Can't Hurry Love

by Molly O'Keefe

  “Startled me mostly.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He sighed, hard and deep through his nose, and then he turned to watch her. His face was utterly unreadable.

  “You put on quite a show in there,” he said. “I’ve never had a woman fight for me like that. Never had anyone fight for me like that.”

  There were a thousand things she should have said, starting with I’m sorry no one has ever fought for you, because you deserve to be protected and cared for and battled over.

  Instead she smiled like a fool and said, “Glad you liked it.”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, turning to face her fully, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as if he was trying to see her a little more clearly. Her heart took a cold bath in his words and hope faltered. “Why’d you do it, Tori?”

  Gavin led Celeste into the first massage room he came to and shut the door behind them.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she howled, pointing toward the door and the scene beyond it. “I need to help her.”

  “I thought she was doing fine on her own.”

  She tried to step around him but he got in her way. Exasperated, and trembling with fear and excitement and the dense, wonderful awareness of how alone they were right now, she plunked her hands on her hips. “That’s my party out there.”

  “Why did you call me today?” he asked.

  The change of subject threw her off and she backed up against the massage table.

  “I needed help. I told you. The lights.”

  “Right. You needed an electrician and a carpenter to hang Christmas lights.”

  She took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said. “I … wanted you here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you worked so hard—”

  He shook his head, his grin so sly and knowing that her body got damp just from being in the same room.

  “Can I tell you what I think?” he asked, stepping toward her slightly. “I think you called me because you missed me. Because you wanted to see me.”

  “You’re right,” she admitted, leaning against the massage table, because her legs were shaking. She crossed her arms over her chest, balling her hands up under her arms, making sure they understood that there would be no more touching, even though that place on her arm where he’d touched her still burned. “You’re a good friend.”

  To her utter shock, he started taking off his coat, pulling at his tie. He leaned against the door and toed off his shoes, and when that was done, he locked the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done the day I met you.”

  “Making a fool of yourself?” Oh, she turned her nose up good with that one. It would take a better man—

  He laughed. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the muscled perfection of his ivory chest. Her mouth went dry, her core went wet, and all of this was a mess.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I want to leave.” She laid it on thick, hiding behind the imperial bitchiness that had gotten her through some of the worst moments of her life, this one right up on the list.

  “Really?” he asked, stepping toward her, his eyebrows raised, his lips curled into a predatory smile. “You don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “No, I—” He turned her around, just flipped her right over until she was braced against the massage table and his hands were lowering the zipper on her dress.

  “I’m staking my claim, Celeste,” he said and kissed the skin revealed by the splitting zipper. “I don’t give a shit how old you are.” He leaned against her, and she felt his erection against her hips and hung her head, lost in the sudden upswell of desire. “But it clearly bothered you and I … I wanted to give you the distance you seemed to need, but I was wrong. I was wrong to let you push me away.”

  The dress slipped off her shoulders, catching on her hips momentarily before falling to the floor, leaving her in a black bra and panties.

  “Oh God, Celeste, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, kissing her spine, her neck, the side of her face, and she found deep inside of herself the strength to push him away, to turn and face him with her imperfections. The crepey skin and spider veins, the fat around her middle, the sagging breasts that looked fine in a bra—but when she took this puppy off, watch out.

  “Are you looking at me?” she asked, running a hand down her body. “Or are you seeing that cover?”

  “What …?” It took him a moment, distracted as he seemed to be by her breasts in the black lace. “That magazine I kept for so long?” he asked. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  She didn’t say anything, refused to fish for compliments, for assurances that he wasn’t going to fuck her and think of the old her.

  “That woman wasn’t real, Celeste,” he said, his blue eyes warm, his smile sweet. “Not like you. Look, I’m … stubborn. And moody. Loyal to a fault. I make a bunch of money and never spend it. I have a son who thrives on causing trouble and I need someone real by my side. Someone tough and strong and passionate and smart. That woman in the poster—she was beautiful, no doubt about it. But you are what I need. You are what I want. And I don’t care how old I am, or you are. I want you.”

  “But thirteen years, Gavin. I’ll be an old woman and you’ll still—”

  “Want you.” He held her hand. “We have no idea what the future will bring, Celeste. But we could kill what we have right now worrying about it, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to waste another minute I could be spending with you.”

  That gerbil in her brain fought a good fight for a second, pitching a fit, sending adrenaline and panic out through her veins until the need to run was almost overwhelming. But then she looked at Gavin, really looked at him, and she made a choice. Easy as that.

  She wasn’t going to push this man away.

  And just like that the gerbil packed its bags and left, and the silence was … sweet. The panic was gone, and—for the first time in a long time—she found herself alone with her reality. She didn’t have anything to prove anymore. Not to herself. Not to her dead ex-husband. Not to her parents. To no one.

  She only had to please herself, and that was easy enough. The man in front of her looked more than equal to the task, on every level.

  She and Victoria had planned for this room to be soothing and they’d set it up for the party. Plum walls, myrrh incense burning in a cup, the piped-in sounds of chanting monks.

  But somehow, those monks … they sounded like sex.

  And the plum walls were the color of sex.

  And myrrh was definitely the smell of sex.

  And Gavin in front of her, his white-blond hair and handsome face, his body, those smooth muscles, the dip and swell of his arms and shoulders … he looked like the future.

  “I want you, too,” she said.

  Gavin’s arms came around her, strong and gentle, and his lips touched hers. Unbelievably, she found herself laughing. Giggling at first, against his lips, but then she was really laughing, fighting for air, leaning against him for support.

  “I’m trying not to get offended here, Celeste.”

  “I’m sorry, truly.” She tried to hold in the laughter, but ended up snorting. Her. Celeste Baker, snorting. “I’m just so happy.”

  Gavin smiled, chuckled a little, laughed. His hands slipped into her hair, holding her head, ruining her classic upsweep, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but him and the happiness he gave her.

  “Me too, Celeste.” He pressed sweet kisses against her jaw, along her cheek, and that laughter changed in her chest, became something breathless and full of wonder.

  Her hands learned the textures of him, the contours, while her tongue learned the taste of her very own Viking.

  chapter

  29

  In a heartbeat Victoria realized what Eli was doing. He was giving her nothing. Which was roughly the equivale
nt of what she’d given him for the last few months. And into that great void he’d tossed all his love and affection and respect. He’d opened himself up, body and soul, for a woman who’d told him she would only hurt him.

  “You’re the bravest man I know,” she said, amazed anew at his strength.

  “On with it, Tori.”

  She grinned, so in love she felt like she might split at the seams, her volume increased by the never-ending flood of her feelings for this man.

  “I love you.”

  Of all the reactions she had expected, narrowing his eyes at her as if she might be lying hadn’t even been on the list.

  “I do. I’m serious.”

  “I don’t want your guilt, or your sacrifice—”

  “Well, too bad!” she cried. “You’ve got it. Look, clearly, I have some sort of … complex. What do you want—my mother was a mess, my dad was an asshole, I married a crook. I have issues, Eli. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Because I do. And I’m a coward. Life is scary to me most of the time and I work really hard at being brave, but sometimes I’m going to fail. That doesn’t change my feelings for you.”

  “You didn’t seem so scared in there.” He jerked his thumb back toward the house.

  “I know, right? I was awesome,” she cried, and he smiled and the night became her paradise. Her heaven. All she needed was this man, her family in that house somewhere behind her, and a future with all of them. “You deserve to have someone fight for you,” she whispered, her fingertips finding his sleeve, the edge of his dark jacket. The fabric was so soft, very fine. He’d probably spent more money on this one suit than on his entire wardrobe for a year. For her. And she’d almost blown it.

  “I need you, Eli, for the days when I’m not brave. For when I’m feeling guilty for something I have no business blaming myself for.” She felt as if the box inside of her where she kept all of her needs, all of the demands she was scared to make of people, was being torn apart and she couldn’t shut up. “I need you to keep me from worrying. To keep me from coddling Jacob. I need you to make me laugh and to show me swans and to make me feel sexy and beautiful. And I need to do that for you—I need to show you how wonderful you are, how honorable and smart and generous. So generous, Eli. You are a miracle in my life. In everyone’s life. I need to see you with my son and feel my heart grow too big for my chest.” She put her hand over her stomach, suddenly wishing she was pregnant. Suddenly wanting it so bad she could barely breathe.

  “Tori—” He reached for her, as if he was scared she was going to fall over, and she grabbed his hands, put them around her waist, held him there so he couldn’t leave.

  “I’m a mess, I know it. But you have a home with me, wherever I am. You said you only give people shit, but that’s not true. You bring me so much happiness. So much peace. You make me proud, Eli. Proud to know you. Proud to call you mine. Because I need you to be mine. And I need to be yours.”

  This stoic, silent cowboy stared down at her, unreadable. Now she was getting unnerved.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please say something.”

  “I like that.”

  “What?”

  “That part about being yours. And you being mine.”

  The relief was like losing her body, like lifting right on out of herself, out of her clothes and skin. And climbing right inside of his.

  “I love you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you so much.”

  “I didn’t …” He stopped and she pulled away, watching tears fill his beautiful green eyes. “I didn’t know I could be this happy.”

  “It’s only going to get better.” She wrapped her arms around his chest, pulling him flush against her body so she could feel his heart beat against hers. The two of them in perfect rhythm.

  “How do you know?” he whispered against her hair. She leaned back.

  “Didn’t you see me in there?” she asked. “I’m a force to be reckoned with. If I say we’re happy, we’re happy.”

  His quiet chuckle warmed the night, seeped into her skin, and curled through her, filling her with an almost unbearable sense of right.

  “This was meant to be,” he said, as if he’d read her heart. And maybe he had.

  “Sure as hell took a long time.” She kissed his jaw, following a path of her choosing to his lips.

  “You were worth the wait,” he said and sealed her lips with his.

  epilogue

  “Don’t be scared,” Eli said, crouching down in front of Jacob. He loosened the silly tie Victoria had insisted the boy wear.

  “I’m not scared.” Eli was still getting used to the trust in the boy’s eyes. The hero worship. Truth was, he lived in fear of betraying it somehow. Of not being the man Jacob saw. Turnbull men were good at that.

  But Victoria kept telling him to relax, that Jacob loved Eli for Eli, just like she did. But that was all a first for him, so everyone had to be patient.

  And they were. Victoria and Jacob were so good to him. A gift he tried to repay every day.

  “All right,” he said, pushing back a curl that had fallen over the boy’s eyes. “That’s good.”

  “I’m scared,” Eli whispered to Victoria over Jacob’s head. “I’m totally freaking out.”

  “It will be okay.” She kissed his lips, patted his cheek, and then linked her arm through his, reaching out her hand for Jacob’s and somehow managing to propel them all across the sun-baked asphalt toward the front door of The Elms. “Come on, we’ve made it this far.”

  He’d wanted to wait until they were married before bringing them here. Somehow being able to call Victoria his wife when he introduced her to the old man seemed important.

  And she’d wanted to wait to get married until after she’d made it through the first trimester, so she wouldn’t throw up on her way down the aisle.

  And then their little ceremony had just kept growing. Celeste kept making lists. Gavin had to build a gazebo. Eli had to have a long talk with his uncle before deciding whether or not to invite him. In the end, Uncle John was there and Amy had been too, and she stood in the front row beaming with happiness. Victoria’s brother, Luc, gave her away, and Celeste and Tara Jean were two of the most beautiful bridesmaids ever to carry a bouquet.

  Jacob had stood between Eli and Victoria during the ceremony, holding their hands as the minister made them a family before God and witnesses.

  So, here they were, freshly married, four months pregnant, and he was about to introduce his new family to his old family.

  “Hi, Caitlyn!” Jacob cried as they walked through the front door of The Elms.

  “Hi, guys.” Caitlyn looked up from the front desk and smiled, that peaceful, reassuring smile that made her such an asset. Such a friend.

  “He’s been a bit restless,” she said and winced.

  Eli stopped, but Victoria pushed him forward. “We’ve put this off long enough.”

  The hallway leading down to his dad’s room was the longest it had ever been. The lights were too bright and his boots were too loud and he wanted to stop. He wanted to turn back. This was unnecessary—at best, his father wouldn’t even know what was happening and at worst, well, he didn’t want to have to think of the orderlies holding his father down mid-fit while Jacob and Victoria watched.

  “No backing down now, cowboy,” Victoria muttered, pushing him forward.

  Right. No backing down. Not with this woman at his back.

  Though last week he had needed to force her out of bed for an interview with Madelyn Cornish.

  That was marriage, he guessed. Partnership. The support went both ways.

  The door to his father’s room was cracked and it opened without a sound under his hand. He peeked his head around to see the old man sleeping. His pajamas were twisted up around his body, and the sheets were sliding off the bed.

  “Give me a second,” he whispered to Jacob and Victoria, and he ducked inside to straighten the sheets and the pajamas.

&n
bsp; “Behave yourself,” he whispered in his father’s ear, and then stepped over to open the door. “Come … ah, come on in.”

  The room was crowded as Victoria and Jacob filed in, and Eli wiped his suddenly very wet hands down his jeans to dry them off.

  “Is he dead?” Jacob whispered, his eyes wide with horror.

  “No,” Eli laughed. “Just sleeping. He sleeps a lot.”

  “Can he hear us?” Jacob asked.

  “Caitlyn says he can.”

  “Oh.” Jacob scratched his nose and then took one quick step over to the bed. “Hey, Grandpa,” he shouted and then jumped back.

  Eli breathed deep through his mouth, blinking to get the sting out of his eyes.

  “Hello, Mark,” Victoria said, leaning down toward the bed. “I’m Victoria, your son’s wife.”

  Mark stirred on the bed and Eli held his breath, but after a moment the old man settled.

  “I think he farted,” Jacob whispered. Victoria’s look was so quelling Eli snorted back a laugh, unwilling to get his own share of her wrath, but when Victoria wasn’t looking he winked at Jacob.

  “Hey, Dad,” Eli whispered, standing where he usually did, his legs pressed against the collapsed metal railings of the bed. He pulled Mark’s pajama collar away from where it was gathered at his neck. “I want you to meet my family. Victoria, and our boy.” He glanced over, smiling at the two of them standing on the other side of the bed. “His name is Jacob. He’s got a good hand with the horses. You’d like him. And Victoria … well, she’d terrify you. But she’s a strong woman. The strongest.”

  Mark kept sleeping, his chest rising and falling in shallow arcs. Eli took a deep breath. “And we’re having a baby. In October. Victoria thinks it’s a girl, something about having an ugly pregnancy, but that’s a lie. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  If this were a movie Mark would have opened his eyes. Or squeezed Eli’s hand, but he just lay there, silent. Sleeping.

  “I’m happy, Dad. And I don’t know if you ever felt this way, but I hope you did. I wish …” He stopped right there, because there was no sense in wishing on the past. It was over.