They passed a lot of couples holding hands. Brides and grooms with their heads popped out of limo sunroofs, screaming, “I did!” The happy, drunken energy reminded her of her wedding night.
In ten minutes they were back at the Concordia, taking the elevator to the fourth floor. Reed’s room was just like hers. The king-size bed in the center of the room had her attention. Suddenly all she could think about was waking up the morning after her wedding, the shock of seeing Fabio-Reed in her bed, half-naked except for the hot, black boxer briefs, the hard planes of his chest and rippling muscles as he shifted an arm, the way his long eyelashes rested on his cheeks.
“Do you think that on our wedding night we...?” She trailed off, staring at the bed.
“We what?”
“Had sex,” she said, turning to face him.
He placed his key card on the dresser, took off his jacket and folded it over the desk chair, then went over to the minibar. “No. In fact, I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”
“How?”
He poured two glasses of wine from the little bottles. “Because if I made love to you, Norah, I never would have forgotten it.” He held her gaze and she felt her cheeks burn a bit, the warmth spreading down into her chest, to her stomach, to her toes.
She took the wineglass he held out and took a sip, then moved over to the windows, unable to stand so close to him or to look directly at him without spontaneously combusting. Being in his room, the bed, images of him, the very thought of his gorgeous face and incredibly hot body... She wanted him with a fierceness she couldn’t remember ever experiencing. She wanted to feel his hands and mouth all over her. She wanted him to be her husband—for real.
Maybe she could show him how it could be, how good it could be between them. That if she of all people could let go of mistrust and walls and actually let herself risk feeling something, then he could, too, dammit. There was no way she could be married to this man, share a home and life with him, and not have him in every sense of the word. And the fact that he was clearly attracted to her gave her the cojones to take a long sip of her wine, put down the glass and sit on the edge of the bed.
He was watching her, but he stayed where he was. On the other side of the bed, practically leaning against the wall.
So now what? Should she throw herself at him? No way was she doing that.
Ugh, this was stupid. Forget it. She wasn’t going to beg this man—any man—to want her; all of her, heart, mind, soul, body. Hadn’t her smart sister told her to let what would happen just happen? She shouldn’t be forcing it.
She sighed a wistful sigh and stood. “Well, I guess I’ll head to my room, maybe watch a movie. Something funny.” She needed funny. A good laugh.
“Sounds good,” he said. “I could go for funny.” He grabbed the remote control off the desk and suddenly the guide was on the screen. “Hmm, Police Academy 3, Out of Africa, Jerry Maguire or Full Metal Jacket?”
Uh-oh. She hadn’t meant they watch together. They were going to lie down on the bed, inches apart, and watch a movie? Really?
“Unless you were hinting that you’re sick of me and don’t want company,” he said with a smile. “I could never get tired of you, so I forget not everyone is dazzled by me 24/7.”
She burst out laughing. Hot and funny. Who needed the movie? She’d just take him.
“I’ve seen Jerry Maguire at least five times, but you really can’t see that enough,” she said.
“Really? I’ve never seen it.”
You. Complete. Me, she wanted to scream at him and then grab him down onto the bed and kiss him everywhere on his amazing body.
“Wait, we can’t watch a movie without popcorn,” he said, picking up the phone. Was the man really ordering from room service? Yes, he was. He asked for a big bowl of popcorn, freshly popped, two sodas, a bottle of a good white wine and two slices of anything chocolate.
Amazing. “You really know how to watch a movie,” she said.
He grinned. “The way I see it, you might as well do everything right.”
Yup. That was why he hadn’t rushed the annulment papers to the county clerk’s too-efficient replacement. Because he did things right. Like stay married to a mother of teething seven-month-old triplets who’d lived in a falling-down dump and made her living by the pot pie.
Twenty minutes later, their little movie feast delivered, they settled on the bed, on top of the blanket, the big bowl of popcorn between them, to watch Jerry Maguire.
“Oh, it’s the Mission Impossible dude,” he said, throwing some popcorn into his mouth. They were both barefoot and Norah couldn’t stop looking at Reed’s sexy feet.
“Don’t see many movies, huh?” she asked.
“Never really had much time. Hopefully now in Wedlock Creek, I will. Slower pace of life and all that.”
She nodded and they settled down to watch. Reed laughed a lot, particularly at the scenes with Cuba Gooding Jr. By the time Renée Zellweger said Tom Cruise had her at hello, Norah was mush and teary-eyed.
“Softy,” Reed said, slinging his arm over so that she could prop up against him. She did.
Great. Now they were cuddling. Sort of. His full attention was on the movie. Norah found it pretty difficult to keep her mind on the TV with her head against Reed’s shoulder and him stretched out so close beside her. She ate popcorn and dug into the chocolate cake to take her mind off Reed and sex.
But as the credits rolled, Reed turned onto his side to face her. “Do you believe in that ‘you complete me’ stuff?”
She turned onto her side, too. “Believe in it? Of course I do.”
“So someone else can complete you?” he asked. “You’re not finished without a romantic partner?”
“What it means is that your romantic partner brings out the best in you, makes you realize and understand the depth of your feelings, makes you feel whole in a way you never did before, that suddenly nothing is missing from your life.”
He smiled. “I don’t know, Norah. I think it was just a good line.”
She shook her head. “Nope. She completes him and he knows it.”
He reached out to move a strand of hair that had fallen across her face, but instead of pulling his hand back, he caressed her cheek. “You’re a true romantic.”
“You are, too. You just don’t know it,” she said. It was so true. Everything he did was the mark of a romantic. His chivalry. His code of honor. His willingness to watch Jerry Maguire. The man had ordered popcorn and chocolate cake from room service, for God’s sake. He was a romantic.
The thought made her smile. But now he was staring at her mouth.
His finger touched her lip. “Popcorn crumb,” he said.
“Does popcorn have crumbs?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his face just inches away. He propped up on his elbow and moved another strand of hair away from her face. There was a combination of tenderness and desire in his eyes, in his expression.
He was thinking, she realized, fighting the urge to move his head down and kiss her. Win out, urge, she telepathically sent to his brain. Do it. Kiss her. Kiss. Her.
And then he did. Softly at first. Passionately a second later.
He moved on top of her, his hands in her hair, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck. She sucked in a breath, her hands roaming his back, his neck, his hair. Thick, silky hair. “Tell me to stop, Norah. This is nuts.”
“I don’t want you to stop. I want you to make love to me.”
He groaned and tore off his shirt, then unzipped her dress. She sat up and flung the dress off before he could change his mind. His eyes were on her lacy bra. Her one sexy, black undergarment with panties to match, chosen for this possibility.
And it was happening. Mmm. Yes, it was happening! She lay back, his eyes still on her cleavage. That was good. He was not thinking. He was only feeling.
And the moment her hands touched the bare skin of his chest, he was hers. He groaned again and his mouth was on hers, one hand undoing his pants and shrugging out of them while the other unsnapped her bra like a pro.
Suddenly they were both naked. He lay on top of her and propped up on his forearms. “I can’t resist you, Norah. I don’t have that much self-control.”
She smiled. “Good.”
By the time he reached for the foil-wrapped little packet in his wallet, she was barely able to think for the sensations rocketing every inch, every cell, of her body. But she was vaguely aware that he’d brought a condom. Probably a whole box. Which meant he’d anticipated that something could happen between them.
Her husband wasn’t lost to her behind that brick wall he’d erected between him and love, him and feeling. There was hope for them. That was all she needed to know. In that moment her heart cracked wide-open and let him in fully, risks be damned.
And then he lay on top of her and suddenly they were one, all thought poofing from her head.
* * *
Reed’s phone was on silent-vibrate, but as a cop he’d long trained himself to catch its hum. He must have drifted off to sleep after two rounds of amazing sex with Norah. His wife. Sex that they weren’t supposed to have. Not part of the deal.
He glanced over at her. She lay next to him, turned away on her side, asleep, he figured from her breathing. Her long reddish-brown hair flowed down her sexy bare shoulders. Just looking at her had him stirring once more, wanting her like crazy, but then his phone vibrated again on the bedside table. Then again. And again. What the hell could this be at almost one thirty in the morning?
David Dirk was what it was. A series of texts.
I owe u, man. Good talk we had earlier.
I’m lying here next to my gorgeous wife, feeling so lucky.
I might as well have won a mil downstairs, bruh.
I’m realizing the depth of my love for this woman means she comes 1st.
The selfish crap is stopping. I love Eden 2 death and I’m putting her needs above my own.
Double-date back in the Creek, dude?
Well, good for David Dirk. And Eden. The guy had flipped out, fled town in a spectacularly immature fashion, but had worked it out with himself and laid his heart bare to the woman he loved. And they’d both ended up getting what they’d wanted: each other—still with a hearty dose of legend on their side.
So why was Reed feeling so...unsettled? He put the phone back on the table and lay very still, staring up at the ceiling.
Because he wasn’t putting Norah’s needs above his own? She wanted the whole shebang—love, romance, snuggles while watching Jerry Maguire, a shared, true partnership. And what was he giving her? Just the partnership. Fine, he threw in some snuggles while watching the biggest date-night movie of all time.
And then made mad, passionate love to his wife of “convenience.” His life-plan partner.
He shook his head at himself.
He got to feel like a better man than his father was when he was too much of a coward to marry and plan a family of his own. He got to have his ranch when his grandmother would be sorely disappointed at the “marriage” he’d engineered to have the Barelli homestead.
Meanwhile he was keeping Norah from finding what she really wanted. She’d agreed to the marriage deal; she herself had said she wanted nothing to do with love or romance or men. But something had changed for her. Because her heart had opened up. Somehow. Married to a brick wall like him.
Whereas he was still unbreakable and unblastable.
He turned his head and looked at Norah, reaching for a silky strand of her hair. Sex with her was everything he’d thought it would be; they fit perfectly together, they were in rhythm. But afterward, part of him had wanted to hit the streets and just breathe it out. He’d stayed put for her, like he was doing her some kind of big favor. Which had made him feel worse about what he could and couldn’t give her.
There was only one thing to do, he realized as he lay there staring back up at the ceiling.
One way out of the mess he’d created by thinking this kind of marriage could work, could be a thing.
Yes. The more he thought about what he needed to do, the more he knew it was the right thing. He’d have to take an hour off work in the morning, but he’d make up the time and then some.
Decision made, he turned over and faced the beige-and-white-striped wallpaper until he realized Norah was a much better sight to fall asleep to. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her how much he cared about her, for her, but he couldn’t.
* * *
Nothing about Reed Barelli escaped Norah’s notice. So she’d caught on to his distance immediately. It had started in the hotel room when she’d woken up five minutes ago. All the warmth from the night before was gone, replaced by this...slight chill. He was polite. Respectful. Offering to run out for bagels or to call room service.
She sat up in bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets up to her chest. Keep it light, Norah, she warned herself. “All that hot sex does have me starving,” she said with a smile, hoping to crack him.
Instead of sliding back into bed for another round, he practically raced to the phone. “I’ll call room service. Omelet? Side of hash browns?”
Deep endless sigh. If she couldn’t have him, she may as well eat. She hadn’t been kidding. She was starving. “Western omelet. And yes to hash browns. And a vat of coffee.”
He ordered two of that.
She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, all over her, actually. The scent of him was on her. He was all over her, inside her, with her. She felt like Cathy in Wuthering Heights—“I am Heathcliff!”
Maybe not the most hopeful reference for the Barellis of Wedlock Creek.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her the fluffy terry robe, compliments of the Concordia. “Use mine.”
Either he didn’t want to see her naked anymore or he was just being kind and polite and respectful. She knew it was all the latter. Last night, everything he did had shown how much he’d wanted to see her naked, how much he’d wanted her. And now it was all over. Light of day and all that other back-to-Cinderella, back-to-a-pumpkin reality.
They ate on the terrace, making small talk. He asked how the triplets were, since of course she’d already called to check in on them. They were all fine. The Pie Diner was fine. The police station was fine. Eden and David were fine. Everything was fine but them. What had changed so drastically overnight?
He pushed his hash browns around on his plate. “Norah, we need to talk. Really talk.”
Oh hell. She put down her coffee mug. “Okay.”
He cleared his throat, then took a long sip of his coffee. Then looked out at the view. Then, finally, he looked at her. “I will stand by you, beside you, and be a father to Bella, Bea and Brody. I want to be their father.”
“But...?” she prompted, every nerve ending on red alert.
“But I sense—no, I know—that you want more. You want a real marriage. And I’m holding you back from that. If you want to find a man who will be both husband and father, I don’t want to hold you back, Norah. You deserve everything.”
“I deserve everything, but you won’t give me everything,” she said, pushing at her hash browns. Anything to avoid directly looking into his eyes.
“I wish I could, Norah. I don’t have it in me. I guess it’s been too long, too many years of shutting down and out. My job made it easy. I swore off all that stuff, said ‘no more,’ and I guess I really meant it.”
Crud. She wished there was something lying around on the floor of the terrace that she could kick. A soda can. Anything. “So I’m supposed to decide whether I want half a marriage or to let you go so I can find everything in one man.”
He glanced out toward the Strip, at
the overcast sky. “Yes.”
Half of him or the possibility of everything with another? She’d take a quarter of Reed Barelli.
Oh, really, Norah? That’s all you deserve? A man who can’t or won’t give more of himself?
He wanted to serve and protect the community and his family. Same thing to him. She shook her head, trying to make sense of this, trying to make it work for her somehow. But she wasn’t a town. She wasn’t a bunch of houses or people. She was his wife.
“And if I hand you the annulment papers to sign, you’re prepared to give up the Barelli ranch? Your heart and soul?”
His expression changed then, but she couldn’t quite read it. There was pain, she was pretty sure.
“Yes, I’m fully prepared to give it up.”
God. She sucked in a breath and turned away, trying to keep control of herself. “Well, then. If you’re willing to give up the ranch that means so much to you, I think we both know we need to get those annulment papers over to the courthouse.”
She slid off her wedding ring, her heart tearing in two. “Here,” she managed to croak out, handing it to him. “I don’t want it.”
He bit his lip but pocketed it. Then she pushed out of her chair, ran back into the room, grabbed her clothes off the floor and rushed across the hall into her room.
She sat on the edge of her bed and sobbed.
Chapter Thirteen
“What? You’re just gonna let him go?” Aunt Cheyenne said with a frown.
Norah stirred the big pot of potatoes on the stove in the kitchen of the Pie Diner. She’d asked herself that very question on the flight back home and all night in her bedroom at the ranch. Reed had packed a bag and had gone to the one hotel in town to give her “some privacy with your thoughts.”
She’d wanted to throw something at him then. But she’d been too upset. When the door had closed behind him, she was just grateful the triplets were with her mother so that she could give in to her tears and take the night to get it out of her system. Come morning, she’d known she’d have to turn into a pot pie baker and a mother and she wouldn’t have the time or the luxury of a broken heart.
Detective Barelli's Legendary Triplets Page 14
