The pearly white edge of her teeth sank into her lower lip and with an abrupt tug, she popped loose the top button. Her fingers moved against him as she struggled with the rest and he stifled an oath, taking over the task before he lost it completely.
“Wait.” She suddenly scrambled off the bed. “We keep forgetting the boots.” She pushed him all too easily onto the mattress and he nearly bit off his tongue as she bent over his feet, working them off.
It was a fine thing to realize that he was even aroused by the way she lined them up and set them neatly beside her shoes.
He caught her wrist and tugged her back to the bed, pulling her over him until her mouth was against his.
He swept his hands down the silky length of her spine; caught the creamy flare of her rear. Her sleekly taut thighs tensed against his before she moaned and slid her knees alongside his hips and with no pretense, no prevarication, took him deeply in.
He damn near saw stars in his head from the unearthly pleasure that rocked through him. She was wet and tight and wildly hot and with some portion of his mind he realized that he would never get enough of her. Never.
She was trembling, her brown eyes nearly black as her head went back and she cried out his name as she abruptly convulsed.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And then she was collapsing forward, her breasts nestling against the hair on his chest, her hands weakly sliding over his shoulders, her tousled head finding a notch between his neck and his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over. “I couldn’t wait. Again.”
He nearly laughed, but there was just no laughter when his entire soul was ready to leap from him into her. He caught her hips, pulling her even closer. The clutching spasms deep inside her made his head spin.
He gritted his teeth, struggling for control. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered. “Or the baby.”
She lifted her head. Her slender fingers slowly settled against his jaw and she pressed her lips against his. “You won’t hurt us,” she whispered.
The trust in her wide eyes made his heart spin.
He slowly, carefully tipped her onto her back and her lips parted, her lashes nearly closing, as he settled into the cradle of her sweet hips and sank even more deeply.
Her hands raced up his chest, caught his shoulders and there it was again—that little gasp that had haunted his dreams for eighteen weeks.
And then, he couldn’t think anymore as need insistently clawed through him, and he drew her hands down, slid his palms against hers, fingers tightening, flexing. Her legs tangled with his, her body rising to meet him, her gasps a soft counterpoint to the groan he couldn’t withhold. And then she was crying his name again and they both tumbled headlong into that splintering heaven.
After a long while, when their bodies cooled and his heart was beating back inside his chest where it belonged, and Tara was a softly sweet, sleeping weight against his side, he dragged the tangled bedding up over her shoulder and quietly slid out of bed.
The laptop that Tristan had provided to replace the one burned in the fire was sitting on the kitchen counter, the screen glowing in the dark room.
With a faint sigh, he logged in to the account he’d set up to communicate with Ryan.
The message he sent was brief and to the point.
Getting married a week from Saturday. Need a best man.
Then he shut the computer down and went back to bed.
Back to Tara.
Chapter Seventeen
Tara stared at herself in the cheval mirror located inside the small bride’s room of the Weaver Community Church and twitched the skirt of her tea-length gown. Despite a trip to Cheyenne with Emily, Leandra and Sarah to look for a dress there, she’d ended up choosing a buttery-colored vintage gown with a forgiving empire waist from her own shop. “Does it look all right?”
“It looks perfect. You’re beautiful,” Leandra assured her from over her shoulder. She was wearing a dove-gray sweater dress that hugged her still-slender figure from breast to knee.
“She’s right,” Sarah said, standing next to her cousin. Her strawberry-blond hair was twisted in a mass of curls on top of her head. “You look perfect.”
There were other cousins there, too. Angeline, the curvaceous brunette who was married to a wryly humorous attorney named Brody. And J.D., the lanky blond horse trainer who’d arrived just that morning from Georgia. And then there was Lucy, the willowy ballerina from New York.
Once word spread that Axel was getting married, family began descending from every corner of the world.
The only one who hadn’t shown his face was Ryan.
But Tara and Axel hadn’t discussed him since that night at his cabin. They hadn’t discussed Sloan, either, except to agree to ask Tristan to pass on their plans if he could reach Sloan.
“The music’s starting,” Lucy said now. “We should probably get seated. The church is already packed.”
“Right.” Leandra shooed the rest along and picked up the small bouquet of white peonies that the florist had miraculously produced. She was Tara’s only attendant and had seemed terribly moved when Tara had shyly asked her. “I’ll be waiting for you just outside the sanctuary.”
Tara bit her lip. “Leandra—”
The other woman hesitated, her eyebrows lifting. “What is it?”
“Axel…he is here, isn’t he?”
Leandra smiled. “Honey, he was the first one here.”
Tara smiled faintly as if relief weren’t flooding through her limbs. “I know that must sound silly.”
“Axel’s a good guy, Tara. He doesn’t let people down. Particularly the people he loves.”
“I know.” She looked down at her skirt again. Except that Axel didn’t love her. He cared about the baby, and he wanted Tara in his bed. He wanted to do what was right. He thought that would be enough to base a marriage on and she was too much in love with him to fight him anymore. When she thought she could manage a smile again, she looked up once more.
Leandra was smiling at her, but her eyes were concerned. “I know there’s no replacing your own family, but I hope you know that we’re all your family now, too.”
Tara laughed a little brokenly. “Don’t make me cry. My mascara will run.”
“That’s what tissues are for.” Leandra snatched one out of the box sitting on the vanity by the window and handed it to Tara. Then she took one for herself and blew her nose. “See?” She quickly pressed her cheek against Tara’s and headed for the door again. “Twenty minutes from now, this’ll all be over and you’ll be Mrs. Clay.” She winked and closed the door behind her.
Tara went to the tissue box and pulled out another, dabbing her cheeks. Outside the window, the sky was a brilliant blue; the ground a pristine white. A dark-haired man jogged toward the church.
She smiled faintly. A last-minute guest.
From beyond the door, she could hear the strains of the organ.
Reverend Stone had already stopped by to make sure she was ready. Emily had stopped by to press a delicate hankie into her hands, telling her that she’d carried it when she’d married Axel’s father.
The organ music was getting louder.
Tara took a deep breath. It might not quite be love on Axel’s part, but it was on hers. So she picked up her own bouquet of peonies and reached for the door.
It wouldn’t open.
She turned the knob the other direction. But still the door didn’t budge. She set down her bouquet again and rattled the knob harder. It fell off in her hand.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She crouched in front of the hole where the doorknob was supposed to fit and tried to work the post back inside.
The organist had finished the prelude and was now enthusiastically pounding out the first chords of the Wedding March.
Tara gave up on the knob and rose again, pounding her hand against the door and ignoring the faint knot in her stomach. Leandra would hear her and soon enou
gh they’d be chuckling over the small mishap.
But a soft whooshing sound drew her attention around to the window opposite the door and the faint knot inside her exploded into a very large one.
Fire was creeping up the heavy drapes at the window and even in the split second it took to realize she wasn’t seeing things, the flames rolled toward the ceiling.
Gasping, she turned to the door and slammed her hand against it in earnest, shouting. “Axel! Leandra!” She banged again and prayed that she was imagining the heat drawing closer to her. “Oh, God.” She pressed her forehead against the door and screamed. “Axel!”
But there was no response.
She stared around the bride’s room, looking for some other escape. But the only way was through the window, which was nearly engulfed by flames.
Should she throw something through the window? Her hands scrabbled over the wicker table and settee. They were too lightweight to break the glass. And she was afraid if she did manage to break the window, the rush of fresh air would feed the fire even more.
She dropped to her knees next to the door, sucking in harsh breaths, and banged with both hands on it.
“Tara.”
She nearly sobbed with relief when she heard Axel’s shout. The door vibrated against her cheek. “I can’t get the door open!”
“Something’s wedged in it,” he said. “Move back.”
She swiped her face. “Axel, the room’s on fire.”
“I know, honey. Just move to the side if you can and I’ll get you out. The fire department’s on the way.”
She shoved the wicker settee away from the wall and stepped next to it.
A moment later, the door shuddered on its very hinges as something immense and heavy pounded against it.
The drapes were pillars of flame now. The smoke was beginning to fill the room. She could hear shouts from the other side of the door, and cried out when a shard of wood exploded inward from the solid door, followed by another. And another.
Her eyes were burning, but she recognized the tool he’d used to break through. A fire extinguisher.
Then his head poked through, his sharp gaze landing on her with naked relief. “Can you slip through here?”
She nodded, taking the hand he stuck through for her. She turned sideways and managed to work past the jagged wood but the hem of her dress caught and tore as he hauled her the rest of the way.
“Thank God.” He swept her up against him.
She latched onto his waist. “It’s a fire, Axel. Another fire. How—”
“We got the church evacuated,” Evan shouted from the end of the hallway.
“Come on.” Axel set her on her feet and pulled her along with him. He passed his brother-in-law, Evan, and they went into the empty sanctuary, closing the doors behind them. “We’ve got a few minutes before the fire can spread in here. Get in the pew. Keep your head down. Tristan’s clearing the rear before I take you outside. The arsonist could still be near.”
Too stunned to disobey, Tara slid into the pew next to him, staring at the ribbon tied at the end. “How’d you know to evacuate the rest?”
“Mason spotted the fire from outside. He went after the guy he thinks set it.” Despite the fact that they were standing inside a church, Axel swore. “I knew the fire at your house had to be intentional.” He yanked at the perfect knot of his paisley tie. “I’ve gotta get her out of here,” he told Evan.
“That’s for damn sure.” Another deep voice cut across the sanctuary.
Tara sat up like a shot and stared at the source. “Sloan?”
Her brother looked like he’d aged ten years in the five that had passed since she’d last seen him. His hair was still the same brown as hers, but there were threads of silver in it now. She pressed her hand to her heart. “It’s really you?”
“It’s me.” He didn’t look at her though as he walked across the chancel. His hard gaze was on Axel. “I see you’re doing your usual job of keeping people safe.”
Tara scrambled off the pew, dragging the hem of her torn skirt with her. “Don’t go blaming Axel for this!”
“Maybe the family reunion should wait,” Evan suggested, “since there’s a fire burning close by?”
Axel took her arm and keeping her behind him, pulled her toward the front of the church and Sloan. “Where the hell have you been hiding?” he asked as they passed her brother.
“I’ve been on the trail of the bastard who burned down my sister’s house,” Sloan returned coldly. “While you’ve just been on her…trail.”
Tara stopped short and stuck her finger in her brother’s face. Axel let her go, moving ahead along the short hallway to the door at the end. “Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t you dare judge anyone here, Sloan. You’re the one who’s brought this on our heads!”
For a moment, her brother looked pained. “Tara, you’ve gotta understand—”
“Tara,” Axel called and she hurried over to him. “Tristan’s outside with the car. Ten feet away. We’re going to keep our heads down and run together and you’re going to head straight inside the back seat. Okay?”
She shuddered, gripping his hand. Every doubt she’d ever had that someone might try to harm her had fled in the bride’s room.
But she trusted Axel. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her or their child. So she swallowed the panic clawing inside her and nodded. “Okay.”
Axel opened the door and she crouched low, and found herself practically lifted off her feet as he bolted toward the car’s opened door. Next thing she knew, she was sliding face first across the seat. The door shut behind her and she twisted around, gasping when she saw him disappearing right back into the church. “Where’s he going?” she cried as Axel’s uncle peeled away with a squeal of the tires.
“He’s going back to catch who did this.”
She leaned toward the seat between them.
“Keep your head down.” Tristan’s voice was sharp.
She wrapped her arms around her middle and immediately tucked herself into a ball on the seat.
“Max,” she heard Tristan say, and realized he was on a radio. “You got the highway cleared?”
“Affirmative.”
“Tara, did you see or hear anything before the fire broke out?”
“No. All I saw were wedding guests.” She desperately wanted to lift her head and look out the window again. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Double-C. It’s as good as a fortress. You’ll be safe there.”
“Why didn’t Axel come with me?”
“Because right now, he’s doing what he needs to do.”
She pressed her cheek into the leather seat beneath her. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything happened to him. “He said I should think of you Hollins-Winword people as guardian angels.”
Tristan made a muffled sound. A little like a laugh he was covering. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
The radio crackled again. “Shots fired,” a disembodied voice reported. “Man down.”
Tara bolted upright again. Her fingers dug into the seat in front of her. “What man?”
Tristan didn’t so much as turn his head as he flipped off the radio. “Get your head down. Now.”
She lay down again. Tears leaked onto the seat beneath her cheek. What man?
She was no closer to an answer when they arrived at the Double-C. If terror hadn’t tied her into knots, she might have been surprised by the number of people who’d beat them there. The second Tristan pulled up to a stop in the wide, circular driveway, the front door flew open and both Gloria and Emily hurried down the steps, folding her in their arms when she left the car.
“It’s going to be all right,” they kept saying as they drew her into the house where someone else tucked a crocheted afghan around her shoulders.
“I need to know who’s been shot,” she said distinctly.
Emily blanched. “Shot?”
Jefferson walked into the room, a rifle cr
adled in one arm. He slid his free arm around his wife. “Tristan is finding out what he can.”
Tara stared at the weapon Axel’s father was holding with such ease and felt her stomach curdle. She cast Gloria a desperate look and the woman quickly steered her to the bathroom.
Tara shoved the door closed and collapsed to her knees on the soft rug. But it wasn’t nausea she succumbed to; it was tears. Tears that she hid in the fluffy towel she dragged off the towel rack.
Tears for the things she should have said.
The chances that she’d let pass.
Tears for the things that didn’t matter a whit when the only man she’d ever loved was in danger because of her!
“Hey now.” Eventually Emily slipped into the bathroom and ran her hand down Tara’s head. “This won’t do at all.”
“I love him,” she cried. “Why didn’t I just tell him?”
“You will,” Emily soothed. “But you’re going to upset the baby, too.”
Tara finally lifted her head. “If I had just left Weaver when he came to me, none of this would be happening.”
Emily took the corner of the towel and blotted it against Tara’s cheeks. “If you had left Weaver, I am quite certain my son would have been right behind you.” She tossed the towel over the sink and straightened. “Now, come. Let’s get you out of this torn dress. Then you can lay down for a while. Rest.”
She didn’t want to lay down. She didn’t want to rest. She wanted to see Axel. To know for certain that he was all right. But she pushed to her feet and followed Axel’s mother up the stairs.
A sudden commotion at the front door made her heart climb into her throat and she stopped on the landing, gripping the banister until her knuckles turned white.
And then, there he was.
Axel.
It seemed as if the world slowed on its axis as he looked unerringly up at her and slowly, purposefully headed for the staircase.
He didn’t stop until he was only a foot away.
Her eyes raced over him. The sleeve of his suit coat was torn. The ends of his tie were sticking out of his pocket and there was a bloody stain on his white shirt.
A Weaver Wedding Page 18
