Breakaway

by Rochelle Alers

  “If you ever do that again I’ll…”

  Celia rounded on him. “You’ll do what, Gavin?” They’d engaged in a stare down that would only end in a stalemate.

  “I’ll think of something by the time I get you home.”

  “Bully tactics don’t work with me. Remember, I grew up with two brothers and I can roll with the best of them.”

  Escorting her across the street, Gavin clamped his teeth together to keep from saying something that would jeopardize his fragile friendship with a woman who unknowingly had seduced him by their occupying the same space.

  She hadn’t indicated she was remotely interested in him, yet he felt something intangible that made him want to get to know her in the most intimate way conceivable.

  He’d been forthcoming when he told Celia he liked women. He enjoyed their company and he enjoyed sleeping with them. However, he didn’t sleep with every woman he dated because he hadn’t wanted to use them just for sex. With those he hadn’t slept with he’d managed to maintain an ongoing friendship.

  His feelings for Celia bordered on ambivalence. He liked her, yet didn’t want to like her too much, because when he returned to his apartment in northern Virginia to await his next assignment, he didn’t want to have to wrestle with emotional baggage.

  The return trip to Waynesville was accomplished in complete silence—Celia staring out the side window while Gavin concentrated on the road ahead of him. He maneuvered off the county road and onto the local one leading to Celia’s house.

  He didn’t turn off the engine when he got out and came around to assist her. His hands went around her waist and he lifted her off the seat, holding her aloft. Two pairs of dark eyes fused, warring, neither wanting to give the other quarter.

  “Put me down,” Celia ordered through clenched teeth.

  Pulling her closer, Gavin complied, their bodies pressed together. Then, without warning, his head came down and he slanted his mouth over hers. He knew he’d shocked Celia when her lips parted, giving him the access needed to take full possession of her mouth.

  His tongue dueled with hers until he caught the tip between his teeth, sucking softly. She stopped struggling and melted against him when he released her tongue and simulated making love to her. His right hand came down and cupped her hips so she could feel the hardness straining against his fly.

  Celia felt pinpoints of heat prick her face, breasts and the area between her legs. Curving her arms under Gavin’s shoulders, she held on to him as if she feared being swept away in a maelstrom of longing where she would never surface again.

  Gavin took a step, pressing Celia against the bumper of the truck. Banked passion flared to life as he ground his crotch against hers. Mouths joined, he lifted her to sit on the bumper, he moving to stand between her knees. He’d fulfilled two of his wishes. He’d tasted her mouth, was between her legs, but hadn’t joined his body to hers.

  Celia had felt dead, empty inside until now. She wanted and needed Gavin to make love to her but common sense returned to shake her into an awareness of what Gavin was doing and what she was permitting him to do.

  “No, Gavin. We can’t.”

  Celia’s entreaty penetrated the thick fog of passion cloaking Gavin’s mind. His head came up, and he stared down into twin pools of black-filled shock rather than fear. He couldn’t believe he’d been ready to make love to Celia on the top of a truck like an animal in heat!

  He took a backward step without releasing her. His fingers tightened slightly as he eased her off the bumper until her feet touched macadam.

  He was annoyed with Celia for making it look as if he were a kept man, but even more angry with himself because he’d lost control. “Don’t ever insult me again by reaching into your purse or I’ll kiss you again, and it won’t be where no one will see us.”

  Celia blinked as if coming out of a trance. The laughter that began in her chest spilled over as her shoulders shook. “Do you actually believe you were punishing me because you kissed me without asking permission? You give yourself a little too much credit in the lovemaking department,” she taunted. “I let you kiss me, Gavin.”

  Gavin thrust his face to within inches of hers, staring at her thoroughly kissed mouth. “You let me kiss you. But the all-important question is will you let me make love to you?”

  Celia experienced a sense of freedom with Gavin she’d never felt with Yale. Although ten years her senior, Yale had not been very adventurous. Their lovemaking was satisfying because she always took the initiative to make it that way. If she’d left it up to Yale he would’ve made love to her only to procreate. She wasn’t what she would call horny, but sexually deprived. She’d missed foreplay, after-play and cuddling.

  “I don’t know.” Celia didn’t know because she’d never been one to engage in gratuitous sex, and that’s what it would become if she allowed Gavin to share her bed.

  Leaning in closer, Gavin kissed the end of her nose. He’d felt himself a winner only because she hadn’t said no. “It’s all right, baby. I will never pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Celia winked at him. “And I promise not to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.” She kissed his cheek. “Go home, Gavin, so I can plan for our cook-off challenge.”

  A network of lines fanned out around Gavin’s eyes when he smiled at the woman who made him feel things he didn’t want to feel, made him want to do things he shouldn’t do. “Is it going down at my place or yours?”

  “My place, of course.”

  “Do you have a grill?” Celia nodded.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow around ten.”

  “Why so early?” Celia asked.

  “It’s going to take at least eight hours to cook my pork.” Gavin reached for Celia’s handbag off the console between the seats, handing it to her. “I’ll wait until you’re inside before I leave.”

  He watched her walk and waited for her to open and close the door before driving away. His plan to punish her for what he considered the ultimate insult whenever he took a woman out to eat had backfired.

  Gavin knew he had to be careful—very, very careful when interacting with Celia Cole-Thomas or he would find himself in too deep.

  Chapter 6

  Celia stood with her back pressed against the door as the sound of the truck’s engine faded in the distance. Her knees were shaking so hard she found it difficult to keep her balance.

  She’d pretended not to be affected by Gavin’s lovemaking when what she’d wanted was to mate with him—on the hood of a vehicle and out in the open where anyone could see them.

  Sliding down to the floor, Celia pulled her knees to her chest and lowered her head. If she’d followed her therapist’s advice, she knew she wouldn’t be going through the emotional turmoil that made her do and say things that made her question her sanity.

  But, she hadn’t been completely honest with the therapist or herself—until now. She’d told the psychiatrist about how she’d believed she’d died, but her colleagues had brought her back to life, how the nightmares kept her awake at night and that she sat up until sunrise before attempting to go back to sleep.

  A wry smile twisted her mouth at the same time a single tear trickled down her cheek. What Celia hadn’t disclosed to her therapist or anyone else was that she’d blamed herself for Yale’s death. He hadn’t been scheduled to work that day, but he’d switched shifts with another doctor because he’d wanted to talk to her about her pronouncement that although she wasn’t ending their engagement, she’d moved out because she needed to put some space between them.

  She and Yale hadn’t set a date, and his constant haranguing that he didn’t want to wait until he was fifty to father a child had begun to annoy Celia. Whenever she reminded him of their commitment to opening the free clinic, he’d drop the topic for several weeks and then bring it up again.

  Yet that last time, Yale had done something that was totally out of character for him. He’d begun crying. It was
the tears and the pleading that made her agree to meet him when her shift ended. What she hadn’t expected was for him to work the E.R. on his day off.

  Celia had mentally beaten herself up over and over. The “what ifs” had attacked her relentlessly. What if she hadn’t dated a man who was ten years older than she and too controlling? What if she hadn’t agreed to move in with him when she’d had her own apartment? What if she hadn’t agreed to marry him when all of her instincts told her he was so wrong for her free-spirit personality?

  She knew her parents weren’t happy when she’d moved in with Yale, but she was an adult and there wasn’t much they could say. It hadn’t been the same with her brothers. Both Diego and Nicholas complained about her shacking up with a man when she could afford to live on her own. Celia eventually resolved the problem when she purchased her cousin’s oceanfront mansion.

  Buying the property signaled a turning point in her relationship with Yale. He’d become more controlling and at times had been downright mean-spirited. Living apart from her fiancé gave her the opportunity to see another side of the man with whom she’d pledged her future. She’d loved Yale, but she hadn’t been in love with him.

  Now, there was her dilemma of Gavin Faulkner. The powerfully built personal bodyguard was a constant reminder of what she’d never had and what had been missing in her life—passion.

  Swiping at her tears with her fingertips while pushing to her feet, Celia knew wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to solve any of her problems. She knew it would take time for her to come to terms with her feelings of guilt, but she didn’t have a lot of time when it came to Gavin Faulkner. He was going to spend the summer in the mountains, and that meant they would be seeing each other because of their promise to share Terry.

  Will it make you feel better if I take a lover for the summer to keep me company?

  The question Celia had asked her brother came back in vivid clarity. She knew it wouldn’t make Diego feel better, but she knew unequivocally it would make her feel much, much better than she did now.

  Thinking about Gavin reminded her that she had to call the local butcher to order a boneless pork loin for her puerco asado cook-off challenge. Her sorority sister had turned her on to Southern cooking and her grandmother had helped her to perfect the Caribbean dishes that had been passed down through countless generations.

  Retreating to the bathroom off the kitchen, Celia washed her face, touched up her makeup and took the pins out of her hair. Using a brush, she fluffed up her curls, then left to drive into town to buy what she needed to put together an authentic Cuban dish that was certain to tantalize the most discerning palate.

  Celia woke to the sound of rain tapping rhythmically against the windows. Moaning softly, she turned her face into the pillow in an attempt to go back to sleep, but popped up when she remembered that Gavin was coming over.

  He’d said he was going to cook his pork on a grill. That wasn’t going to be possible because there was no way he could grill in the rain. “Yes!” she whispered. He would be forced to forfeit the challenge because of a rainout. Meanwhile, she only needed the oven in which to roast her pork dish.

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Celia walked into the en suite bath and filled the garden tub with warm water before adding a generous amount of perfumed bath salts. The night before she’d made a marinade for the boneless pork loin the butcher had trimmed and tied together as per her instructions. The aroma from the garlic and dried oregano she’d ground into paste had permeated the kitchen. She’d rubbed the paste into the meat she’d scored with the tip of a knife, then added salt and pepper. A marinade of fresh lime, orange juice and a dry red wine was poured over it, and then she covered the pan with plastic wrap. Celia had refrigerated the meat, turning it every couple of hours so it could meld with the spices.

  A clock on the bathroom fireplace mantel chimed eight times. Reaching for a bath sponge, Celia squeezed a generous dollop of scented body wash on to the sponge and began washing her body. Gavin said he would come at ten, and she wanted to complete all her tasks beforehand.

  Dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved pullover and running shoes, Celia cleaned up the bathroom, made her bed and had positioned a number of lemon-scented votive candles throughout the first floor to offset the lingering smell of the marinade, chiding herself for not using the exhaust fan the night before. When she’d taken the pork out of the refrigerator and uncovered it, the mouth-watering aromas wafted throughout the kitchen like a release of compressed air.

  She’d slipped a single-cup disk into the coffeemaker when her cell phone and doorbell rang simultaneously. Reaching for her cell phone, she punched the talk button as she walked to the door. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Celia. This is your abuela.”

  She smiled. It wasn’t often that Nancy Cole-Thomas called. Her grandmother expected her grandchildren to call her on a regular basis, not the other way around.

  “How are you, abuela?” she asked.

  “That’s what I should be asking you, nieta. Didn’t you promise to call me once you got to that godforsaken place where if someone attacked you no one could hear you scream, let alone find you for months?”

  Peering through the security eye, Celia saw the distorted image of Gavin staring at her. She unlocked the door. “Come in.”

  “Who are you talking to, Celia?”

  “I’m sorry, Grandma, I was just telling my friend to come inside.”

  “Don’t you dare call me Grandma!”

  Celia motioned to Gavin to take his aluminum-covered pan to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, abuela.”

  Nancy Cole-Thomas had insisted her grandchildren learn Spanish because their mother hadn’t spoken a word of the language. She’d also insisted they call her abuela instead of grandma, grandmother or nana. Nancy had never approved of her son marrying Nichola Bennett, and forty years later the two women barely tolerated each other.

  “How are you doing, Celia?” Nancy’s voice was softer, gentler.

  “I’m doing well.”

  “Are you eating?”

  Celia closed and locked the door behind Gavin, her gaze lingering on his back when he walked past her. He’d paused to wipe his shoes on the mat she’d put down to absorb dirt and moisture.

  “Yes, I’m eating. Today I’m making puerco asado with white rice and an avocado and mango salad.”

  “Don’t forget to make some mojo criollo.”

  Celia’s smile was dazzling. “Thank you for reminding me.”

  Nancy’s chuckle came through the earpiece. “What’s roast pork without a potent Creole garlic sauce?”

  “You’re right, abuela.” Her grandmother had just given her the pièce de résistance to win the pork challenge.

  “I know you have company, so I’m not going to keep you. But, I do want you to call me to let me know you’re okay. After all, you’re my only granddaughter and I love you, Celia.”

  “I know,” Celia said softly. “And I love you, too. I’ll call you next week.”

  She ended the call and then turned to find Gavin. He was standing a few feet away. Why, she thought, hadn’t she heard his approach? He hadn’t shaved and the stubble shadowing his jaw made him appear dangerous. He was dressed entirely in black—baseball cap, jeans, cotton pullover and a pair of Timberland boots.

  “Please don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to disturb your telephone conversation. I have to go back to the truck to get the wood chips and a few other things.”

  Celia rested her hands at her waist. “How are you going to grill in the rain, Gavin?”

  He flashed a white-tooth grin. “I’m not. You have a double oven, so you can use one and I’ll use the other.” Taking a step, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers. “I know what you were thinking, beautiful. You thought I was going to have to forfeit because of the weather. Think again, because yours truly is a pork meister and neither rain, sleet nor snow will keep me
from making the best North Carolina-style barbecue pulled-pork sandwiches this side of the Piedmont.”

  Inhaling his mint-scented, moist breath, Celia pressed her mouth to his. “Is there a difference between eastern and western North Carolina pulled pork?”

  Gavin went completely still. He knew if he touched Celia, that he would forget his promise not to do anything she hadn’t wanted to do. Kissing her the day before had conjured up salacious thoughts that had kept him from a restful night’s sleep. Each time he drifted off to sleep he woke up with an erection that made him feel as if he were coming out of his skin. Rolling over and sleeping on his belly only served as a temporary respite. He knew his craving for Celia wouldn’t be assuaged until they made love.

  “There’s a big difference. Along the coast the sauce is a basic vinegar and red pepper, while up here in the mountains it is tomato-based and thicker.”

  Peering up at Gavin through her lashes, Celia tried to quell the shivers making it virtually impossible for her to draw a normal breath. The heat from his body, the potent scent of his cologne had ensnared her in a sensual web of longing that made her want to beg him to make love to her.

  “Which sauce are you going to make?”

  Gavin stared at the rapidly beating pulse in Celia’s throat. He knew what she was feeling because he was experiencing the same—a sexual tension that bordered on hysteria. He exhaled an audible breath. His first mistake had been to approach her at the supermarket, the second was bringing the injured dog to her home and the third and final mistake was issuing a challenge in which he was certain he would get to see her again.

  “Both. That way you can let me know which you like best.”

  Celia lowered her hands. “I just thought of something, Gavin. Don’t we need a third party to judge whose pork is better?”

  “No. I’ll let you know if your pork is better than mine.”

  She flashed a sensual pout. “How can you be certain I’ll be as impartial?”

  A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re a doctor, Celia.”