“I do not need a therapist,” he said. “And if I’m so wonderful, why are you already trying to change me?”
“I’m not trying to change you.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I’m trying to get some positive self-awareness through that thick skull of yours. And you definitely need a therapist if you keep spouting that kind of crazy crap.”
“You think it’s crazy crap and that should totally invalidate my viewpoint?”
“Listen, buster, you’re the one who told me I needed to pack up and move back home if I was going to let my parents’ opinion run my life. You take your own advice and stop letting a set of lousy parents ruin your ability to have a relationship.”
That hit remarkably close to home. “Why do you need a therapist?”
“Just so you don’t think you’re getting away with anything, I know you’re deliberately changing the subject. You have a habit of doing that when the conversation isn’t going your way. But I needed a therapist because you were driving me crazy.”
Simon crossed his arms over his chest. Next she’d be commenting on his body language. She had nerve saying he drove her crazy. She made him loony. “How was I driving you crazy?”
“Well, not you personally, but you in those dreams. I couldn’t figure out how I could love Elliott and be having those kinds of dreams about you every night. But now that’s easy enough without a shrink.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t love Elliott. Well, except as something that’s a cross between a brother and a friend. Not the way I love you.”
She made it sound frightfully logical. “Oh.”
“That’s it? Oh? After all of that, the only thing you have to say to me is ‘oh’?”
“What would you have me say?” He uncrossed his arms and dropped his hands to his sides.
She closed her eyes, as if her patience stood on its last leg, and delicately banged her head against his chest. “Simon, I believe we have a long, happy future ahead of us. I know in my heart that you love me. But it would be nice to hear it without me having to drag it out of you.” She cupped his jaw in her hand. “I love you, Simon Thackeray. Now is it really so hard to put this—” she looked at the photo “—into words?”
The photo all but shouted it, but he said what she so obviously needed to hear.
“I love you.” The stark beauty in those three simple words, and the accompanying vulnerability, shivered through him.
“Thank you.” She looked so happy it nearly ripped him apart.
What if he didn’t live up to her expectations? What if he simply didn’t have it in him to be the man she thought he was? “But it doesn’t really change anything.”
“Like hell it doesn’t change anything. You are never getting rid of me, because I love you and I know you love me. Go ahead, retreat behind that wall of yours. If I have to go brick by brick and it takes me a lifetime, I’ll tear it down. I’ll crawl to hell and back if that’s what it takes. All the other times I’ve been relentless and gone after what I wanted, that was just boot camp. This is the big event I’ve been training for. So be forewarned, this is war.”
“You’ll get tired. You’ll figure it out, sooner rather than later, that I’m not this romanticized version you’ve painted in your head.”
“You are so wrong. Please, never tell me I’m irrational. I’m not harboring any illusions. You’re arrogant and opinionated and sarcastic and really sort of bossy.”
“You just called me bossy?”
“That’s why we’re so perfect together. You don’t intimidate me because I’ll hand it right back to you.” She sat on the sofa and pulled him down beside her. “You told me that you were scared when you went out on that ledge. It’s okay to be frightened. That’s what bravery and courage are all about. It doesn’t require courage to face what you don’t fear. It’s okay to be frightened, but it’s not okay to run away from it.”
Hadn’t Elliott told him, in the early-morning hours at the hospital, that Simon feared being happy? Maybe he’d been onto something.
“You don’t seem to fear anything except the dark.” Even as he said it he realized that though she feared the dark, she’d gone down those seven flights of pitch-black stairs with him, for him.
“That’s not true. I’m scared to death I won’t get through to you. I’m so scared of losing you I’m shaking inside.” She held up her hand and he could see that it was, indeed, less than steady.
“And you really think that would be such a bad thing?”
“Infinitely worse than being trapped in the dark alone. Where else am I going to find someone to worship and adore this ass?” She flashed him a cheeky grin and then sobered. She held her hand out to him, palm up. “I’m standing here emotionally naked, Simon. Climb out on this ledge with me.”
She was wearing him down, making him believe. There really was something akin to magic about her, because he found himself believing. Teetering on the brink of being convinced that she just might love him, warts and all. She’d gone into the dark with him, only needing him to hold her hand. And now she offered the same in return. He felt the dark emptiness inside him, that always seemed to hover at the periphery of his soul, slip away.
He placed his hand in hers and brought their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her hand. “You really do love me, don’t you?” He didn’t attempt to mask the wonderment in his voice.
She smiled as if he’d handed her the moon, and he was humbled that he had the capability to do so. “Hello. That’s what I’ve been saying. You know, you have an attention problem.”
He eased onto the sofa and she scooted onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Simon clasped her head in his hand.
“I love you,” he said and kissed her, a tender promise. “I love you,” he said again. It had a nice ring and it didn’t sound nearly as frightening as he’d anticipated. He kissed her again, liking the pattern he had going. Except this time he kissed her longer, harder, deeper, mating his tongue with hers.
They came up for air and she wiggled her delightful bottom against his erection. She had him hot and hard with just a kiss. And before he totally abandoned himself to pleasure, he wanted an answer to something that had earlier seemed unimportant.
“Luv, I’ve got a question.”
“Just for the record, I like that luv business. It makes me hot. Now ask away.”
“Where did you get the photograph?”
“Elliott gave it to me.” She nuzzled his neck. “You should check out my undies—I think you’ll find them...interesting.”
He slid his hand beneath her dress—“Elliott took that photo?”—past her thighs, anticipating a thong or sexy lace. Instead his fingers encountered hot, slick flesh surrounded by lace. Heat surged through him. “Oh, luv, these are very interesting.” He traced the outline of her wet lips, bared by the lacy opening, with one finger.
“Crotchless. I came armed for heavy-duty battle.” She smiled and teased the tip of her tongue against her lower lip. “It’s Richard’s picture.”
He tugged her dress up past her thighs, exposing a pair of black crotchless panties and her wet folds. “So Elliott ratted me out.”
She laughed and spread her legs. “Yes. It was Elliott.”
Simon slid a finger into her silky channel and she moaned deep in her throat, turning him on even more.
“I love it when you make those sounds. It makes my cock hard.”
“And I love it when you talk like that and touch me that way. It makes me wet. But you know that firsthand.”
Yes. He knew that intimately, arousingly. “Remind me to thank Elliott later. Much later. Next week perhaps. Right now I’ve got a promise to keep.”
Epilogue
A year later
“NERVOUS?” SIMON ASKED, taking her hand in his.
Tawny looked out from their vantage point in Elliott’s office at the guests milling about the gallery. Everything was in place. Music. Caterer. Guests.
“A little. I�
��ve never planned a wedding before. Even an unofficial one. Why? Are you nervous?”
He rimmed his finger beneath the neck of his tuxedo shirt. “I’m not so fond of the bloody monkey suit and I’d prefer not to stand in front of a crowd, but overall I’m fine.”
She eyed him from head to toe, flirting with him. “You clean up very nicely.” And that was a gross understatement. He was mouthwateringly yummy in the formal black tie and tails. “I might have to get you into a tux more often.”
His look sizzled over her, setting her hormones into a frenzy. Of course, with Simon it didn’t take much to stir her up. “I’d rather you concentrate on getting me out of the tux.”
“That can be arranged later. Do you think your parents will come?” she asked.
Simon shrugged with studied nonchalance. “I expect they might.”
He still tensed, still had a stiffness about him whenever Letitia or Charles was mentioned. But he and they had made progress, albeit baby steps, in the past year.
“I think they genuinely regret your train wreck of a childhood. At least they’re trying.”
“I’m trying, as well. Do you really think people can change?”
“You know the answer to that. The only thing that limits us is fear and the boundaries we set for ourselves.”
“Our relationship has helped me understand them better.” He brushed his hand along her jaw. “I think Mum and Dad have a relationship similar to ours. Even after thirty years he’s still head over heels in love with her.”
Finally, after a year, he was beginning to believe, truly believe, in his heart and in his gut, that she loved him. That she wasn’t going to wake up and decide there just wasn’t enough substance to him or that the substance was too unpalatable.
He’d actually gone to Savannah with her a couple of months ago to meet her family, after the fallout from her broken engagement had cleared. It’d been an interesting weekend. While Elliott, with his outgoing personality, had charmed them, they’d actually liked Simon better—especially after they’d found out Elliott’s sexual preference. Her father had pronounced Simon a man of depth. Her sister Betsy just thought he was weird, but then again, anyone not teeing off at the golf course or signing on at the garden club was weird to her sister, who lived in a microcosmic world.
And she knew for sure Simon was getting comfortable with their relationship when he asked her to go with him to England in the fall to meet his grandparents. Who knew? In a decade or so, her relationship-phobic love might actually decide to do something wild and crazy, like commit.
“Speaking of being head over heels...where is the happy couple of the day?” she asked.
Simon grinned. “Richard was nervous, so Elliott thought it best if they had a few minutes alone before the ceremony.” He tugged again at his tie. “A gay commitment ceremony held in an art gallery—not exactly conventional. You’d think they would’ve picked something a little more avant garde than a tux.”
“Would you like a little cheese with that whine? Anyway, Richard wanted tuxedos and Elliott wanted to make sure everything was the way Richard wanted it. I think it’s sweet. Richard’s been good for Elliott.”
“Absolutely. He’s much more considerate than he ever was before.”
“And I think it’s very cool they chose the anniversary of the blackout.”
“Very sentimental. Very touching.”
She shoved his shoulder. “Don’t be a jerk.” She knew better than anyone what a sentimental romantic he was at heart.
“But I’m so good at it.” He smirked, sending her heart into a flutter and a heat blooming low in her belly.
“You’re good at lots of things,” she said and smirked back.
“Stop it. It won’t do for you to go tenting the front of my trousers with naughty insinuations before the ceremony.”
“You know how to spoil a girl’s fun.”
“I’ll make it up to you later, luv.” And he would...and then some. “You know what today is, don’t you? We’ve been together a year and we’ve got some unfinished business between us we need to wrap up.”
“Business?” What was he talking about? And his timing left a lot to be desired.
“Right. I delivered your photographs, but you’ve yet to plan my party.”
“You were supposed to bill me,” she said, her mind wandering to her mental checklist. Had the caterer ordered the extra champagne Elliott had requested? Yikes! She thought they’d answered her email, but she didn’t recall seeing the extra bottles.
“Now don’t do getting all argumentative, luv. I need an event planned.”
Men picked the weirdest times. She focused her attention on him. “What kind of event?” Simon wasn’t a party kind of guy. He could’ve been voted Least Likely to Attend a Party in his high school yearbook.
“Something very similar to this. Except perhaps a bit fancier. Maybe something in a church and then a party afterward with a bit of dancing.”
Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Perhaps he had impeccable timing after all. “Are you talking about a wedding and a reception?”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it.”
“You’re definitely sure? It’s a lot of work if you think you might change your mind later.”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
“I presume you have someone in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, there’s this enchanting creature who has me thoroughly besotted....”
“And have you asked her yet?”
“I’m working on it.” He took her hand in his and dropped to one knee. “Tawny Marianne Edwards, would you marry me?”
She’d always thought it was sort of goofy when guys got on one knee in the movies. It wasn’t. It was sweet and tender, and if he made her cry and her mascara ran she’d kill him. “I would love to do just that, Simon Trevor Thackeray.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet ring box. “I’d be honored if you’d wear my ring.”
Oh my. He was doing this right. He opened it and pulled out an exquisite pear-cut diamond ring that was large...make that really large...forget it, they were talking bling.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“No. I love it.” He slipped it onto her finger. “It’s beautiful.” She waffled her hand back and forth, catching the light in the myriad facets of the stone. Call her tacky, crass, shallow and/or materialistic, but she’d always wanted a big ring, and her man had delivered. “It’s a rock.”
“It’s as big as your sister’s?”
She grinned at him. “Yeah. This’ll blind her.”
“And it’s bigger than Elliott’s?”
She presumed they were still talking about the ring. “Definitely bigger than Elliott’s. It must have cost a fortune.”
He slid his arms around her and pressed a sweet kiss to her temple. “You’re worth it, luv. And anyway, it was easy money. I sold some of those photos of you in the bath to an internet porn site.”
She grinned at his wicked, warped sense of humor and slid her arms about his neck.
The unmistakable click of a camera sounded. She and Simon both glanced toward the sound just as Richard fired off another shot.
“Now that I’ve caught the happy ending on film, do you think we could get on with this wedding?” Richard asked with a nervous smile.
Tawny laughed and didn’t correct him. This wasn’t a happy ending...this was just the beginning.
* * * * *
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1
SPECIAL AGENT RYAN VAIL tossed the brochure on the bed. The amazingly comfortable-looking bed, which was a far cry from most of the rat holes he’d been stuck with on various FBI stings and stakeouts. The Color Canyon Resort and Spa was a decadent oasis in the middle of the Las Vegas desert built for people with cash to spend and a yen for excitement and being pampered.
Ryan settled against the headboard, the puffy comforter billowing around him. Straight ahead was a forty-two-inch flat-screen TV. There was a wing chair, a leather love seat, an extravagantly stocked minibar and, if he turned his head to the right, beyond the private patio was a view of a nice little courtyard with a pool and spa pool all in the shadow of the Spring Mountains. It might be February in the rest of the world, but in the Vegas desert it was a balmy seventy-two degrees with copious sunshine on the docket for the rest of the week.
He grinned, pulled out his cell phone and went right to speed dial text.
You’re gonna die when you see the bathtub.
He hit Send, adjusted the pillow behind him and checked out his work stuff. Another email update on Delilah Bridges, one of the cotherapists in charge of this barbecue. Four people ran the Intimate At Last retreat weekends, all suspects in a major blackmail scheme. Unfortunately for them, they’d unwittingly targeted a friend of James Leonard, the Deputy Director of the FBI.
Ryan’s phone rang, and he knew it was his partner without even looking. “Jeannie Foster. How’s my favorite witness for the State?”
“Shut up, you bastard,” she said, her voice echoey, as if she were speaking in a vast hall. Or a toilet stall.
Of course, he’d taken a picture of the big-enough-for-a-party whirlpool tub, which he promptly sent her. A moment later, the mother of two cursed him with her usual flair.
Northern Rebel: Daring in the Dark Page 35
