Finally A Bride: A Valentine's Day Romance

by Colleen Charles

  “Is Merlot okay with you, Knight? If not, I’ve got a Cab, I think.”

  “Any red is fine with me. The fire’s going great. Why don’t we just eat out here around the coffee table. For a man used to kneeling on the cold, hard ground, I can attest that this rug is super comfy.”

  Like the skin of an onion, I want to peel back her layers until I can figure out what’s underneath her skittishness around me. She’s natural and easy lately, but that’s only because I’ve found a way to make her relax. All I have to do is play to her need to help the vulnerable. Like most women, she’s a caretaker. As a man, I automatically protect her, and she takes care of me and the animals. I live by those rules. A man stands up and shields a lady, no questions asked.

  And her confidence and comfort level around me and the critters I also protect has been rising with each passing day. I like it. I like the softness around her, and I don’t want to ruin that by taking something she hasn’t offered.

  But that hero syndrome plaguing me hasn’t stopped my cock from growing to impossible lengths in her presence, even in the sub-zero temps. It hasn’t stopped my heart from flipping over every time she smiles at me. It hasn’t stopped my eyes from drinking in her every curve.

  Most women are intimidated by being associated with the town outcast, but she showed up at the meeting to offer her unbridled support. In Cool Beans, I saw firsthand how flighty she is around men, yet when I claimed her lips that one time, she responded like a powder keg about to detonate.

  Which means her passion ignites only for me.

  And I like the thought of that.

  Not that I’m going to exploit it.

  At least not yet.

  All I know is that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything, maybe even for forever.

  Unlike the women I’ve known in my past, Angelica lights up like a Christmas tree when I force her to face her fears head on. Maybe conquering challenges inspires her and strengthens her self-esteem. All I know is that my gorgeous Angel has the determination to tackle anything life throws at her and then some.

  With one tiny exception.

  Me.

  She only let me inside the house tonight because she’s convinced I’ll behave myself. She doesn’t understand how hard it is to keep myself from stroking her silky skin, kissing her full lips or peeling every layer of clothing from her sexy body. So despite my baser urges, I shove the pulsating lust back down and swallow the naughty words tingling on the tip of my tongue. The same tongue that’s dying to lick her between her legs.

  “It’s so nice here by the fire,” she says, sinking to her knees beside me and handing me a glass of wine. “I’m not sure I can handle all this snow. We don’t get that much where I live.”

  “I’ll bet you miss your family.” I take a sip of the dry red as she hands me a bowl of the steaming stew. The heavenly scent tickles my nostrils.

  “I do, I guess. We talk and text a few times a week. I’m an only child. A miracle baby, I suppose. Did I tell you that?”

  “No.” But she really hasn’t volunteered anything important about herself since we met. Getting anything out of her that might clue me in as to why she’s the way she is has been like pulling teeth.

  “My parents went through rounds of expensive fertility treatments. I think my mom suffered over a dozen miscarriages. They’d all but given up but they got pregnant with me on the very last try. They’d run out of money and hope. I think they’re a little disappointed that they didn’t get the girly girl they thought I would be. I got my first telescope when I was in kindergarten.”

  “Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  “I wanted to see the Big Dipper. Until I saw it with my own eyes, I refused to acknowledge it exists. I’m still that way. If I can’t see it or prove it, I don’t believe it. Hence my hobby of taking things apart.”

  The question stalls on my tongue until I push it out. “What about love?”

  “What about it?”

  My gaze meets hers. “You can’t see it with your own eyes, and you can’t prove it exists. So you don’t believe in it?’

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  She sighs and sets down her bowl. “Because you can feel it.”

  I clear my throat of the emotion that’s starting to build. “So you do make exceptions for some things you can’t see?”

  “I suppose.”

  She tells me about the time she let a snake loose in her mom’s car. About the time she fell into a manure pile at the local petting zoo. The time in high school when she ran over the neighbor’s mailbox while learning to drive. And while these things coax a laugh or two from me, they annoy me as well. Because Angelica isn’t telling me one single story about what she did right. She’s trying to push me away with sordid tales all about what she perceives as things she’s done wrong.

  When in my eyes, everything about the woman is so damn right.

  It’s almost like she’s trying to warn me off of her. Like there’s no way that she’s the kind of woman I could ever have any romantic interest in. And she couldn’t be more inaccurate in that assessment of her worth or her desirability. There’s not one inch of me that doesn’t want every single sexy inch of her.

  “Well, that’s me in a nutshell,” she says, pushing her plate away. She stretches her limbs toward the fire. All that makes me think about is his how I could warm her right up in a much better way than the crackling logs. “My parents are awesome, and I love them dearly. But I could never seem to do things the way they wanted me to. I’m afraid I disappointed them as their only child.”

  “I know what that feels like.” When I spot her empty wineglass, I pour her another one. “My dad and I are like oil and water. I grew up on a dairy farm that’s been in our family for generations. I have a younger sister who’s hell on wheels. I guess I have a bit of oldest child syndrome. My sister got all the attention, and I got all the responsibility. In my dad’s eyes, I was an afterthought and only drew his focus if I did something wrong. When I was a teenager, I swear my dad threatened to throw me into a manure pile every day.”

  The corners of her lush mouth tug upward. Those lips. Totally kissable. “Only once a day?”

  “He’s a tough man, but he’s fair. I probably wasn’t the best son since I was always trying to get his attention. But we’ve never seen eye to eye on things. I grew up feeling like the family fuck up.”

  “That’s exactly how I felt… feel.” For the first time since dinner started, she meets my gaze. I hear the same loyalty and love for her parents as I have for mine – and the same feeling of being an outcast despite our best efforts to fit in. The connection between us seems to surprise her.

  But not me. It doesn’t surprise me at all. There’s a thread of something running between us that’s far more than sexual chemistry, although that sizzles and quakes and demands to be heard. No. It’s something deeper.

  Her pale skin glows in the firelight, her eyes the blue of a wildflower in spring. They sweep my body, and, in that moment, I know for certain that she feels it too. And despite my good intentions, I want to pull her into my arms and kiss that sadness out of her eyes. I’ve proven that I’m not a player or a pervert or a man that can never be trusted like the one from her past.

  Because I only want her.

  I’ve been alone long enough to know what I have in front of me and how it’s a gift from God. And I want her to feel it so deep inside that she can’t unknow it.

  Maybe she senses my desire because she quickly glances away and then jumps to her feet. “Um… crust.”

  “Crust?” I glance down at the tray of plates and silverware.

  “Yeah, there’s nothing I hate more than crusty plates. I’ve got to rinse these and get them in the dishwasher.”

  Before she can tell me not to, I grab the tray and head to the kitchen. She went to all this trouble to feed me, so the least I can do is clean up. I rinse everything off and put it in the dish
washer as she cleans the counter and corks the wine. Outside, the snow falls lightly, and the sky has darkened to an inky blackness. Inside, there’s an island of light.

  As I shut the door to the dishwasher, she glances outside. “I can’t believe it’s snowing again. By the time it’s February, the drifts are going to be over our heads. The roads are going to be dicey. Do you still have to go out and feed the kits?”

  “Yeah, one more time, but not for a few hours.” I glance at her. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it. Living way out here all by yourself?”

  She shakes her head. “Nah. I love the woods, and as far as being alone, I can take care of myself. I have a rifle and I can shoot it accurately. And it’s like the first time I’ve ever been all by myself and independent. I’m kind of liking it.”

  “There isn’t anyone from home that you… miss?” My heart squeezes in my chest and I hold my breath as I wait for her answer. I guess we never talked about boyfriends and crushes and other men that might still want her.

  There has to be a line of other men that want her.

  But does she want any of them?

  “My parents and my friends.”

  A pause. A strangled heartbeat. “I meant a man.”

  Her cheeks blaze red and not from the fire. “Oh. Well, there was one. Once.” She crouches down to put the corkscrew away. “I was engaged, but not anymore. And for now, I like not having to answer to anyone.”

  So there was someone else. Someone who probably still loves her. Because what kind of an imbecile would leave Angelica? I dry my hands on the dishtowel hanging from a kitchen drawer as I regard her. The window reflects silvery shadows on her cheekbones. I won’t push for more information, at least for now.

  “I hear you. I probably wouldn’t have gone into my line of work if I wanted to answer to people.” I allow the corners of my mouth to tug upward. “I’ll get out of your hair. But before I go, how about if I stoke the fire and have one more glass of wine? I have to tell you about how bears claws can be the length of human fingers.”

  She gives a little shiver. “Uh – you’re impossible.”

  Chapter Eight

  Angelica

  You’re going to fall off a cliff into the abyss.

  This man. God, what he does to me. What he makes me think. What he makes me feel. Heat skitters over my skin, digging in deep and staying, so that I wonder if I can ever escape it. My fingers itch and my toes curl and all I want to do is run away before it consumes me.

  The way he looks at me, like he’s wrapped everything into the weight of his gaze, makes my knees weak.

  I trail after him as he heads back to the living room for that last glass of wine before he leaves me alone to my empty bed and my vibrator.

  You could have him if you wanted to, Angelica. You could take what you want for once.

  But I won’t. The thought of surrendering to whatever’s building between Knight and me scares the bejesus out of me. Because it feels like an undertow of lust that I might not survive with my heart and soul intact.

  “Are they really that long? Their claws?”

  He nods. “Yup.” He hands me another glass of red. “And they’re not afraid to use them. Even though their main diet is berries and other foliage, they do like to fish a bit. They can get a salmon with those claws straight out of a rushing river.”

  When I suppress another little shiver, he reaches behind me to turn off the lamp. “You don’t care, do you? The glare is hurting my eyes.”

  I try to ignore the new romantic lighting concept. “No, it was bothering me too. Now, get back to the bare necessities about bears.”

  His compelling eyes twinkle. “Well, bears have been alive on earth for 38 million years but there are only eight species of bears in North America. I always found that fascinating. I mean – they had so much time to evolve, but they really didn’t.”

  The fact that he’s a walking encyclopedia about wildlife might bore other women, but I find it hot as hell. He cares about things other than himself. And he wants to share his knowledge with others because if he does, that might keep those critters from being harmed because they’re misunderstood.

  The coals glow in the hush of the waning fire. When Knight stretches back on his elbows, I do too, my eyelids drooping. The long hours outside are starting to catch up with me, but I feel completely at ease with him. Despite his hulking size, I know in my heart that Knight would never hurt me. It’s almost as if he wants to adore me.

  And it’s almost as if I want to let him.

  “What else?” I ask, drinking in his long limbs and trim waist. My eyes linger at the fly of his jeans, wondering what lurks underneath it.

  He catches me and his mouth curls. “Did you know that the largest bear is thirty times bigger than the smallest bear?”

  A blush steals into my cheeks as I get busted. “I did not know that.”

  “Now you do. And Koalas are not bears. There are no bears in Australia. So, I couldn’t live there.”

  I chuckle. “I think you could. You’d just be more Steve Irwin than bear whisperer.”

  He leans back on his elbows and regards me. “Is that who I remind you of? A bear whisperer? I don’t even have a full beard.”

  I reach out to touch him but snatch my hand back. “You have scruff.”

  He rolls over and scrubs a hand down his face. “I don’t shave that much during winter. The scruff provides another layer when I’m outside so much.”

  I take a sip of my wine and welcome the burn down the back of my throat. It distracts me from where I’m burning between my legs. “I totally get that. It’s probably like having another layer of fabric between your skin and the elements.”

  “Tell me more about how climate change is affecting their hibernation patterns?”

  He sighs and a touch of sadness settles into his expression. “It’s becoming a problem in a lot of countries. Rising temperatures are affecting ecosystems and wildlife across the entire globe. Bears normally hibernate to survive the winter, a time when food and water are scarcer in the wild. As soon as temperatures start warming in the spring, bears come out of their dens and start searching for food. But these crazy warm temps in the middle of winter and sometimes in the spring, have been throwing the bears off their hibernation game.”

  I hold my breath. “That’s really sad. How will it hurt them in the long run? Could they become endangered because of it?”

  I want to know every single thing about this man and what he cares about. I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with a male that was so easy and had such a natural give and take.

  "Bears have adapted to limited food resources by hibernating when food supplies run low and coming out of hibernation when food supplies typically return. But when we have unusually warm winters, bears are triggered to come out of hibernation, but their food resources have not yet returned. And you know what happens then. Confrontations with people as they desperately search for something to eat. Bears are smart and resourceful and if they see it, they’ll go for it. Pet food. Bird seed. They’ll barge into sheds and garages… sometimes even porches. And that puts them in the line of fire.”

  My eyes narrow. “That’s horrible. People shoot hungry bears that aren’t even threatening them?”

  “It’s hard to tell a person with a family and little kids that the hungry black bear on their porch isn’t a threat to them. As a man, I’d protect what’s mine with everything in me. And if I had to shoot something to do it, I would without question. I’m just lucky I know more about wildlife than most, so I’m not trigger happy.”

  A whisper of pain rifles through me at the plight of the bears Knight loves so much. “What can we do to help?”

  “I’m afraid until the world starts taking climate change more seriously, there really isn’t anything. Bears waking up weeks earlier than they should is yet another canary in the coal mine, a strong biological indicator of an extremely warm winter in various parts of the world, and l
ong-term, a sign of how humans are becoming a force of nature, unintentionally manipulating nature's natural cycles. I hope that people wise up before it’s too late.”

  “Me too,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his tense forearm. It’s like he has the weight of a selfish cruel world on his shoulders and he wants to protect Mother Nature, but he can’t save everything and everyone.

  He probably can’t even save me no matter how hard he tries.

  But dammit if I don’t want him to. I remember the day I ran from the church and swore off men forever. I should have known it wouldn’t take me long to regret that rash decision. Because this man in front of me – the one pulsing underneath my fingertips – might be worth the risk.

  But aren’t I already taking a huge risk? I invited the man inside my cabin out in the middle of nowhere. I fed him and plied him with wine. I offered no objection when he turned off all the lights, casting the little structure in a romantic glow.

  I feel happy and safe with him. I trust him. But I can’t read him, no matter how much I want to. Does he desire me like I do him, or is he just humoring me because he’s isolated out here, and he doesn’t have anything better to do?

  My fingers fall off his arm as he lifts it to tuck a wisp of hair behind my ear, those wicked fingertips lingering on my jawline. Everywhere he touches, I tingle. His hand moves lower, caressing my shoulder blade. With a little tug, he pulls me forward until I’m a sliver away from his waiting mouth. My eyes widen as I get my answer.

  Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he angles his mouth, and it meets mine. His fingers twine into my hair as I enjoy his soft, warm lips. He tastes like cabernet and spice and man. Even as I wonder if he’s just doing this as a pleasant distraction, I still lean into him, wanting more. His first kiss was more tentative and exploratory. This one is more like a claiming. It’s a slow promise of more. He’s not rushing me; he’s savoring me like the fine wine we shared.