"Let me see if I can make this any clearer," he mused softly, brushing his lips against her forehead.
"I loved you when you were a snot-nosed kid, into so much mischief it's
a wonder my hair didn't turn prematurely gray. I loved you when you were a teenager with long, skinny legs and eyes that broke my heart every time I looked at you. I love you now that you're a woman who makes my brain go soft, my legs go weak, and my dick get hard. When you walk into a room, my heart damn near jumps out of my chest. When you smile, I feel as if I've won a Nobel Prize. And your eyes still break my heart."
The soft litany washed over like the sweetest of songs, soaking into her flesh, her soul, her very being. She wanted so much to believe him, and that was why she was afraid to, afraid she would let her own desires convince her.
When she didn't speak, he began those gentling caresses again.
"Jessie really did a number on you, didn't she? She made you feel so unloved and unwanted that you still haven't gotten over it. Haven't you figured out yet that Jessie lied? Her whole life was a lie. Don't you know that Lucinda dotes on you? With Jessie dead, she was finally able to get to know you without Jessie's poison ruining everything, and she adores you." He picked up her hand and carried it to his lips, where he kissed each fingertip, then began nibbling on the sensitive pads.
"Jessie's been dead ten years. How long are you going to continue letting her ruin things for you?"
Roanna tilted her head back, searching his expression with solemn, wondering eyes. With a sense of amazement, she realized she had never seen him look more determined, or more intent. That hard face looking back at her was the face of a man who had made up his mind and was damn sure going to get what he wanted. He meant it. He didn't want to marry her because she would have Davencourt, because he could have had it without any strings. Lucinda would have honored her bargain. He didn't want to marry her because she might be pregnant As if he were reading her mind, and perhaps he was, he said, "I love you. I can't tell you how much, because the words don't exist. I've tried to count the ways, but I'm no
Browning. It doesn't matter if you're pregnant or not, I want to marry you because I love you. Period."
"All right," she whispered, and trembled at the enormity of the step she was taking, and from the joy that was blooming inside her.
Her breath whooshed out of her as he crushed her to his chest.
"You know how to make a man sweat," he said fiercely.
"I was getting desperate. What do you think about getting married next week?"
Chapter 20
"Next week?" She all but shouted the words, at least as much as she was able to, crushed against his chest the way she was.
"You didn't think I was going to give you time to change your mind, did you?" She could hear the smile in his voice. "If you have your heart set on a big church wedding, I suppose I can wait if it doesn't take too long to arrange. Lucinda ... Well, I think we should be married within a month, at the most."
Tears sprang to her eyes.
"That soon? I hoped she ... I hoped she would last through the winter, maybe see another spring."
"I don't think so. The doctor told her that her heart is failing, too." He rubbed his face against her hair, seeking comfort.
"She's a tough old bird," he said roughly.
"But she's ready to go. You can see it in her eyes."
They held each other quietly for a moment, already grieving for the woman around whom the entire family revolved. But Webb wasn't a man to be deterred for long from his set course, and he leaned back from her, giving her an inquiring look.
"About that wedding-" "I don't want a big church wedding," she said forcefully, shuddering at the idea.
"You did that with Jessie, and I don't want to repeat it. I was miserable that day."
"Then what kind of wedding do you want? We could have it here, in the garden, or at the country club. Do you want just family present, or invite our friends, too? I know you have some, and maybe I can scare up a couple."
She pinched him for that remark.
"You know darn well you have friends, if you can bring yourself to forgive them and let them be friends again. I want to get married in the garden. I want our friends to be here. And I want Lucinda to walk with me down the aisle, if she's able. A big wedding would be too much for her, too."
One corner of his lip quirked at all of those decisive "I wants." He suspected that before long, even though she professed not to be interested in Davencourt's business concerns, she would be poking her nose into it, butting heads with him over some of his decisions. He couldn't wait. The thought of Roanna arguing with him made him weak with delight. Roanna had always been stubborn, and she still was, even though her methods had changed.
"We'll work out the details," he said.
"We'll get married next week if we can, two weeks max, all right?"
She nodded, smiling a little mistily.
Number seven, he thought triumphantly. And this one had been open, natural, as if she were no longer wary about showing joy.
Twisting, he reached for the plastic bag on the bedside table and withdrew the contents. He opened the box, read the instructions, then gave her the small plastic wand with a wide slot on the side. "Now," he said, with a determined glint in his green eyes, "go pee-pee on the stick."
Ten minutes later he knocked on the bathroom door.
"What are you doing?" he asked impatiently.
"Are you- all right?"
"Yes," she said in a muffled voice.
He opened the door. She was standing nude in front of the sink, her face blank with shock. The plastic stick lay on the rim of the bowl.