Can't Hurry Love (15 page)

It all happened so fast. One second she was walking into the bar with Kohl—he’d said he wanted some advice—and then
ker-plow
, he was on the ground and she and Liam were outside, squinting against the bright sunlight. He looked over his shoulder, as if debating a return to the fight.

She grabbed his arm to tow him in the direction of Penn’s truck. “This way.”

He resisted her encouragement, his expression set. Then his gaze jumped from the bar’s door to her face. The sight of his eyes, still that furious blue, made her belly jolt.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I want to fight with you, too.”

The raw sound of his voice made her insides twitch again. But then he had her hand. When they made it to Penn’s truck, she realized he’d gotten her where he wanted her
and
he’d taken possession of the keys to the vehicle.

Goose bumps jittered across her skin as she climbed onto the bench seat in the warm cab. Liam shut the door behind her and she instantly curled her fingers around the handle, instinct telling her to run again.

But another part of her—somewhere below all the jolts and flutters—was breathless and paralyzed by the harsh glitter in his eyes. She’d seen Liam collected, impassive, silent, controlled.

Now she couldn’t miss the emotion roiling beneath the surface of his skin.

His gaze caught on her hand as he slid into his seat, the one still clutching the handle. “Let go,” he said.

Let go.
It was what she’d always wanted to see Liam do, and this might be as close as she’d ever get.

“Let go,” he ordered again, and she uncurled her fingers.

He started the engine, and then he stretched one long arm across the back of the bench seat as he reversed. His fingertips brushed her bare shoulder. Her nipples instantly hardened, and she slid down in her seat, hoping to hide the reaction by creating folds in the soft cotton of her sleeveless shirt. Under her light skirt, she pressed her knees together.

It didn’t alleviate the sudden ache between her thighs.

They were out of town in no time. She couldn’t guess exactly where he was heading—except that it was into the hills. In the ten years since she’d been gone, vineyards had crept up these elevations as well, the value of the crop worth the cost and toil of removing trees and rocks.

But the mood inside the truck’s cab didn’t match the lovely surroundings. Over the soft exhalations of the air conditioner, she could hear Liam’s heavy breaths. Hers began to sync with his, and each time she drew in a gulp of air, she felt her breasts swell. Every inch of her skin felt ready to burst.

Face burning, she turned it away from him, but it didn’t help. He pulled off the paved road onto a dirt track and they were surrounded by overhanging oaks. The rutted road caused her to bounce on the seat, her body jumping as roughly as her heartbeat.

Then he pulled off the path to nose the truck into deeper shade. The trailing branches of trees lightly scratched the roof and windshield like fingernails. Giuliana shivered.

She shivered again as Liam punched the controls and the windows rolled down. Cool air blew across her sensitized skin and it smelled like fresh creek water.

Just like that, she knew where they were. A make-out spot he’d known about and taken her to shortly after they’d gone from playful shoves to tentative kisses. Squeezing her knees together again, she slammed her arms over her chest and shot him a nasty look. How many women had he brought here after her that he would remember it so well?

He was staring straight ahead, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His fingers strangled the steering wheel. The tension in the cab could be served over pancakes.

She broke first. “Why the
heck
would you hit Kohl?”

His head turned, and he merely looked at her out of those hot, glittering eyes.

She squirmed as a bubbly thrill shot through her bloodstream. Bad Giuliana, liking that buzz of danger in the air. “There’s nothing going on with me and Kohl,” she said. “You know that.”

“For the last year I’ve put up with him bringing you coffee, giving you back rubs, acting like your personal errand boy—”

“He works for the winery!”

“Keep away from Kohl.”

The steel in his voice electrified her. Her ankle bones met each other in a hard kiss. “You don’t make the rules!” Her neck went hot with her awareness that she sounded as if she were eight years old, a child objecting to whatever boundaries Liam was setting for the current game.

Lowering her voice, she unfolded her arms to wipe her damp palms over her cloth-covered knees. “I can see any man I want.”

The air crackled. “How many have there been?” he demanded.

His jealousy set hers free. “You answer that question first.” But she’d die if he did, she thought. She’d just curl up like a diseased leaf on the vine and drop to the ground. “Erin Bell’s one.”

In a blink he’d slid down the bench seat. Her shoulder harness snapped free and he made her face him, her upper arms in his firm grip. “Did she speak to you?” A little shake. “Did you see her on your way into the bar?”

Swallowing, she wet her dry mouth. “No. I ran into her in town a few days ago. She told me I was a fool to have left you alone for ten years.”

Liam’s hands fell away. “She’s nothing. Don’t listen to her.”

So she hadn’t been a fool? Because she felt like an idiot now, hot and bothered and her heart beating against her chest like the
boom-boom-boom
of doom. Surely only a fool would feel stirred up by the way his very presence was crowding against her, even with his hands no longer touching her.

But she was, and he was. Liam, usually so remote, was surrounding her with the force of his personality. If another man’s energy had pushed at her like this, she would have been out the passenger door on the instant. In LA, whether during a casual cup of coffee or on a more serious dinner date, she’d been always poised to step back, disengage, flee.

“Tell me about the men,” he insisted.

Movie stars,
she thought.
Tell him you dated famous men at Hollywood parties. Stunt pilots who wowed you with their tricky maneuvers. An ER doctor who saved lives every day.

“They were nothing,” she said instead.

“They’re nothing now,” Liam added.

His certitude should offend her. She should object to his tone, balk at the order, make her own demands.
Take me home. Stop being so . . . so . . . deliciously forceful.

Ducking her chin, she glanced at him through her lashes, noting the strain on his face and the taut line of his neck.

Quit all the passionate engagement.

Instead, biting her lip, she shivered. Liam reached over and picked up her hand. With slow movements, he threaded her fingers with his. The slide of his larger, longer digits against the inner surfaces of hers, spreading her for his possession, was like a sexual act in and of itself. Her breasts tingled, the tight tips hurting as they constricted. She couldn’t breathe.

“This is how it’s going to be,” he said. “Until Vow-Over Weekend is behind us, there’ll be no journalists, no Kohl, no other men.”

There’d never been any other men that counted, but she averted her eyes so he wouldn’t see the truth of it on her face.

“For the next two weeks, you’ll be in my bed and I’ll have you there—and any other place I feel like it.”

Her gaze leapt to his and her temperature spiked. He hadn’t just said—but he
had
just said, and the unbending intent was clear in the simmering blue of his eyes and the rigid set of his muscles.

She didn’t follow orders, she wouldn’t follow orders . . .

But, Bad Giuliana, she
so
wanted to follow this order. Her mouth was dry again as she tried to reason it out. Was it because she’d had those years of being in charge as the little mother, tasked with caring for her younger sisters and keeping up her father’s spirits after their mother had died? Was there some flaw in her that made her aroused at the idea of being overwhelmed . . . overcome?

Or was it because she wanted Liam to want her just that much?

For two weeks ...

“And I’ve decided I want it right now, Giuliana,” he said, as if she’d already agreed to his demands. Releasing her hand, he shoved back on the seat until his spine met the driver’s door and the rest of his long body sprawled against the leather. “Take off your clothes, baby.”

Here? Now? Heat flared on her flesh, hot enough to burn away the material that covered it. She swallowed hard, her brain wading slowly through her jumbled thoughts.

Was this a dare? Some kind of backhanded attempt at pushing her away? Was he trying to assuage his conscience by an offer that gave her a chance to reject him?

Except she didn’t want to reject him. Why couldn’t she—for two weeks—let Liam set the rules?

Still, she hesitated, her brain on stall, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.

“I said I want you naked, Jules.”

Her gaze jumped to his. He was focused on her, his attention not wandering from her face, his blue eyes resolute. A shiver wracked her body and she licked her lips, hot everywhere, inside and out.

His right hand shifted to his left cuff. He unfastened the button there and slowly folded back the fabric to his elbows. Mesmerized by the ropey muscles he revealed, she watched as he did the same with the other cuff. Then he linked his hands over his flat belly, right above the rigid length she could see beneath his fly.

Her gaze landed there, lingered, and she thought she saw it flex. “Jules,” he warned, and one palm rubbed that fascinating ridge. “Clothes off.”

The sensualist inside her skin couldn’t take the confining brush of the material covering it another second. Her hands went to the bottom of her tank top.

“Skirt and panties first,” he said.

Her cheeks burned. “Liam . . .” she whispered, glancing at his face.

His jaw hardened. “Skirt and panties first.”

Oh, God. Ducking her head, she placed her palms over the cotton. There was six inches of stretchy ruching from waistline to hips, and she pushed it down. The elastic edges of her panties got caught in the movement, and her blush seemed to slide lower as they did, all the way to her ankles. She wiggled her feet to free them from her pull-on flats and the folds of fabric.

She glanced at him. His face still set, he gestured at her with his chin, not having to use words to direct the next part of the disrobing. Hands shaking, she pulled her tank over her head and released the catch on her bra. The two pieces joined her other clothes.

“Now come here,” he said.

Oh, my.
It was daylight, in the front seat of a truck, in the location where she’d once—more than once—begged him to make love to her. He’d taken charge then, too, and her passion had been able to persuade him only so far. They’d touched and teased each other to climax, but this—this he’d held back from her.

Through the screen of her lashes, she glanced over at him. He was freeing the metal buttons of his fly. The knuckles of his right fingers were swollen and red from the punch. Both of his hands were shaking.

A surge of power shot through Giuliana. A little smile curved her mouth and she turned, trembling herself, to crawl over his long legs. He caught her naked bottom in his hands.

She slid from his hold, rubbing her belly against the hard column of his flesh that he’d released from his clothes. Her eyes closed, reveling in the satiny feel of him against her. She caressed him by undulating her pelvis, and his hands stroked over the curves of her hips, controlling her rolling body.

“Now,” she said, already eager to join with him. Edging her knees higher, she poised herself to take him inside. “
Now.
”

He held her off. “No.”

“Yes.” She could tell he was as into the moment as she, his palms were burning, his eyes so tightly closed that fine lines fanned at the edges.

“No condom.”

She froze. This was cruel! He was cruel! If he’d known he had no protection with him, he shouldn’t have started this game. A younger Giuliana might have considered taking the chance, but the woman she was now wouldn’t ever.

“No,” he said again, sounding tortured. Liam wouldn’t risk it, either.

He brought her mouth up to his. “We know how to do this, baby,” he said against her lips. Then he slid his tongue inside and put downward pressure on her hips so that she stroked his heavy shaft with her body. Stroked it
there
, along her soft and wet layers of flesh and against the aching, pulsing nub at their apex.

“I couldn’t wait,” he said roughly. “I had to have you now.”

And then their bodies moved together, her nakedness against his rough clothes, but their hot and straining parts meeting, over and over and over. His hands were tight on her skin, still controlling, still making sure they were both safe.

This was their unique balance. How they meshed. His tight restraint, her willful pleasure-seeking. Combined, the experience was made better for both of them.

Command and acquiescence. Now and yes.

Heart and soul.

It felt like that as they both cried out. Climaxed.

“Two weeks,” he ordered again, as he took her mouth with another hot, wet kiss.

Yes. Two weeks was what she had left for all of this.

14

Kohl squared his shoulders, smoothed his palms over his hair, then approached the Tanti Baci booth set up for Market Night in the Edenville town square. His new shirt felt too tight around the neck and he worried about the amount of aftershave he’d spread onto his face, but he didn’t let those concerns slow his steps. He had a date. And a promise to himself. For the duration of the evening, he was going to be the epitome of the three Cs: charming, considerate, and civilized.

It was what Giuliana had advised, right before his jaw and Liam’s knuckles had their humiliating meeting. “Invite the girl out,” she’d said. “Then remember the three Cs. Show you can be social through dinner and a movie. Food, anyway, followed by some form of entertainment.” She’d followed that up with a kiss on the cheek, and then—

Liam’s fist came out of nowhere.

Kohl touched his chin with his fingertips. For Grace, he’d shaved so close that the bruise he’d been hiding behind a couple of days’ worth of whiskers was in evidence. He figured she was too polite to ask about it, though he hoped it wouldn’t put her off. Damn, he thought, his mood swinging low. If that was the case, he should have at least pounded on Liam in return.

“Kohlrabi.”

He groaned, and didn’t immediately turn in the direction of the pleased voice. Only two people called him by his full first name. “Hey, Mom, Dad,” he said. Though it was his mother’s voice, his parents were permanently joined at the hip.

Taking in a breath, he spun to face them. All his life he figured he’d been a disappointment to them, so when in their company, he felt soaked in guilt. Leaning down, he kissed his mother on her thin cheek and shook his father’s lean hand. Dedicated vegans, Bobby and June Friday’s spare physiques made him feel only more guilty—the night before he’d had rare steak for dinner.

His mother looked up at him then looked him over, her maternal gaze cataloging his every feature and every limb—though she kept her judgments on them to herself. Once he’d grown up, he’d realized they probably hoped he’d use his great size to a certain kind of advantage. Like chaining himself to the gates of a pesticide plant. Or battling whale hunters from the decks of a Greenpeace ship.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a catchall apology for his multitude of sins and disappointments.

“For what, son?” his dad asked, smoothing his hand over the face of Jerry Garcia on his Grateful Dead T-shirt. His dad considered the band a talisman of sorts. Bobby and June had met at Woodstock under the benevolent gaze of Jerry et al—from the stage overlooking the four hundred thousand or so concertgoers, anyway—and they’d fallen in love grooving to the tunes during three days of music, mud, and bliss.

They were card-carrying members of the Make Love Not War generation . . . and then he remembered Grace telling him about those anonymous yellow ribbons they’d delivered around town. His chest tightened, mimicking the squeeze of the collar around his throat. They were such good people. Weird as all get out, but they delivered yellow ribbons and nurtured stray dogs and raised three kids who’d survived their hippie-given names just fine—in large part to these two kind souls who still danced to the beat of drummers they’d first heard in the 1960s.

“Kohl?” his mother prompted. “Why are you apologizing?”

He smiled at her, filling with a love for them that seemed to open up new spaces in his heart. He put an arm around each parent. “I’m sorry because I don’t have more time to talk. I have a date.” Then he wiggled his brows because he knew it was the kind of light touch that would delight them both.

They laughed, as he knew they would. “Who is she? When can we meet her?”

He hadn’t told them about other women before, those he’d boffed with the same intent and the same care with which he took ibuprofen, and he felt only more guilt about that.

“When, Kohlrabi?” his mother insisted.

He gave her a squeeze and didn’t dare look in the direction of the Tanti Baci booth. “In good time.” But not this evening. Introducing Bobby and June to Grace would give himself an unfair advantage. Tonight he was determined to rely on himself to follow through with the three Cs.

As he waved his parents on their way, though, he thought he could be something more than charming, considerate, and civilized. Thanks to this chance meeting with his folks, he felt downright cheery.

He ventured closer to where Grace was pouring tastes for the tourists. They were on for five P.M., and he’d planned to be early enough to allow himself a few minutes of watching her without talking. He still had to work himself up to the social niceties, so while gazing on her, he practiced them in his head.

You look beautiful.
And she did. So far he’d only seen her in casual clothes, jeans and shorts, but she had on a dress. The woman had worn a dress because she was going out with him! He swallowed, his gaze taking in the eggshell blue color, the halter top that revealed a slice of freckle-dusted cleavage, the kicky skirt that ruffled around her knees in the breeze. And her hair . . . she’d left it down and he found himself rubbing his fingers together, remembering the feel of his hands sliding through a liquid sunset.

You smell nice.
From this distance, he had to imagine that part, but there would be a cinnamon sweetness to whatever scent she wore. God, he loved her freckles.

I’ve been looking forward to this evening.
So much so that he’d been holding an ice pack to his jaw when he’d called his sister’s house and she’d answered. Once galvanized by Giuliana’s advice, even a sucker punch couldn’t keep him from taking this step.

He took more of them now, pacing toward the booth. When he was still eight feet off, she glanced up. Their gazes met and then she quickly ducked her head, giving her attention to the tasting glass in front of her. He didn’t miss the blush spreading across her face or the little smile that curved her mouth.

The three people in front of him took their time, but he didn’t mind waiting the few moments it took for him to belly up to the counter. He nodded at the other cellar rats doing their time in the booth—the Baci sisters would arrive soon to take over—and then his focus shifted to Grace.
Remember,
he told himself,
charming, considerate, civilized
.

A last-minute onset of nerves thickened his vocal chords. He had to clear his throat to get a word out. “Hi.”

Her head ducked again, then her chin lifted. “Hi.”

He curled his hands around the counter instead of curving them around her face and drawing her forward for a kiss. What was he supposed to do next? Say? Then he remembered, and he tried mimicking Penn Bennett’s charming smile. “You look pretty good.”

The minute the words left his mouth he wanted to bang his fists on his forehead. Not pretty good! Beautiful! “That didn’t come out quite right,” he said swiftly. “I meant to say . . .”

Her big blue eyes distracted him. She’d darkened her rose gold lashes somehow—though he had sisters, he’d never understood the tools of the female trade—and now they deepened the blue from summer sky to azure mystery. He swallowed, feeling like a clumsy ox. “I meant to say . . .” he started again, wracking his brain for the phrases he’d practiced. One flitted through his head and he made a desperate grab for it. “I meant to say you smell.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
He went from behemoth to the size of a flea in the space of a breath. He should have introduced her to Bobby and June. He could have hidden behind them and let the Flaky Friday parents do all the talking.

Dad could have waxed on about his beloved dog. Mom could have chatted about the beneficial effects of kohlrabi.

Something had to convince her to give him a chance tonight and it didn’t appear it was going to be him.

Then Grace was pouring out some of the cabernet sauvignon she was holding in her hand. She filled up the small glass, rather than the customary two-ounce taste. Smiling, she held it out to him. “I’m nervous, too.”

He tossed the wine back like it was a harder liquor. It steadied his brain. “Are you ready? I’ve been so looking forward to this evening.” It came out as smoothly as the wine had slid along his throat, and he smiled.

She smiled back.

All right. Breathing now. Charming now.

Air was still moving in and out of Kohl’s lungs as she collected her purse then sketched a good-bye to the others in the booth and slipped through the gap in the back counter. He met her there, and they exchanged another smile. Then he held out his palm and they both looked at it.

Big. Rough-skinned with calluses from physical work. Men had, on average, fifty percent more upper-body strength than women, and that difference and every other male-female gender distinction seemed embodied in his hand, the one that could stroke her soft skin.

Or strike it.

Caress her delicate body.

Or crush her delicate bones.

He felt himself closing down and moving away—without moving a muscle.
My symptoms mostly fall into the emotional numbness and withdrawal category, with some outbursts of anger to spice things up.
He’d told her that himself. Maybe she’d understand if he made his excuses and left.

Then her fingers touched down on his open palm, like a butterfly landing on a flower. His heart rocked in his chest and he came whooshing back into his body and into the present. He was going out on a date with Grace Hatch and she was holding his hand.

He closed his fingers over hers, and clasping them, felt even steadier. A breath of air silently slid from his easing lungs. “Ready?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she answered.

They took the long way out of the town square. Grace sniffed the handmade soaps on the table outside the bath shop. He took the chance of spoiling his appetite by buying plastic-wrapped Rice Krispies treats being sold by the Brownies. Though he wasn’t a huge fan of the sugary things—Bobby and June had a way of influencing a guy—he’d remembered Grace’s wish to be one of the little girls in their brown shorts and sashes and with their fancy badges and pins. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned and smiled at her. “Getting in your good graces.”

Grace grinned at the little bit of word play and he slung an arm around her shoulders. This stuff was coming back to him. He hadn’t been a caveman his entire life. Once upon a time he’d been a favorite of women. Now he just wanted to be the favorite of one.

Could that be true? Steering her away from the crowd and down an empty street, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He inhaled with appreciation her cinnamon-laced scent. Yeah, it could be true.

A man suddenly stepped out from between two buildings. Even in a ball cap pulled low, he recognized Daniel, her muscled ex. Kohl froze. Grace hadn’t seen him yet, and kept walking. Using their joined hands, he reeled her close, then pushed her behind him.

She clutched his waist, squeaking a little.

“Shh,” he said, turning his head to whisper to her, while keeping his eyes on the threat ahead. “Just back away from me, honey. Go back to the square.”

“No.” Her fingers tightened on his sides.

“Honey. Please.”

“No.”

Frustration surged inside him. It pitched his stomach and swelled his muscles until he was hard on the outside and a mass of churning aggravation on the inside. The other man took a step and Kohl couldn’t help himself. He softened his knees in a fighter’s stance and lifted his arms. His curled fingers twitched in a little “come and try it” gesture.

To hell with civilized.

Grace squeaked again and he felt the pinch of her fingers on his skin. “Don’t, Kohl. Please don’t.”

Oh, God.
Just like that, the distress in her voice tempered the fight in him. His hands dropped from their challenging posture to cover her icy fingers. “All right. Okay.” He didn’t take his eyes off the ex, but he gentled his voice and shuffled back a step. “We’ll go.”

“Together?”

“Together.” The belligerence drained out of him at the word. More backward steps and they were close enough to the public square that he could breathe again. He pushed her around the corner.

“Grace!” The ex had advanced a few steps. “Grace!”

Kohl gave her another push. “Don’t—”

“What?” She peeked around the edge of the building. “Just say it, Daniel.”

The man had his hands up. “I just want to tell you somethin’, sugar.”

“Tell me what?”

“I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault you left me.” And then, as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

Kohl didn’t hesitate to hustle Grace farther into the center of the square. With his arm around her shoulders, she curled into his chest, snuggling against his warmth. She was trembling a little, but he couldn’t describe how much satisfaction he felt in the way she turned to him for strength and comfort.

God, he’d done it. After a shaky beginning, he’d dredged up some charm. More important, when faced with her freakin’ ex, he’d gone all Incredible Hulk, but then, with her touch on him, managed to bring himself back to the more civilized Dr. Bruce Banner. Her Beauty had controlled his Beast.