by Mira Gibson
When the tremors subsided and her entire body slumped into a calm and glowing heap, Zach helped her lie on the bed, folding her heavily relaxed shape into his arms.
Footfall came towards the closed door followed by the gentle sound of knuckles rapping against wood and Melinda’s kind voice said, “Dessert you two.”
“Coming!” Abby called out.
“We are so lucky,” he growled in her ear, pulling her up into a tight hug so their mouths were aligned.
“We are,” she agreed before kissing him.
He held their kiss, inhaling her sweet scent as deeply as he could.
He couldn’t believe that in a week, she would be his.
‘Lucky’ didn’t even begin to capture it. There might not be a word for how Zach felt.
High came to mind.
It was like Abby was his new drug of choice.
But she was pure.
There would be no way to overdose.
“We better go before they wonder why we’ve been so quiet in here,” she told him, reluctantly lifting up.
They gave each other the quick once over, checking that they didn’t look mussed or show any signs of post-coital bliss. Abby slid her panties back on and after giving him a quick peck on the mouth—one he wished didn’t have to be so quick—they emerged from her childhood bedroom and joined the Gallaghers around the dinner table once again for brioche bread and butter pudding served with whiskey of course, a classic Irish dessert.
Ian was staring daggers at him, but Zach didn’t care. He knew he wasn’t a passing phase of Abby’s. This wouldn’t be a fleeting relationship. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Zach was here to stay. Looking around the table from Mary-Ann’s caring face as she doled out gooey helpings of pudding to Colin’s adoring expression watching her to Melinda again whispering something soothing in Ian’s ear, Zach felt overwhelmingly that this would be his family now.
The family he’d always wanted, but never had.
He wanted to do this right.
After dessert, when Ian had to rush off to tend to an out-of-control fire and Abby was strong-armed into helping her mother and Melinda clean up in the kitchen, which she promised wouldn’t take long, Zach decided to seize the opportunity to talk one-on-one and man-to-man with Colin.
“Sir?” he said, joining Colin at the wooden mini-bar in the den where the older man was pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
“Lagavulin,” he mentioned in a thick Irish brogue, indicating the bottle. “Takes sixteen years to age, like any relationship worth having.”
It took Zach longer than he cared to admit to realize the older man had made a joke. He let out a relieved laugh and asked, “How long did you know Mary-Ann before you guys tied the knot?”
He hadn’t meant to be so revealing and didn’t even realize he had until Colin’s bushy, white eyebrows shot up to his forehead and his gaze cut to Zach’s, holding him in an intense stare.
“Is there something you want to ask me, son?”
“Ah,” he let out a nervous chuckle. There was something he wanted to ask Colin, but he’d meant to ease into the topic much more tactfully.
“Here,” he said, pouring and handing Zach a stout tumbler of whiskey after which he invited him to have a seat on the homey plaid couch, while he took up in the adjacent armchair. “I know you mean something to her. If you didn’t, she wouldn’t have brought you here. Would you like to tell me what she means to you?”
The world was his resounding response, but it came only in his mind.
He cleared his throat, watched the cool amber whiskey swirl in his glass, and took a nervous gulp, all the while feeling Colin’s questioning eyes on him though the older man didn’t rush him to speak before he was ready.
“It might seem extremely fast to you,” he began, “since I only met Abby, God…” he trailed off, thinking about the few days they’d spent together. Had it been three? Four tops? He regained his footing and finished his sentence with, “not long ago. But…” he trailed off again, knowing how crazy this was going to sound.
Or maybe not.
Colin seemed to recognize his dilemma—the need to say what’s on his mind and the hesitation of actually doing so—and graciously supplied, “She’s the one for you.”
Zach’s eyes snapped up to Colin and they stared at one another for a moment of knowing silence.
“You’re not concerned?” he finally dared to ask the older man.
“You want to marry my daughter?”
Zach was dying to tell him that he wanted to do this right from start to finish, he wanted to give Abby a big wedding, one which her entire family could attend; he wanted to apologize profusely that this kind man would not be there when Abby said ‘I do’, that they were going to elope, and that he meant no disrespect by it.
But he couldn’t say any of that.
“Yes,” he told him, saying the one thing he could. “I want to marry her.”
“And you want my blessing,” he concluded, swirling his whiskey thoughtfully. “The star of Hashtag Blessed wants my blessing…”
Zach had to smile but it didn’t smooth out his ragged nerves.
“I do,” he said, “if you’ll give it.”
“I’ll tell you, Zach, I am concerned,” he spoke honestly. “But the day I first saw Mary-Ann, I’ll never forget it mind you, I knew. I just knew. Those were simpler times and I had to pursue her. Oh, she didn’t want to let me take her out at first. But once I did, once I gave her a taste of the kind of man I was and what I had to offer, I had her. We wasted no time.”
“You didn’t?” he asked, intrigued.
Colin shook his head, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth as a fond memory took hold. “I made her my wife inside of two weeks after meeting her.”
Impressed, Zach just stared at him then eventually mumbled, “No kidding…”
“Look, Zach,” he said, returning from fond memories to look Zach square in the eye. “If you have to have Abby like I had to have Mary-Ann, and I mean if every fiber of your being, of your soul, must have her, like she is the very air you breathe, and if you love her, truly love her, then yes. You have my blessing.”
Zach absorbed the magnitude of all the older man had said.
It was then that Colin asked him with a glint of hope in his aged eyes, “Do you love my daughter that deeply?”
Chapter Twelve
Abby was floating through life in a Zach-induced fog. At work, she functioned on elated autopilot. She didn’t miss a beat and yet she seemed to accomplish her tasks as if by magic. She was at constant risk of slipping into Zach-inspired memories and fantasies and not-so-innocent little daydreams every time her cell phone buzzed with another sweet, or more often than not, very sexy text message from the man she would soon be whisked away to Belize with.
The risk was totally her pleasure, however. She didn’t mind it one bit. Not that she needed an escape from getting through her workday at Tate & Cane. She loved the company and promising opportunities were starting to develop with the Social Media Department. But having Zach peppered throughout her day put some serious pep back in her step.
Those large hands of his—strong and warm—just thinking about them made her grin. His body was to die for, total perfection between his towering height, lean muscular figure, the grace and swagger of his gait. She was in awe of him with every glance. His gorgeous mouth that not only looked sexy and felt smooth as silk, but had commanded her to climax, his face between her legs…
Everything about Zach Canning took her breath away.
As the days rolled into evenings, Abby settled into an exciting rhythm of meeting Zach at the Christian Network where stylists would transform her into being camera-ready and then she and Zach would appear wherever Darlene had instructed the press to lurk.
In the public eye, their relationship looked like the whirlwind romance it truly was. And if the wining and dining at some of Manhattan’s ritziest, glitziest restaurants wasn’t enough of a tur
n on—and it was!—the time they spent together privately, away from the clicks of cameras and adoring fans requesting Zach’s autograph and a quick photo with him, had been all the evidence she needed to prove that eloping with him in a matter of days wouldn’t be the result of a legally binding contract, but because in her heart she knew it was all she’d ever wanted.
And those long nights spent privately…
Abby felt her mouth tug into a sultry grin just thinking about it as one of the Christian Network’s makeup artists brushed eye shadow along her lower lashes. The makeup artist paused and shot her another disgruntled look since every time Abby smiled it changed the shape of her entire face, thus making the woman’s job even harder.
She apologized sheepishly and as the stylish woman continued to put the final touches on her makeup, Abby wondered if tonight would be the night.
And by ‘night’ she was talking about the big night.
All these years she’d been saving herself for marriage, but in terms of the way things were going with Zach and the way she felt, waiting for their actual wedding night, or the night after they’d eloped, seemed like an arbitrary objective. She felt emotionally ready now, and Lord knew her body was ready. They might not have gone all the way and had sex, but Zach had certainly continued to prime her for it, exploring her body just as skillfully as he had in her childhood bedroom. Always at her place. Always without a full night’s sleepover—Abby needed her rest to keep her life at Tate & Cane going and Zach, though seeming a little disappointed each time, had respected her wishes. It had actually been her strategy for effectively avoiding the implication that they would sleep together…
But she didn’t want to hold back any longer.
She felt excited and nervous as she climbed out of the makeup chair, the makeup artist having removed the smock that had protected the blue sequined dress she was wearing courtesy of the wardrobe department. Well, calling it a ‘dress’ was being generous. It looked more like a two-piece bathing suit with only a whisper of a skirt, but the wardrobe stylist had assured her that a ‘statement piece’ like this would be perfect for The Met Gala. Anything less revealing would make her feel awkwardly overdressed. Last year, Sarah Jessica Parker showed up wearing far less, Cher wore a thong and not much else, and apparently Madonna was just naked. It was an artsy crowd. Go figure.
As she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, knowing she would be meeting Zach outside, any minute now his limousine would pull up and he’d step out wearing a crisp tuxedo to greet her, she sucked in a fortifying breath and promised herself that after all was said and done at the gala, she’d tell him she was a virgin and invite him to be her first.
Outside, Abby didn’t have to wait long with the crisp autumn wind breezing up the avenue and an aggressive cluster of paparazzi angling tightly in on her to steal as many shots as they could get away with. The black mink coat over her shoulders did wonders to ward off the chill, but soon Zach’s limousine pulled up along the curb, on time as ever.
He climbed out, looking exactly like the star that he was in a sharply tailored black tuxedo, a long, thin black tie where a bowtie would’ve otherwise been. Mindful of her pristine makeup—Abby’s eyes were done up blue with dashes of glitter, her lips as red as her hair—he stepped in close, wrapped his strong arms around her slender waist intimately as if they were standing in her cramped Brooklyn kitchen and not on the street with a swarm of photographers flashing shots of them, and gave her the gentlest peck on the cheek.
Never a photo opp missed.
“Let’s get this over with,” he whispered in her ear, steering her towards the open back door of his limousine. “I feel like this tie is strangling me and I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”
She felt the exact same way, minus the strangulation part, and beamed a great big smile up at him because of it.
“You look insane, by the way,” he told her as they climbed in and he closed the door. “And I mean that as the highest compliment.”
“Oh, good!” she laughed as the limo pulled away from the curb. “Because it took a lot for the stylist to even get me to put this thing on!”
The night unfolded the same way her entire week had—like a dream coming true.
They drank champagne and marveled at the stunning and often astounding outfits of incoming guests from where they stood perched on the landing of the Metropolitan Museum, its marble dome ceiling arching overhead. They greeted and chatted with other celebrities Zach was acquainted with, likewise a few of his more popular co-stars, Jamison Holt included. Zach treated her with affection and never failed to introduce her when someone he knew barreled up to him as if Abby were invisible. When the music started, Zach guided her across the dancefloor and impressed her with both his slow-dance stylings and upbeat dance moves whenever a pop song played.
With each passing hour, Abby felt more and more sure of her decision not to wait until their wedding night, despite all the years she’d saved herself for that one very special night to come. And when the gala finally came to a close and they settled beside one another once again in the back of his limousine, she asked the one thing she knew he was dying to hear.
“How about we go back to your place?”
His tight green eyes widened as he asked, “Yeah?”
She nodded, feeling a kittenish smile curl the corners of her lips.
“You ready to see my place?” he asked, the suggestive subtext of his question unmistakable as he gazed down at her.
“I’m ready to do a lot of things,” she breathed, her voice having hitched in her throat.
Zach didn’t hesitate to intercom their driver with the change of address.
“I hope you like my bachelor pad,” he teased when the limousine came to a stop in front of a high-rise condominium set beside the Hudson River on the west side of Manhattan.
“I hope you don’t mind you won’t be a bachelor for long,” she teased right back with a clever smile after which they made their hand-holding way into the building, passed the night lobby attendant dressed in a pressed, gray uniform, and into the elevator that brought them with a stomach-dropping whoosh to the penthouse floor, Zach having used a small key to ‘open’ that button on the elevator panel.
The doors opened right into a spacious living room with lofty ceilings and bleached wood floors, everything about the space boasting wealth and class, though minimalist and not at all the ‘bachelor pad’ she had envisioned.
“Could use a feminine touch,” he admitted as she slowly stalked through the place, high heels clicking faintly against the floor, her mouth gaping but hopefully not by much, eyes wide and unblinking taking it all in. “If you hate it, I could always buy a place in Brooklyn. Find a nice, little house near your parents if you want.”
She turned on her heel, threw her arms around him, and with a hop to meet his height—he caught her thankfully—she crushed the biggest kiss against his smiling mouth. He pressed his lips to hers, reciprocating, and when the emotion in her heart subsided, her lips relaxing and another smile taking hold, he pulled back to look at her for a long moment then gently set her down.
Her high heeled feet weren’t grounded for long because as soon as she suggested, “Show me your bedroom,” Zach scooped her up like a damsel and began carrying her down a sleek hallway where they passed a home office, a modest gym room, a stately bathroom by the looks of it, and a guest bedroom before entering a large master bedroom that was as handsome as Zach himself.
Gently, he released her legs, helping her to slide down the length of his firm body until her feet reached the plush, ivory, wall-to-wall carpet, his dark gray king-sized bed beckoning them from the other side of the masculine, contemporary room.
“That’s quite a bed,” she commented, as both of them stared at it for a beat.
Over the black, minimalist headboard, Abby noticed an equally minimalist, though unmistakably Jesuit, cross hanging on the wall.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, surprise
d, then came to her own conclusion even before she could ask and hear his answer. “Is that because of the show?”
He smiled and stole her attention with a kiss to her cheek that migrated to her lips. His arms felt strong and warm around her waist and the scent of his woodsy musk was beginning to stir the deepest arousal.
“It’s because of you,” he told her, his deep tone having fallen soft and shy.
“Really?”
“Not that I’m about to become religious or anything, but I know you are,” he explained and Abby reflexively touched her collarbone where her cross ordinarily hung. She’d taken it off because it didn’t match her crazy dress, but she could still feel its phantom weight. “I want you to feel like this is your place too, you know?”
“A cross above the bed…” she trailed off, considering. “Just like my parents.”
He let out the sweetest sounding, deep rumble of a laugh and she got momentarily lost in the beautiful shape of his mouth, his straight teeth, the way his smile exposed a line of gums on one side.
“If you don’t want it in here, I can move it to another room,” he offered. “I’m knew to this whole Christian thing.”
“I’m not Christian!” she retorted in mock exclamation.
“You’re Catholic!” he supplied as they both laughed. “Yeah, I know. I’m just messing with you, even though I have to admit I have no idea what the difference is.”
“The difference,” she said before planting a peck on his warm lips, “is that I get mad when people think I’m Christian.”
“Thanks for clearing that up for me,” he teased, planting more kisses across her cheek and along her neck as their punchy banter smoothed out into something far more sensual. “I’d been wondering for years and years.”
“Have you,” she breathed, her eyes drifting shut as she surrendered to the feel of those lips grazing the side of her neck.