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It’s not like I wanted my family to hate me—and I was afraid they might—yet the guilt ate at me. I tried to take comfort in seeing that Kinsley was happy and that Brant didn’t have to marry that wench, Jill. But had I taken part in ruining what could have been a beautiful love story between my sister and Brant?
Brock stirred, shaking me out of my thoughts. Without him even opening his eyes, his lips found mine, making me forget for a moment that anyone existed but us. He groaned and ran his hand down my back, pulling me closer. The taste of the red wine we’d drunk the night before lingered on his tongue; it was more intoxicating than the alcohol. I loved how my body contoured perfectly against his. How his hands could hold me so firmly yet gently caress all my curves, I didn’t know. His kisses were perfection—a mixture of urgency while savoring each sweep of my mouth.
My hands worked their way to his chest and ached to unbutton his shirt, to let us become man and wife in every sense. But my heart wasn’t ready yet. I needed to work through my guilt and remove any doubts about us. Brock was doing an excellent job helping with that.
“Good morning,” I whispered against his lips when he let me catch my breath.
“Very good,” he breathed out.
“I’m sorry, but I need to get up. We open the gift wrapping store today.” Every year we wrapped gifts to raise funds for the local food bank that supported foster families, and it also gave us a place where individuals could drop off their donated gifts. It meant extra hours, but it was worth it. One thing I could do well was wrap gifts.
He nibbled on my earlobe, making my body shake in delight.
“Brock . . . you’re not . . . playing fair,” I stuttered out between shivers.
“Not even a little,” he admitted.
I closed my eyes and let myself be immersed by his touch. A war raged inside of me. I didn’t want to move, but I knew I had people counting on me. “Brock,” my voice begged him to stop, yet I arched my neck, silently asking him to continue. He was happy to oblige and pressed warm kisses down my neck.
“I need to go.”
“Do you really?” His breath played hot against my skin.
I nodded while my hands ran up through the back of his hair. I wasn’t doing a good job of convincing him. In a brief moment of lucidity, I pulled away and peered into his lively blue eyes. “You are wicked,” I teased.
“You have no idea.” He wasn’t teasing at all.
Part of me screamed to beg him to show me now, then the responsible side won out. “I look forward to you showing me exactly how much . . . later.”
“Fine,” he groaned. “Why don’t you go get ready while I make you breakfast, and then I’ll drive you into town. Do you mind if I help you out today?”
“I would love that.”
“Would you love it if I helped you through the holidays?”
“Yes. But what about your job?”
“I’m on medical leave until January.”
“You don’t say.” I smiled.
“I do say. So, get ready for weeks of me wooing the hell out of you.”
I giggled. “I suppose I could be amenable to that.”
“You suppose, huh?” He grinned sexily.
“I mean, I’ll do my best to endure it.”
“Then I will do my best to leave no doubt in your mind about how much I love you. How much I want you to be my wife.”
My heart warmed even hotter than he’d set my body on fire. “I believe you.”
“That’s a start.”
It was.
~*~
I stood at the back of the tiny storefront, watching my husband. We’d been lucky to obtain this location this year at the Pine Falls outdoor shopping complex. This place was much nicer than the old mall where we had been for the last several years. That eyesore had been dying for years and had been torn down a few months ago. Erin had worked her tail off to secure this place for us, free of charge, I might add. All we had to do was pay for the utilities. The space was beautiful, with newly painted walls, attractive lighting, and even marble countertops. However, my admiration for the space had nothing on how in awe I was of Brock. He was terrible at wrapping gifts, but he had a gift with people.
Several patrons and those donating gifts had gravitated toward him when they’d realized who he was. Many thanked him for serving our country. Others offered condolences about the baby. Brock graciously accepted them. No one would have guessed Charlotte wasn’t his. It made me believe that he truly would have loved her like his own. Now, though, he was speaking to a veteran of the Iraq War. A man in his mid-forties, I would say.
