“It is what it is, Celia. I’ve known guys who’d deliberately get a woman drunk just to have sex with her, because under normal circumstances she wouldn’t think of sleeping with him.”
“I know, because I’ve treated enough rape victims who come into the E.R. for an AIDS test. It’s only after I have a consult with them that they admit to being date-raped. Some of them refuse to name their attacker, but after the urging from a female social worker or rape victim advocate, they give up the name. That’s when the police get involved and with DNA as evidence, the piece of garbage is charged with rape.”
Gavin buried his face in her hair. “What’s the most bizarre situation you’ve ever encountered?”
“There are too many to count, but the ones that stand out are when patients are brought in with foreign objects lodged in the most unlikely orifices.”
“Ouch!”
“You’ve got that right. Most times I have to sedate the patient to remove the object.” She looked thoughtful. “I miss treating patients.”
Gavin closed his eyes, enjoying the soft warmth of his wife’s body. It was the first time he’d heard her talk about her profession. He opened his eyes. “How serious are you about opening that clinic?”
“Very serious. I own the building. Before I left Florida I was to meet with the contractor to go over the plans so he could begin renovating the space.”
“How much space is there?”
“Fifteen thousand square feet.”
Gavin whistled softly. “It’s pretty big.”
“It takes up about a quarter of an abandoned strip mall. I plan to have a reception area, waiting room for patients, a play area for children, then there’s the examining rooms. I want to offer emergency internal medicine and pediatric care. Future plans include a pediatric dentist, ob-gyn services and a nutritionist. Obesity has become a major health issue in this country. If we’re able to get kids to eat right, it will prevent more serious health problems before they become adults.”
“It sounds like a monumental undertaking, but I know you can do it, baby.”
“Thank you.”
Gavin angled his head, kissing her neck. “You’re welcome. I want you to know even though I may not agree with everything you say or do, I’ll always have your back.”
“And I’ll have yours.”
Celia felt her eyelids grow heavy as she forced herself to stay awake. In the end, sleep won out and she didn’t remember Gavin gathering her off the grass or carrying her to Nicholas’s car. She woke when he climbed the staircase to their bedroom. She stayed awake long enough to wash her face and brush her teeth before succumbing to a deep, dreamless sleep.
As planned, Celia and Gavin left Virginia Saturday morning to drive back to North Carolina. A softly falling rain slowed traffic along the interstate and it was late afternoon when the house came into view.
Gavin entered the house first, checking to make certain it was secure. He unloaded the luggage and Terry. Interacting with the dogs at the horse farm had helped the puppy act like a dog. He no longer soiled the paper in his crate, scratching and whining when he wanted to be let out to relieve himself. The crate was placed in the mudroom with the door ajar and clean wee-wee pads in a far corner.
Gavin called the Bureau to report his return to the base of operation. Then he checked his e-mail for new messages. He sent one e-mail to Bradley MacArthur, informing him of a change in his marital status. A smile tilted the corners of Gavin’s mouth when he typed in the name of his spouse. He’d wanted to be a fly on the wall when Mac opened and read the e-mail.
Powering off the laptop, he returned it to the carry-on, returning the bag to the back of the closet in the guest room. Taking long, determined strides, Gavin walked down the hall to the master bedroom. He paused to strip off his clothes, leaving them on the floor near the door, and entered the bathroom. The sound of running water and Gloria Estefan singing “Don’t Wanna Lose You” greeted him. He froze when he heard Celia’s beautiful modulated contralto singing along with the talented Miami-based performer.
Celia’s voice was lovely and the words to the song so poignant that it gave him pause. I don’t wanna lose you now. We’re gonna get through somehow.
Were the lyrics prophetic? Would they find love only to lose it?
Gavin approached the shower and opened the door. He knew he’d shocked Celia when she emitted a small gasp. “May I?”
A sensual smile softened her lips. “Yes, you may.”
He stood under the spray of an oversized shower-head, staring down at moisture beading up on his wife’s flawless brown face. Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth over hers, as he pulled her to stand between his legs.
Water washed away shampoo and body wash as Gavin pressed Celia against the wall of the shower stall. Slowly, deliberately, he fastened his mouth to her breasts and suckled her until the nipples were erect and hard as dried beans. One hand searched between her thighs, causing her to rise on tiptoe.
Celia opened her mouth to force more air into her lungs. Gavin’s thumb moved back and forth over the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs, making it hard to breathe. Hiccupping sounds were torn from her constricted throat as the fire that began between her legs spread throughout her body like the back draft from a jet’s engine. Her arms went around Gavin’s head, holding him fast.
Gavin hardened quickly, his blood-engorged penis swinging heavily between his thighs. If he didn’t get inside Celia he knew for certain he would come in the shower. Using all of his strength, he lifted her with one arm while his free hand guided his erection inside her.
And, as they had during their last coming together, he mated with her. He slammed into her, then without warning he pulled out and turned her around to face the wall. He reentered her, this time from the rear. Gasps, groans, moans and the rhythmic slapping of her buttocks against his belly created a sexual symphony unlike any either had experienced.
Gavin felt his lungs burning, his heat slamming against his ribs, but he still refused to let go of the passion singeing every inch of flesh from his scalp to the soles of his feet.
Celia pounded the tiles with her fists as tears mingled with the water falling over her head and body. Gavin felt so good that she feared losing her mind. And if she were to go crazy then she wanted it to be in the throes of the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever known.
The flutters began, growing stronger and stronger until she knew she could hold back no longer. She closed her eyes, threw back her head and let out a trill-like sound that sent shivers up and down her body as an orgasm shook her violently.
Gavin felt the walls of Celia’s vaginal canal squeeze his hard flesh, release him, then squeeze him again—harder and longer. Tightening his hold on her waist, he pulled her back against him, and not permitting her motion, released himself inside her still-pulsing body.
Spent, they slid down to the floor of the shower and waited for their pulses to return to normal. He heard a sound and at first he thought Celia was crying, but recognized it as laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, forcing himself not to smile.
“Why is it whenever we have mind-blowing sex we’re never in bed?”
This time Gavin laughed. “Call it spontaneity.”
“That’s what I think I’ll call our first-born.”
“Yeah, right. And you’ll have to accept blame when he or she comes home from school after kicking some kid’s behind for making fun of him or her.”
“Maybe it can be his or her middle name.”
“We’ll talk about baby names when you find yourself pregnant.”
“What if I can’t conceive?”
“It doesn’t matter, Celia.”
“But don’t you want children?”
“Yes, I want children, but if we can’t have our own, then we’ll adopt. My mother adopted my brother after my dad passed away.”
Celia tried to move, but Gavin’s weight was pressing her down. “Please let me up.”
A
lthough he was reluctant to pull out of her warm body, Gavin did. He came to his feet and turned off the water, then reached down to help Celia stand. “What is it?” he asked softly when he saw the strange expression on her face.
“You never told me your brother was adopted.”
“That’s because you didn’t ask.”
A swollen silence ensued, before Celia said, “You’re right, Gavin. I didn’t ask.”
Chapter 20
Celia was unusually quiet as she sat on the patio crocheting a border of shells on the blanket she’d knitted for Hannah. Using a tiny pair of scissors, she cut the yarn, and then wove the loose end into the stitches, giving the garment a clean finish. Gavin sat nearby with Terry asleep in his lap. She folded the blanket, placing it in a large box lined with dark green tissue paper. The knitted hat, sweater and booties were placed atop the blanket. She placed a small card, indicating the gift was from her and Gavin, in the box and covered it with a hand-painted top.
“I’m going over to Hannah’s to leave this for her.”
Gavin pushed to his feet. “I’ll take you.”
“It won’t be necessary. It’s only down the road.”
“I’ll still come with you. Wait here for me.”
Celia knew it was pointless to argue with Gavin when he got this way. His voice was completely void of emotion. He knew she was upset because he hadn’t mentioned that his brother had been adopted, and it was more blatant than ever that she knew very little about the man she’d married and to whom she’d pledged her future. She’d closed and locked the pocket doors when he returned.
“I put Terry in the mudroom,” Gavin said. They still didn’t trust the puppy to have the run of the house because he still had accidents.
They had just reached the front door when the house phone rang. Celia was galvanized into action by the time it rang a third time. She glanced at the display seconds before picking up the receiver. It was her grandmother.
“Hola, abuela.”
“Celia, you have to come home.”
“Why, abuela?”
Gavin saw the fear in Celia’s eyes as her hand tightened on the cordless receiver. He couldn’t hear what whoever had called had told her, but he knew instinctually it wasn’t good news.
“Mama died in her sleep this morning.”
Celia couldn’t stop the tears filling her eyes. “No, no, no, abuela.”
Nancy Cole-Thomas’s voice was very calm when she said, “Martin is making travel arrangements. He wants you at the Asheville Regional Airport by six tonight.”
Trance-like, she nodded. “Okay, abuela. I’ll be there at six.” It was a full minute before she could bring herself to hang up. She placed the box on the side table. “I have to go back to Florida.”
Gavin closed the distance between them, his hands going to her shoulders. “Why?”
“My great-grandmother passed away this morning. My uncle is sending the corporate jet to pick me up at the Asheville airport at six.”
Cradling her face, he kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Celia blinked back tears. Her great-grandmother would’ve turned one hundred six if she’d survived the year. Although she’d expected Marguerite-Joséfina Isabel Diaz-Cole not to survive too many more years, the fact remained she didn’t want to lose her.
“Thank you, Gavin.” Resting her head on his chest, she counted the strong, steady heartbeats. “I need you to take the box over to Hannah and let her know that I had a death in the family, and that I hope to see her before the baby comes.”
Even before he could ask whether she wanted him to accompany her, Celia indicated she was going back to Florida—alone. Gavin knew she didn’t need a bodyguard because the Coles would take the steps to protect their own. They were sending a private jet to take her back to Florida, and no doubt she probably would be met with a security detail comparable to those of the Secret Service.
“You better go upstairs and pack. We’re going to have to leave within half an hour if you want to make it to the airport by six.”
Celia gave him a trembling smile. “Will you take care of Terry for me?”
Gavin gave her a look that said he couldn’t believe she’d ask him something like that. “Of course I’ll take care of him.” He patted her behind. “Go and pack, baby.”
Gavin made it to the airport with time to spare. He showed the police officer outside the terminal his shield and FBI picture ID when he parked his SUV at the curb. “I’ll be right back as soon as she’s boarded,” he said softly.
The police officer nodded. “No problem.”
Taking Celia’s hand, he led her into the terminal and to a section of the airport that led to an area where private jets landed and took off. They walked down a gangway and out to the tarmac where a sleek Gulfstream G550 stood, engines revving. The ColeDiz logo was emblazoned on the side, and aircraft-identifying numbers on the tail. A tall man wearing a business suit stood outside the aircraft talking to a flight attendant. He turned and stared at them.
Celia moved closer to Gavin. “That’s Diego.”
Gavin stopped. “This is as far as I go.” He handed her the single piece of luggage.
Celia turned, her gaze searching her husband’s impassive features under the brim of his baseball cap. She dropped her bag and twisted the platinum band off her finger. “Hold this for me until I come back.”
Staring at the ring on her outstretched palm, Gavin took it and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. He leaned over and picked up her bag, handed it to her, then turned on his heels and retraced his steps. Hold this for me until I come back. Her parting words echoed in his head like a litany.
Celia watched Gavin until he disappeared from her line of vision, then she turned to see her brother coming closer and closer until she found herself cradled in his protective embrace.
“Who was that, Cee Cee?”
“My…my bodyguard.” She’d almost slipped and said her husband.
“Let’s board. We still have to stop in Mississippi and pick up Tyler and his family.”
Diego took her bag while she climbed the steps and walked into the aircraft. Her New Mexico cousins filled half the seats. They were asleep; reminding her they were on a different time zone. The Coles always gathered in West Palm from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day. There were smaller reunions during the summer and Thanksgiving. Then there were the unexpected reunions that usually meant a death in the family. This was one of those times.
Celia leaned against Nicholas, praying she wouldn’t break down. The funeral mass for their great-grandmother was conducted in Spanish, as per wishes. M.J., as she wanted to be called, was in control, even in death. She knew she shouldn’t cry for a woman whose life had spanned more than a century, but with M.J.’s death that meant the man and woman who’d created a family with accomplishments that far exceeded their expectations were gone forever. But what they had left were memories of their stalwart determination to beat the odds.
Everyone had come to West Palm Beach except Nathaniel and Kendra, who was due to give birth any day now. The children of her Las Cruces, New Mexico cousins were growing so quickly she hardly recognized them. All of the Coles were dark-haired and dark-eyed. The only exception was Emily Delgado’s son, Alejandro. The thirteen-year-old boy had inherited his grandfather’s platinum-blond hair and startling light green eyes. Looking at the adolescent was like staring at a picture of Joshua Kirkland at that age.
Martin Cole stepped forward and placed a rose on his mother’s gunmetal-gray casket. Nancy Cole-Thomas was next, and then Josephine Cole-Mitchell and following her was David Cole. Joshua Kirkland placed his flower on the casket of the woman who had been the bane of his mother’s existence when Teresa Kirkland had tried to woo Samuel Cole away from M.J. One by one Coles, Kirklands, Spencers, Delgados, Grayslakes and Lassisters lined up to pay their respects to the woman who’d been their matriarch and abuelita.
Celia felt detached from her family and she knew
she should’ve asked Gavin to come with her. She would celebrate her thirty-fourth birthday come August, and she was hiding the fact that she married like a girl whose parents had forbidden her to see a boy they disapproved of.
Her head popped up when a shadow blocked out the sun. “Hi, Daddy.”
Timothy Cole-Thomas smiled at his daughter. “May I sit down?”
She patted the seat of the stone bench in the Japanese garden of the West Palm mansion where Samuel and M.J. had raised their four children. “Of course.” She leaned against her father’s shoulder. The CEO of ColeDiz for more than three decades, Timothy had finally retired at sixty, turning the reins over to Diego. His eldest son had taken the company in a direction that defied everything Samuel Claridge Cole proposed.
Timothy’s hair was no longer salt-and-pepper but white. It was an attractive contrast to his dark unlined face. He’d inherited his mother’s delicate features, features he’d passed on to Nicholas.
Putting an arm around his daughter’s waist, Timothy pulled her closer. “I’d like you to stay in Florida.”
“I can’t, Daddy.”
“¿Por qué no?” he asked, lapsing easily into Spanish. “Why?” he repeated in English when she paused.
“I feel at peace in North Carolina.”
“You can feel at peace here if you stay with me and your mother.”
“You don’t understand, Daddy.”
“I do understand, Celia. My hair has turned white worrying about you. Your house in Miami was broken into—”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
Celia felt a rush panic that made her lightheaded. “Why didn’t you call and tell me?”
“And what would you have done, Celia? Jump in your car and drive back to Miami?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Let me tell you what I do know. Alton Fitch’s kidnapping was no random act. Even his wife and children have gone into hiding. And it has everything to do with the trial where you’re the state’s star witness. Last I heard was that Elijah Morrow asked to be taken off the case. Rumors are he was threatened.”
Breakaway Page 23
