Still, he would have pursued her regardless. Nothing short of a wedding ring or an outright no on her part could have dissuaded him from exploring the intense sexual attraction that had tormented him from the first moment he saw her.
A quiet ding interrupted his troubled thoughts. The copilot appeared in the doorway. “We’ll be landing shortly, Mr. Stewart.”
“Thank you.”
When the man disappeared, Brody shook Cate’s arm gently. “Wake up, Cate. We’re almost there.”
She surfaced slowly, her expression groggy. “That was fast.”
“You were out for a long time.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, smoothing her skirt.
“I’m glad you rested,” he said simply. “Stress is exhausting.”
“And what about you?”
“I dozed a time or two.”
“That’s not what I meant. I want to know if all this has been stressful for you?”
“Of course it has,” he said. “Look, Cate.” He stopped, weighed his words and sighed. “I propose a truce. We could both use a holiday, right?”
She nodded. “Definitely.”
“Then let’s do that,” he said. “We’ll agree not to talk about the wedding or the marriage or the baby at all. Just two people running away from home to have a little fun in the sun.”
Cate held up her left hand, the one wearing his ring. “And I’m supposed to forget about this?”
He grimaced. “Take it off if you want to. I wouldn’t expect you to be uncomfortable.”
She leaned across the aisle and took his hand in hers. “I don’t want to take it off, Brody,” she said earnestly. “But I like your idea. No more squabbling until we’re back in North Carolina. It’s a deal.”
The feel of her warm, slender fingers twined with his larger, rougher, masculine ones settled something in his gut. “You think we can go four whole days without fighting?” he teased.
At last, her smile was genuine, her eyes unclouded. “We’ll give it our best shot.”
After that, the afternoon improved. Their landing and deplaning in Key West was low-key and uneventful. Brody and Cate both were taken aback at how tiny the airport was. Even so, the car Brody had ordered was right outside, ready to whisk them away to their waterfront hotel.
There were no natural beaches in Key West. The island was built on the remnants of an ancient coral reef, rocky and remote. Still, who needed sand when brilliant blue waters and tropical breezes made the island a haven for artists and musicians and writers and tourists like Cate and Brody.
Despite Brody and Cate’s détente in regard to the wedding, the hotel was prepared to give them the full bridal experience. It was too late for Brody to wave off the fanfare, so he stood by in silence, groaning inwardly as the manager greeted them effusively and insisted on procuring a crystal vase for Cate’s bouquet.
Finally, the flurry of hotel employees departed, leaving the newlyweds alone in what was by any description an incredible suite. Cate threw open the double French doors and exclaimed. “Oh, Brody, this is amazing.”
The air was warm and soft and fragrant with the scent of bougainvillea. Their rooms were on the top floor of a three-story building. As she leaned over the railing to look below, he had to remind himself not to hover. Cate was a grown woman. She was in no danger of falling.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “I thought about booking a B and B, but I decided we might enjoy a little more privacy.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. Her face was solemn, but her eyes danced. “Just to be clear, we’re talking about sex, right?”
He felt his face heat. “You’re the noisy one,” he pointed out.
Her eyebrows went up. “Brody Stewart. That’s not a polite comment.”
“But factual.”
When Cate laughed, something inside him relaxed. This was the place where he and Cate worked best. The intersection between carnal and casual. If they could keep their relationship easy and uncomplicated, this trip would be well worth the emotional and financial cost.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. “I made dinner reservations for seven. Does that suit you? I thought we’d stay here in the hotel since it’s our first night.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll shower and change.”
“You could still wear the dress,” he said, hating to see it go.
Cate wrinkled her nose. “I’m rumpled and damp. I brought several new things. I won’t embarrass you, Mr. Stewart.” She handed him the strand of pearls. “Stash these in the safe, will you?”
He took the pearls and dropped them on a nearby table. “Come here, woman. I haven’t kissed you in hours.”
Dragging her close, he found her lips with his and dove in. The taste of her destroyed his good intentions. He’d intended to remind her that she was his now. What he discovered instead was that the ground beneath his feet was alarmingly unsteady.
Kissing Cate Everett, his lover, was one thing. Kissing Cate Stewart, his wife, was entirely another. Feelings he hadn’t expected buffeted him from all sides. Tenderness. Protectiveness. Raw, urgent need.
He tamped down his lust with great effort. Cate leaned into him trustingly, her arms linked around his neck. “I’m too fair-skinned for many hours in the sun,” she whispered. “I think we’ll need to spend a lot of time in our suite.”
“In bed,” he muttered. It wasn’t a question.
She wriggled closer. The slick fabric of her dress rubbed against his suit, creating some kind of erotic friction that threatened to incinerate him from the inside out. “Yes,” she said, the word drawn out on a sigh.
In desperation, he thrust her away, holding her at arm’s length until her eyes opened, and she stared at him. “I think we should pace ourselves,” he said desperately. He wouldn’t be accused of using sex to get his way.
Cate pouted dramatically. “I thought honeymooners usually slammed the door and went at it like rabbits.”
“What would you know about it?” he asked, deliberately snarky to give himself time to ratchet down. “Have you ever been on a honeymoon before today?”
“No. Have you?”
“Hell, no. But I’m damned sure the groom is supposed to provide romance leading up to the main event.”
“Romance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she said, her eyes reflecting memories he wanted to obliterate, memories of the idiot who had hurt her so badly.
He ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “Maybe you’ve been with the wrong person before,” he said softly. “Could be that you and I are exactly the right combination, Mrs. Stewart.”
“We aren’t supposed to mention weddings and honeymoons and my new marital status,” she reminded him.
“You started it,” he said. “Go take your shower, Catie girl. I’ll wait for you.” He would wait forever if need be.
Fifteen
Cate stepped out of her unique wedding dress with more than a little wistfulness. Today, standing beside Brody Stewart and saying her wedding vows in front of a judge, she felt beautiful and desired. The fact that it was more sex with Brody than soul-mates-until-the-end-of-time was a distinction that didn’t bother her at the moment.
She was in Key West with a sexy, ruggedly handsome man who wanted to make love to her nonstop for four days. That kind of thing was good for a woman’s self-esteem. Particularly when she was growing out of all her clothes and already finding small silvery stretch marks.
The bath enclosure was decadent in the extreme—four separate showerheads and walls of beautiful taupe marble veined in gold. She wrapped a towel around her head to protect her hair and stepped in with a sigh of pleasure. As she washed with the expensive shower gel she found in the caddy, she got hot and shaky as she thought about the hours to come.
Was it normal to feel so wanton, so out of control? The thought of his hands caressing her breasts made her knees wobbly.
When she was clean and dry, she tweaked her hair and then rifled through her collection of brand-new maternity clothes. At her recent doctor’s appointment, the scales had reflected an increase, but nothing too terrible. Tonight was her wedding night. She wanted to look extra special.
Fortunately, one dress fit the bill. Since joining a couple of social media groups for expectant moms, she had discovered all sorts of helpful advice. One designer in particular was known for creating special-occasion dresses that would expand along with a pregnant woman’s waistline.
Cate had researched and ordered a slender tank dress made of ribbed cotton gauze that fell to her ankles. Spaghetti straps braided from the same fabric were intertwined with tiny gold metallic strands. The colors were an impressionist canvas of celadon, ivory, tangerine and gray.
The soft translucent fabric was lined with a similar thin gauze in ecru. Though the dress clung from shoulders to knees, the style and the fabric were flattering in the extreme.
After touching up her mascara and adding a bit of eye shadow for evening drama, Cate stepped back and examined her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes danced with excitement. Maybe Brody was right. Once the baby came, it would be a very long time before Cate had the same freedom she enjoyed now. It made sense to enjoy this trip and her companion.
She tiptoed back into the living room, hoping to surprise him. Instead, she was the one to suck in a startled breath. Brody lay sprawled on the sofa deeply asleep. He had unbuttoned his shirt all the way, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of hard male abdomen.
The man was ridiculously ripped. All that boating, presumably.
She knelt beside him on the rug. The evidence of late-day stubble shadowed his jaw. His eyelashes were long and thick, his nose straight and masculine. If her baby was a boy, she wanted him to look like Brody.
Without warning, the truth washed over her, drowning her in a sea of dismay and giddy certainty. She was in love with Brody Stewart. Despite her Ivy League academic education and her twenty-first–century feminist sensibilities that might pooh-pooh the idea of love at first sight, she had met him last October and fallen head over heels almost the first instant.
Why else would she have broken her sexual dry spell in a way that was so unlike her usual behavior?
She sat there for minutes, maybe even an hour. Who knew? All she wanted to do was watch the steady rise and fall of his broad, sculpted chest. Even as she clung to the sweetness of the moment, she knew she would never have all of him. Knew it and accepted it. Just as she knew and accepted the fact that he would leave her and break her heart.
Brody was a man not easily tamed or housebroken. He wanted to do his duty by this baby, though that would not be a full-time job. Like her parents, he would provide for Cate’s needs, but he would move on.
In those quiet moments, she made peace with her future. It hurt. The pain was a great jagged wound, ripping her in two. Even so, she said her prayers and accepted her fate. She had Brody for a time. That would have to be enough.
At last, he stirred, those movie-star lashes lifting slowly. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I must have been more tired than I thought.”
She managed a smile. “It’s okay. I like watching you sleep.”
His grin held only a fraction of its usual wattage. “Isn’t that the man’s line?”
Leaning forward, she kissed him softly. “I think we’re inventing our own rules,” she said.
He curled a hand behind her neck and held her close when she would have pulled away. “I like the dress,” he muttered. “Can’t wait to take it off you.”
“Dinner first,” she reminded him, trying not to let him see how completely undone she was. She would have to get a handle on her careening emotions, or he would know something was up.
She was strong. She could handle many difficult challenges and situations. But having Brody know she was in love with him was not one of them.
It was bad enough that he felt obligated by this tiny unborn baby. Cate refused to be the poor, pitiful woman who pleaded for his love.
She stood up as gracefully as she could, given the circumstances, and held out a hand to help him to his feet. “The shower’s all yours,” she said lightly.
He nodded, though his gaze was keen as he looked her over. “You okay, Catie girl? Your cheeks are pink.”
“I’m great. But if you wait much longer, I’m going down to dinner without you.”
He held up his hands. “I’m going. I’m going.”
* * *
Much later, Cate leaned her chin on her hand and yawned. “I ate way too much,” she said.
On the other side of the linen-clad table, Brody took a sip of his wine and smiled. “It was a verra good meal,” he drawled. He had changed into a fresh suit and tie, this one with a blue shirt that emphasized his eyes.
They had talked about innocuous subjects over dinner. Now she wanted more from him. “Tell me about the ocean,” she said. “How did you end up loving boats?”
Brody’s hand stilled midsip. He finished his drink and set the glass aside. Shrugging, he shot her a strange look. “Don’t really know. My parents didn’t own boats, but many of their friends did. I think I probably spent time out on the water with people we knew when I was very young. Loving the water goes as far back as I can remember...when I was only a wee lad.”
“Wasn’t that odd? For a child to be out on the water? Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Not if you teach a bairn how to follow the rules. I knew how to sail a small craft on my own by the time I was thirteen.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know that you do, lass. Skye is a small place. Everybody knows everybody else. For teenagers, the isolation and lack of amenities can be suffocating. For me, getting out on the water was a means of escape. The world was bigger out there.”
“And somehow your passion turned into a business?”
“Aye. Eventually. I went away to university in Edinburgh. Studied business. Came home to Skye and bought my first commercial fishing vessel. It was small and dirty and stank like rotten fish, but I turned a profit the second year. By then I was hooked, pardon the pun. I’d never been able to see myself as the kind of bloke who holed up in an office and wrangled numbers. Making a living from the sea is very satisfying, whether it be fishing or entertaining tourists.”
“But you don’t technically have to do the work yourself anymore, right? You’ve become successful.”
He frowned slightly. “I could sit at home and count my money, if that’s what you mean. Aye. They don’t need me on a day-to-day basis. The various endeavors run fairly well without me. But a ship without a captain at the helm can wander off course. I have to make the major decisions.”
“Makes sense...” Did he think she was lobbying for him to stay in the US? She would never do that, even if there was a chance he would agree. It was beyond clear that Brody Stewart was a Scotsman to the core, and one who needed home to flourish.
To be honest, she would have entertained the idea of moving to Scotland permanently for a man who loved her, heart and soul. But that man was not Brody, and he had never once even hinted at the idea of Cate relocating as a possibility.
With an inward sigh, she finished her last bite of key lime tart and tried not to think about how many calories it had. This was her honeymoon, damn it.
Brody summoned the waiter with their check. “We don’t want to miss sunset,” he said.
While Brody was in the shower earlier, Cate had read a pamphlet about the history and quirks of Key West. According to the travel guide, the locals hosted a sunset celebration every night of the year, weather permitting, at Mallory Square. From their suite, she and Brody could overlook the festivities, but he had suggested a walk
after dinner. Cate had jumped at the chance.
Outside, the night was humid but not terribly hot like it would be later in the summer. Crowds had gathered all along the waterfront. Street performers of every kind plied their trades and posed for tips. Acrobats. Mimes. Musicians and artists. The atmosphere was something like Times Square on New Year’s Eve but on a much smaller and more laid-back scale.
Brody tucked an arm around her waist. “Tell me when you want to go back,” he said. He steered a lazy path through the crowds, careful to keep Cate from being crushed. Anytime she stopped to look at something, he smiled indulgently and stayed at her side. She couldn’t resist buying a small, red, hand-painted Christmas ornament. The ball was dated for the current year. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that Cate would have a reminder of this trip?
They paused momentarily when the excitement in the square picked up. The sun—a huge, red-gold orb—dropped low in the sky, kissed the horizon and sank into the ocean with a dramatic splash of color.
Hundreds of people clapped and cheered.
“I see why everyone celebrates,” she said, leaning into Brody and soaking up the moment.
Brody nodded. “I’m partial to home, but even I have to admit the sunset here is spectacular.” He kissed her temple. “A nice way to mark the day.”
On the far side of the square they found themselves at the edge of the charming shopping district. The famous Duvall Street stretched for over a mile, filled with quirky shops and unique restaurants. Though the Keys had been hard hit by a recent hurricane, the area was rebounding slowly but surely. The locals were determined to reclaim paradise.
Brody tugged her to a halt. “I want to go in here,” he said.
Cate glanced at the storefront. The elegant window display was filled with expensive jewelry. “Why?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not that naive. I want to buy you a wedding gift. Something, in fact, that I should have given you before now.”
“Oh, but I—”
Brody ignored her protest and steered her inside. The proprietor took one look at the tall, well-dressed Scotsman and beamed a greeting.
His Heir, Her Secret (Highland Heroes Book 1) Page 13
