Celia flipped a light switch, and light flooded the way up the staircase and hallway leading to the bedrooms. She stopped at the first room on the right. “This will be your bedroom.” Stepping aside, she let Gavin walk in. She’d turned down the bed, left a supply of towels on the table in a corner of the spacious bedroom. A light fixture, similar to those over paintings in museums or galleries, bathed the bed in a soft warm glow.
Gavin’s jaw dropped when he surveyed the bedroom Celia had offered him. Crown molding affixed to the ceiling over the bed replaced a fabric canopy, and the off-white panels surrounding the California-king bed matched the wood on the moldings. Moving closer, he peered at the framed oils on the walls. They were Impressionist paintings depicting scenes of nighttime Paris, Venice and Rome. There was a sitting area with a love seat, table and a media center with a flat-screen television, audio equipment and built-in shelves with books and magazines.
“This is nice,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy sleeping here.”
Crossing her arms under her breasts, Celia leaned against the door frame. “Your bathroom is across the hall.”
Gavin smiled at her over his shoulder. “Where’s yours?”
“It’s in my bedroom.”
“Where’s your bedroom?”
She angled her head. “It’s at the end of the hall on the left.”
“So, you put baby brother in between us as a buffer,” he teased.
Celia straightened, giving Gavin a long, penetrating look. “Even if Nicky wasn’t staying over, nothing’s going to happen.”
“Not tonight, Celia.”
She held her breath until she felt her lungs laboring for air. When she exhaled, breath came out in an audible swoosh. “Are you that certain something is going to happen?” Her voice was barely a whisper. Gavin turned to face her. He appeared taller, larger in the muted light.
“If Nicholas hadn’t rung the bell earlier this morning something would have happened, Celia. Where did you think it was going to lead?”
“I would’ve stopped before we’d gone any further,” Celia stated confidently.
“You may have been able to stop, but I wouldn’t only because I didn’t want to. You can’t get me that aroused, then expect me to take care of myself the way I did when I was a teenage boy.” Gavin leaned in closer. “If you don’t want to go all the way, then don’t tease me, baby.”
Celia’s lips parted in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. “Point taken, Gavin.”
Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she turned and walked down the hallway to her bedroom. She’d lied to Gavin and she’d lied to herself. She wouldn’t have stopped him only because she’d wanted it to go on until its conclusion. Nicholas’s unexpected arrival had stopped something that had been about to get out of hand. If her brother hadn’t come, there was no doubt she would’ve wound up in bed with a man she’d met four days before in the produce department of a supermarket.
She walked into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Flopping down on a club chair in the dressing area, Celia closed her eyes. The events of the day came flooding back like frames of film. The images slowed, then paused when she recalled the erotic sensations taking her beyond herself when she’d straddled Gavin’s lap.
A shudder passed through Celia as her heart thumped wildly under her breasts, and it took Herculean strength not to retrace her steps and beg Gavin Faulkner to make love to her. She sat, eyes closed, hands fisted until her traitorous body returned to normal. Then she left the dressing room and made her way into the bathroom and took a shower.
When she finally got into bed and pulled the sheet and lightweight blanket over her body, Celia tried thinking of anything but the man occupying her guest room who was a constant reminder of what she’d been missing…passion.
Chapter 9
Celia felt the heat from Gavin’s body when he came up behind her. He smelled of peppermint mouthwash and sandalwood. Smiling, she returned Nicholas’s wave when he stuck his hand out the driver’s side window. She’d gotten up early to prepare a light repast for her brother before he set out to drive to Staunton, Virginia.
“I like your brother.”
Her smile was still in place when she shifted to face Gavin. He’d rolled back the cuffs on a chambray shirt to reveal strong wrists. “He likes you, too. Nicholas can be somewhat standoffish at times. Why didn’t you come down to see him off?”
Gavin’s gaze lingered on the damp curls grazing Celia’s neck before moving down to a white tank top and body-hugging faded jeans. It was the first time she’d exposed so much skin. A sheen of moisture glistened on her bared flesh from the near-one-hundred-degree humidity.
“I didn’t want to intrude on your time with him just in case you wanted to discuss personal family business.”
“All Nicky talks about are his horses.”
“Men and their toys,” Gavin drawled.
“Thoroughbreds are very expensive toys.”
“So are cars, boats and sporting events,” he countered.
“And don’t forget women.”
Resting his hands on Celia’s shoulders, Gavin turned her to face him, unable to read the expression in the eyes that reminded him of the espresso he’d drunk last night. “Was your fiancé unfaithful?”
Celia’s lips twisted in what passed for a wry smile. “No. Yale was the last man to creep. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I was talking about other men.”
“Men you’d slept with?”
“Men I shouldn’t have slept with.” Looping her arms around Gavin’s waist, Celia rested her cheek on his chest. “Do you regret losing your virginity to the first girl you slept with?”
Gavin nearly choked when he inhaled and swallowed at the same time. “What?”
Easing back, she saw his stunned expression. “Just answer the question, Gavin.”
Gavin did not want to believe some of the things that came out of Celia’s sexy mouth. She was the most outspoken woman he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. “Of course I don’t regret it.”
“Was she a special girlfriend?”
“No. She was someone I’d met at a party. I was a high school senior and she a college freshman. She was smart, pretty and I let her know with very few words what I wanted. Her parents were away visiting relatives, so we went to her house and I spent the night.”
“Did you ever see her again?”
Lowering his head, Gavin pressed a kiss to Celia’s damp hair. “Nope.”
“Didn’t that bother you?”
“Why would it have bothered me, Celia? I wanted the experience of sleeping with a woman for the first time and she was willing to oblige me. It had nothing to do with love. It was all about lust.”
“That’s what my first serious boyfriend said after I found out that he was sleeping with me and at least four other women at the same time. He said he believed in lust, not love. In other words, I’d become a receptacle for his lust.”
“He sounds like a real idiot,” Gavin whispered. “Better you found out what he was all about before you ended up married to him.”
Celia smiled. “The names I called him weren’t quite that nice.”
Gavin pulled her closer. “When it comes to sex, men view it differently than women do. For some men it’s base reaction—a physical release, while for most women emotion is involved. Guys call it sex and women lovemaking.”
“And for you, it’s lovemaking,” she said, repeating what he’d confirmed after her aborted lap dance.
“I’d like to think it is. Enough sex talk, Celia, because right now my imagination is going into overdrive.” He wagged a finger at her. “And no more lap dances.”
A wide grin split Celia’s face, her dimples deepening. “Don’t tell me it was too much for you,” she teased.
Gavin didn’t know whether to laugh or sweep her up and carry her upstairs to his bedroom. Once there, he would do what he’d wanted to do the moment he’d kissed her. There was s
omething about Celia Thomas that was so inherently sexy that she took his breath away.
She’d disclosed that her first boyfriend had cheated on her and she’d offset this when she’d agreed to marry a man whose low sex drive kept him from creeping around with other women. Dr. Yale Trevor-Jones may have been ten years Celia’s senior, but that should not have precluded him from enjoying a healthy sex life—unless he had underlying physical problems that contributed to him not making love to his fiancée.
Celia was a woman a man would make love to—every day and every night!
The thought flooded Gavin’s mind when he remembered her response to his kissing her for the first time, and then yesterday in the kitchen when she’d straddled his lap. It was obvious she was a passionate woman, but he couldn’t understand why she’d chosen to marry a man who preferred sleeping to making love to his woman. And if they had married, how long would it have been before she would turn elsewhere for physical gratification?
“It wasn’t too much,” he stated with no expression on his face. “It wasn’t enough.” His eyebrows lifted with her soft gasp. “Because you didn’t get to finish what you’d begun. The next time you decide to grind on my lap, be prepared to go all the way, baby. Now, what’s on today’s agenda?”
Celia gasped again. This time she couldn’t believe Gavin had segued from talking about her grinding with him to asking what she’d planned for the day. “I’m going to call the animal hospital and check up on Terry, weed my flower garden, put up several loads of laundry, and then go to the pet store to buy a bed, a chew toy, harness, leash and travel crate. I also plan to stop by the nursery to pick up a few tomato plants.”
“Can I help you with anything around the house?”
“Yes, Gavin.”
He smiled. “What is it?”
“Stay out of my way, dah-lin.”
Throwing back his head, Gavin laughed loudly. “You really sound like a down-South girl.”
Celia wrinkled her nose. “That’s because I am from down south. You say you’re from Charlotte, but you don’t sound as if you were raised in the south.”
Gavin sobered. He’d lost whatever southern drawl he’d had after working with a speech coach. “I never said I was from Charlotte. I said my cousins’ security company is based in Charlotte.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Silver Spring, Maryland.” Cradling her face in his hands, Gavin kissed the end of her nose. “Enough questions. After you finish your household chores and errands, I’m going to take you out to dinner. Maybe I’ll be able to find a place that offers live entertainment and dancing.”
Holding on to his wrists, Celia went on tiptoe. “You dance?”
“Yes, I dance.”
“Do you samba?”
“No. Where did you learn to samba?” Gavin asked.
“I have relatives in Bahia.”
“Bahia, Brazil?”
Celia nodded. “Yes. The first time they invited me down for Carnivale I lost my mind. I partied non-stop, around the clock for days.”
Sliding a hand down the length of Celia’s arm, Gavin laced their fingers together. “Did you wear one of those skimpy costumes that leaves nothing to the imagination?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“Hey-y-y, Doc. You got funky, didn’t you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It was a little risqué.”
“That’s something I’d like to see.”
“Maybe next year if you’re not off protecting someone and I get off from the hospital, you can come with me.”
The instant the invitation rolled off her tongue, Celia realized she was being premature. Her future was vague at best, because she didn’t know where she was going to be the next day. There was still the upcoming trial, the aftermath and the question as to whether she would return to the hospital or focus all her energies on setting up the clinic.
“I’m sorry, Gavin.”
“For what?”
“For being presumptuous. I shouldn’t have extended an invitation when I don’t know where I’m going to be next year.”
Gavin saw a modicum of vulnerability in Celia for the first time. He wondered if Nicholas had mentioned the break-in at her Miami Beach home. “You don’t plan on returning to Florida?”
“I plan to go back, but…”
“But what, Celia?”
She waved her free hand. “Nothing. I’d better get started on the garden before it rains.” The mountains were nearly obliterated by the smoke-like fog. An average rainfall of eighty-five inches qualified the upper elevation and higher peaks of the Smoky Mountain as a temperate rain forest. “I left the fixings for an omelet in the refrigerator for you.”
A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Gavin looked skyward. Angry black clouds hung over the mountains like a shroud. “You’re going to have to put off working in the garden. It’s about to storm.”
“I’m going to see how much I can get done before the skies open up.”
Short of forcibly restraining Celia, Gavin knew she intended to work in the garden despite the impending thunderstorm. Meteorologists had predicted rain for the next two days, then clearing and sunny weather for the holiday weekend.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, following her into the house, closing and locking the door behind them.
“I’m good,” Celia said over her shoulder.
Quickening his pace, Gavin fell into step with Celia. “What does that mean?”
“I ate.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “What did you eat?”
She cut her eyes at him. “You’re supposed to protect me, not monitor what I eat.”
“If you don’t eat, then there will be nothing left of you to protect.”
“What are you trying to say, Gavin?”
“You’re nothing but skin and bones, and I happen to like my women just a wee bit thicker than you are.”
“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not your woman,” Celia countered, smiling.
Looping an arm around her waist, Gavin pulled her to his length. “You think not?”
Raising her chin, she smiled up at him. “I know not.”
Gavin’s expression changed as if someone had lowered a shade, concealing his innermost feelings. It was obvious Celia had no inkling of the dangers facing her. Someone had broken into her home, hoping to find her there, while Bradley MacArthur hadn’t hesitated to approve his request to move out of the time-share and into Celia Cole-Thomas’s vacation home. It was not what Mac said but what he didn’t or wouldn’t say that led Gavin to believe the shooting at the hospital was somehow linked to OPERATION: Top Gun.
He knew the shootout was gang-and drug-related. However, it was the weapon of choice used in the wanton murders that left members of law enforcement slack-jawed. Aside from having the same gang ink, each member carried a Desert Eagle. Unparalleled in handguns, the fifty-caliber chrome-tinted firearm was designed to reduce a target to a bleeding pulp. Celia was more than lucky to be alive. She was blessed, because the bullet had missed her vital organs.
It was as if the gun thieves had a shopping list that included the Desert Eagle, M4A1, AK47, M16A2, and the M249 SAW with a 200-round belt. The thieves also scooped up night-vision goggles and M84s. An M84 thrown into a room rendered occupants totally deaf and blind within seconds before reconnaissance rush in to subdue or eliminate their target. Another lethal weapon had appeared on the shopping list: a scythe with a nineteen-inch blade. Those who purchased the stolen weapons were either stockpiling them or preparing for war. The Department of Justice had confirmed that some of the weapons were used by several Mexican drug cartels in the deaths of police officers, civilians and gangsters.
“I promised you and your brother that I would protect you. That translates into you belonging to me for the summer and, therefore, my woman. When I ask you to do something don’t hesitate or question me. To do so could possibly put not only your life but also mine in jeopardy.” The tense lines ar
ound his mouth grew tighter. “I don’t tell you how to practice medicine, so don’t interfere with what I have to do to keep both of us safe.”
Squaring her shoulders, Celia pulled herself up to her full height. “Nice speech, Gavin, but what does it have to do with my weight?”
“You need to eat, Celia,” he countered sternly.
“But, I do eat.”
“Sure, you eat. You pick at your food like a finicky child, leaving half of it on your plate. It’s sinful the way you waste food. You may have been born with a platinum spoon in your mouth, but I grew up with kids who if they didn’t take advantage of school breakfast and lunch, then they didn’t eat. I didn’t grow up wealthy, but there was never a question of not having enough to eat.”
Celia felt properly chastised. Gavin was right. Each time they’d shared a meal she’d left food on her plate. Food that had to be thrown away, or could’ve been eaten by someone with little or no resources.
“Okay, Gavin,” she conceded.
His eyebrows lifted questioningly. “Okay what?”
“I will eat breakfast with you.”
Gavin felt a small measure of victory. If he were completely honest with Celia then he would’ve told her that he liked her body, but if she were to become malnourished he would be forced to call her brother and have him arrange for her to recuperate at the horse farm.
He affected a mock bow, the gesture fluid and graceful for a man his size. “Gracias, Señorita Tomás.”
“Hey, you,” Celia crooned, “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”
“I don’t. I probably don’t know more than ten words.”
“Well, m’ijo, by the end of the summer you’ll know more than ten words.”
Resting his forehead on Celia’s, Gavin pressed a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “Are you going to give me an exam?”
“Sí, m’ijo. And it won’t be a number or letter grade. The final grade will be a Pass/Fail.”
He smiled. “That’s fair enough.” He led her into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll cook.”
Breakaway Page 10
