The Wedding She Always Wanted

by Stacy Connelly

  “Not…everything.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips to her breasts, sending flames of heat licking over her body. And despite his earlier words, she didn’t think talking was what he had in mind.

  But it was enough to remind her of the one thing about her she still hadn’t mentioned. Emily opened her mouth, but she still couldn’t bring herself to blurt out the truth. And when Javy did as he’d suggested and started talking about her, a single sentence or coherent thought was nowhere to be found.

  His words, his voice, his lips poured over her. Emily had heard compliments before, but never murmured so intimately against her skin and never spoken in Spanish. A bubble of giddy laughter broke from her lips, despite the hand she instantly slapped over her mouth.

  Javy gazed at her, a question in his eyes, but confidence in his smile. “Should I even ask?”

  “I was—” another giggle interrupted “—just thinking my father was right.”

  His dark brow slammed down in a frown. “Your father?”

  Emily nodded, fisting his shirt in one hand as she pulled him close again. “Spanish is, oh, so practical.”

  His lips kicked up in a smile. “Ah, the benefits of a prep-school education. Tell me, Miss Wilson, what else did you learn?”

  Not nearly as much as he could teach her, Emily thought as he eased her back against the couch pillows. She sank into the softness, a definite contrast to the strength and hardness of his body as he followed her down. He claimed her lips again even as his fingers drifted toward the buttons on her dress. Could he feel the way her heart was about to pound out of her chest?

  As his hand closed over her breast, she forgot to care. The pleasure of his touch burned all nerves, all hesitation, even embarrassment. If only it would burn away the satin and lace of her bra, so she could feel the heat of his flesh against her own. Then suddenly the barrier was gone, brushed aside by impatient hands or reduced to ash, Emily didn’t know. She could barely focus on anything beyond the play of his fingers against her breast and the desire he drew from an endless well inside of her.

  But despite the pleasure of his touch, Emily needed more. She needed to know, to see, to feel that Javy wanted her as much as she wanted him. With his experience, of course, he could turn her on. But she needed to know she could do the same, had to believe this meant something to Javy beyond the usual seduction….

  Following his lead, she held his gaze as her fingers found the buttons on his shirt and slowly slid each one free. His skin was hot and smooth against her palms, and she couldn’t get enough, not only of touching him, but of his reaction. The way his eyes darkened, the way his breath caught and his pulse pounded, the way his stomach muscles clenched as her fingers drifted lower.

  If she had any questions about the intensity of Javy’s response, she had her answer when he caught her mouth in a kiss that seared away any doubts. His kiss still held a hint of salt from the margaritas, as well as a taste that was uniquely his own. Emily sought out more of the flavor, rimming his lips the same way the salt had rimmed the glass, until Javy took control, his tongue plunging deep.

  Desire curled her hips into his, and reality intruded, whispering through her conscience the words she should have already said before she let things go this far….

  When he broke the kiss for a brief moment, she tried to explain. “Javy, I…” Her voice little more than a husky whisper, Emily swallowed and tried again. “You should, um, probably know I’ve never done this before.”

  She felt his lips curve into a smile against her neck. “Made love on a couch?”

  A nervous laugh bubbled up from inside her. “That, too.”

  He froze against her, the meaning of her words clearer the second time around. He pulled back with an expression of so much shock, it might have been comical if she hadn’t felt so much like crying. “You…”

  “I’m sorry.” Regret clogged her throat, and she swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t want you to stop. I should have—”

  “Let your first time take place on the couch in my living room?”

  “Yes,” she answered, but with enough of a question in her voice to make Javy’s head drop to her shoulder in a half laugh, half groan.

  “No,” he countered, then repeated in a stronger voice, “No.” He levered his body off hers, the effort it took obvious in the tension knotting his shoulders and arms. He sank back against the couch cushions, his breathing still ragged and his gaze still touched with disbelief. “Your first time should be special. It should be perfect.”

  “It would be,” she whispered. As long as her first time was with Javy, she knew it would be.

  But despite the tension and desire still radiating from every plane and angle of his body, stretched out beside her, Javy shook his head.

  She’d feared this would happen. Tears burning her throat, Emily wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She’d known everything would change once she told Javy the truth and that a man of his experience wouldn’t be interested in someone with no experience.

  “How? I mean, you were engaged,” he pointed out, “and you never—”

  “It was a short engagement, and I wanted to wait,” she confessed, well aware that if she’d felt for her ex-fiancé one-tenth of what she felt for Javy, she never would have made the suggestion. “Todd agreed easily enough, but of course, his idea of waiting for me meant sleeping with the maid.”

  An embarrassment she hadn’t felt moments earlier now boiled up inside her, heating her face and escaping like steam from every pore. Her fingers trembled on the buttons Javy had slid away so easily. She needed to leave now, before she added to her humiliation by breaking down in tears. She started to push to her feet, but Javy caught her by the wrist.

  “What—”

  She didn’t have the chance to finish her question before he stretched out on the couch and pulled her down beside him. Reaching overhead with his free hand, he clicked off the light. Only a thin square of light outlined the blinds on the front window, and their combined breathing sounded too loud—and too intimate—in the darkness.

  He pressed her head to his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

  “What—what are you doing?” she demanded, struggling against his hold, still intent on escaping her own inadequacies.

  “I’m holding you,” he answered, stating the obvious.

  “I know, but you don’t even want—”

  His hoarse laughter cut off the words Emily never meant to say. “Emily, you have no idea….”

  “Then why stop?”

  “Because you’re…and I didn’t…” Seeming to have as much trouble explaining his reasoning as Emily was in accepting it, Javy exhaled a sigh, which only settled her closer to him. “I’ve been imagining making love to you since I saw you at Connor and Kelsey’s engagement party,” he confessed, his momentary loss for words over. “But I never imagined our first time would be your first time. I want to do this right.”

  Since it was her first time, Emily thought maybe she should be the one to decide what was right, but at least they would have that time. Relieved her inexperience hadn’t completely scared him off, she said, “You’re going to hold me while I sleep? All night?”

  “Yes.”

  “But—”

  Even in the semidarkness, his fingers unerringly found her lips and silenced her with a touch. “At least there’ll be a first for one of us tonight.”

  Emily smiled as she snuggled next him, resting her head on his chest and her hand on his heart. Because although sleeping in a man’s arms would be a first for her, Emily didn’t think she was the one Javy was talking about.

  Emily woke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the living-room blinds. Waking up in an unfamiliar place, still dressed and lying on a couch, she would have expected to suffer a moment or two of disorientation. But she remembered every minute of the previous night up to the moment she fell asleep in Javy’s arms.

  Now, however, she was alone, bat
tling feelings of disappointment and relief. She would have loved to wake up in his arms, too, but having a few minutes to herself before seeing him again sounded like a good idea. She could wash her face, brush her hair and remind herself that even though she was falling for Javy like a skydiver ready to jump out of a plane without a parachute, nothing—not even last night, as amazing as it had been—said he felt the same.

  She was going to hit the ground hard. But until then, Emily thought the best thing she could do was to close her eyes and pretend she could fly.

  Sitting up and stretching her arms overhead, she caught sight of a piece of paper on the coffee table, amid a few remote controls and a stack of sports magazines. Out of coffee. Be back soon. Make yourself at home.

  Emily smiled. Judging by his abbreviated note and slashing cursive, coffee was a must in the morning.

  Feeling like a bit of a sneak despite having written permission, she made her way down the hall and peeked into an open doorway. The small guest bath, with its white walls and empty counter, might have lacked extras, but folded on the toilet was a towel, what looked like a pair of navy gym shorts and gray T-shirt, and an unopened toothbrush.

  Picking up the small plastic-wrapped box, she pictured a dozen or so stashed away somewhere for morning-after moments exactly like this one, but she thrust the image aside.

  “Don’t look down,” she murmured as she set the toothbrush aside.

  Fifteen minutes later, Emily stood on the back patio, clean and refreshed, if not exactly stylish. The intense sunlight, promising another typical hot summer day, blazed down on the lawn, which was lined by citrus trees weighed down with lemons and limes. Around the side of the lot, a structure stood separate from the house. She was wondering what Javy stored inside it when the glass door behind her slid open.

  “Hey,” he murmured.

  Emily turned to face Javy, feeling a little self-conscious when his grin broadened as he took in her bare feet and her arms and legs, left partially exposed by his borrowed—and baggy—clothes. “Morning.”

  He handed her a cup of coffee from a travel carrier and leaned in for a kiss that packed far more of a punch than caffeine ever could. He tasted like mint toothpaste, and Emily breathed in the scent of soap and shampoo. The longing to wake up every morning with this man hit hard. Her stomach dropped out of her and the ground gave way as she spun into an out-of-control freefall.

  Unaware of the panic screaming through her at terminal velocity, Javy stepped back. His gaze roamed over her from her still-damp hair to her bare feet.

  “I have always thought everything you wear looks better on you than it would on anyone else, and this proves it. Those clothes definitely look better on you than they ever did on me.”

  Thanks to years of practice, Emily managed a smile. “Yes, I’m planning on modeling these when we have the charity fashion show,” she said wryly. “I’m sure I’d send the bidding through the roof.”

  “I can guarantee it, since I would have to outbid everyone there.”

  “That desperate to get your clothes back, huh?”

  “I’m that desperate, all right, but not so much about taking them back as taking them off.”

  A shiver raced over her skin, reminding Emily how little she wore beneath his clothes. The borrowed shirt was baggy, but the material thin enough to telegraph her reactions. Something she noticed only when his gaze dropped to her breasts.

  Just that easily her thoughts were filled with memories of the night before, leaving her feeling weak and ready to pick up where they had left off, with his solid body pressed to hers, his hand at her breast, and nothing to stop them from finishing what they’d started.

  But Javy was already dressed for work, and although the reopening party didn’t start until that evening, the restaurant was running specials throughout the day. After all the hard work he’d done, he deserved to show it off.

  Taking a deep breath, she searched for a distraction other than how gorgeous he looked in the black slacks and crisp white shirt, which so perfectly set off his dark hair and tanned skin. She gestured at the structure she’d noticed earlier and asked, “What do you keep in there?”

  “The previous owners had a few ATVs they stored in that garage. I’ve been using it as sort of a workshop.” Javy focused on removing the lid from the coffee cup as he spoke, his words and actions a little too casual for Emily to believe.

  “What kind of workshop?”

  “Mostly just a place to keep my lawn mower and some tools.”

  “Uh-huh.” If he thought she’d be satisfied with that non-answer, he was mistaken. Backing up, she said, “Maybe I should just go see for myself, since you don’t want to tell me.”

  He caught her arm before she reached the edge of the patio. Even though his grip was light, she felt his muscles tighten, and the tension wiped the teasing smile from her lips.

  “Javy, I was only joking.”

  “I know.” He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her elbow.

  Was it her imagination, or did that soothing touch actually relax him? She brushed the thought aside. It was ridiculous to assume she had that much of an effect on him.

  Setting their coffees aside on a small bistro table, he said, “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Emily couldn’t pretend she wasn’t curious about what was hidden away in the garage. Obviously more than the vague tools Javy had referred to. But when Javy slid the doors open, she couldn’t hide her amazement. “Javy, this is incredible.”

  Peg-Boards lined all three walls, with more tools hanging side by side in precise alignment than Emily could imagine outside a hardware store. Screwdrivers in ascending size ran right to left. Hammers, saws, pliers, chisels and tools she couldn’t name filled every inch of space. A table saw stood in the center of what would normally be a good-sized work space…if not for the tables and chairs crowded around it—tables and chairs Emily recognized.

  “The chairs and tables from the restaurant! You refinished them!” she exclaimed.

  “Yeah.” Javy ran a hand over the carved back of one chair. “The wood was pretty dry, and the water did some serious damage to the legs. I tried to fix them but…”

  His voice trailed off, as if he were confessing some undeniable failure, but all Emily saw were the same tables and chairs from the restaurant, with a new, polished finish to the walnut stain. “But what? They look amazing. Like brand-new!”

  Javy frowned, as if taking her compliment as criticism. “They’re fifteen years old. I wanted them to match—to look the same as all the others. But I don’t know. I must have used the wrong kind of varnish. The finish is too high gloss, and it made the stain too dark. I was hoping to have them ready for the reopening, but I’m not going to have time to strip them down again and start over.”

  “Start over? Don’t you dare!” Emily said, dumbfounded that he would even consider scrapping all his hard work. “It doesn’t matter if it’s not a perfect match or if this isn’t how your father would have done it. I know your mother sees changes to the restaurant like she’s losing a precious piece of your father. But you aren’t taking anything away. You’re giving something back. A piece of your dad that Maria has probably already given up as lost and a piece of yourself, as well. How could she not love it?”

  And how could she not love him? Emily wondered even as she helplessly braced for impact.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The reopening was in full swing, and the restaurant’s usually competent staff was showing signs of nerves. Javy couldn’t blame them, even though the excitement charging through his veins had little to do with organizing the additional waiters and waitresses, giving the band he’d hired for the event a hand setting up, or making his way through the dining area to greet the many friends and family who’d stopped by in support.

  He was happy with the turnout and hoping for a two-second break to actually enjoy the accomplishment, but his thoughts and, more often than not, his gaze kept drifting toward the front door, se
arching for Emily. He knew she’d be there; it was impossible to imagine the celebration without her.

  It was impossible to imagine his life without her.

  “So, you’re sure it’s okay?”

  Refocusing on his suddenly uncertain chef, Javy insisted, “It’s kick-ass, Juan. Trust me.”

  The fiftysomething chef had created a new, hotter than hot salsa for the event, to be served with a side of guacamole to cool things off. He’d been messing with the ingredients for the past five minutes, insisting Javy try each adjustment, even though he’d declared the first taste on a crisp tortilla chip perfect.

  The cilantro, the heat from half a dozen peppers, and the burst of cool tomato had exploded with flavor against his taste buds. His heritage had all but banished the words too hot from his vocabulary, but when Juan’s hand hovered over a small bright orange habanero, Javy had to protest. “Seriously, Juan, it’s perfect. You know what happens when you mess with perfection.”

  The man flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Your mama comes at me with her cast iron.”

  “You know it.” Javy pointed at the chef as he backed toward the swinging door. “So don’t touch the salsa.”

  “But…”

  Javy bumped his way through the door and out into the dining area, shaking his head as Juan’s protest followed him. Javy hoped the chef took a serious step away from the peppers, or they’d need to offer fire extinguishers as party favors.

  He froze in midstride as he caught sight of what looked like an impromptu game of musical chairs taking place in front of him. The diners, who’d been seated when he walked into the kitchen moments ago, were moving out of the way, making room for the busboys and waiters, who were carrying in the tables and chairs he was pretty sure he’d left in his garage.

  “What—what is this?” Javy asked. The dark stain and high-polish varnish gleamed beneath the lights.

  Alex set down a table with a sigh. “Man, couldn’t you’ve stayed in back for a few minutes longer?” his cousin complained. “We wanted to have these all set up before you saw them.”