The Storybook Groom Read online

  He looked down at Ginny again. It didn’t seem too far off to think she might be an angel. She radiated light through her creamy, flawless skin and plump lips. And she was asking him to touch her? He sprinted to the loft’s bathroom and splashed water on his face. He took a few minutes to regroup, then went back to her bedside.

  Ginny’s face wrestled with some unseen demon. How could he soothe her? All he wanted to do was take away her fear and pain, like his need to protect his niece.

  She patted the bed. “Lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.”

  Where had he heard that before?

  Torin laid down next to her, but on top of the covers. He would limit their contact. He knew his limits and would never forgive himself if he made a move on her when she was so out of it. Being an NFL star, he had had many opportunities to push that line, but he had a code he lived by; love and commitment were prerequisites for sexual intimacy.

  She continued, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou are with me.”

  Memories of sitting on a hard bench in bible school skittered through Torin’s mind. Psalms. He had found an angel. Only angels quoted the bible in their sleep.

  Torin reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened his bibles app. He read through Psalms until he ultimately found where Ginny had quoted from, number twenty-three. He agreed completely with David, my cup runneth over.

  * * *

  Ginny warmed in a cocoon of comfort, from the back of her head to the bottom of her toes. She released a euphoric sigh as she opened her eyes. Reality hit her like a sledgehammer to the face as she stared out at the unfamiliar, powder-blue and brisk white room resembling a bedroom straight out of a seaside cottage catalogue.

  The events of last night flooded her mind like a rushing tsunami. She remembered every minute detail. How was that possible with a sedative? She needed to find out what exactly was in that drug to allow her to remember everything down to Torin’s exotic scent. Correction, how he now smelled like cloves and coconut suntan lotion as he spooned her from behind with the back of her head nestled happily against his pecks.

  Ginny tensed with alarm, realizing they were lying on their left sides, spooning, with his right arm draped over her body and sandwiched between hers as she held his hand in a death grip. With her anxiety heightened, her respirations quickened.

  As unluck would have it, turns out the sedative also worked as a type of truth serum on her. She had told him how he had the power to relax her, and then she basically begged him to snuggle with her all night. She released her grip of his hand. It felt amazing, snuggling into him, but she couldn’t stay in his arms like this forever.

  Judging by the light filtering in the room through the sheer white curtains, she guessed it was some time after seven. Fortunately, Scarlett had an early physical therapy appointment scheduled to accommodate her leaving at midday for the sports’ expo. They hadn’t planned on meeting for their daily workout, saving Ginny from a very uncomfortable conversation.

  Ginny couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in past 6:00 a.m. Not only that, she didn’t wake once during the night. This guy could double as a calming blanket, or had the sedative been the cause of her restful sleep?

  She took in a deep breath, patted his arm gently, and scooted away from him, severing the serenity bond between them. She caught his eye as she rolled over onto her stomach to sit up.

  “Hi,” he said in a charming and relaxed voice.

  “Hi?” she said inquisitively as she rolled onto her right side and leaned into her elbow to face him. She bit at her lower lip and stared at his bare chest as he spoke. She could hear him speak but the deep sounds leaving his lips bounced around in her head like sugar granules in a cotton candy machine as it spun into fluffy cotton.

  “Sleep okay, Candace?”

  She nodded. Then did a double take of his ripped chest. “I always liked the name Candace.” She swallowed hard, attempting to concentrate on not concentrating on his amazing body as her eyes wandered down to his rippled abs. “It’s my Uber alias.”

  “I like Ginny more.” He took a piece of her black wig and twisted it in his fingers. “And I prefer ginger haired Ginnys.”

  She pulled the pins out of her wig, removed it, and shook out her natural hair. “Thanks.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head down, embarrassed at how she had gawked at his insanely beautiful body.

  “Stunning.” Torin brushed her hair back off her shoulder. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Better than okay. I think that was the best night sleep I’ve had in years.” What? Why was she telling him that? Was that blasted truth serum still in her system?

  He raised her chin with his fingertips. His ski-blue eyes were kind and gentle. Gentle and calming like the still, calm waters of a mountain lake, in complete opposition of the turbulent deep blue of the ocean.

  She had heard married people say that they knew their spouse was right for them by how they felt around them. They experienced a powerful feeling of contentment or completion. She’d always rolled her eyes at those people, until now. Ginny had never felt so at ease, so fulfilled. She smiled one of those dopey, blissful smiles.

  “What are you so happy about?”

  “I was just wondering how you intimidate on the football field when, to me, you are the embodiment of peace.”

  He shook with laughter. “No one has ever called me peaceful before.” He ran his finger down her arm. “Except for that once, when a pretty girl told me she was never more at peace than when I touched her.”

  The moment of truth or lie had arrived; where she would either pretend she had been under the influence and loopy last night—which was only a half-lie—or tell him the truth that he was the peanut butter to her jelly. She took in a deep breath. “About that…”

  He placed a finger to her lips, causing her body to erupt into a million goosebumps. “Please don’t take that back. It was one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  She nodded. This guy was sincere and kind, and in a way, vulnerable. She could see it in those still-water blue eyes.

  “We all have demons.” He tapped her shoulder. “But your demons appear to be more…ahh.” He looked up to the ceiling, then back at her. “Like Harry Potter creepy.” He made a howling noise and shook his hands.

  She cracked an amused grin, relaxing in his easy nature. “You’re right. We do all have demons. Suffice it to say, the least destructive thing my mom did to my psyche was repeatedly concocts stories to embarrass me in front of my friends.” She shrugged. “At least Scarlett and I had each other to convert the hurt into laughter, but that laughter can only blanket you for so long. At night, memories of her iron fist and razor-sharp tongue are my demons.”

  He cupped the back of her head and brought her forehead into his chest. When her skin touched his, and she breathed in his coconut and clove scent, she nearly fainted. She swallowed back her drool, took one last deep breath of his manly essence, and pulled back.

  His face tugged up on one side and his nose wrinkled slightly. “Tough home life?”

  “About as tough as it gets.” She sighed. “You?”

  “I had it about as good as it gets.” His face held a look of concern. “I’m sorry you didn’t.”

  “Thanks. But I came out of it, right?” she said in the most positive tone she could muster. “And I like to think I can handle just about anything life throws at me now.”

  He brushed her hand. “Can I tell you my parent’s story?”

  She nodded. He had caught her interest, and in more than just his parent’s story. She wanted to know everything about him.

  He scooted closer to her. “I never met my grandparents. Either set.”

  Ginny turned onto her stomach and gazed up into his face, letting him know he had her full attention. She could relax here next to Torin forever, listening to his deep voice, and breathing in his sweet and
spicy scent.

  Torin continued, “My mom and dad both came from abusive families. Part of me thinks that’s the reason they got along so well together; they really understood each other.”

  “And you never met your grandparents?”

  He shook his head. “My momma and daddy had a talkin’ to their parents. They forgave ‘em but couldn’t trust ‘em.”

  “Wow.” Ginny blinked her eyes, stunned at his openness. “Thanks for trusting me enough to disclose that.”

  “You seem a little too amused,” he said sternly when she gave him a soft smile.

  “I’m being sincere, it’s just.” She scrunched her nose as she searched for the best way to tell him he spoke like a hick sometimes. “I think it’s the cutest thing how you speak with more of a Southern drawl when you’re talking about back home. The other times, I hardly hear an accent.”

  “No, I don’t,” he objected, but furrowed his brow as if he were reevaluating his objection. “You didn’t ask what most people do when I explain to them why I don’t know my grandparents.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They’d say ‘how could your parents have really forgiven them and then cut them off from you like that? It don’t sound like true forgiveness.’”

  “Well that’s ignorant,” Ginny huffed out. “Your parents were protecting you.”

  He nodded. “They had their own demons that followed them through life on account of their parents. They wanted a different life for their kids. They done decided not to just preach Christian values but to really live them.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But by looking at my daddy, you’d a never guessed it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He had a scruffy beard, tattoos, and drove a Harley.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  “It was cool…until he crashed his bike and died when I was a senior in high school.”

  She pushed her palm across her forehead then rubbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.”

  “Hard don’t nearly describe it, but my momma taught me to be thankful for the time we had with him. Her positive attitude and mental strength kept me strong. It sustained me when she died from cancer and continues to sustain me with the mental game of football.”

  “Sounds like you had amazing parents.”

  “I did.” He stared down at the sheet between them. “I want to be just like ‘em. I want to give my kids the same childhood I had.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his upper arm. She tried, at least, but her fingers only made it about a third of the way around his bicep. “Lucky kids, to have a dad like you.” Her body temperature rose as she held his arm. And one lucky lady to be his wife.

  She shook off the crazy notion that she might be able to settle down someday with a genuinely kind guy like Torin—not to mention extremely hot. How could she manage a relationship with him when she was a spy?

  As she stared into his light blue eyes and drank in his smile, her desire to be with someone like him, to spend a lifetime with a man like him, suddenly didn’t seem so out of reach.

  “You really think so?” He raised an eyebrow. “Because I’d like the mother of those kids to be able to quote the bible in her sleep.”

  Adrenaline shot through her body. She swallowed hard and sat up, resting her back against the white fabric headboard. She fanned her face, willing the red in her cheeks to fade. “Whoa there cowboy. Let’s reign in that wild stallion. You don’t even know me, not really.”

  He sat up as well, which didn’t help her predicament with his massive bare chest and muscles and abs everywhere, giving her no other option than to stare at his glorious physique.

  He winked. “Wild stallion. I like it. And we haven’t even kissed yet.”

  She gave him the universal arrogant much? look. “Yet?”

  “Are you denying your attraction to me?”

  She crossed her arms and meditated on his words to determine if they were meant to be smug or simply confident.

  “Not exactly…more like you have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into, young man.”

  His face broke into a wide grin. “Let me be the judge of that, young lady.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve given you fair warning.”

  He laughed and jumped up out of bed. “Ready for some breakfast?”

  Her eyes watered from staying open for so long from staring at him. She couldn’t get over how beautiful he was. She blinked and wiped her eyes. “Would you mind putting a shirt on?”

  He grabbed his shirt from off a cushioned wicker chair. “What?” He slowly put his shirt on, giving her a flirtatious smile as he dressed. “Are you afraid these muscles will burn your eyes?”

  She waved her hand in the air dismissively as she blew a hot breath out her puckered mouth. It was better he didn’t know how on-target he was with that comment. “You are a confident one, aren’t you? But seriously, you don’t want to be seen as a piece of meat, do you? I sure don’t like it when men look at me like that.”

  “Sorry. You were looking at me how, exactly?” He paused, but she didn’t take the bait. “And is that a trick question? Because there’s only been once.” He raised his pointer finger. “There has only been one time I can think of when it bothered me.”

  “Oh?” she prodded.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shrugged, as if to tease her.

  “You have to tell me now.”

  “I’ll tell you over breakfast. If my sniffer still works, Jean is making Eggs Benedict, and he gets mad as a bull if I don’t eat it the minute it’s ready.”

  “Jean?” she nearly choked out. “You have a chef?”

  “A temperamental French chef. I’m gonna take a two-minute shower and meet you downstairs.” He motioned to the bathroom off the bedroom. “You’re welcome to take one as well.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll shower at home after breakfast.” She rung her hands. “You sure he’ll have enough food for me? I don’t want to impose.”

  “He always makes extra, in case a friend stops in—which they do often to eat his cookin’. And you’re parked where Jean normally parks, so he knows I have a guest.”

  He hadn’t answered her real question. “Do you have guests…often?” her voice rose an octave.

  He smiled that devilishly cocky smile. “Not overnight guests.” He motioned to the hallway. “Why don’t you go meet Jean? He’s really friendly.”

  “Okay,” she said, feeling Torin’s absence the second he walked out the door.

  She stepped into the ocean inspired bathroom, rinsed her mouth out with green mouthwash she found under the sink, and ran wet fingers through her hair to lift and style her wig head. She may not want to be seen as a piece of meat, but she absolutely and unequivocally wanted Torin to see her as a steaming hot, sophisticated woman.

  Ginny stepped quietly down the stairs, straining to hear the treble voice speaking in throaty French. When she reached the kitchen entrance, she stood behind a pillar that separated the two rooms and watched as a small thin man somewhere in his early thirties spoke into the air as he poured a generous amount of creamy yellow liquid over a plate that he held up in front of his face. She tilted her head to one side and advanced toward him, trying to figure out why he would plate a dish like that.

  When she reached him, he turned around abruptly. The rim of the plate pressed into her chest and bounced back, hitting Jean in the forehead. The plate plummeted to the tiled floor in a catastrophic crash. Jean responded with an onslaught of French swear words.

  “Sorry,” Ginny said, reaching for the paper towel roll on the counter and leaning down to wipe up the mess.

  He let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, waving an arm in the air as if telling her not to worry.

  She smiled up at him prematurely, because, in the next instant, his face turned down into a scowl as he puffed a breath out the side of his mouth before continuing, “It is only the most amazing hollandaise s
auce I have ever made, and it is now smeared.” He held his hand out over the mess and made circular motions. “Smeared all over the floor.”

  This guy took his job seriously. Ginny walked over to the gas stovetop where the thick yellow liquid rested in a double boiler pan. Jean released a nervous squeal as Ginny dipped her finger into the sauce and brought it to her mouth. As the warm, creamy citrus coated the inside of her mouth, she closed her eyes and moaned at the delicate butter and lemon flavor. She now understood why Torin kept the temperamental chef around.

  “Jean, have you ever heard of Amelia Bedelia?” she said, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and scooping up a hearty spoonful.

  By his furrowed brow, she guessed not. After she enjoyed her spoonful, she skipped to Jean, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you!” she exclaimed.

  “Should I be jealous?” Torin’s deep voice echoed through the room.

  Ginny laughed, causing Jean to give a deflated shrug.

  Jean raised his sauce spoon. “Eggs Benedict, anyone?”

  6

  Torin took Ginny’s hand and led her out onto the back patio. “Jean,” he called back to the house, “would you mind bringing the food out to the pool?”

  Jean nodded.

  Ginny rested her head into Torin’s arm as they walked along the winding gravel pathway. Would she object if he tried to kiss her? He had wanted to kiss her earlier, but she had basically shot him down. Why was she sending him such mixed signals? She had to be into him or she wouldn’t be snuggling up to him now or have snuggled into him all night.

  Whatever her deal, Torin would find out because the heat between them was real, almost tangible and he knew she felt it as well. He just had to convince her that she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her.

  He led her to the patio table next to the pool and pulled out her chair.

  Ginny stretched her back and yawned as she took her seat. “You have an amazing back yard. Do you use the pool often?”

  “I have a swim party or two during off-season, but it’s usually just me in the buff, swimming a few laps.”