chapter 44
Can we sneak away yet?”
Tate smiled at his wife. “I thought that was supposed to be my question.”
“You’re thinking it. I’m just the one who’s stupid enough to ask.”
“Brave,” Tate corrected, brushing a swift kiss across her lips. “What about the garter? I seem to recall some sort of ceremony is required.”
“To heck with the garter,” Cara muttered. “Except Audra will kill me, because she wants everything done just so.” She breathed deeply, as if savoring all the happiness in the room. “Actually, I can’t wait to tear your clothes off, Senator Winslow.”
“Actually, I can’t wait to let you, Mrs. Winslow.”
The look they shared stretched out in heated understanding. Both had waited too long to deny the passion they were feeling. With any luck they would be ready to leave in—
“The wedding was lovely.” Cara’s sister and husband cut into the silence, beaming. Their sons looked stiff in their suits, but pleased with the general company in spite of that. “When are you two leaving?”
“As soon as we can manage it.” Tate smiled at Cara’s sister. “But the party should go on for hours, so please make yourselves at home. The rooms we prepared for you are comfortable, I hope?”
“Beyond comfortable. We just got back from a rafting trip in Texas, so these accommodations are pure luxury. Audra’s been watching over us like a regular mother hen, too.” Melody straightened her eldest son’s tie. “Jordan’s home from college, did you know? Hard to believe he’s so grown-up.”
“Mom.” With the universal cry of youth, the handsome, dark-haired boy rolled his eyes.
Cara patted Jordan’s arm. “In time she’ll realize you’re an adult and loosen up, honey. We all do, sooner or later.”
“I doubt it.”
Melody gripped her son’s arm, brushing away a tear. “You really are beautiful, Cara. It’s a great wedding, but you two ought to sneak away now, and we’re going to help you start by getting out of your hair.”
Cara and her sister shared a tight hug, then the bride and groom were finally alone. They were just about to make their escape when they were cut off by Tate’s brother.
“Sorry to bother you, Tate.” Greg Winslow shifted a champagne glass from hand to hand, looking uncomfortable. “The ceremony was perfect, but there’s something I have to tell Cara. It’s a long-overdue apology.”
“Greg, you don’t have to—”
“Just listen, please. I was wrong about you, Cara. I was certain you wouldn’t stay the course. You were busy, you had a demanding career, and you already had a family.” Greg Winslow frowned down at his empty glass. “I told Tate he was making a big mistake, that you’d hurt him, professionally and personally. I was a damned fool for that.”
Cara took Greg’s arm gently. “That’s very nice of you to say.”
“I’m afraid there’s more.” Greg looked warily at Tate. “About a year ago Mother came to talk to me, Tate. She said she was worried about Cara distracting you from your career. I—I’m afraid I gave her a little encouragement in that view.”
Tate’s mouth flattened. “You did what?”
“I . . . told her you were working too hard, passing up crucial meetings so that you could fit in time with Cara and the girls. I wanted her support if it ever came down to a family discussion.”
“You mean a showdown,” Tate snapped.
“I didn’t know she had been medicating herself in Mexico.” Greg looked pale. “The guilt has been killing me, Tate, ever since I heard about what she did. I want to make amends.”
The senator didn’t speak, his eyes dark with anger, and it was Cara who finally broke the tense silence. “I love you both. I loved Amanda, too, strange as that may seem now. I think it’s because you’re all so intense, committed two hundred percent to the things you think are right. You did what you thought was right, Greg, and Amanda . . . well, Amanda was not in her right mind.”
After a long time Tate shrugged. “Hell, Greg, if Cara can forgive you, I can, too. So how about you handle the pleasantries here so Cara and I can leave? Bud fixed up the guesthouse. There’s champagne on ice and a fire going . . .”
“Get lost.” Greg grinned. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you had an urgent call from Washington.”
Cara stared anxiously around the crowded room. “But the girls—”
“Between your Mr. Morgan and your ex-nanny, the girls are in excellent shape. Bud and Ellie have promised them a Monopoly marathon later. I believe I’ll sit in, too.”
Tate crossed his arms. “Excellent planning. Now I know why I hired you as my chief policy advisor.”
“You hired me because I came dirt cheap,” Greg said wryly. “Now get moving before someone else decides to offer their congratulations. Here comes Audra, and I intend to ask her to dance. She looks a little wistful.”
“She’s missing her friends, I expect. Tate, maybe we should stay a while longer.”
“Hit the trail, Counselor. The bases are covered here.” Greg Winslow straightened his tie. “If I can handle the devious, underhanded power brokers of Capitol Hill, I guess I can handle two young girls.”
“You might be surprised,” Cara murmured as Greg wandered off. She looked up at Tate. “What are you looking so cat’s-got-the-canary about?”
“You and your sister.” Tate waited, studying Cara’s face. “You’ve kept the secret very well.”
“What do you mean?”
Tate spoke very quietly. “I figured it out while you were in the hospital and Melody came to stay with you. You didn’t have an abortion that day in Mexico. Jordan is a very handsome young man, and he happens to have your eyes.”
Cara took a sharp breath. “Tate, you haven’t told—”
“Nothing to no one, and I never will. The secret is yours and Melody’s alone, honey. And if I didn’t love you already more than I can bear, I’d definitely be a goner now.” Tate took her hand. “You’re lucky to have Melody—and Jordan’s lucky to have you both.”
Cara stared at the child she’d given up years before to a sister who had despaired of ever being able to conceive. “He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” Cara whispered. “Mel’s going to tell him next summer. We agreed on that, and I had to keep my promise. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, Tate.”
“You are one thickheaded, stubborn woman. Fortunately, stubborn women are a major turn-on for me.” Tate’s eyes narrowed. “Your room or mine?” he whispered.
“We’re staying down in the cabin, remember?”
“Right. Then your bed or mine?”
“There’s only one bed.”
“Better and better.”
Cara pulled him down for a hungry kiss that involved a healthy amount of tongue. “But first we try out the floor in front of that roaring fire.”
Tate was dragging her toward the door before she finished the sentence.
Wind whispered over the windowpanes and snow dusted the meadow. Music from a string quartet filled the magnificent log house, mingled with the sound of noisy toasts to the bride and groom, who were largely oblivious to everything but each other.
It was nice to know that life could still dole out happy endings, Summer thought. As she sipped her second glass of champagne, she realized that the sight of this newly formed family filled some deep part of her heart that she hadn’t known was empty.
Her own memories of home and family were far from inspiring. But her marriages didn’t always crumble into resentment and pain. The living, breathing proof was in front of Summer now.
She felt a grin slip across her face. She wasn’t seriously considering marriage. Neither was her stubborn, gorgeous SEAL.
Were they?
From force of habit, she scanned the crowd for threats, but all she saw were beaming relatives, laughing ranchers, local dignitaries, and several famous politicians who had flown in from Washington.
Except that Sophy was missing.
Summer turned sharply, checking for her service revolver. She frowned when she realized she’d left the weapon upstairs when she had changed for the wedding. What would she do if—
“Relax.” Callused fingers settled on her shoulder. “Sophy’s out in the greenhouse with Izzy, shooting hoops. He just called me on my cell phone.”
Gabe looked ruggedly handsome in his tuxedo and formal white shirt. With his dark hair and the sexy little scar at his jaw, the man could have scored big money in an ad for fast, expensive cars.
Or fast, expensive women.
Looking down, Summer noticed something on his wrist. “What’s this?”
His face filled with a tinge of color. “Something.”
“What? It looks like a rubber band.”
Gabe sighed. “It’s yours, okay? The one you had in your hair that night you took on the cactus back in Carmel. I . . . kept it.”
She felt her heart take a slow tumble. “You did? A cheap little rubber band?”
“Yeah, so sue me.”
She ignored an urge to kiss him senseless. “Why are you grinning at me?”
“No reason in particular.” He stared at the crowd. “Can we leave yet?”
“Morgan, we’ve only been here an hour. You can’t be that bored already.”
“Not bored, restless. I have better ways to spend my time than drinking toasts with strangers.” He fingered Summer’s long, dangly earrings. “Most of them involve the backseat of a Jeep.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Which part, where you made those sharp, squeaky sounds when you came, or when those lace panties of yours fell in your face and you threw them out the window.”
Summer closed her eyes. “Neither.”
“Hell, yes, I’ll remind you. They’re some of my finest memories. When I’m an old man in a walker with three teeth left, I’m going to be living off memories of you like that.” He smiled crookedly. “Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman so crazed.”
“You’d be crazed, too, if you kept slipping on your own underwear. Good thing I’m not wearing any now.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “Any what?”
“Anything at all,” Summer said sweetly.
“Now I definitely want to leave.”
“I forgot. I’m wearing stockings and a garter belt. The kind with the little snap things that take forever to undo. My sister sent it to me and she said—” Summer cleared her throat. “Never mind what she said.”
Hell. She was killing him. Cutting him up into tiny, painful little strips. Gabe’s zipper strained, tighter than it had ever been. It would only take a minute to sneak out and unlock their rental car.
And offend people he knew as good friends.
“Since the Jeep seems to be out, let’s dance,” he said hoarsely.
Summer stiffened. “No way. With these heels, I’ll probably trample small children and mutilate innocent animals.”
“Just let me hold you. You don’t have to do anything more.” He drew her into his arms against the smooth beat of vintage Frank Sinatra.
Blue Skies.
“See, you’re doing just fine.”
“No, I—” Summer bumped a potted orange tree near the door, catching it seconds before it toppled. “See? I told you something bad would happen.” Her voice was tight as she stared down. “I just managed to dump a plate of chicken salad from that table onto my dress. I have to go clean up.”
Red-faced, headed for the powder room just off the kitchen. Dozens of candles burned in silver holders as she tried to blot the stain on her dress. So much for playing Cinderella, she thought miserably.
“Move over,” Gabe said gruffly.
“Why?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”
“Sure, but—”
He nudged her aside, closing the door with his foot.
Locking it, while their eyes held. “You aren’t wearing a weapon, are you?”
“N-no.”
“Good. I don’t want to get shot.”
Summer felt excitement bubble through her. “Gabe?”
“So will it be there on the vanity or down on the rug?” He pulled off his jacket. “I’ve always had a great fantasy going about sex in a public place.”
She made a low, strangled sound as he slid down the tiny straps of her dress. “We can’t just—”
“It’s been six hours, eighteen minutes, and twelve seconds, honey. Damned if I’m stopping.”
Cool air brushed Summer’s skin, followed by Gabe’s hands. Outside Frank Sinatra moved smoothly into “Summer Wind” while her zipper came free. “Right here,” she said huskily, then turned, one hand against the timber wall.
“Good call.” Her dress fell a few more inches.
“The FBI . . . always aims to please, Lieutenant.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. So does the Navy.”
Her dress hit the soft rug. Gabe gave a long, slow whistle as he saw the white stockings and the white lace garter belt with pink silk snaps. “The wall it is,” he said hoarsely. “Hold on, honey. This could get rough.”
Summer licked dry lips. Maybe there was something to this fantasy stuff.
“I had something important I was going to ask you.” His pants were gone, his shirt kicked aside. “Something about rings and families.” He pressed her up against the wall, fingers circling her wrists as he traced damp, impatient skin. She reached for him, but he pushed her hands back against the wall. “My turn to lead, honey.” His fingers eased inside her. “God, I love touching you.”
“Hurry up,” she rasped.
“Not too loud. Someone might hear us,” he whispered in her ear. “They’re right outside, remember? Probably sixty people eating chocolate cake and canapés. We don’t want them to hear us in here having great, noisy sex.”
He got no answer except for a sexy moan.
His fingers moved. Summer gasped as he impaled her with slow, deadly accuracy. “I’ll ask my question later,” he said raggedly, holding her steady as he pinned her against the wall with deep, hammering strokes.
She moaned again, biting his shoulder, her body twisting.
This was going to get noisy, he thought as she arched, slapping the wall. A glass figurine toppled, and Gabe barely managed to catch it.
“Hu-rry,” she gasped.
“Yes, ma’am.” He closed his eyes as she shuddered, her body closing around him, climaxing hard.
Yeah, this particular fantasy was going right into the keeper file, Gabe thought. After this, he’d try out a few more variations before they went back.
Right after he asked her to marry him.
And if she said no, he had a whole lot more ammunition where this came from.
She took a long, shuddering breath, staring into his eyes. “Hurry up, Navy. The FBI is about to come again and you don’t want to miss the ship.” She bit his jaw, smiling wickedly as he complied with fierce intensity. “And just for the record . . . I love you. Deliriously, as it happens.”
She smiled as he pinned her, groaning a release.
“And my answer is yes. . . .”