Hold on to Me (35 page)

“I’m still sitting here, you know.” Vince’s voice was hard, terse.

Caitlin sighed into Tick’s mouth and he lifted his head enough to focus on her eyes.

“I’d tell him to go away,” she whispered, “but he’d just ignore me. He’s obstinate like that.”

He stroked a soft caress along her cheek. “There’s always later.”

She eased to a sitting position and he straightened. She rose and slipped her arm about his waist, hugging him to her as she moved toward the table. “I thought you couldn’t get away.”

He tugged out a chair for her. “I blackmailed Stan into giving me time off. Told him he could give me the comp time or pay me the overtime the department owes me. His choice.”

Once he settled in his own chair, she clung to his hand and leaned toward him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” His gaze dropped to her lips, still damp and a little swollen from his kiss. “Go away, Vince.”

“Gladly.” Vince pushed up from the chair. “This is turning my stomach.”

His footsteps clattered up the steps and disappeared. Tick hooked a hand around Caitlin’s neck and pulled her mouth back to his.

She loved having him here.

Warmed by his presence, Caitlin relaxed, sipping a cup of coffee and picking at one of Isabel’s incredibly moist muffins. Even the mild pounding in her head was receding.

“We’re lucky we didn’t miss each other,” she said, trailing her fingers along his arm. The last few weeks had been too long; she couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t get enough of him. “I’ve been trying to get an afternoon flight out to Atlanta all morning. Everything’s booked for the holiday.”

He chuckled, not lifting his head or opening his eyes. He lounged in the chair next to her, sprawling almost, in what appeared to be boneless relaxation. Popping another bite of lemon poppy-seed muffin in her mouth, she studied him. He still looked tired, a little pale under his tan, and she was sure the chest wound continued to bother him, even though he assured her it was healing. He was putting on weight, though, the pounds he really hadn’t needed to lose slowly easing back onto his long frame.

She stroked her thumb across his wrist. “You’ve been pulling doubles again, haven’t you?”

He gave a humming exhale under her touch, a sound of pure male satisfaction. “Monroe’s daddy suffered a heart attack and Anderson’s wife had her baby. Someone had to cover them.”

“You work too hard.” She slipped her caress to the sensitive inside of his arm.

He opened one eye. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

“Mmm.” She tickled his inner elbow, smoothed his biceps, and he shifted under her fingers, a smile flirting about his mouth. “We both need some R and R. A little playtime.”

His lashes lifted, his dark gaze serious. “Oregon was bad, wasn’t it?”

She caught her breath and nodded. They’d talked nightly while she’d been away, sometimes more than once, but she hadn’t shared the details of that case with him. Hadn’t wanted to expose him to the horrors. “Oregon was worse than bad.”

He caught her hand, lifted it, pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s better now.” How to explain that being here helped her lose the memories?

“This is—”

“Calvert, do you golf?” Vince dropped a file folder on the table between them. “Happy birthday, Angel Face.”

“My birthday isn’t until October.” Caitlin eyed the folder with caution. If it contained what she thought it did, just maybe she’d never speak to him again.

Vince ignored her. “Do you golf?”

“Do I know how? Sure.” Tick shook his head. “Am I any good? Hell, no.”

“Fantastic.” Vince helped himself to the last bite of Caitlin’s muffin. “Troupe hates to lose. The two of you have a twelve-fifteen tee time, so we need to get moving.”

Caitlin glanced up, still fingering the edge of the file. Annoyance shivered through her. She wasn’t ready to share him yet. “Wait a minute—”

“Don’t argue, Angel Face. The old man wants to talk with him.”

“He hears you call him ‘old man’ and you’ll be disinherited for life.”

“What else is new?” Vince tilted his head and fixed Tick with an inquiring look. “Calvert? Come on so you can explain your intentions.”

Tick glared at him once and pushed up from the chair. He leaned down and whispered a kiss across her mouth. “We have plenty of time, precious. I’ll see you.”

Caitlin watched them walk away, happiness tugging at her. Yes, they had plenty of time. With a sigh, she flipped open the folder, sure she’d be looking at a damn prenuptial agreement.

Her breath strangled in her throat. It did contain legal papers, financially endowing a trust at a high school in Brooklyn, New York. A trust to fund the Gina Bocaccio Memorial Scholarship, providing a four-year college scholarship to a deserving student planning to pursue a career in law or its enforcement.

A sudden rush of tears pricked at her eyelids and she blinked them away.

Even the overprotective ass had his good points.

The driver hit the ball with a solid
thwack
, the impact shivering up Tick’s arms. The small white sphere veered sharply to the left. He shook his head. Troupe Cavanaugh had no fear of losing to him.

Not that the older man seemed to have any interest in winning or losing today. He’d spent the last seventeen holes drawing out details about Tick’s life, his law-enforcement career, his family and his finances.

Why he didn’t just ask Vince the All-Knowing was beyond Tick.

Except as soon as they’d arrived at the golf course, Vince had escaped to the clubhouse, a polished young blonde clinging to his arm.

Troupe, who seemed at least two decades younger than his eighty-odd years, lined up his next shot. He squinted down the fairway then eyed the ball and drew back for the swing. “You do intend to marry her.”

The firm words were not a question. “Yes, sir, I do. As soon as possible.”

Troupe dropped his club into the bag and shouldered it, walking toward the hole. “I’m sure Vincent has already threatened you.”

An indulgent, resigned affection colored the statement. Tick chuckled, falling into step beside him. “Yes, sir, he did. Quite thoroughly.”

Troupe gave a curt nod. “He loves her dearly, as she does him, although it’s hard to tell sometimes when they’re hurling obscenities at one another. Shift your right hand up, loosen your elbow.”

Tick looked at Caitlin’s grandfather over his shoulder and obeyed. This time, the ball sailed straight, landing on the putting green.

“Normally, I would be a stickler for a long engagement so that all the proprieties could be observed.” With a sharp swoosh, Troupe sent his ball flying. It bounced twice and plopped into the hole. “However, I think the two of you may have waited long enough already.” He focused a stern look on Tick. “You will take care with her.”

“I have every aim to do so.”

“The situation with my daughter and Caitlin’s father…I should have done a better job at protecting her.” Troupe didn’t make it plain which “her” he referred to—Caitlin or her mother. Tick wasn’t sure the old man didn’t mean both of them. “And after Katherine, my daughter, died, I should have listened to my wife and done more to extricate Caitlin from that man’s custody. I assumed because she was away at school that the situation was under control. I was wrong.”

His chest tight, Tick leaned on the golf bag and waited.

Troupe turned fierce blue eyes in his direction. “I failed to protect her from Nicholas Falconetti’s emotional machinations, and I believe, young man, that you have already had to pay part of the price for my failure. She does not love without total trust and she does not give that trust easily, unless she has reason to feel utterly safe. I think the fact that she loves you speaks volumes.”

During the too-warm evening, dinner guests descended on the Cavanaugh household: a couple of Troupe’s political cronies, a handful of Vince’s business associates and their wives. Amused, Tick watched Caitlin play the perfect hostess, a polished role that didn’t disappear until the visitors did.

If he’d thought he get her to himself then, he’d been wrong. Two of her cousins and an old friend came calling, and they sat in the less-formal sitting room on the second floor, chatting and laughing.

It didn’t take Tick long to figure out who these people were.

They were the ones who made her feel safe. The ones she trusted enough to love.

He’d realized, too, as she’d introduced him around and perched on the arm of his chair, her fingers playing with the edge of his hair, sending pleasurable thrills along his spine, that she was enfolding him within that group.

Any lingering doubt he’d had that she’d say yes evaporated, like mist on the river under a rising Georgia sun.

Once this second round of guests departed, he captured her hand in his just after she closed the front door and leaned against it with a laughing exhale. “Oh my God, Tick, I didn’t think we’d ever get this house empty.”

He chuckled, reveling in the sensation of finally being alone with her. Damn, she was beautiful, soft and casual, in faded jeans and a yellow halter-top sweater. He was ready to wrap himself around her and never let go.

She tilted her head toward the French doors, sliding her fingers down his wrist. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach?”

“Sounds good.” A few minutes later, having snagged a thin blanket from the pool house, she led him down a pathway. Laughing, they tugged off their shoes and Tick dug his toes in, relishing the residual warmth from the day’s sun. Waves crashed on the beach, a steady rhythm with a muted roar.

Caitlin spread the blanket, dropped her shoes on it as an anchor and turned toward the water with an audible sigh. Tick stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist. He nuzzled the side of her neck, inhaling her unique scent blended with the tang of salt and sea. A warm glow of contentment flushed through his body.

She laid her arms over his, letting her head fall back to rest against his shoulder. He tightened his embrace, soaking her in, drinking in the bubbling joy he felt within her, a joy he knew all too well because she engendered the same emotion in him.

Sometimes our greatest joys come out of our greatest pain.

“I love you,” he murmured against her ear, his mother’s wisdom flowing through him. He’d found his greatest joy, the woman right here in his arms.

“Mmm, I love you, too.” She shifted against him, leaning into his caress.

He trailed a line of soft kisses across her jaw. The past with its hurts and pain and doubt washed away, leaving behind the only real thing that mattered, the way she felt in his arms, the way he felt in hers. He sighed against her temple, loving her.

“Ask me, Lamar Eugene.” Laughter and joy sparkled in her low voice. “Ask me so I can say yes.”

“Marry me,” he whispered. “Live with me, love me, be my wife. Let me take care of you, stand by you, be your husband. Give me forever with you.”

“Yes.” She turned in his arms and pressed her fingers to his chin. “
Yes
.”

The last she murmured against his mouth, and he caught the glimmer of tears before he kissed her, cradling her face, sipping at her lips.

Her fingertip drifted over his chin down to his collarbone, the smooth warmth of the caress sending a shiver down his spine. “I want everything with you, Calvert.”

“Oh, precious, you’ve got it.”

She buried her face against his throat, arms about his waist. “I’ve been told your mother loves big weddings.”

“She does. And she’s been waiting to marry me off forever.” Her mouth moved against him, in what he knew was that wonderful, beautiful smile.

“Has Troupe already told you he believes in long engagements?”

“He let me off the hook there, thank the good Lord. I’d go crazy.”

“You know big weddings can take up to a year to plan.”

“I’m not that patient.”

“Neither am I.” She ran an easy touch along his jaw. “Small wedding, three months tops. Or six. No more than nine.”

“Three.”

“Three.” A soft glow warmed her eyes. “We get married here,
right
here.”

“Right here? On the beach?”

“Yes, small ceremony, with Troupe officiating, and we let your mother plan a huge reception for Georgia.”

“Deal.” He curved his hand around her shoulder, rubbing at the smooth bare skin. Actually, he liked the idea of marrying her here. “You feel safe here, don’t you, precious?”

“Yes.” She leaned up to kiss him, holding on to him. He pressed his face against her throat and wrapped her close. “Exactly the way I feel with you.”

To learn more about Linda and her books, visit her website at http://www.lindawinfree.com or join her Yahoo newsletter group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/linda_winfree. Linda loves hearing from readers. Feel free to drop her an email at [email protected]