Cullen's Bride (13 page)

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Authors: Fiona Brand

BOOK: Cullen's Bride
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“You bastard,” Cole said with quiet menace. “You just couldn't leave her alone.”
Rachel stepped around her brother, placing herself between Cole and him. “This is none of your business, Cole.”
Cullen put his hands on Rachel's shoulders, his stomach lurching at the automatic way she protected him even now, and suddenly the words weren't so very difficult to say. “We're getting married.”
Rachel stiffened beneath his touch.
Cole's expression went blank. “Run that by me again?”
Cullen increased the pressure on Rachel's shoulders, urging her back against him. She was still stiff and resisting, but she didn't pull away. Her hair drifted like cool silk against the backs of his hands, and he gave in to the temptation to brush his mouth across the top of her head. “She's mine,” he declared in a hard, cool voice. “We're getting married next week.”
Rachel still hadn't moved; he felt as if he were holding a store mannequin, and he cursed the inevitable arousal that just being near her caused. With every breath the evidence of his weakness was more glaringly evident, and he fully expected her to spin around and crack him across the jaw with her fist. Right before she told him to go to hell.
“Rachel?” Cole demanded, ignoring Cullen.
She didn't answer for long seconds; then a faint tremor went through her. “I didn't require your...sanction when I married Adam,” she said huskily. “I don't intend to ask for it now.”
Relief relaxed some of the ferocious tension cording Cullen's muscles. She hadn't exactly said that she was marrying him. But she hadn't turned him down, either.
Cole swore and ran his fingers through his light hair. “Does Dad know?” he asked in a strained voice.
She lifted her chin. “I was planning on ringing him...when I—we set a date.”
Rachel's capitulation had Cullen's fingers tightening in reflex, drawing her back until she was firmly lodged against his chest. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her close, drown in the scent and feel of her. He was shaking, dizzy with mingled delight and despair. In a life spent dodging shadows, wading hip-deep in a darkness that sucked and pulled and somehow managed to coat everything, the gift of her trust blazed. He had no right to Rachel or the baby, but she,
they,
were his.
Cole drew a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. “You're crazy, Sis. How long have you known Cullen? How well do you know him? Damn it, if Adam wouldn't st—” He stopped abruptly, pale beneath his tan. “sullen won't stay,” he continued bluntly. “If you expect any kind of long-term commitment you're buying into a world of trouble.”
Rachel Hinched. The movement was tiny, almost instantly controlled. Cullen almost missed the betraying flicker as he fought down a surge of fury at Cole's callous statement. If Rachel's body hadn't been so closely moulded to his, he wouldn't have picked up the only visible outward sign that Cole had hurt her—intolerably—and he suddenly realised just how guarded, bow controlled, Rachel was. Even if her emotions were tearing her apart, she would still work to hide them, to hold them deep inside and absorb them into herself, where they would do the least damage to anyone she loved. She bore the cost.
She
was the one who paid. It gave him a savage sense of satisfaction that, if nothing else, he could protect her in this now. “She's moving in with me as soon as we can arrange it. Marriage is just a formality. Or would you rather see your sister just living with me?”
“Hell, no,” Cole growled, his eyes narrowing with frustrated fury. “With anyone else it wouldn't matter, but with your reputation, Logan...” He shook his head, jammed his fingers through his hair again. “I'll talk to you later, Rachel.” He fixed Cullen, with a cold glare. “Don't hurt her.”
His booted feet thudded down the stairs. The door slammed behind him, sending a vibration shimmering through the sturdy timbers of the old building.
Don't hurl her.
The words hit Cullen with the same sharp force of the heavy door meeting solid hardwood. Don't hurt her the way his own father must have hurt Celeste, the way Cullen had been hurt before social services had taken him beyond the older man's reach. And then finally, completing the natural cycle of violence that was as inevitable as the turning seasons, in the way Cullen had hurt his father—and enjoyed doing it.
He bowed his head, resting it in the crook of Rachel's neck, allowing himself the luxury of filling his nostrils with her scent, her warmth, before he had to let her go. “I take it that was an acceptance.”
“I take it that was a proposal.” She wrenched free and spun to face him.
Oh, baby, she was mad.
Now that Cole had gone, the gloves were well and truly off, and Cullen couldn't help the satisfaction that filled him at the tilt to Rachel's chin, the half-wild fury in her eyes. He realised that one of the things that drew him to Rachel so strongly was her strength, the knowledge that no way would this lady ever allow herself to be a victim. She carried her pride and courage deep within her, and while her first husband might have put one hell of a dent in her self-esteem, ultimately she'd used the hurt to make herself stronger “Yeah,” he said warily. “It's a proposal. I'd go down on my knees if it would help, but somehow I don't think that would make any kind of difference. We both know I'm no gentleman.”
“You don't have to marry me, Cullen.”
“I took a risk, and I accept the responsibility that goes with it. We'll get married as soon as we can arrange it. Is a week long enough for you to get organised?”
Rachel was chilled by the lack of expression in Cullen's voice. He could have been reeling off a grocery list. When he'd declared so unconditionally that she was his, hope had flared. Against everything she'd already decided, against every logical reason there was for refusing him, she'd grabbed at his offer. But the only reason he wanted to marry her was because he felt he had to. “I accepted my share of the risk.”
“I should've seen to your protection.”
“I should have seen to my own! But I didn't, and I'm pregnant, and
I
take complete responsibility. It's my body, my baby—”
“Mine, too,” he growled, stepping so close that his hot, restless vitality seemed to charge the very air she breathed. With a curiously possessive gesture he cupped her abdomen with one big hand, as if he could feel the small pulse of life deep inside her. “I won't let you do this alone.” His hand fell away, and coldness rushed in to replace the warmth of his palm. “When the baby's born, then you can make some decisions.”
Rachel hugged her arms across her middle—trying to hold on to the sensation of his touch, she realised with a sharp, exasperated breath. She watched him pace to the window above the street and stare out at the sporadic flow of evening traffic. “What do you mean, ‘make some decisions'?” she demanded, caught and held by the tenseness of his posture. And then she realised he wasn't watching the street, he was watching her reflected image.
“Getting you reestablished in the city. Whatever you need to get your life back in order.”
“I don't want to live in the city! You'd hate it.”
He didn't turn around, and in the darkening room the shadows clung to him, shrouding his shoulders. “I live in barracks when I'm in the country,” he said evenly. “And once the baby's born, you'll have more chance of meeting someone if you're back amongst your own. On your own.”
Rachel blinked; then the full meaning of Cullen's words hit her. He not only didn't want to many her, he didn't want any kind of relationship with her and was already planning for her to meet someone else. “I don't intend to move away from Riverbend. In case you hadn't noticed, this is my home. And I don't want to meet ‘someone.'”
“But you will.” Finally he faced her. “After the baby's born, we can dissolve the marriage. And if you're far away, and I don't know who's touching you and taking you to bed, maybe, just maybe, I can stand it.”
The flatness in Cullen's voice hit her like a blow. If she'd knocked him off balance with her news about the baby, he'd evidently recovered, because he expected her to tamely agree. And then another revelation completely eclipsed most of what he'd said.
Cullen was jealous.
Blindingly, burningly jealous. She repeated it to herself, biting back the furious need to argue with him, to fight and throw things and rage at the way he'd planned to neatly cut her out of his life. For her own good, of course.
He was jealous. Possessive. He couldn't bear to be in the same room with her and not touch her. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching her, either. And she had seven months of this pregnancy left to run. Seven months.
Rachel lifted her chin, almost disdaining that last, feeble straw. But she was beyond shame, beyond anger. Beyond anything but feeling her way through the bewildering minefield of emotion she'd stumbled into. Time was all she had to hold on to, and she was going to clutch at it, because she knew with a sudden stunning clarity that she was in love with Cullen. That if he disappeared from her life, she wouldn't want anyone else. Ever.
She'd got over Adam.
But she could admit now that most of her hurt had been the pain of failure and lost dreams, and the terrible blow to her feminine pride. She'd let Adam go without a fight—there hadn't seemed to be anything left to fight for.
She stared into Cullen's level metallic gaze and knew she was going to fight for him. He felt more for her than simple physical desire, otherwise he would never have touched her. His emotional involvement was the reason he'd stayed away from her—and why he was so intent on controlling the situation now. The baby they'd made together was giving them both a second chance, and she was grabbing it. For all their sakes
Taking a deep breath, she hugged her arms tighter around her middle. “We can talk about living arrangements after the baby's born. In the meantime, I'll check to see when we can book the church.”
“No church. I was thinking registry.”
“Then think again, cowboy, because I won't feel married unless it's done m a church.”
She could feel the force of his regard, his desire to control the situation; then, abruptly, he ran a hand over his hair. The unchar-acteristic uncertainty of the gesture filled her with renewed hope. She was beginning to know him, to be able to read him.
When he spoke, his voice was low and raspy, and it was becoming so dark she could barely see his face. “If a church is what it takes to make you feel married, then okay. But the sooner we get this settled, the better.”
 
Cullen retrieved his mobile phone from the glove box as soon as he was seated behind the wheel of his truck.
His call was picked up on the third ring without any call diversion, which meant that his cousin and company Commander, Blade Lombard, was carrying his mobile with him.
“Lombard,” a gravelly voice snapped.
“Don't tell me I've caught you at a bad time again,” Cullen murmured with real amusement. In the regiment, Blade's reputation with women was legendary. If Blade was off duty, chances were it would be a “bad time” to reach him.
There was a grunt of laughter, a rude suggestion concerning where the cell phone should go from a feminine voice, followed by a high-pitched squeal.
Blade came back on. “You'd better make it fast, mate.”
“I'm getting married next week, and I want to take some unpaid leave—seven months, give or take a few days.”
There was a stunned silence, then, “I take it this means you're not coming on exercise with us? The Australians
will
be ticked. They were really looking forward to taking you down after the damage you did to their sabotage team last year. They're still trying to figure out how you managed to do it before they'd even made it to the target.”
“I only got three,” Cullen growled impatiently. “You and the boys got the rest”
“West and I bagged one each,” Blade murmured. “Carter and Ben had to fight over who got to take the last guy.”
“Is the leave on?” Cullen asked curtly.
There was another small silence, and Cullen could almost hear Blade's mind grinding through the regulations governing leave. “I take it there are extenuating family circumstances?”
Cullen briefly outlined the situation.
Blade muttered a string of inventive curses but, typically, didn't hang out for details “When did you say this wedding is happening?”
“Next week. Saturday, I guess. Why?”
“Because I intend to be your best man Ring me if there's any change of plan.”
There was a brief garbled conversation in the background, some muffled grunts as if a struggle were in progress, then the phone went dead. Cullen stabbed the transmission button, snapped the wafer-thin phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat. Darkness settled around him, along with the relative quietness of night. He glanced up at Rachel's flat Her windows glowed with a soft radiance. He could hear music, classical music. She would be sitting down on one of those cosy sofas, maybe reading a book, eating from the fine porcelain he'd seen set out on her kitchen table.

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