Beau cast about for a reason why he couldn’t give the ring to his tall, pregnant bride-to-be. What was it Jackson had said about an engagement ring?
He handed the ring box to Jackson and reached for the tray. “I think Christian would like an engagement ring.” He picked up an old-fashioned looking ring with some small green stones and diamonds. “I think she could wear a thin, plain band with this, don’t you? There’s not one here, but I can buy one.”
Jackson frowned. “You could give her that, and then she could wear it on her right hand after the wedding. That way, she could wear both.” He held up the bow ring.
“No,” Beau said. “I’ll take this, if it’s okay.”
“Sure, but you’re the last of us. Are you sure?”
Beau’s temper flared. Enough. “The rest of you gave the rings you wanted. Can’t I?”
“Of course.” Jackson put the bow ring back in its box and closed the lid. “There’s always the next generation. We’ve already got a good start.”
No effing kidding.
Beau nodded and rose. “I’ll tell the others later. I’ve got some stuff to do now.”
He had to go do right by Christian. There were lots of things that had been thrown in his path that he hadn’t particularly wanted to do—physics, baseball pitching instead of catching, waiting on people at Around the Bend parties, and keeping up with those damned white lights. He’d done those things well.
This would be no exception.
He wasn’t a soldier anymore, but he had been—one of the best. And a soldier did what he had to and did it perfectly.
Chapter Nineteen
Christian stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the big, luxurious Firefly Hall robes. After that four-hour nap, she’d probably be up half the night—though maybe not. Now that she thought about it, maybe the fatigue she’d felt lately was more about the pregnancy than her grief over what might have been with Beau.
What might have been. Was it going to be? Yes—one way or the other, though she wasn’t certain what those ways were. But no matter what, it would be enough for her. Sometimes love was taking what you could get, and she’d rather have something with Beau than everything with someone else.
She parted her robe and ran her hands over her abdomen. It was still flat. For the first time, a wave of true excitement without fear rippled through her.
“Hi, there,” she whispered. “I love you. I love your daddy. He will love you and protect you because that’s the kind of man he is. That’s all you need to know right now.”
Maybe she should eat something or at least drink some milk. She didn’t like milk, but she was going to have to do a lot of things she didn’t like doing—getting up in the middle of the night, changing messy diapers, and spooning food that looked like—well, she’d just never found the look of baby food anything short of disgusting.
Maybe she wouldn’t eat tonight, after all. Tomorrow would be soon enough to be a responsible mother-to-be. Tomorrow, before going down to serve coffee and talk with the guests at breakfast, she wouldn’t shove a Little Debbie oatmeal cream pie in her mouth. She would eat real oatmeal, some fruit, and a scrambled egg. The thought of washing all that down with milk made her stomach lurch, but she could eat yogurt. That would be even better. Wouldn’t it?
It was only when the knock came at the door and the relief washed over her that Christian realized show deeply she had suppressed the worrying and wondering about Beau.
She tied the belt of the robe and hurried to open the door. Surely, it was Beau. She hadn’t heard the front door chime, but she’d been in the shower.
And it was Beau. Not only that—he held a heart-shaped, red foil candy box and bouquet of roses that had probably come from the grocery store, but he’d removed the cellophane. It was almost as if he had come courting. His hair had been freshly washed, and he wore the sweater he’d gotten for Christmas that was exactly the same color as his eyes.
And then he smiled.
He was so beautiful that if she had been an artist, she would have painted him. As it was, she painted the image on her heart.
“Can I come in?”
Stepping back, she pushed her damp hair off her face. “I’m a mess. Clean is all I’ve got.”
“It’s all you need.” He closed the door behind him and handed her the roses. “I’ve never had much patience with too little, too late, but I’ve learned a lot of things today, and one of them is a man can react badly.”
Christian buried her face in the roses. Her first flowers from Beau. Maybe her last, but that would be okay. She met his eyes. “Under the circumstances, I thought you did pretty well.”
“I’m here to do better. I’m here to be the man my Aunt Amelia would expect me to be. And I can tell you right now, she would not cotton to a man issuing orders and telling a woman what she was going to do, especially where matrimony is concerned.” He took her hand, led her to the sofa, and—dear, Lord—he knelt in front of her. She was in a fairy tale, a Disney movie, and a 1940s film where they would go out and dance in the street, gathering people behind them as they went. Her heart raced and sang the sweetest song ever written.
“I didn’t do one thing to make you feel special before, Christian. And you are special. My efforts are pitiful, but the Publix out by the highway helped me out. He nodded to the roses in her lap and handed her the heart-shaped box. “I know chocolate’s not your favorite. I wish I had brought you something from that fancy little candy store in Merritt, but at least the box is pretty.”
She ran her hand over the satin bow. She would keep it for always.
“There’s also this.” He reached into his pocket and held out a small wooden horse. “I told you’d I’d make you something while I was with Will. It’s cedar from Will’s woods that he cured last year. It’s not perfect, but I used the tools you gave me for Christmas. If I hadn’t had such nice tools, it would be a lot less perfect.” He pressed it into her palm. “At least it didn’t come from Publix.”
Christian was overcome with emotion as she ran her fingers over the beautiful little figure. He’d made this for her, and only her. “I think it’s perfect. You’re going to be a wonderful woodworker—better than Will Garrett.” She lifted the little horse to her nose to take in the cedar aroma. It smelled like Beau had when they’d made love on Christmas.
“Spoken like a loyal fiancée. It’s not true, but I appreciate it anyway.”
Fiancée. That’s who she was. “And I appreciate this.” She closed her fingers over the horse and brought it to her heart. “I love it.”
“I wanted it to look like Quicksilver, but I don’t have that kind of skill yet. Someday maybe I will.”
Had she not already been a puddle, this was the moment she would have melted. She had first learned to ride on Quicksilver, and though she’d loved all her horses since then, there had never been another like Quicksilver. Much like if Beau carved her a hundred horses, each more artistic than the last, there would never be another like this one. She cast around for words to express herself without giving away too much. There weren’t any.
It didn’t matter, because Beau spoke again. “Will you forget what I said earlier? About what we were going to do because of who we are? Can you do that?”
“Yes. Already forgotten.”
Christian, will you climb the Eiffel Tower and bungee jump off, please? Oh, yes, Beau. I’ll do it twice if you’ll just smile and touch me again.
She wanted to stroke his cheek. With a start, she realized she could. He was going to be her husband—her husband. And he even acted like he wanted to. He smiled when she touched him, caught her hand, and kissed her palm. Then he brought her hand to rest between both his.
“Christian Hambrick, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? The sooner the better?”
What was it he’d said before? The sooner we get this done, the better? That had meant, “Might as well get it over with.” Now, he sounded like he wanted this marriage,
wanted her. That probably wasn’t completely true, but knowing that didn’t stop the warm happiness that radiated through her and sent her stomach into a tailspin.
“Yes, oh, yes,” she whispered just like she’d always dreamed she would.
And then, just liked she’d dreamed he would, he took a ring box out of his pocket and opened it.
It could have been a plastic ring from a bubblegum machine, but it wasn’t that. Oh, no. It was Amelia’s emerald and diamond platinum filigree ring that had been a gift from her father on her twenty-fifth birthday. Amelia had loved that ring so much. She had always joked that by then, her old maid status had been carved into the stone wall surrounding the rose garden at Beauford Bend. She’d always thought that her father had bought her the ring because she was never going to have an engagement ring. “Though I wouldn’t say it to them, I hope one of the boys will use it for an engagement ring some day,” she’d told Christian. Christian had said that Amelia would still be wearing that ring when her nephews got engaged and married. Sadly, she had not lived to see any of them in happy, settled relationships.
But here was her most treasured possession, and Beau had chosen to give it to Christian. That had to mean something, despite their rough start.
Christian began to cry. Maybe it was the hormones, or maybe it was getting everything she’d ever wanted all at once.
Beau smiled. “I take it you like the ring?” He could tell the difference in her happy and sad tears.
“Oh, Beau!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugged him, and then pulled back to look into his face. “I loved Amelia so much. And it means so much that you have given me her ring. There is no ring in the world that I could have wanted more.”
He nodded. “She loved you, too. I wanted you to have it. And so would she.”
“It’s like she’s here, part of this.”
Beau tilted his head and briefly closed his eyes, those mile long lashes touching his cheeks. Then he opened them and leered at her a little. “I hope Aunt Amelia isn’t here, because she would not want to see this.”
It was as if he had never been injured, because in one fluid, graceful move, he was beside her on the sofa. He pulled her against him, pressing as much of their bodies together as possible given that they were seated. Then he captured her mouth with his, in a slow, wet, hungry kiss. He took his sweet time, tangling their tongues together, gently biting her lips, and urging her to do the same to his.
The kiss was everything—sweet, sexy, romantic, and full of promises. Though she would have welcomed it, his hands did not stray from where they held her firmly against her back.
Finally, he pulled away. “I’ve missed you, miss you this way. And this.” He untied her robe and parted it. “I see you’re wearing matching underwear this time.”
“I just got out of the shower. I’m not wearing any.”
“Exactly the kind I like.” He drew back to assess her breasts. “Beautiful. And you’ve grown a little.”
“Have I?” She glanced down. “I guess. They say that happens.”
He gently cupped her and barely moved his hand against the side. “They also say they hurt. Is that true? Can I touch?” He gently stroked her again.
“They do—though it’s not true pain. Just a little achy and tender.” He stroked again and she sighed. “Actually, that feels really good.”
With a little laugh he pulled her across his lap. “Then I’m your guy.”
You always were, even if I wasn’t your girl.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Tell me if I start to hurt you.” But he didn’t. He gently stroked and lightly massaged, his hand flitting from one breast to the other, his fingertips barely glazing her nipples, making them peak and long for more.
He was longing, too. Christian could feel the hard evidence of that in the curve of her side, where she lay against him. But he stroked on, soothing, lifting, and rubbing, gradually increasing the pressure but never attempting to take anything for himself.
After a long time, he bent and gently took a nipple in his mouth and lightly suckled. When she moaned with pleasure, he lifted his head. “Is it okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No. You’re not. It’s good. But it’s selfish. Isn’t this going on too long? For you, I mean. You’re getting nothing.”
“Can you sit and look at the Mona Lisa too long? Do you get nothing from that?” With that, he ran his tongue around her nipple and drew the whole tip into his mouth.
She cried out. Mary Charles could have prom queen. She felt like the queen of the world.
He raised her face to hers. “Is it going on too long for you?”
Was that even possible? “Oh no. I could do this all night.”
He swung her off him, stood up, and pulled her to her feet. “If we’re going to do it all night, I suggest finding a bed. I want to feel the whole length of you against me.”
Walking on a cloud, Christian followed him, this time to her bed, the master bedroom, the place where they would live together. He pulled the covers back, pushed her robe off her shoulders, and eased her down.
“Clothes off, please.” She could ask for that; the ring on her finger said so.
“I live to make you happy.” Soon the whole warm, naked length of him was pressed hard against her. “Now where were we?”
“Here.” She reached out and took his pulsating penis between her palms, savoring the smooth, hot hardness. “I love doing this. I wish I could do this for the rest of my life.”
His voice was raspy. “I love letting you. And you can do it the rest of your life.”
The rest of her life. That still had not come home to her.
“But you know what?” His breath was warm against her ear. “It’s been too long. I want you too much. Right now, all I want is to be inside you. Here, raise up.” He slipped a pillow under her hips. “I want to go in deep and lie still, feeling you, until we can’t stand not to move.”
She wanted that, too. And he entered her gently, but went very deep. They lay still together, moaning with pleasure and craving for a long time. Just when she thought she could not endure the low, sweet ache another second, Beau groaned and rolled his hips against hers—and she rose to meet him again and again and again until they both gave all they had to give.
And then she gave some more.
Chapter Twenty
Beau learned the meaning of irony in eighth grade English class, but he had never lived it until a bizarre set of circumstances led to his wedding falling on perhaps the only date on the calendar that was, considering the circumstances, totally inappropriate—February 14th. This wedding wasn’t about romance or love, and it wasn’t lost on him that he would be reminded of this every year for the rest of his life with the annual visitation of his wedding anniversary.
Beau had done a pretty good job of playing the part of the besotted bridegroom, or maybe not. Maybe everyone believed he was thrilled with the notion of marriage and fatherhood because that’s what they wanted to believe. He wished he could believe it. The trick was to try not to think about it, which was pretty easy with Christian. She seemed happy, probably because she kept giving him credit for things he didn’t do—like picking that ring for her because it had been special to Amelia when, in reality, he hadn’t even known it, had never noticed what, if any, rings Amelia had worn.
It had been easier and less hurtful to let Christian believe it. Sometimes, in such moments, Christian wanted to go down a romantic, emotional path that he could have no part of, but it was easy to distract her. All he had to do was kiss her, let her feel him go hard against her, and they were immediately on a path that he did want to go down—very much. And so did she, especially the going down part.
He couldn’t imagine how in the unholy hell she had gotten so good, when she’d had no experience, but he was thankful for it, very thankful indeed. Some said it just came naturally, and maybe that was true—though he didn’t remember his neophyte sex that way. She loved it as much as he d
id, and it was the saving grace of a bad situation. But it was impossible to forget that this was a bad situation, even with the distraction of the Pepto-Bismol wedding from Candy Land Underworld.
It certainly wasn’t by romantic design that the wedding turned out to be on Valentine’s Day. That hadn’t even been the original plan.
Aside from Jackson, the family had been surprised to the point of paralyzation when Beau and Christian had gathered everyone together to announce the engagement and Christian’s pregnancy. But the paralyzation quickly moved to elation. Rafe had said right out that they were all relieved that neither Beau nor Christian would be bringing an outsider into their tight little circle. It would just be messy if everyone hated the outsider and, furthermore, this definitely sealed the deal that Beau was home for good.
Leave it to Rafe to say what was on everyone’s mind, and leave it to the women to start planning the wedding.
The phone call with Christian’s mom hadn’t gone quite as well, but Beau couldn’t worry about that right now. He had a workshop to set up and a wedding ring to buy. As near as he could tell, aside from doing as he was told, buying that ring was his only wedding responsibility.
Since Around the Bend was booked solid with parties and consequently Firefly Hall was booked solid with guests, the plan had been for the Beaufords and Christian’s mother, aunt, and cousins to gather quietly at 11 o’clock on February 15 at the Beauford First United Methodist Church chapel and get the deed done. Afterward, there was to be a luncheon at Mill Time, with a small cake and Champagne.
But it was not to be. The very reason everyone associated with Beauford Bend and Firefly Hall had been chasing their asses so fast and furiously was a Valentine’s Day wedding that had been booked for over a year. People had been coming in for three days, and there had been showers, brunches, magic carpet rides, and every other overdone, loud commotion known to man. Beau had stayed away from it all and spent his time setting up his new workshop and having sex with Christian. Once, when she’d stopped in briefly at Beauford Bend to see the progress he’d made with the shop, he’d locked the door, and the visit hadn’t turned out to be so brief after all. He’d screwed her right against his new Sjöbergs workbench. That had been the best of both worlds. She’d come three times.
Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) Page 14