Falling for the Rebound Bride

by Karen Templeton

  “Yes.”

  But he caught the momentary hesitation before her response.

  Colin slid a hand to her waist, led her through the open door. Even though he wasn’t a total slob—he couldn’t work in a pigsty—he’d made even more of an effort to straighten up. Because this mattered. She mattered.

  Emily lowered the puppy to the floor; he immediately toddled into his crate, curled up like a little bean and passed out.

  Good dog.

  Hugging herself, Emily released a strained laugh. “I told Dee and Josh you said the dog was acting funny, that I should come check on him.”

  “And did they buy that?”

  “Your brother, maybe. Dee? Not so much.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking you probably suck at poker,” he said, and another shaky chuckle pushed from her throat. “Look, Emily—”

  Then her hands were on his chest, those guileless eyes hooked in his. “And the longer we chitchat, the more nervous I’m going to get. So can we get on with it, already?”

  “And aren’t you the sweet-talker?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No.” He took her hands, folding them both over his pounding heart. “But I’m not entirely sure why you want to do this.”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “If any other woman had asked me that, I’d say no. Only you’re not any other woman. Yes, I know what you said, about this being for the moment and all. And while I’m good with that, I’m not entirely sure you are. Not as much as you might think—”

  “Colin—”

  “No, let me finish, so there’s no room for misinterpretation, on either side. I won’t hurt you, not if I can help it. But I have no control over what might happen inside your head.”

  Or mine, he thought, immediately adding, Oh, hell, no.

  A sly, if none too steady, grin spread across her face. “Because you’re just that irresistible, you mean?”

  Again, the tension eased. “It has been said,” he said, and she laughed, full out. And linked her hands around the back of his neck, bringing their pelvises together, and things stirred, eager as hell...and he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, leaving regrets scattered behind him like confetti after a parade. Then she murmured, “Und-dress me. Please,” and his heart knocked against his ribs at the slight stumble, like he might decline for some reason.

  Because clearly someone else had.

  “So is this revenge sex?”

  Her gaze darkened. “No. Never.”

  He believed her. “Then...with pleasure,” he whispered back, taking his time, bending to remove her boots before letting his fingers deliberately tease silk-slick skin as he removed her sweater, both of them chuckling when her hair went all staticky. Her bra was plainer than he’d expected, but sheer, her nipples trapped beneath the shimmery nude fabric. With a single flick of the front clasp he could free them, if he wanted. Give them air, give him one of many ways to make her moan. Make both of them very, very happy.

  But not yet.

  Torture is what this was, what he was doing to himself, to her, going so slowly. Holding back. And yet with each touch, each glance, each hitch of her breath as he unzipped her jeans, tugging them down to carefully kiss first one hip bone, then the other, he ached more, wanted more.

  But more than anything he wanted to give her everything she’d given up for some schmuck who’d never deserved her.

  Not that he did, either. But at least he could give her this.

  “Step out,” he murmured, guiding her out of the jeans and tossing them aside before pressing his lips to the top of her panties, the same sheer fabric as her bra. Then lower, making her gasp.

  And laugh. With delight, he thought. Anticipation.

  Good.

  He stood to claim her mouth again, the kiss so deep and tender and full of promise he nearly wept, and he picked her up again, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist—speaking of promise—and carried her to the bed before lowering her onto the mattress. Then he finally unclasped the bra, sighing at her beauty, pale rose against flawless ivory, only to feel his throat close up when he caught her gaze in his, that mixture of hesitation and bravado that would be his undoing.

  “Now you,” she whispered.

  He toed off his sneakers, shrugged out of his shirt, his jeans—

  “Commando?” she said, that smile playing around her lips. “I’m impressed.” Her gaze lowered. “Very impressed.”

  “Careful. You’ll give me a swelled...” He grinned. “Head.”

  “Oh, jeez,” she said, rolling her eyes, then got to her knees on the mattress to link her hands behind his neck again, and the feel of all that softness, skin to skin...that mouth—oh, merciful heavens, that mouth, on his neck, his chest...

  “A year, you said?”

  Chuckling, she raised herself up again, skimming her fingers through his hair. “Longer, now. But some things, you don’t forget. Although...” Her eyes melted into his, and he was a goner. “You inspire me.”

  He gripped her waist. Tugged her closer. She was still wearing her panties, an oversight he needed to remedy ASAP. “To do what?” he teased.

  Something more serious flickered in her eyes. “Give more,” she whispered, running the tip of her tongue along his jaw. “Do more.” She pulled back again, her lips barely curved. “Be more.”

  “And if you were any more,” Colin said, lowering her to the bed again, “my head might explode.”

  Her eyes glittered again. “I thought that was the idea.”

  Chuckling, he positioned her beneath him to finally pay some attention to those lovely breasts, as rapidly mounting need trampled regrets underfoot. Even though he knew how resilient those suckers could be. He hooked his fingers around the panties, eased them off. “And maybe I should stop talking now.”

  “Works for me,” she said, and then there was nothing between them except touches and sighs, the occasional gasp...kisses finding their way to secret places, lingering and hot...quiet yeses leading to the guttural sounds of pure, perfect pleasure as he held her hands over her head and plunged inside her, her tightness more than making up for the condom’s barrier between them.

  Colin watched her expression morph from anticipation to wonder, then complete submission to the moment as her cries rang out in the small room, until she wrapped herself tightly around him and pulled him close, closer, taking him inside her in far more ways than one, as This, I can give you, whispered through his brain.

  Only, when they were done, as he tugged her close to lay his cheek in her hair, feeling his heart pound against hers, he realized what an idiot he’d been, thinking he could give her this and not give her...

  Himself.

  Except that wasn’t possible, was it?

  * * *

  Emily knew, even before the tremors died down, that everything she’d suspected—okay, had already known—about her not being one of those people who could use sex as simply a recreational activity was absolutely true. And not because of the whole swapping-bodily-fluids thing that supposedly bonded a woman to her man, or whatever, because Colin had insisted on using a condom. Even though she’d told him that wasn’t necessary.

  Which made her wonder how much more bonded she’d be feeling right now if they hadn’t used one. Scary thought.

  Of course, she thought as he tugged her closer, his fingers making slow, sweet circles on her shoulder as they lay snuggled together like a pair of baby rabbits, what she might be feeling had nothing to do with what was actually going to happen. That much she’d known going in. No changing the ground rules after the fact. Although—her practical side weighed in—why should she be surprised, really? She’d only recently been jilted/dumped/betrayed/done wrong, for one thing. Add to that the fact that it’d been a while...and add to that
the fact that Colin was quite possibly the world’s most attentive lover and...

  Right.

  Seriously, this was the confluence of events to beat all confluences. She wasn’t in love with the man, she was just...mellow. That’s all.

  Incredibly, wonderfully, out-of-body-experience mellow.

  Except she needed to pee. Bummer.

  “Where you going?” Colin asked as she shimmied out from under his arm, grabbing his shirt off the floor before shrugging into it.

  “Bathroom.”

  “Hey.”

  She turned back, holding the shirt closed over her breasts.

  “You okay?”

  Her cheeks ached with her forced smile. “You really have to ask?”

  Frowning, he stretched his arms to fold his hands behind his head, the sheet barely covering the good bits. What was behind that frown, she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to. So she’d reassure him...as soon as she got back.

  When she returned, however, he’d gone into the living room, his jeans back on and zipped but not buttoned as he stood in front of the desk, his laptop opened.

  “You said you wanted to see the book,” he said, not looking at her, and she felt as though a storm had come up suddenly, sucking all the air out of the space.

  “Um...sure.”

  He turned then, his smile sad. But his eyes... Oh, dear God. Tortured was the only word for what she saw in them. He gestured toward the chair in front of the computer.

  “Sit. Although like I said,” he said when she did, “it’s only a rough draft.”

  She laughed, although the sound was hollow. “You expect me to read the whole thing tonight?”

  “I can send you the file, if you’d like. But this chapter...” He leaned close enough for her to smell herself on him, which naturally awakened the barely quenched ache all over again. “You should probably read this now.”

  The chapter focused on one particular group of refugees he’d apparently spent some time with, enough to get to know them fairly well. The pictures, especially, kept coming back to one little boy—the kid she’d seen before. Then she read on, about a virus of some kind that swept through the makeshift camp, claiming mostly children—malnourished, exhausted children whose immune systems simply couldn’t fight off the microbes’ relentless assault.

  Tears welled in her eyes, even as her stomach knotted, knowing what was coming. “The boy—”

  “An orphan,” Colin said from behind her, seated on the sofa. She turned, her soul weeping at his ravaged expression. The pup had awakened and was sitting on Colin’s lap, offering whatever comfort he could. Colin heaved out a breath. “Tarik’s parents had been murdered by militants. Friends had somehow smuggled him out of the country, even though they had no idea where they might even end up.” He paused, toying with the puppy’s ears before meeting her gaze again, the corners of his mouth pushed into something like a smile. “For reasons I never fully understood, the kid glommed on to me. He’d follow me around, asking questions about the camera. In makeshift sign language, of course, since we didn’t exactly speak each other’s language. But...”

  “But you fell in love with him.”

  “Head over heels.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Six.” He hauled in a shaky breath. “The UN workers at the camp knew me. One of them called me the day he died.”

  On a soft moan, Emily went to him, curling up on the sofa to wrap her arm around his waist. To his credit, Colin accepted her meager, and futile, attempt to comfort him, lifting his arm to pull her close, kiss her hair.

  “That’s the real reason you came home, isn’t it?” she said after a long moment. “The book...that was simply an excuse.”

  “A convenient excuse, but...yeah.”

  The weird thing was, she understood why he’d chosen to seek sanctuary in the very place he’d refused to come back to for so long—because for all Colin’s noise about how much he’d felt restricted here, he’d also felt the same peace that now made her want to call Whispering Pines home, too. Maybe he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—admit that, but when you need to heal you don’t run someplace you don’t like. In a way, she realized, he’d become like one of the kids he—and his horse, Jack—had helped all those years ago.

  But there was more, wasn’t there?

  “And what happened...that’s why you don’t want children? Now, I mean.”

  A long moment of silence preceded, “I felt like I broke a promise to him. And I know that’s illogical, especially since I didn’t actually make a promise, not in so many words. I couldn’t adopt him myself...how on earth would I take care of a kid on my own? Still, the way he’d wrapped himself around my heart, I would’ve done whatever I could to...”

  “Colin,” Emily said gently, twisting to rest a hand on his cheek, her insides more twisted up than his expression. “You can’t blame yourself for something that was totally out of your control—”

  “Except I knew not to let it get personal, that the moment I lost my objectivity, I was screwed. Even if I had no idea how much.” Sensing that wasn’t all, Emily kept quiet, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. His words. “It was hard for me to even admit to myself, let alone anyone else, how much his death shattered me. With all the crap I’ve seen, I’m not exactly a wuss. But that...it threw me. Bad.”

  Emily nuzzled her cheek against his chest, inhaling his scent. His warmth. Wishing she could somehow absorb some of his anguish. “And your breakup...?”

  Her face lifted with his breath. “Happened a few months before. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d fallen for her, either. That, though, I could get over. And had, mostly. But watching so many people go through hell... I thought I’d become inured to it. I was wrong.”

  “And yet...” She sat up to meet his eyes. “You want to go back.”

  A sad smile preceded, “I have to. To honor Tarik, if nothing else.”

  Emily thought for a moment, frowning. “Even though you don’t want to open yourself up to that kind of pain again. I don’t mean just witness it. I mean let yourself experience it.”

  What felt like an eternity passed before he said, “I don’t think I can. Not if I want to keep doing my job.”

  “Which you’d die if you couldn’t do.”

  In answer, he tugged her close again. Yes. That.

  Even so, Emily strongly suspected—especially in the light of what had just happened between them—that detachment wasn’t even remotely part of this man’s skill set, no matter how much he might wish it to be. If it were, he wouldn’t be able to do what he loved.

  “And all of that was my long-winded way of saying—”

  “You can’t be the person I need.”

  Another sigh preceded, “And you have no idea how much I wish I could be. How much I wish...”

  For a brief moment, she saw tears gather in his eyes before he pulled her close again, the gesture again saying what he couldn’t. That what he wanted, whether he could admit it or not, was in direct conflict with what he needed to do, even after everything he’d seen. And he had no earthly idea how to reconcile the two.

  And neither did, could, she—a thought that shredded her inside. Because they’d crossed a boundary that should’ve never been crossed.

  That she should’ve never crossed.

  “It’s okay,” Emily said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I already knew that coming in, remember? Our goals, our plans, our needs don’t mesh. This was...” She cleared her throat. “This was never meant to be anything more than what it was.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “For what, for heaven’s sake?” Twisting around to straddle his lap, she cupped his jaw in her hands. “For making me feel more cared about tonight than anyone else ever has?”

  That got another gut-sh
redding smile. “That was the idea.”

  “And a damn fine one it was, too. So thank you,” Emily whispered, brushing her lips across his, her skin sweetly sighing when his hands skimmed her bare waist underneath his shirt. She shoved her hair back over her shoulder and smiled into his eyes. “Because if nothing else, you have seriously raised my standards—”

  From several feet away, she heard her phone ding.

  “You should probably see to that,” Colin said. Even though his thumbs were stroking the undersides of her breasts.

  “Why?”

  “Because if it’s your cousin and you don’t answer, she’s likely to jump to conclusions.”

  “And I think that falls under the category of ‘too late, buster.’” But she crawled off the man’s lap—reluctantly—and took her grumbling hormones over to the other side of the room and picked up her phone, frowning at the text from her cousin.

  You should probably get back.

  Accompanied by a pic of her mother standing in the ranch’s great room.

  And looking very, very pissed.

  Chapter Ten

  “What is it?” Colin said behind her, his murmured words jarring her enough out of her shock to think, Oh, hell.

  “My mother just showed up,” she said, heading back to the bedroom to yank on her own clothes, tossing Colin’s shirt on top of the rumpled bedclothes. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror over his dresser and grimaced. Between the rat’s-nest hair and the beard burn...

  Yeah. Screwed was definitely the word of the moment. See, this is why she’d always been the good girl, because she could never get away with a damn thing—

  Colin came up behind her to quickly squeeze her shoulders before grabbing the shirt off the bed and punching his arms into the sleeves. “I’m coming with you.”

  Her fingers tangled in the mop, Emily wheeled around. “Oh, no, you’re not—”

  “Yes, I am,” he said calmly, sitting on the bed to tie his shoelaces. “Because I doubt your mother is either blind or stupid. And the minute you walk through the door at this time of night, looking like that, she’s gonna know.” He frowned. “You really think I’d let you deal with the fallout by yourself? And before you pull your hair out of your scalp, there’s a comb in the bathroom. If you don’t mind my cooties.”