by Linda Morris
Pock and Daisy had both been there, and Erin and Anthony. Even the new baby had been able to come, released from the hospital last week after a few days in the NICU.
Anthony, his best man, had told him some interesting news as the two of them shared a celebratory whiskey with Pock in the bar before the ceremony. Cantor and two of his men had been arrested in southern Arizona last week, about to cross the border into Mexico. Only Ramirez had escaped.
“How did they catch them so fast?” Pock wondered.
“Money,” Anthony said bluntly. “Richard Smithson put up a $100,000 reward. The tip call came in from Mexico. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of Ramirez’s relatives. That’s big money in Mexico.”
“I also wouldn’t be surprised if Ramirez put them up to calling in the tip,” Joe said, tossing a peanut into his open mouth, and Anthony nodded.
“Cantor didn’t have the money on him,” Anthony added. “Even the account Smithson had wired the ransom to had been emptied and closed. I’m surprised Smithson bothered to put up a reward, but I guess he hates to lose, from what Ivy says. He doesn’t sound like a guy who is easy to cross. The woman you’re marrying has got some guts.”
“Hell, yeah, she does,” Joe said, not bothering to conceal his pride.
Richard Smithson’s rage at being thwarted by his daughter had been great, topped only by his even greater fury at their kidnappers. Now the old bastard was about to get a second son-in-law he didn’t approve of, a development that filled Joe with satisfaction. Ivy didn’t do anything by half-measures. Now that she finally realized she needed to stand completely on her own two feet, she was doing it all the way.
Their lives had been a whirlwind these last weeks as they relocated to California. For Ivy, the transition to independence wouldn’t be easy, but she would handle it with grace. She astonished him sometimes.
After the ceremony, a short, simple one that Joe would never forget, Ivy had disappeared into the bathroom of their hotel suite with a mysterious smile and a large bag. Now he’d been pacing nervously for minutes, feeling ridiculous, but unable to help himself. He’d been with a lot of women. He’d been with Ivy plenty of times. He’d never been with his wife, though. He didn’t know why, but that made it different.
A noise behind him had him turning. Ivy stepped out, in an ethereal white camisole and panties, topped with a translucent blue robe. She had left her fair hair piled atop her head as it had been during the ceremony, but a few wisps had started to escape, fluttering around the side of her face. He stepped to her and brushed one of the wisps back, stroking the softness of her cheek as he did so.
“Beautiful,” he breathed.
“Do you like it? I wasn’t sure about the color…” She smoothed the robe across her hip in a nervous gesture.
“I was talking about you,” he said.
She smiled, the gesture lighting her face.
What a luxury to wake up next to her for the rest of his life. He could scarcely believe his good luck. He lowered her to the bed, never taking his mouth away from hers, kissing her with a physicality that bordered on ruthless.
His suit imprisoned him. Desperate to bare his skin against hers, he pulled back, shucking his shirt and tie and kicking off his shoes. He slipped her robe from her shoulders and lifted her camisole to take one nipple into his mouth. Her soft sigh was its own reward. He ran his hand down the curves of her hip and thigh, exploring the tender skin behind her knee. The spot seemed ticklish, and she writhed at the twin caresses at her knee and breast.
Eager to ratchet up the pleasurable torment, he slid one hand inside her thong to explore the wetness there.
“Stop.”
Her abrupt command had him lifting his head. She reached to unbutton his pants with an eagerness that made him smile. She’d been shy in bed at first, but she’d been coming out of her shell recently, asking for what she wanted and pleasing him in return. His pants gaped open, and he nearly gasped at the sudden release of the constriction on his erection.
But a minute later he suffered a new kind of passionate pain when her small fingers reached in to grip him and handle him with the assertive yet gentle touch she knew he loved.
“God,” he groaned, his head tipping back as he edged away to give her all the room she needed to drive him mad.
She took full advantage, lowering her head and taking him into her mouth with zeal. He clenched the bed sheets, determined to withstand the ecstasy for as long as she wanted to give it, but after a few minutes the abyss loomed. He pulled her away. He tried to roll her over, but she wouldn’t allow it.
“Feel like taking charge?” he asked.
She nodded, a mysterious smile playing on her lips as she rose to straddle him. “Do you mind?”
“Hell, no. Whatever makes you happy.”
He had always thought that if, in the very unlikely event he did end up married, monogamy would be an enormous sacrifice he’d be forced to make. Instead, trading anonymous hookups for a lifetime of making love to Ivy seemed like the sweetest deal he could imagine.
Her eyes drifted shut as he filled her. He watched the muscles working in her throat, the look of transcendent bliss on her face, and knew that this affected her every bit as much as it did him.
“I love you,” he said.
The words were inadequate for these emotions filling him—reverence, contentment, pride, and disbelief at his own good fortune, plus a hundred other feelings he had no words for.
Her eyes fluttered open. She seemed to understand what he was feeling. “I love you, too.”
He knew that her simple words conveyed more emotion than she could ever articulate, because he felt the same way, too.
When pleasure broke across her face, it was like the dawn coming after a long night, and he joined her in release, humbled to be able to share it with her.
He held her for a long time afterwards, in a silence that was both tender and full of contentment. After awhile, he remembered the prosecco and got up to pour them each a glass. He figured she would like a toast on their wedding night, and French champagne wasn’t in his budget. They’d moved to a small apartment in Redding a few days ago. When he’d asked, she’d admitted the new apartment would fit in the living room of her Gold Coast loft in Chicago, but she hadn’t seemed to mind.
Daisy and Pock had relocated too, eager to get away from the whole MMA scene. Pock knew his career in MMA fighting would never happen, but he took it surprisingly well. A gift for working with horses, totally unexpected, eased his disappointment, and he was helping out at Erin and Anthony’s ranch while they tried to get back on their feet and care for the new baby.
Flush with new fatherhood and wanting to provide a better life for his new family, Anthony had decided to expand the ranch and take on more boarders. When he asked Pock to stay on permanently to help, Pock had agreed. Between Pock’s ranch salary and Daisy’s new waitressing job, they made ends meet.
Joe took a cautious sip of the bubbly and frowned. “What do you think?” he asked her. “Is it okay? I know it’s not what you’re used to.”
“Stop it,” she said, lifting a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture. “Stop apologizing for being who you are. I knew you weren’t wealthy when I married you, remember?”
He nipped her fingertip gently with his teeth. “Are you going to be this bossy the whole time?”
She rested her head against his shoulder and let her eyes drift shut. “Only if you keep saying stupid things about how you’re not worthy of me.”
“I’m not worthy of you, but it’s got nothing to do with money,” he countered, sliding his hands down to her lower back where they met in a loose embrace.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, punctuating her words with kisses. “What does a perpetual student who can’t finish her dissertation have to be proud of?”
“This may come as a shock to you, but I didn’t marry you for your dissertation,” he said, this time letting his lips linger for a long time on hers. �
��Although I am fascinated by the role of women in the work of Alvin Dürer.”
“Albrecht Dürer,” she said.
“Whatever.”
Laughing, she smacked him, which turned into a round of tickling that let his hands wander where they might. At last, giggling, she pulled away.
“I need to breathe!” she gasped, and he relented.
He had something he wanted to tell her. As usual, he didn’t know the best way, so he blurted it out. “I’m thinking of going back on the force.”
“What? The police force?”
“Yep,” he said, enjoying the stunned look on her face.
“I thought you hated it!” she protested.
“I loved the work itself. My problem was with CPD, especially after I got blackballed. California has a lot of PDs. I’m guessing I could get on with one of them, maybe even a tactical unit. I’ve applied to a few. I’ve got an interview next week.”
It felt brave and optimistic to even say the words aloud, to admit that he still carried that dream inside him. Ivy had given him that courage, no doubt about it. The pride and happiness on her face filled him up.
But after a moment, her eyes clouded. “Do you think they’ll hire you, after what happened with the CPD? I mean, would the CPD give you a reference?”
He pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head. “Maybe. I wasn’t fired. I resigned. A few cops felt bad about the way it went down. They might put in a word for me. Besides, a small-town California department might be happy to get someone with experience. I’ve already talked to the chief over in Redding and told him my history. He didn’t say no outright, anyway, and he scheduled me for an interview. It’s a start.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” she said.
A long, lingering kiss halted the conversation for several moments until she pulled away, a troubled look on her face.
When he asked her about it, she shrugged. “Do you think I would make a good teacher?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
“Yes,” he said promptly. “I think you can do anything.”
She smiled, but the clouded look lingered in her eyes. “I’ve always thought I was too backward and introverted to be a good teacher, but your sister won’t leave me alone about it.”
Joe stroked a pale strand of hair back from her face. “She’s pretty smart. She might be right, but it’s your decision to make. There are lots of universities in California where you could teach art history if you wanted to.” He sat down on the mattress edge next to her. “Whatever decision you make, I’ll support you.”
“Really?”
“Really. Anything you want to do is okay by me. You can do anything you want.”
“What if I decide to take up ranching, like Pock?” she teased. “Maybe I can bust broncos for a living or something. Come to think of it, maybe I can be an MMA fighter. There might be a spot open on the circuit, now that Pock is officially retired.”
She slipped her arms around him, pushing him backward with a laugh, the pensive clouds gone from her eyes. She looked happy, confident, and free. He wanted to keep that look on her face for the rest of her life. As he pulled her down on top of him for an intoxicating kiss, he thought he might be able to do that. Without screwing it up.
“I know one thing. If you did, I would bet on you every time.”
A word about the author...
Linda Morris is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. She writes stories full of heat, heart, and laughter. Her life has never been the same since her mom bought her a Kathleen Woodiwiss novel at a garage sale when Linda was thirteen. Linda lives in central Indiana with her husband and son. http://lindamorrisbooks.com/
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