Page 26 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy (The Lanes Series #1)

Chapter twenty-five

Richard

I stood at an outdoor altar under a big white tent in the Quinn Vineyard’s peach orchard. I’d done this before, so I was feeling pretty nervous. I didn’t think Kandy would leave me at the altar, but history did have a way of repeating itself.

On the bride’s side of the gathering sat her mother, Mila, Teagan, Roger and all the workers from Quinn orchards. Her uncle and aunt had declined the invitation but sent cards and good wishes.

On the groom’s side sat Caleb, Delard, and a bunch of my old football buddies. I didn’t know where Caleb dug them up from. It made me feel a little less lonely and scared, but if I got stood up a second time, I was sure going to be embarrassed.

This was even worse than the wedding with Kayla because my brother, Andrew, had flown in from Africa. He’d caught a flight with my sister Rylie, in Boston, and they were both here, grinning at me expectantly. If Kandy stood me up, I’d never live it down.

Then I saw her. She wasn’t wearing a traditional gown. Instead, she wore the sun-dress I bought for her at Walmart, and a wide sun hat with flowers out of her grandmother’s garden.

She had her hand on Charles Quinn’s arm, and he had the biggest grin on his face, as if he’d pulled off a prank and couldn’t wait for everyone to get the joke.

She was radiant; she was beautiful. I couldn’t believe she was really going to marry me. She was going to be mine, and I was going to be hers.

It was a good thing the pastor was there to tell us what to say, because I had no idea what I was saying. All I knew was that her hands were in mine. Then, I was slipping a ring on her finger, and she was slipping one on mine.

She tipped her face up to mine, and I bent down to kiss her. As I did, that ridiculous hat fell off, and I realized she was letting her hair go back to her natural color.

Then I didn’t care what color her hair was, just that it smelled like her favorite shampoo, and her lips and mouth tasted even better than her grandfather’s best wine. I didn’t care that we had an audience.

All that mattered in all the world was that her body, clad in the sundress I bought for her, was in my arms. Her arms were around my neck, and she was kissing me back like this was the last time we would ever kiss, and she needed to put everything into it.

When we came up for air, the pastor said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Richard Lane.”

The crowd cheered and stomped their feet; there were even some wolf whistles.

“Throw the bouquet!” someone shouted.

“Yeah, throw the bouquet! Let’s see who the next bride will be!”

“Should I?” Kandis asked me.

“I think you should,” I said back. “The sooner we get all the traditions done, the sooner we can get to the good part.”

“What’s the good part?” she whispered.

I almost blurted out “You, me, naked, “ but instead I said, “The cottage, without an audience.”

She giggled, turned her back to everyone, and tossed the carefully structured bouquet over her head and into the audience.

There was a collective gasp as the flowers plopped into Mila’s hands. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she growled. “I’m not the marrying type.”

There was a round of laughter, then we followed the flower girl — daughter to one of the workers — as she walked down the aisle strewing flower petals.

Then I managed to restrain myself while we cut the cake and fed a bite to each other.

And while we were part of the serving line, accepting congratulations from all of our guests.

Officially, there were fifty people there, but I think they were either going through the line twice or they kept multiplying.

Then the musicians got up on a little platform. It was a mariachi band, made up of Quinn Vineyard workers. They played the opening chords, and Kandis danced with me to a bright and lively two-step beat.

At three months along, she hadn’t slowed down a bit in spite of having to keep crackers and ginger ale on her bedside table to avoid puking every morning.

Her face was solemn, but a smile was trying to sneak out around the corners of her mouth. Then I realized what the band was playing, and I supported her carefully as we danced to the sentimental strains of “Havin’ my Baby.”

The band then segued into a more traditional waltz, and I handed Kandy over to her grandfather, and I gently danced a few turns with her mother, then finished up the waltz with Mimi.

“I do love it when a plan turns out,” she said, smiling up at me.

“You planned this?” I asked, whisking my grandmother-in-law away from the sticky hands of a toddler who was carrying chunks of cake in both hands.

“Kandy needs someone strong and smart to take care of her, especially now that she’s taken on guardianship of her mom. You are quite a wheeler and dealer, Richard Lane, but you always paid a fair price for any business you took over. Let’s just say I had hopes.”

I laughed. “Mrs. Quinn, you are amazing.” I danced her back to Pops and left them standing together. They were holding hands and looking exceptionally pleased. Did I feel manipulated?

If I had been, I could only be glad that Mimi Quinn was an exceptional matchmaker.

I looked around for my bride, hoping that we could make our escape. I spotted her dancing with Roger. I was about to claim her for myself when Mila cut in, whisking Kandy away.

Teagan claimed me, and Roger asked the flower girl to dance. That was a charming site — the tall young man gravely and politely spinning the little girl through the dance figures.

Then they all made a game of keeping us away from each other, until finally Kandy was returned to me. She was flushed from exercise and giggling from some joke told her by her previous partner.

“Have we been good long enough? Can we run away now?” I whispered in her ear.

“I think so,” she whispered back. “Go dance with Mila so she can complain about catching the bouquet, and I’ll go powder my nose. Meet me behind the tent in about five, no, ten minutes. I really do need to go.”

Mila just grinned at me when I claimed a dance from her and cheerfully waltzed me around behind the beverage cart and out a side entrance I hadn’t noticed.

Kandis waited for me. My heart... and other things... warmed when I saw her.

“Better run for it, kids,” Mila whispered. “Someone was talking about a shivaree. You’ll want to get ahead of that.”

Officially, we were going to be staying in an adorable cottage at the bottom end of the vineyard. But the only people who would be there tonight would be my mother-in-law, Mila, and Teagan.

My stretch limo waited at the bottom of the vineyard in the big delivery lot. Someone or several someones had found it. Tin cans trailed off the bumper, “Just married” was written in soap on the back window.

Caleb waited for us. He propped up the dummies in the back seat, dimmed the windows, and nodded toward his little orange Honda Civic that was parked inconspicuously under the wide branches of a walnut tree.

We took off in one direction, while he took off in the other, driving slowly past the revelers.

I pulled a ball cap over my head, and Kandis ducked down in her seat. When we reached a long stretch of desert highway, she asked, “Do you think it’s safe now?”

“I think so,” I said.

She sat up and looked out at the dry landscape. Windmills and long, low banks of solar collectors could be seen here and there. “How long?” she asked. “I slept through last time.”

“About three hours,” I reply. “Want to pull over and get something to eat? Or you can go ahead and catch a nap. The Honda isn’t as comfortable as the jeep we rented, but I don’t think Caleb is going to mind having the loan of the limo for the weekend.”

“Nap,” she said. “My tummy is behaving itself now, but I do seem to sleep a lot. And we were up late last night. The girls wanted to give me a good sendoff.”

“Rest then,” I said, my libido now happy to just have her nearby.

At last, we made it to my great-grandfather’s log cabin. Caleb had slipped in earlier in the week to make sure it was well provisioned.

I parked the Honda, went up and unlocked the door. I glanced in. Everything was spit and polished, but homey and welcoming. The Murphy bed was open and made up with a bright, patchwork quilt. Trust Caleb to think of everything.

I left the door open and went back down to the Honda.

Kandy was just waking up. I scooped her up in my arms. She was no lightweight, especially with three months of baby inside her, but I managed.

She wound her arms around my neck. “I can walk,” she protested. “Richie! You’ll hurt yourself!”

I made it up the steps onto the porch, across the threshold, and set her down inside the cabin. “Mine,” I growled at her. “You are now officially claimed.”

She laughed, tipped her face up to me, and we kissed. It was a proper kiss, full of promises, care, and a lot of desire. Her lips tasted like her grandfather’s full bodied red wine and wedding cake. She smelled like her wedding bouquet of orange blossoms and her favorite shampoo.

The cotton of her sundress was crisp, her embrace warm and soft. Her baby bump was barely noticeable, just a slight rounding.

I was ready to go, but she gently reminded me, “Go make sure the car is secure, then close the door behind you.”

When I returned, she had changed out of her sundress and was lying on the bed wearing the baby doll pajamas I had purchased when we were there before. The crop top left her midriff bare, and the shorts leg satin bottoms were cut high, making her legs look long and beautiful.

I knelt beside the bed, and ran my hand down her side, reveling in the warmth of her skin, the roughness of the lace top, and the silky smoothness of the panty.

I slipped two fingers beneath the bottoms. She was warm, moist, and ready. She reached for me, trying to pull me up beside her. Instead, I pulled her to the edge of the bed, letting her knees bend over the bright quilt surface so her toes touched the floor.

She shivered with anticipation as I slowly slid the satin PJ bottoms down her thighs and dropped them onto the floor.

This opened her to me. She was beautiful, like an orchid. Her skin was flushed with excitement. She started to sit up, but I caught her hands, gently keeping her in place. I ran my tongue up her inner folds. She tasted like fruit and flowers.

It was almost too much for her. She clamped her legs around me, trying to get more of my tongue, lifting herself to me, opening more. She was amazing and wanton, and it was all I could do not to simply take her without further preamble.

But this was our first time as husband and wife, and I wanted her to remember it with pleasure.

She cried out my name and accused me of torturing her. Inspired by her cries, I snaked a pillow off the bed, tucked it under my knees, and undid my trousers to release my erection.

I had never been more ready. I could not wait any longer. Kneeling beside the bed, we were perfectly matched, key to the doorway of delight.

I slid in slowly. She was more than ready. Her intake of breath was all I needed by way of encouragement. I withdrew slowly and she tried to follow me. I slid in again. I maintained careful control, beginning a steady rhythm to which she responded eagerly.

We moved together in perfect unison, until we spilled over the edge into an orgasm as one.

Afterward, I climbed up onto the bed and held her in my arms. She kissed the bottom of my jaw, reminding me of how she kept me from making a total jackass of myself at Kayla’s wedding.

“I love you,” I said. “I love you, Kandis Lane. I’ll love you forever and always.”

“And I love you, Richard Lane. Forever, and light years beyond that.”

We laid together, softly touching, gently kissing, exploring, loving and sharing each other until we fell asleep in each other’s arms.