That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [70]
He'd met the woman several times at his parents' place, but he hadn't formed too deep an impression of her—beyond acknowledging her beauty and her smile, which made everyone around her feel warm and happy. Including him. And, of course, that if he hadn't been stupid enough to go and get himself engaged to someone he wasn't even sure he liked anymore—much less loved—he would definitely have wanted to get to know her better.
Now, however, he was seeing past the thick blond hair, the wide blue eyes, the pretty face and the curvy figure. She was tough. Smart. Good under pressure.
"Please, I just got cold feet. I love Cassie and I didn't mean any harm," the now-sweaty and red-faced Freddy said.
Rachel paused, then muttered, "Go, before I change my mind and let him call 911."
She was also forgiving.
The guy left so fast Luke didn't even have time to give him a little shove for good measure. He thought about going after him, or calling his brother Mark, who worked on the Chicago P.D. Two things stopped him from doing it: the man's "cold feet" remark—since his own felt like frigging icicles these days.
And the sound of Rachel Grant's harsh, ragged breathing.
Once they were alone in the store, he hesitated, wondering if he should leave now, giving the woman a chance to pull herself together. Another part of him—the big brother part who'd rip out the throat out of any man who tried something like that on his baby sister Lottie—instead reacted with pure instinct.
He held out his arms.
And she dove right into them.
RACHEL COULDN'T SEEM to stop shaking. She wasn't prone to hysterics, and her eyes weren't full of tears. Concern hadn't given way to fear, nor was she shocked by what had just happened. But she couldn't stop the shivers racing up and down her spine, making her legs weak and her breaths choppy.
The ugly scene with fat-fingers Freddy hadn't come as a complete surprise, given the man's persistent come-ons at earlier meetings. Still, she'd never expected him to put his hands on her against her will. And her worst nightmares hadn't prepared her for a sloppy kiss from those big, squishy lips, which looked like two fat, bloated worms ready for the fishhook.
Yuck. The memory made her shiver some more.
When she'd moved to Chicago, she'd never imagined having to defend herself against a man who was about to pledge to love, honor and cherish a nice, friendly woman like Cassie-the-twit. She'd certainly never expected to get more attention from men at work than she'd ever had helping manage her father's dry cleaning business in North Carolina. Why would she, when the only male customers she ever saw were engaged to be married?
Grooms were supposed to hit on strippers. Women who popped out of cakes at bachelor parties.
Not dressmakers who'd measured their brides for their wedding gowns.
"Shh, it's okay, don't cry," she heard, the soft male whisper tickling the hair at her temple as his warm breaths touched her cheek. "He's gone, honey, he can't hurt you anymore."
She supposed the slow, deep shudders wracking her chest seemed like sobs to the big, solid man she was pressed against.
Very big. Very hard. Very warm.
Absolutely delightful.
Awareness washed over her. Awareness of the breadth of his firm body, just beneath her fingers, which were tightly clenching his shirt. The dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and Rachel's mouth was an inch away from the tanned skin of his throat. She inhaled his spicy, masculine scent, watching the way a few springy, black hairs on his chest moved beneath her slowly released exhalations.
His heartbeat was strong. Rapid. She could feel it since they were pressed tightly together. Rachel's breasts suddenly felt heavier, more sensitive, almost tingling as he shifted a tiny bit, so their bodies scraped even more