Breakaway (12 page)

Celia held her breath when she felt Gavin’s hand
moving under the hem of her T-shirt, his finger making tiny circles around her belly button. “I thought we were going to play Scrabble.”

Lowering his head, Gavin pressed a kiss to her flat belly. “Do you really want to play?”

She tried sitting up, but he pushed her back down. “Of course I want to play. After all, you were the one talking about your undefeated record.”

“I don’t want to brag, but I should alert you that I was a finalist for my school district for the Scripps National Spelling Bee.”

Celia’s jaw dropped. “You were a nerd?”

“What’s wrong with being a nerd?”

“I just thought you would’ve been super jock,” she countered.

Gavin leaned closer, their mouths inches apart. “I was a nerd
and
a jock. By the time I was fifteen I stood several inches above six feet. High school coaches wanted me to join the basketball team, but I preferred football. I played defense because it gave me the opportunity to pound the hell out of guys that teased me because I wore glasses and made the honor roll. I worked out as hard as I studied and by the time I graduated, I was six-four and a solid two hundred pounds.”

“What happened to the glasses?”

“I had surgery to correct my vision.”

Celia forgot about playing Scrabble when Gavin lay beside her. She listened intently when he told her he’d graduated valedictorian and enrolled in Howard University on full academic scholarship. He’d majored in pre-law, but wasn’t certain whether he’d wanted to practice law.

Gavin stared at the crown molding over the bed. “I was twenty-one with a college degree and I didn’t know
what I wanted to do next. Instead of going to law school I joined the army. I’d disappointed my mother because she was bragging to everyone at the social services agency where she worked that her son was going to be a lawyer. What she didn’t understand was that I was close to burnout. I didn’t want to sit in another lecture hall or open one more textbook.”

“So, you became a soldier instead.” Celia’s voice was soft, soothing.

Smiling, Gavin closed his eyes. “I loved everything they threw at me—the rigorous training and the sleep deprivation. I’d applied to and was accepted into Ranger School. It’s an extremely intense sixty-one-day combat leadership course conducted over three separate three-week-long phases.

“That was only the beginning.” Gavin opened his eyes to find Celia staring at him. “We had combat water survival and a water confidence test. What I found most difficult was the three-mile terrain run followed by what is called the Malvesti Field Obstacle Course. We had to go into a worm pit, which was a shallow, muddy twenty-five-meter obstacle covered by knee-high barbed wire.”

“Did you make it on the first try?”

“No, and I have the scars to prove it. It’s not a onetime exercise. The obstacle is usually negotiated several times on one’s belly
and
back. The Mountain phase tests the limits of mental and physical strength when we were subjected to severe weather and rugged terrain. I almost lost what little food I had in my stomach when I had to climb, then rappel down a fifty-foot sheer cliff.”

Celia rested her palm alongside Gavin’s face. “Did you ever think of quitting?”

Gavin placed his hand on hers. “Quitting is not in my psychological makeup. I learned to parachute out of a plane and developed the skills to survive in a rain forest or swamp by learning how to deal with reptiles and how to tell the difference between venomous and non-venomous snakes. There were trained reptile experts that taught us how not to be afraid of them. We were put through mock combat raids and missions where we applied everything we’d learned.

“Once we’d earned enough points to graduate, we spent several days cleaning our weapons and equipment. After we got back to the fort we were given PX privileges. We were allowed to use a telephone, eat civilian food and watch television. During this time we were fed three meals a day. I’d weighed two hundred ten pounds when I enrolled in Ranger School and by the time I graduated, I was down to one-seventy.”

Celia gave him a look mirroring disbelief. “You lost forty pounds in two months?”

Gavin nodded as he brushed her hair back over her ear to expose a brilliant diamond stud. “My mother couldn’t stop crying when she pinned the black-and-gold Ranger Tab on my left shoulder, and I thought it was because she was happy that I’d made it through. I learned later that she was upset because she thought I was dying. I had to explain that it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to lose twenty to forty pounds.”

“How long did it take you to put back on the weight?”

“It took about six months. Some Ranger School graduates had weight problems after they returned to their units. They packed on the pounds because they couldn’t stop eating. We’d been deprived of food during training to ensure a survivalist mentality.”

Celia realized Gavin had mentioned his mother but not his father. “Did your dad approve of you going into the military?”

“I’m certain he would’ve if he’d been alive. My father was a Green Beret during the Vietnam War. He went into law enforcement after he was discharged. I was ten when he was killed while on duty.”

She went completely still, feeling Gavin’s pain as surely as if it were her own. “I’m so sorry.”

Gavin shuttered his gaze, concealing the pain he’d never permitted anyone to see. He’d loved and respected his father, but it wasn’t until he’d entered adolescence that he felt the void when he couldn’t go to his namesake for advice about sex and interpersonal relationships.

Ever since he’d joined the Bureau, Gavin’s fear was not for himself but for Malvina Faulkner. What were the odds that she would lose not only her husband but both her sons because of their undercover work with the FBI? And not wanting to test the odds, he knew he had to convince his brother to get out before someone discovered his true identity.

Bradley MacArthur had promised to get him a desk assignment, and if his brother wasn’t willing to leave the Bureau, then Gavin would try to get Ray Prentice to apply for a position as an instructor at the Academy.

“What did you do after you left the army?”

He opened his eyes. “I went back to college and got a graduate degree in criminal justice, then went to work for my uncle. After he retired, he turned the company over to his sons.”

“Do you like protecting people at the risk of losing your own life?”

Gavin’s fingers tightened on her scalp. “It’s not about
what I like. It’s a job, Celia, one I happen to be very good at. Every job and profession has its risks. A hospital is a place where people come to be healed. The staff is devoted to saving lives, yet within a split second, it can become a killing field.”

“You’re right, Gavin. Never in my wildest imagination would I have ever conjured up the horror of that day.”

Gavin pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Enough talk. Are you ready to get your cute little behind kicked?”

Rolling off the bed, Celia rested her hands on her hips. “Let’s do it.” She walked out of the bedroom, Gavin following and pulling a T-shirt over his head.

C
elia squinted at the tiles Gavin had placed on the Scrabble board. “Are you certain
Laodicean
is a word?” She’d set up the game on a table on the back porch. The shades were drawn over the pocket doors and Gavin had started a fire in the fireplace to counter the chill invading the space.

“Of course it’s a word,” he said defensively.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s lukewarm or indifference to politics or religion. I like the music,” he added in the same breath. “What station is that?”

“It’s not the radio. It’s my iPod.” Celia had loaded her iPod with hundreds of songs from her CD collection. She picked up her cell phone and pressed a button.

Gavin shook his head. “You’re too much for the heart, Doc.” She’d selected Gloria Estefan’s
“Oye Mi Canto”
as a ring tone.

Celia flashed a dimpled smile while adding up Gavin’s tiles. “I’m going to give you that one because I’m tired of looking up words.” A well-worn dictionary rested on a corner of the table. She picked up several tiles and placed them on the board. “
M-e-p-r-o-b-a-ma-t-e.
Read it and weep, lover,” she taunted.

Crossing muscular arms over his chest, Gavin glared at Celia under lowered lids. “What is
that?
”

“It’s a bitter carbamate used as a tranquilizer.”

He waved his hands. “Hold up, Doc. No medical terms.”

She sucked her teeth. “You can’t make up the rules as we go along. That should be established from the onset. Besides, weren’t you the spelling-bee prodigy?”

“Oh, it’s like that, baby girl?”

“Yes it is, baby boy.”

“Okay. I’ll concede to you using medical terminology, but if I win can I do what I want to you?”

Leaning over the table, she flashed a sensual smile. “Should I be afraid?”

“You should be very, very afraid.”

“Are you going to give me a hint of what you intend to do?”

Gavin wiggled his eyebrows. This Celia he liked. She was soft, teasing. He’d experienced her rage when she thought he’d shot at her, and he saw her professional side when she barked orders like a drill sergeant before she’d operated on Terry.

When they’d lain on the bed together he’d told her things about his past he’d never revealed to any woman—even women with whom he’d had more than a passing relationship. He didn’t know what it was about the tall, slender doctor with the mop of raven curls,
large dark brown eyes and dimpled smile that had him pretending they were married. He wasn’t commitment or marriage phobic, yet he’d never entertained the notion with another woman.

“If you concede now, then I’ll show you.”

Celia’s impassive expression didn’t change when her gaze shifted from the board to the man sitting only a few feet across the table from her. “I didn’t make it in a male-dominated profession to concede a board game to a man with an overblown ego.”

“Is that what you think, Celia? That I have an overblown ego?”

“It’s not what I think, Gavin Faulkner. It’s what I know.”

“I’m not going to apologize because I did well in school.”

“And I don’t expect you to,” she countered. “What if the tables were reversed, Gavin, and I asked you to concede? There is no doubt you would’ve had a few choice words for me. And I want you to remember one thing.”

“What’s that, wifey?”

Celia’s mouth tightened, struggling not to spew the expletives poised on the tip of her tongue. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I find it denigrating. It’s like a man calling his wife his bitch or old lady.”

There were only the sounds of Brandy singing a hauntingly beautiful ballad, the crackle of burning wood, followed by the hiss of falling embers behind the decorative fireplace screen when Celia and Gavin stared at each other. They’d agreed to pretend they were married, but the strange thing was they were verbally sniping at each other as if they were actually married.

Gavin nodded. “I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

Although Celia thought she saw his lips twitch, she decided not to prolong the issue. “Yes. Apology accepted.”

She’d always tried to avoid verbal exchanges; she found them unsettling and most times nothing was resolved. It had been that way in her arguments with Yale. It was always his way, or not at all.

“It is my turn?” Gavin asked.

Celia turned the rotating board. “Yes, it is.”

Rubbing his hand along his jaw, he studied the tiles on the board, and then glanced at the ones on his rack. He picked up all of his letter tiles. “I believe this is a word you’re quite familiar with, darling,” he drawled with supreme confidence.

Celia didn’t want to believe she’d been bested when she saw the word. “Variloa,” she whispered. “It’s the virus that causes smallpox.” Pushing back her chair, she rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Gavin’s neck. “Congratulations.” She didn’t want to tell him that it was the first time in years she’d lost a game of Scrabble.

Easing her down to his lap, Gavin nuzzled Celia’s ear. “Thank you. And I thank you for being a gracious loser.”

Pulling back, she studied his face. “Did you think I was going to throw a tantrum?”

“No. But I do know that you’re very competitive.”

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. “And you’re not, Gavin?”

“Only a little,” he grudgingly admitted.

Celia sucked her teeth loudly, a habit her mother detested. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d been punished whenever she’d sucked her teeth or rolled
her eyes at Nichola Bennett Thomas. Her mother, who’d been raised by her grandmother after her parents were killed in an automobile accident, was old-fashioned when it came to child rearing. It had become a source of contention between Nichola and her mother-in-law, along with the fact that Nichola was completely inept in the kitchen.

“Liar,” she whispered, brushing her mouth over his. A soft gasp escaped her parted lips when Gavin came to his feet. His hands tightened under her knees when he carried her over to the chaise.

He placed her on the leather-covered chair, his body following hers down. “I’m only competitive when it comes to my woman.”

Celia tried to make out his features in the semidarkness. There was only the light from the fire and the floor lamp near the table. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs. “Am I your woman, Gavin?”

“You doubt me, baby?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Celia didn’t recognize her own voice; it’d dropped an octave.

Increasing the pressure of his groin against hers, Gavin trailed kisses along the column of her neck. “That means I’m going to have to show you. I’m going to make love to you, but I don’t want you to touch me.”

Celia froze. “That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not, baby. Now, close your eyes and relax.” He wanted to put her through an exercise based on trust, an exercise similar to when a person fell backward hoping someone would catch them before they hit the floor or ground.

“Where do you want me to put my hands?”

“Rest them on the arms of the chair. Take a deep
breath, hold it and then breathe out through your mouth.” He smiled when her breasts rose then fell under the T-shirt that was at least several sizes too big for her. Gavin wondered if it had belonged to her late fiancé.

Gavin found it odd that Celia had been engaged to marry Trevor-Jones. She hadn’t spoken of an undying love for the man with whom she’d planned to spend the rest of her life. Had she, he wondered, just wanted to be married, or had she accepted his proposal out of a warped sense of obligation? After all, they had been living together.

He and Celia were living together, if only for the summer,
and
he’d convinced her to go along with the subterfuge of their being husband and wife. If he were given a lie detector test then Gavin would be forced to admit that he didn’t want to let Celia go, that he wanted to spend all of his waking and sleeping hours with her.

It wasn’t just her face, dimpled smile, curly hair, slim curvy body and intelligence, but her spunkiness and frankness that held him enthralled. If she wanted something, she asked for it. If she didn’t like something, then she was quick to make it known.

She was the first and only woman with whom he’d played
house,
and he enjoyed cooking, shopping, sharing meals and a bed with Celia. Gavin wasn’t certain how long he would live under the same roof with her, but he planned to enjoy it for as long as the opportunity presented itself.

Gavin waited until Celia appeared to be totally relaxed: her breathing was deep, even and her hands lay limply on the cordovan leather arms. Reaching for the chenille throw on the back of the chaise, he angled Celia until she lay on the soft fabric.

“I’m going to turn you over—don’t open your eyes, baby,” he warned in a soft tone, “and I’d like you to rest your head on your arms.”

Celia decided to play along with Gavin. When he’d proposed her permitting him to do whatever he wanted to her if he beat her at Scrabble, she’d searched her mind wondering what he had intended.
So far, so good,
she thought, turning over on her belly.

A soft moan escaped her parted lips when Gavin massaged her calf muscles. His hands moved up to her thighs, then reversed themselves to linger on her feet. She felt as if she’d been drugged. Blood flowed sluggishly in her veins, her limbs felt like lead and she couldn’t move if her very life depended upon it. She didn’t know what Gavin was doing to her but whatever it was, she wanted it to continue—forever, if possible.

Celia had had massages in the past—Swedish, deep tissue, aromatherapy, hot stone and reflexology. It was as if Gavin had combined them, making her feel as if she were floating outside herself.

“What are you doing to me?” she mumbled. He’d increased the pressure on her inner thighs.

“I’m trying to get you to relax.”

“I am relaxed, Gavin.”

“No, you’re not. There’s still some tension in your lower extremities.”

There was tension because his hands were doing things to her body that fired her libido. His hands were making love to her. “What are you going to do when I’m totally relaxed?”

Moving up on the chaise, Gavin pressed his mouth to Celia’s ear. “As they say in your romance novels, I’m going to have my way with you.”

She moaned again. His fingers were now working their magic on her buttocks. She gasped when the area between her legs grew moist. “How do you know what’s in a romance novel if you haven’t read one?” Celia had to talk, if only to keep her mind off the throbbing at the apex of her thighs.

“My mother has read them for years, and one day I picked up one to see what had her so addicted. I laughed when reading about a man root or throbbing manhood. Why not say penis and be done with it?”

“The books have evolved to where the author can use penis and erection. And some books labeled erotica are actually soft porn.”

Images from some porn flicks popped into Gavin’s head when he slid a hand under Celia’s belly to unbutton her shorts and pull down the zipper. “What do you know about porn, baby?”

“My girlfriends at college used to throw monthly porn parties. Whoever hosted the party always selected the movie and supplied the food and beverages. My roommate and I were pre-med, so we weren’t into serial dating. By my sophomore year I’d sworn off men, so we were more than willing to host a monthly porn night. Everyone liked to come to our apartment because of Rania’s cooking. I paid for the food, so we were able to step it up when we offered more than chicken wings and cheap wine.”

Gavin chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his throat. “You were a bunch of nasty girls.”

Celia sucked her teeth loudly. “Surely you jest, Gavin. I’m willing to bet you have a porn collection, along with girlie magazines with naked women with their legs so wide open you could see their—” She swal
lowed an inaudible gasp when she found herself naked from the waist down. Gavin had removed her shorts and panties in a smooth continuous motion. “What are you doing!?”

Gavin flipped Celia over as if she were a small child, anchoring his hands under her knees and raising her hips until his face was between her legs. He didn’t give her time to react when he rested her legs over his shoulders. It was impossible for her to wiggle out of his grasp.

Cradling her hips in one hand, he feasted when his rapacious tongue searched the folds until he found the opening he sought. His mouth was masterful, possessive, his tongue plunging inside the quivering flesh, tasting and branding Celia as his own. He didn’t know what it was about her that made him make love to her so intimately, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if he had to have Celia Cole-Thomas—all of her.

Celia was drowning in a maelstrom of pleasure. Her curiosity about oral sex was dispelled with the slow, deliberate licking and suckling of Gavin’s tongue and mouth. She’d waited more than thirty years to experience the full extent of her femininity, but the wait was worth it because of the man with his face between her legs.

I want to lose myself in love.

Let you have me completely.

If I give you all my trust.

Can I just let me go?

The words from Brandy’s “Fall” reverberated in her head as Celia tried concentrating on anything but the telling ripples sweeping over her body. She was going to have an orgasm. She didn’t want to climax, because then it would be over when she’d wanted it to last, to go on and on and on.

But passion—long-denied—would not be denied. Her body stiffened, her hips rising even higher as a shudder shook her. She relaxed but only to have another orgasm seize her. This one was stronger, longer and Celia threw back her head and screamed. The screams overlapped one another as the orgasms kept coming.

It was as if she’d been in a coma. And in the time where she’d come out of the darkness and into the light, she felt her heart swell with an emotion so strong, so totally foreign that she didn’t know who she was.

To those who were familiar with her, she was Celia Cole-Thomas, second child and only daughter of former CEO of ColeDiz International, Ltd. Timothy Cole-Thomas and his wife Nichola Cole-Thomas. At the moment she’d forgotten her name, her profession and why she’d come to North Carolina. Everything ceased to exist except the man who made her feel things she’d only imagined.