Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
AMbrOSE
At Catalina’s place, I find a cloth grocery tote, packing Dumpling’s food, bowls, and medicine. I already have litter and a box at my house from her previous visit.
The prim beauty eyes me, knitting her brows. “What are you doing?”
“You and Dumpling are coming to my place.”
“B-b-but,” she stammers. I knew she’d protest. But I’m convinced this is the right thing to do.
“But nothing. You don’t need to be here all by yourself. You’ve seen my cabin. It’s big and comfortable … with your choice of guest bedrooms.” I add the last part to take some of the alarm out of her expression.
She watches me, mouth hanging open.
“Better grab an overnight bag for yourself, too. Though I have plenty of clothes you can borrow, you’ll be swimming in them. I can only imagine how mouthwatering you’ll look in one of my sweatshirts or flannels.”
“Oh,” she exclaims, eyes rounding.
Yes, I know I’m getting presumptuous, but she’s mine to care for now, even if she doesn’t know it yet. “Besides, this plan’ll finally give you a chance to dive into my library. And I want to see which books call to you first.”
Delight floods her face. It’s adorable watching the buttoned-up lady try to hold back. “But I’m not much into Space Operas,” she says.
“I figured you’d say that. But something tells me, you’ll work out what to read when we get there.” I wink.
Electricity accompanies our drive, the country love songs playing on the radio not even coming close to the love flowing inside me for this woman.
I still have no clue how I’ve managed to fall so hard and so fast in the course of a week. But Catalina Dupont already feels like my everything. I’m determined to show her how right this is and that she can count on me no matter what.
Reaching across the console of the truck, I squeeze her hand. “How are you feeling after everything that happened tonight?”
“Honestly? Shell-shocked. I feel guilty for not feeding Gran before we—”
“Sparky, you can’t blame yourself. It was a misunderstanding.”
“But if I ever lost Gran …” She shakes her head, sniffling next to me. “It was so unbelievably painful after Grandpa’s death. I’m still not over it.”
“It’s tough, losing someone you love.”
She nods. “That’s why I swore I’d never love someone myself. Never need anybody as much as Gran needs Grandpa because watching her go through this … going through this with her is destroying me.”
I tighten my hold on her hand, voice firm. “Listen to me. I’m not some fling that fizzles out when things get tough. I don’t walk away. Not from you. Not from family. Not ever.”
She sobs quietly next to me as I slide my big fingers between her dainty ones.
“You don’t have to do this alone. I plan on being here every step of the way … if you want me.”
“Yes, more than anything,” she whispers, soft fingers caressing mine, our hands silently making love as Luke Bryan croons about forever.
I want Catalina to be my forever. The thought blindsides me, and yet I can’t deny its truth … or the way every part of me craves every part of her.
“But what if you leave me someday?” she whimpers.
“Life is an uncertain thing, but I can promise you this … I will never leave you of my own accord, and I’ll always find my way back to you. One way or another.”
“That’s not possible,” she exhales through tears.
“It is. And I imagine your grandfather has done the same. In fact, I believe he’s still here with you, in your heart and your memories … always. No one and nothing can steal him from you.”
She holds my hand like it’s a lifeline. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you.”
She hesitates as if processing my words before adding, “And thank you for playing along when Gran mistook you for Grandpa. That meant more to me than you can possibly know.”
“It was the right thing to do because you and Marguerite are family now. My girls, and I’ll always care for you both.”
“Oh, you’re going to completely wreck my makeup,” she laments, swiping at her wet cheeks.
To lighten the mood, I add, “And Dumpling.”
“Dumpling, too,” she giggles through the tears.
At the cabin, I set up Dumpling’s food and water bowls while Catalina drops her bag near the front door and removes her shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I savor watching the pull of the library on the pretty woman.
Though she tries to fight the urge, I soon hear her feet padding down the dark hallway. I follow, turning on the lights and working on a fire in the hearth to ensure everything’s as cozy as possible.
“This place is perfection,” she whispers in reverent tones.
“Seems like it was built for you,” I observe.
Her cheeks glow, her expression radiating tenderness.
My throat tightens, and I want her so badly I can barely breathe. “Coffee? Hot cocoa? Tea?”
“After tonight? I could use something a little harder,” she confesses, surprising me as she unfastens the top couple of buttons of her flowery shirt. My eyes graze hungrily down the front of her blouse, wanting to master the remaining row of shiny pearls with my teeth.
“Wine?”
“Perfect.”
On my way back down the hallway, clutching an open bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and two glasses, Catalina lets out a high-pitched squeal. She found them.
She sits on the overstuffed leather loveseat near the hearth, surrounded by a pile of shiny, new books. Her eyes glimmer, and that same dumbass grin splits my face for the millionth time since meeting her.
“I can’t believe …” She shakes her head.
“Can’t believe what?” I ask, smiling like the Cheshire cat.
She holds up The Cowboy’s Passionate Embrace, followed by The Mountain Man’s Heated Obsession and The Firefighter’s Curvy Rescue. A good twenty more books lie in piles in her lap and around her. They’re but a small dent in my acquisitions this week.
“I hope you haven’t already read them all,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Ambrose, these are not Space Operas,” she scolds.
“Nope.”
“I don’t know what’s wilder. You buying these for me, or you knowing what kinds of books I read.” She buries her beet-red face in her hands.
I set the wine glasses and bottle down on the coffee table in front of us, moving a stack of books, so I can sit next to her. I sit closer than I probably should, need driving me like a thirsty horse to water.
I love her so much, I can barely breathe. No woman has ever made me feel this way. I long, with every part of my being, to show her how she makes me feel, to gift her back some of the heady passion her presence floods me with.
My knee grazes her hip, leaving trails of fire in its wake, and I grab her hands gently, urging them down and her gaze towards me.
She bites her thick bottom lip, eyes swirling with longing. “You didn’t read them, did you?”
“Sparky, I got more than an earful the other night. Though yes, I did read a couple of them during downtime at work. You should’ve heard the crap the guys gave me.”
“But why would you do that?” she asks, cheeks radiating heat. The pulse point in her neck flutters, and I fight the urge to feather my lips over it.
Instead, I settle for bringing a hand up to her neck and stroking the soft skin along the front with my thumb. She whimpers, body trembling at my caress, confirming something I’ve suspected all week.
It’s not quite time for this conversation, though. I can tell she already feels self-conscious. Instead, I murmur the answer to her earlier question. “I read them because I want to know what you like. What turns you on.”
She swallows hard against my thumb. I wonder if she can hear the timpani drum pounding in my chest as my pulse races, need coursing and swirling inside.
“I’m a virgin,” she admits softly, looking away.
My chest squeezes. Not because I mind, but because the trust in her voice slays me.
I bring my other hand up, snagging my finger under her chin. Her eyelids flutter, her nostrils flaring, and her eyes dilating into two ebony pools. “I thought so.”
“I know it makes me sound kind of lame. I’ve never been much into dating, though.”
“Good, because I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you,” I growl.
Her pupils blow wide, dark hunger staring back at me. This girl likes it when I get possessive. Thank God because whatever she’s done to me has me so jealous and so overprotective, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Pulling back before I totally lose the battle with desire, I notice the flicker of disappointment that washes over her face. If she knew how my self-control hangs by a few fraying threads … I pour the wine, handing her a glass before taking the second.
We drink while watching the crackling golden flames of the fire. Usually, a silence like this would make me feel awkward. But with Catalina, I don’t have to act or pretend to be someone I’m not.
“It’s the same for me, you know. When I saw the women lining up tonight to talk to you. You have no idea how jealous it made me, Ambrose.”
I set my glass down.
“Oh, yeah?” I inch closer, bringing my hand up to stroke her petal-soft cheek and run my finger over her jawline. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, I ask, “How about we take your grandma up on her suggestion and dance?”
“We have all the time in the world for that, Ambrose,” Catalina says, poising her wine glass on the coffee table. Her gaze burns as she adds, “But first I need you. So much I can barely think.”
For a heartbeat, she hesitates, breath shallow, eyes darting over my mouth like she’s testing whether she dares. That pause nearly wrecks me because when she moves, I know it’s choice, not impulse. Crawling towards me, she hikes up her skirt, throwing a leg over my lap and straddling me.
Pure fire. Like everything about this sassy, courageous, headstrong woman.
My hands grab her waist possessively, squeezing the tops of her ample hips. “Thank goodness because I’m burning alive over here, Sparky.”
She palms my cheeks, soft fingers making scratchy noises as she explores my five o’clock shadow. “But aren’t firefighters supposed to put out blazes instead of start them?” she teases, lifting her skirt a little higher so that she can grind over my rock-hard cock with her hot, moist panties.
I swallow loudly, almost unable to talk.
Gripping her hips, I slide her demandingly over me, saying darkly, “My degree’s in”—thrust—“fire management.” I arch my hips towards her again, throat tightening and need washing over me like the white water of Wild Horse Falls.
“Which means I manage and sometimes even start control burns …”
“This is not going to be a control burn,” she whispers against the shell of my ear, feathering me with kisses. The heat of her mouth and the whisper-soft touch of her cherry-stained lips send tremors quaking through my core. I need her so fucking much. All I see is red. Hot, passionate, explosive.
“No, ma’am,” I agree, head dropping to her generous tits. She moans as I take one hardened nipple in my mouth through the fabric of her shirt and bra. “Okay, that shirt has to go,” I order.
She nods, a luxurious smile on her face as I fumble with the tiny buttons I’ve been dreaming about all week.
“Here,” she gasps. “Let me.” In one fluid movement, she pulls the shirt over her head, throwing it to the side as my hands come up to her lacy, dark pink bra.
My rough palms scratch greedily over the satiny, lacy fabric, appreciating the weight of her tits, teasing her hardened nipples with my thumbs. She gasps, moaning sensually.
I’ve hit the fucking lottery. She is perfection … just like I knew the first time I saw her in the tree.
I tease her with my mouth and tongue until the lace is damp, satin covered in dark wet spots.
I catch her gaze with a brooding question.
She answers, hunger and need spilling over in her eyes.
Reaching behind her, I unfasten her bra in one fluid move, watching it slide slowly and teasingly into her lap.
“You’re quite good at that …”
“No, this is what I’m good at,” I counter, covering her gorgeous breasts with greedy caresses and kisses until I can’t take it anymore. I suck a rosy nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around her areola.
“Oh, God, yes,” she urges. My thumb and forefinger pinch her other nipple, rolling and twisting it until she screams my name. My cock strains against the zipper of my pants, ravenous to get in on the action.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asks, head buried at the nape of my neck, covering me in kisses and delicate swipes of her tongue.
“Would you believe me if I said it was one of your books?” I pant.
“No, but I would like you to show me what you did learn in your reading this week.”
I groan, coming a little more undone with each taste, each touch, each demand of this impossibly sexy woman.
Pulling back, I say, “You are the most fucking gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I know you had concerns about me being from Hollywood”—kiss—“and all of that”—suck—“but you’re absolute perfection.” Bite.
She whimpers, arching towards me as I switch sides, hungrily devouring her other nipple. “And I want to spend the rest of tonight worshiping every inch of your sexy curves because you belong to me now—”