center of attention.”

  “And you know you’ve never minded that, girlfriend,” Jeanette said.

  Girlfriend. Sister. Mom.

  Maybe this marriage deal had more to it than she’d realized.

  “Two more minutes to soak in my total gorgeousness,” she pleaded.

  “Knock yourself out.” Jeanette’s smile was full of pride, well-deserved.

  Somehow the backdrop of people who cared about her made the gown look even better, Laken decided. “Oh, my Michael…watch out. I’m gonna slay you.”

  The others laughed, and the day felt bright, after all.

  Gavin stayed away from Stephanie deliberately for nearly a week. He had much work to complete for Wyatt, thank goodness, and Scarlett and Ian McLaren had asked him to make a rocking chair for Laken and Michael’s nursery.

  He was also intent upon finishing the tiling in the master bathroom that was his concession to modernity. The original bath had been the size of a coat closet. He’d taken that space and a large chunk of the adjoining small bedroom and created a bathroom that would scandalize his family when they saw it. Their family of ten had shared one very basic bathroom and thought nothing of it. Their situation was typical for their valley.

  One day they would understand that he was here to stay. Surely when he had a family of his own, his parents and at least some of his siblings would relent and pay him a visit. East Tennessee wasn’t the wilds of Africa, after all.

  Though, he had to admit, the prospect of a family seemed farther away than ever.

  Because now there was Stephanie, who was distracting him from his chosen path.

  Blast his pathetic soul, why couldn’t he simply see reason and walk away from her? Yes, there was more softness in her than anyone else recognized, but the distance between that and Stephanie as a wife, much less a mother…surely the moon itself was closer.

  What was it about her that drew him so? Was it, as his mother declared, only his weakness for the lost, the lonely? Stephanie was lonely, of that he was now certain, whatever she might argue, and she did want to make love with him very badly. How much of that, however, was simply her competitive urge? Had any man ever said no to her?

  Why would they? Even a blind man, robbed of the sight of that tantalizing mouth, those endless legs, the sleek curves—that blind man would hear her husky, come-get-me voice and seek her out.

  Yes, he wanted her to the point of distraction. But as lovely as her body was, it was Stephanie’s spirit that captivated him. A quick mind, a wry wit, most of all, a wistfulness she normally hid well…there was much more to be discovered about her.

  And he wanted to be the one to do it. Only him and no other.

  But she had not yet forsaken her playmates, he’d learned. In a moment of weakness, he’d driven downtown and nearly parked his truck, ready to climb her steps and be done with the waiting.

  Then he’d spotted her walking down the street, tossing her head coyly and smiling at another man, one whose expression clearly spoke of anticipation.

  Damn you, he thought as he pulled into his driveway and parked. Finn came running, and Gavin wanted to brush past the dog, to throw something, to yell—

  Horrified at the fury he felt and how that turned him into someone he couldn’t like at all, Gavin exhaled in one powerful gust and dropped to his haunches. “Sorry, boy.” He gave Finn a good rubbing, then let his head sag while the dog licked his cheek and whimpered.

  Perhaps he wasn’t up to the challenge she presented. Gentling Stephanie Hargrove required too much. She bore not the faintest resemblance to the woman he’d fixed up this house for, the woman who would make him happy.

  Gavin rose and stared into the growing darkness.

  And tasted the bitter ash of defeat.

  He should give her the freedom she demanded, let her waste her life however she might. It was her life, after all, as she never ceased to point out, he thought as he strode toward his back door.

  As he passed his shop, however, he couldn’t help remembering her childlike joy in turning balusters, the shy pride when he’d said she could make one for his staircase.

  He was so preoccupied as he ascended his back steps that he nearly toppled the package resting against his back door.

  Gavin O’Neill was written on it in a bold yet feminine slash he didn’t recognize. Beneath it, in smaller letters, You don’t have to like this, but I thought of you when I found it.

  Steph, it was signed.

  He carried the bulky box inside, wondering how she’d managed it herself. He turned on the lights, then set it on his kitchen counter. What could the woman be doing? Carefully he slit the packing tape and dug through foam peanuts to a bubble-wrapped shape below.

  Removing the moun
ds of cushioning required several more minutes, all the while his curiosity racing.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he said to Finn when he reached the end. Gavin shook his head and glanced down at the dog. “She brought me a window.”

  It was the stained glass window he’d been seeking to place above the front porch. Nearly two years he’d been searching, not sure exactly what he wanted and determined to wait until he had that figured out.

  You don’t have to like this, she had written. He had thought he’d want to pick it out himself as he’d done with every last inch of this place up to now.

  But somehow she’d known what he was looking for before he had. A Celtic knot, a lovers’ knot in shades that would now determine his exterior paint choices at last—and all of them colors he liked.

  Because she’d paid attention.

  Perhaps she couldn’t cook, didn’t know a weed from a tomato plant, couldn’t sew on a button. No, she wasn’t an Ellie, as she was so fond of pointing out.

  But somehow, prickly, difficult Stephanie Hargrove understood him. Saw into his heart.

  “Oh, but I do like this, sweetheart, very much.”

  Just then the thought of the man he’d seen her with earlier punched a hole in the pleasure he felt, but he tightened his fingers on the window frame and knew that she’d never done anything like this for any of those temporary men.

  Patience. You have a lot of it, don’t you?

  “I’ll need even more, won’t I, sugar?”

  Slow is better, he’d said to her. “You ass,” he chided himself. “Too cocky for your own good.”

  Then he had to smile. He’d made himself scarce, and she’d come to him—with a present, no less.

  His normal optimism returned. “You’re mine, sweetheart, and it’s only you who refuses to see it.” He shook his head. “Not that I have the first idea what to do with you.”

  Gavin studied his window with greedy eyes.

  And couldn’t help laughing. The woman would drive him around the bend if he let her, always so sure she could call her own tune.