“Hang on,” I said, walking back inside as a thought occurred to me. “We broke up and you still went ahead with this.”
He pulled his lips to one side. “I put this in motion when you still hated me. Before the bulldozers moved in, I had each piece painstakingly removed. The builders had to take so many photographs to make sure they could replicate it exactly.” He grinned. “They think I’m some kind of weird eccentric.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me you love me.”
I curved my hands around the back of his neck and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. “I love you. I love you so much, Garen Gauthier.”
He gave me a crooked smile, one that fell quickly as his eyes locked on a spot over my right shoulder. “That was where I made you get on your knees thinking you had to suck my cock before I’d fund Aiden’s medical treatment.”
My jaw flexed involuntarily at the memory. He’d humiliated me for no other purpose than to test my limits.
“I despised you that day.”
“One of many days you must have hated me for the things I did.” He rubbed a hand over his chin, dark with day-old stubble. “I couldn’t figure out why I loved tormenting you so much. I’ve always enjoyed getting one over on my opponents, but with you, it felt… more personal somehow. When you hurt, I felt a sense of gratification. It was only after I returned home following Dad’s heart attack that Mom put it all together.”
I canted my head and narrowed my eyes. “There’s an actual reason?”
Raking a hand through his hair, he nodded. “I was telling Mom about you, how I’d fucked everything up. She asked to see a picture. I showed her one that I took on the boat on Lake Geneva, and she pointed out that you resemble a girl I went to elementary school with. Rosie Moreau. I had a bit of a crush on Rosie and one day I picked her some flowers, intending to declare my undying love.” I chuckled. “You know, like you do at eight years old. Anyway, a group of older boys witnessed my first foray into wooing the opposite sex, and they teased me terribly, and then the bullying started. It got pretty bad, and Rosie, probably fearful of being targeted by the bullies herself, refused to have anything to do with me. After that, I developed a stammer. I’d forgotten all about her until Mom brought it up, and then the memories came rushing back. You have similar eyes, same color, same shape. And your smile strikes a chord, too, except yours is much more beautiful.” He shrugged. “I think somewhere deep in my subconscious I was trying to assert myself, as if by being mean to you now, I could somehow rewrite history. And when Seb mocked me about liking you, my first thought was to rebuff the idea that you meant anything to me. In that moment, the little boy who had put himself out there and ended up being miserable for an entire school year had the upper hand. And so I denied how I felt about you.”
“Wow.” I caressed his cheek. “I wish I’d known your dad was sick. I wouldn’t have dreamt of leaving that message if I’d had any idea. You must have hated me that day.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “You couldn’t have known what had happened. And I could never hate you. Never.”
“You were so mad.”
He fiddled with his watch, slipping a finger beneath the strap as if he found the metal irritating. “I was pining for you so much by then that when I heard your voice, I thought you were calling to tell me you’d forgiven me. By the time I listened to the whole message, and on the back of my worry over Dad, I kind of lost it. Afterward, shit, I felt bad.”
“I deserved it. I should have known you wouldn’t go back on your word, no matter what.”
He captured both my hands in his, staring down at them linked together. “We’ve both fucked up. Let’s not do that anymore.” He lifted them to his lips and kissed my knuckles.
“You had a stammer. Wow. I wouldn’t ever have believed it.”
He brought his gaze up to me and made a face. “Yeah. Once a week for two fucking years, I visited a speech therapist. Eventually, it went away.”
“How awful for you. Some kids can be so cruel for no reason.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. It was a long time ago.” A broad grin inched across his face, and he winked. “Luckily, it didn’t have any impact on my confidence.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I can vouch for that.”
He slung an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go home, chaton.”
38
Catriona
Six months later.
Dublin, Ireland.
Hand in hand, Garen and I wandered down Grafton Street, the area bursting with tourists enjoying the warm summer sunshine in Dublin’s premier shopping district. Baskets teeming with pink and yellow summer flowers hung outside shop entrances, and the sidewalks boasted a multitude of coffee shops, restaurants, and unique one-of-a-kind stores.
I stepped into a gift shop and bought a bottle-green hoodie daubed with ‘Dublin Ireland’ right across the front, as well as a teabag holder in the shape of a teapot that I knew Grams would adore. It even had an Irish blessing painted in greens and blues and reds. We were meeting Grams and Aiden later. Grams’ old legs wouldn’t stand up to hours of walking—her words not mine—and Aiden and his friend Joe were off doing whatever it was sixteen-year-old boys got up to. I dreaded to think about it.
Aiden had formally gone into remission, with no trace of the leukemia in his blood. To celebrate, Garen had suggested we take a vacation to Dublin. Aiden and I had never visited our historic roots, and Grams had jumped at the chance to revisit her home, especially as she hadn’t been back since she and Gramps emigrated to Canada in their thirties.
We left the shopping area behind and took the short walk to Trinity College. The sun beat down as we walked up the main pathway toward an impressive archway that led into a large courtyard.
“This is the oldest university in Ireland,” Garen said. “Founded in fifteen ninety-two by Queen Elizabeth I.”
I shielded my eyes from the sun and peered up at him. “How do you know all that?”
He tapped his temple. “Photographic memory. I scanned the tourist guide before we left the hotel.” He slipped an arm around my waist. “Here’s a few more facts for you. Bram Stoker, Oscar Wilde, and Samuel Becket went to college here, and Trinity is also renowned for owning several priceless artifacts, including an ancient Irish harp.”
“Y’know,” I said, licking my lips and giving him a full head-to-toe eye sweep as I sensed an opportunity to tease him. “That kind of geeky talk turns a girl on.”
For a split second, he appeared startled. And then he read the mischievous glint in my eye. He bent his knees, and the next thing I knew, I found myself hoisted over his shoulder in a proper fireman’s lift.
I squealed and smacked his backside, earning a swat against my own ass in revenge.
“Put me down,” I demanded, but as I was laughing so much, it came out garbled.
He marched across the grass, completely oblivious—or rather he didn’t care—about the open-mouthed stares from the tourists milling about.
He finally set me back on my feet beside a large oak tree that cast dappled shadows on the closely cut lawn. Walking me backward until my spine connected with the thick bark, he captured both my hands in one of his and held them over my head, then used his free hand to cup my jaw and angle my head for his kiss.
His tongue swept along the seam of my lips, and then he tugged on my chin and closed his mouth over mine. My lower belly tightened, my core flooding with warmth, as it always did with this man. I couldn’t get enough of him. His touch set me on fire. His kiss melted my insides. His laugh brought me so much happiness, I could burst.
We broke apart, panting from having gone from zero to one hundred in five seconds. It was always this way with us. The passion, the lust, the desire. I caught sight of a guy gaping at us while his girlfriend or wife steered their child in the opposite direction, her face red with annoyance, muttering something about inappropriate behavior in a public place.
Garen chu
ckled, unfazed by their displeasure, while I tried to paint on a contrite expression, holding up a hand to the guy in apology.
“You’re a bad man,” I said, poking him in the chest.
He caught my finger, lifting it to his lips where he nibbled the tip then sucked it into his mouth. My abdomen clenched, my body completely on board with carrying on where we left off, despite my brain urging me to behave with more decorum.
We finished off the rest of our sightseeing without upsetting any more locals or visitors and returned to the hotel to pick up Grams and Aiden for dinner. They were waiting for us in the lobby as arranged. Garen dropped off our purchases in our room, and then we set off to the restaurant.
Stuffed after an enormous dinner, I relaxed back in my chair with a sigh. “Wow, the Irish know how to cook,” I said, groaning under the weight of food in my belly. “I’m going to leave here seven pounds heavier at this rate.”
Garen’s eyes lingered on my chest as if to say, “Yep, and if those seven pounds end up on your tits, I’ll be very happy indeed.”
I glared at him. He grinned at me.
“Do you mind if we take a detour on the way home?” Grams asked. “There’s somewhere I’d like to visit.”
“Of course not,” Garen said. “Do you need me to arrange a cab?”
Grams shook her head. “It’s only five minutes or so from here. Maybe ten on these old legs.”
I raised my eyes to the ceiling. “Grams, stop already. You’ll outlive us all.”
She absentmindedly patted my hand. “You’re a good girl. Your mother would be proud.”
She had this faraway expression that worried me a little bit, but there was no cajoling Grams into talking if she didn’t want to. Whatever was wrong, I’d find out when she wanted me to, and not a second before.
With Grams leading the way, using her frame for support, we wound our way through the streets, the evening time as busy as during the day, maybe even busier. One of the great things I’d discovered about Dublin during the last couple of days was how compact it was. Everything was within walking distance. I definitely wanted to come back here again someday.
We arrived at a beautiful church, its spire towering above us. In front of the church, colorful borders and mature trees were set amongst pristine gardens.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” I said.
“St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” Grams said, pushing her walker straight past the entrance.
I frowned. “Don’t you want to go inside, Grams?”
“No.” She continued, clearly with a destination in mind.
“Is this where you and Gramps married?” Aiden asked.
Grams cackled. “Goodness me, no. We didn’t have money for a fancy church service. Not that we needed the trimmings. We had each other.”
My heart squeezed, and I glanced up at Garen. “I understand,” I said, meaning it. If Garen lost every cent he had, I’d still love him fiercely.
At the back of the church, in a little alcove that was set back from the rest of the building, Grams stopped. She reached out and touched the stonework, and I could tell she’d gone inside her mind to memories that clearly meant a huge amount to her.
“Your grandpa kissed me for the very first time, right here,” she said. “He used tongue, too.”
I burst out laughing, as did Garen. Aiden’s face twisted as if the idea of Grams and Gramps kissing was akin to eating slugs, while his friend, Joe, turned beet red at the unexpected turn in the conversation.
“Grams!” I expelled. “On sacred ground? And a good Catholic girl like you, too.”
Grams waggled her eyebrows. “I was young once, you know. You kids don’t have the cornerstone on bad behavior.”
I slipped my arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Love you, Grams. You naughty girl.”
She cackled again. “I won’t tell you what happened the next time we came back here.”
I stared at her in mock horror and clutched a hand to my chest. “No, please don’t.”
Aiden turned a little green. “I second that,” he said.
Garen’s phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it, strolling a short distance away.
“So this was the reason for coming here,” I said. “You wanted to reminisce about Gramps?”
Grams nodded, her eyes misting over. “He drove me mad at times, but I adored the old fool. I miss him.”
I hugged her tightly. “Me, too.”
Garen’s voice wafted over, rising in volume. He barked out, “When?” and then turned around, seeking me out, his face ashen.
Oh no, not his father.
I walked over to him and touched his upper arm to show my support as he spoke with whoever was on the phone. I held my impatience for information in check. No point me asking questions while he was trying to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line.
“Okay. Yep. Right. Got it. I’ll head for the airport now.”
I held my stomach, chills rushing through me despite the mild evening and light winds.
“Garen, what is it? What’s wrong? Is it your dad?”
He shook his head, dragging a trembling hand through his hair. “It’s Upton,” he said, referring to his friend and a member of the ROGUES board. “There’s been an accident. He’s in the hospital in LA.”
“What kind of accident? He’ll be okay, though, right?”
He reached for me, his skin worryingly pale. He shook his head. “They’re not sure whether he’s going to make it.”
Thank you so much for reading Garen and Catriona’s story.
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Books by Tracie Delaney
The Winning Ace Series
Ace - A Winning Ace Novella
Winning Ace
Losing Game
Grand Slam
Winning Ace Boxset
Mismatch
Break Point - A Winning Ace Novella
Stand-alone
My Gift To You
Draven
The Brook Brothers Series
The Blame Game
Against All Odds
His To Protect
Web of Lies
The Brook Brothers Complete Boxset
Irresistibly Mine Series
Tempting Christa
Avenging Christa
Full Velocity Series
Friction
Gridlock
Inside Track
Full Velocity Boxset (Books 1-3)
ROGUES Series
Entranced
Enraptured
Entrapped
Entrapped: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 3) Page 22
