The Wedding She Always Wanted

by Stacy Connelly

  Gordon deliberately unfolded the check, no doubt making sure it wasn’t made of rubber. His granite features revealed nothing as he set it aside. “Is this supposed to prove something?”

  “Only that you won’t be able to buy me off.”

  “Unfortunately, it will take more than that—” Gordon jerked a stubborn, bearded chin toward the check “—to convince me you won’t end up hurting my daughter.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m sorry you were stuck talking to my father for so long,” Emily apologized as Javy turned the car along the Wilsons’ circular driveway and through the gated exit.

  Dressed in a denim-colored halter dress that left the creamy skin of her shoulders and back gloriously bare, Emily shifted on the passenger seat to face him. She crossed one leg over the other, drawing his attention to even more bare skin and a pair of beaded, strappy sandals, which made it almost impossible for Javy to keep his eyes on the road.

  “You were worth the wait. You look amazing,” he told her, the flattery coming as easily as breathing.

  And although the words had never been so true, the flirting that had been a part of his dating routine for so long suddenly felt as tired and worn as his oldest beat-up pair of jeans. Looking into Emily’s turquoise eyes, Javy couldn’t help wondering if maybe, just maybe, it was time for something new.

  “You would think clearing out my closet like I did today would make things easier to find, but…no,” she said with a smile as she ran her fingers along the dress’s hemline just below her knees. Even though there was nothing purposefully seductive in the simple move, Javy felt his mouth go as dry as the parched desert landscape surrounding them.

  “I talked to Anna earlier.” The mere mention of his cousin had her voice ringing in his head, reminding him of all the things Emily wanted, all the things he wasn’t sure he could give, but he did his best to shove them aside. “She says my aunt Angela’s pretty excited about all the clothes you gave her.”

  “I was glad to help. I, um, was thinking that if I could get some students at the fashion institute involved, they could alter the donated clothes.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.”

  Emily sighed even as she fiddled with the zipper on her beaded purse, a sure sign of nerves. “I only wish someone else had come up with that great idea. Instead, I started talking without thinking, and now Angela is counting on me.”

  “You can do this, Emily. You know you can.”

  She laughed softly. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me believe in myself even when no one else will.”

  Stopped at a red light, he glanced over at her. Even though the sun was setting behind her, when Emily smiled, it was the light coming from inside her that nearly blinded him. The pleasure she took in his faith in her, so much greater than her reaction to his compliment, only served to reinforce his earlier thought.

  His usual arsenal of flattery and flirting wouldn’t work with Emily. She wanted, no, deserved more. The question was, did he have it in himself to give?

  The thought of reaching out and opening up after so many years of holding back left him feeling vulnerable, exposed. The last time he’d opened up his heart to a woman, he’d had it ripped from his chest.

  And he didn’t think surviving that would be any easier the second time around.

  Unaware of the reservations swirling through him, Emily went on with her ideas for his aunt’s charity. “A girl named Lauren came to the house with your aunt. Seeing her model the clothes made me think of having a fashion show. Only instead of models wearing famous designer originals, anyone who wanted to volunteer could show off their own style and then donate those outfits at the end of the night.”

  Emily’s voice started picking up speed and strength the more she talked, and Javy knew she’d given the concept a great deal of thought.

  “I also wanted to have Lauren and the other women at the shelter involved. If the students from the fashion institute help, we could show some before shots and then have the women model the clothes after they’ve been tailored to fit them. Of course, there would be auction items to help raise money and…” Her voice trailed off. “See? I’m totally getting ahead of myself. I have no idea if the students would be willing to volunteer. Cassie—my friend with the jewelry boutique—and I could lend the women all the accessories they’d need for the fashion show, as well as donate some items for an auction, but I don’t have any idea who else would be willing—”

  “Hey, I would,” he interrupted, hating to see her excitement denied by self-doubt. “Dinner for two at the restaurant. Best table in the house.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s for a good cause, and my aunt would kick my butt if I didn’t.”

  “That’s…that means a lot to me. Thank you, Javy.”

  He glanced her way again and hoped that it was only a trick of the setting sun that was making her eyes look like they were shining. The thought of Emily crying, even grateful tears, hit like a below-the-belt blow.

  He wasn’t used to women crying in his presence. He always made sure his dates had a good time, always made sure to leave them with a smile, always made sure to date only women who knew the rules and how he played. Most of them were better at the game than he was, and no way did those women cry.

  But Emily was different. He’d spotted it the moment he saw her at the reception that should have been hers, trying so hard to show everyone how little she cared about her broken dreams. Yet he’d still asked her out.

  Because he’d thought she was looking for a good time, Javy argued, for a man to build her confidence back up and reinforce that she was a sexy, desirable woman. And he was the man for the job….

  Only what if he was wrong and Anna was right? What if Emily did want more than a good time? Nerves clawing at his gut, his hands tightened on the wheel. What if he wanted more than a good time?

  “Javy, is everything all right?” Emily asked quietly, breaking the silence.

  “What? Yeah. Why?”

  “You got really quiet. You haven’t said anything for three miles.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “How’s everything at the restaurant? Do you think you’ll make Alex’s schedule for the reopening?”

  “I think so. Tomorrow we’ll get started on the drywall and baseboard repairs and start installing the tile. Alex says that it’ll take only three days, but we’ll see.”

  “I’m looking forward to tasting some of your favorite dishes.” As Javy turned into a residential neighborhood, Emily added, “And speaking of eating, you haven’t told me where we’re going for dinner tonight.”

  “That’s because I was keeping it a surprise,” he said.

  He flashed her a smile, but even in the fading daylight, Emily sensed that something was missing. He hadn’t seemed himself since picking her up. She wondered if her father had said something to him, but Javy hardly seemed the type to be intimidated by anyone, even a man like her father. And yet everything had been fine when she left the restaurant last night…hadn’t it?

  Turning her attention back to the conversation, she asked, “And how long do you plan to keep me in suspense?”

  “Not much longer, since we’re here.” Javy pulled into the driveway of a flat-roofed, adobe-style house.

  “Where is here?”

  “My house. I wanted to take you out for the best meal you’ve ever had, but I won’t be able to do that until the restaurant is back up and running. So, for now, you’ll have the next best thing.”

  He climbed from the car and circled around to open the door for her before adding, “A home-cooked meal by me.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you cook,” Emily said, following Javy along a path lined with mosaic tiles toward the front door. The instant she stepped inside, she was hit by a burst of air-conditioned air scented with mouthwatering peppers, onions and spices she couldn’t name.

&n
bsp; Leading the way through a comfortable living room filled with overstuffed, man-size leather furniture and a large flat-screen television to an eat-in kitchen, Javy said, “According to my mother, cooking is as important as eating. If you can’t do one, how can you do the other?”

  “Not a lot of ordering takeout in the Delgado household, huh?” Emily teased as she perched on a bar stool, resting her elbows on the brown-and-gold-flecked countertop, while Javy stepped up to the stove.

  He picked up a wooden spoon, which looked as comfortable in his hand as the hammer and chisel she’d seen him use, and lifted the lid off a slow-cooker. He gave a stir and declared the tortilla soup almost ready. He pulled a platter of chopped peppers and onions from the refrigerator and started them sizzling in a frying pan before saying, “I can’t tell you what a treat it was when I’d spend the night at a friend’s house, and we’d go out for pizza or hamburgers. Man, I thought Happy Meals were the best. I had no idea how good I had it.”

  “I guess we all take the people around us for granted.” After telling Javy about how Lauren and her son were on their own, with no help from Lauren’s family, Emily said, “There’s no way my family would ever just…disown me like that.”

  “But you never challenged your parents like that, either,” Javy said. “Not for long,” he added when he realized she might bring up her short-lived, defiant relationship with Connor.

  He didn’t ask, but Emily read the curiosity written in his dark eyes. Why had she always done what she was told? Why had she put so much more importance on making everyone else happy instead of making herself happy?

  Watching him gather avocados, an onion, garlic, jalapeños, a lime and tomatoes from the corner of the counter, ingredients even she recognized as the makings for guacamole, Emily tried to put her jumbled thoughts into words. “I guess, maybe, it’s like you using fresh fruit and vegetables. That’s what your mother thought was the right thing to do. It probably would have been easier and maybe cheaper to use canned or frozen or dried ingredients. But you’re making dinner the way she taught you without even thinking about it.”

  And doing an impressive job. He handled a knife with the kind of skill she’d only witnessed on TV. He had the onion and tomatoes chopped, the peppers and garlic diced, and the avocados scooped from their skins and sprinkled with lime juice in less time than it would have taken her to get the skin off a single garlic clove. Without even measuring or checking a recipe once.

  After so many years, making her parents happy had gotten to be the same thing—something she did out of habit without every stopping to wonder why. “My parents always taught me that they knew best, that their ideas were better than mine. Somehow I fell into the habit of doing as I was told and convinced myself that as long as my parents were happy, I would be happy.”

  “But you weren’t.” The words were a statement, not a question, but Emily answered, anyway.

  “No. And now that I’m trying to live my own life and make my own decisions, it’s still hard when I feel like I’m disappointing them.”

  “They aren’t disappointed, just surprised and maybe a little worried. You’ve changed the rules of a lifetime. You need to give them a chance to catch up.”

  “Yeah? How long do you think it would take your mother to get used to the idea of you using guacamole that came from a jar?”

  The corners of his mouth kicked up at her point. “Okay, that would never happen, but it isn’t the same thing. My mother and I might not agree on everything, but she’s right about the fresh vegetables.” He finished mixing the ingredients, added a dash of salt and pepper, and grabbed a tortilla chip from a nearby bag. Scooping up a dollop of guacamole, he circled the island and held it out for her to taste. “Fresh really is the best. See for yourself.”

  She could have reached out and taken the chip, but the glint in his dark eyes was a challenge she couldn’t resist. Leaning forward, she tasted the sample he offered straight from his hand. The flavors exploded against her tongue—the crisp tortilla, the cool, smooth avocado, the crunch of onion, and bite of pepper, all in perfect combination.

  But the second he brushed his fingers against her lips, she could have been eating cardboard for all she cared, and the only taste she craved was his kiss.

  His eyes darkened to onyx as he focused on the slow stroke of his thumb against her lower lip. Anticipation beat like the relentless thump of bass in her chest, loud enough and strong enough that she expected the windows to tremble from the reverberations.

  But Javy still didn’t kiss her. Like a gourmet drawing out the appetizers and salad to whet the appetite for the main course, he only teased her. He trailed his fingers along her jaw before he cupped the nape of her neck.

  The contact of his skin against hers sent her blood sizzling, snapping and popping in her veins like the vegetables sautéing on the stove. All before he’d even kissed her. He stepped closer until the heat from his body surrounded her and finally, finally, claimed her mouth with his own.

  But if the wait had filled Emily with anticipation, it had let something loose inside of Javy.

  This was nothing like the practiced seduction the night of the wedding or the kisses where he’d allowed her the pretense of control. This kiss was wild, unpredictable, hotter and better than anything that had come before. His fingers tangled in her hair as her head fell back with a moan. His denim-clad legs brushed against hers as he pressed closer. The edge of the island countertop bumped against the small of her back, but instead of feeling trapped, she was aware that the solid surface was the only thing keeping her upright as her world tilted off its axis.

  Her hands swam from the small of his back, to his hips, his sides. The soft cotton slid over his skin, conforming to muscle and bone, but Emily wanted more. Inching up the material, her fingers found the hem of his shirt and dove beneath. His skin was silky smooth and hot against her hands, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, the pulse of desire low in her belly telling her she wanted everything.

  Javy breathed her name against skin as his mouth trailed from her cheek to her ear to her throat until Emily’s head swam from the sheer pleasure. Each time she sucked in a much-needed breath, her breasts brushed against his chest, stealing the air from her lungs all over again in a delicious circle she never wanted to end….

  The shrill blast of an alarm sliced through the air, severing the connection that had been so strong seconds before. Javy jumped back and swore as his gaze locked on the smoking peppers and onions. Color washed from his face even as his jaw clenched hard enough to crack his back teeth.

  Still reeling from the kiss, Emily couldn’t seem to make herself move on legs that felt as wilted as whatever was left of the vegetables. “Javy—”

  “I’ve got it,” he bit out. In two steps he dumped the pan in the sink, turned on the water and hit the switch to start the exhaust fan over the stove whirling.

  The fire alarm sputtered, then quit after a final bleat or two, leaving a smoky silence to fill the kitchen.

  Emily’s heart was still pounding in her throat, limiting her breaths to quick pants, but with a rough shake of his head, Javy seemed to dismiss everything that had just happened: the kiss, the smoke alarm and his reaction to it.

  “Sorry about that.” He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing out the rough edges left by her fingers and smothering the flames. “When I said I wanted to show off my skill in the kitchen, flambé wasn’t what I had in mind. You better go have a seat before this kitchen goes up in smoke.”

  “You could always take the other pot off the stove,” she suggested hopefully.

  “It’s not the stove I’m worried about,” he said, the heat in his eyes making her feel like she was on fire.

  But instead of kissing her again, he took a step back. “Give me another few minutes and dinner will be ready.”

  Emily nodded, but Javy didn’t notice. He’d already turned away, leaving her to stare at his broad back and wish she could turn back time.

 
; Had anyone asked, Javy would have sworn he didn’t have a seduction routine. That every woman was different and therefore every date was different. But only now, seated at the table across from Emily, did he realize the one thing that was always the same—him. Whether he took his date out for a night on the town, hopping from one Scottsdale club to another, or out to some five-star restaurant or on a picnic by the lake, he never changed.

  “I’m thinking that I’ve been somewhat monopolizing our conversations. You know all about me, and I don’t know nearly as much about you,” Emily said.

  They’d just finished dinner, and Emily’s voice had an overly bright quality, as if he should expect to see a TV camera or microphone nearby. His fault, he knew, because of the silence that had fallen between them after he’d pulled away from that kiss instead of taking things a step further.

  It was what he would have done any other night of the week, with any other woman. But he’d never lost control like he did with Emily. A part of him always knew what he was doing at any given moment in any given relationship.

  To completely lose it with Emily was unacceptable. To completely lose it and almost start another freakin’ fire was like fate slapping him upside the head. Reminding him of what could happen if he let himself get distracted. Of how much he could lose.

  He needed to get back in control. To keep things light, fun, free of the heavy emotions that always bogged relationships down. Not an easy thing to do when the reminder of how completely he’d lost it still filled the house with the faint smell of smoke.

  “You know I’m friends with Connor,” he pointed out, forcing his thoughts back to the conversation. “You’ve met some of my family. You’ve been to the restaurant.”

  “And you know that I’ve let my parents dictate my entire life, that I nearly married a man I didn’t love to please them and that my former fiancé proposed only to try and get into his family’s good graces after getting their maid pregnant. I’d say you have the upper hand.”