by Susan Stoker
It had been perfect. Just what she’d needed to take her mind off of her missing fiancée. Well, maybe not missing, but not in the U.S. either. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer that he’d make it to the ceremony.
He didn’t have much time. Just a little over three hours until the wedding should begin. Rafe thought it was funny to schedule it for high noon, but if he didn’t show up in time, it wouldn’t be very amusing. They’d chosen high noon because Rafe thought it was funny. It left little time, and he could be anywhere in the world. It was like playing Where on Earth is Carmen San Diego?
After showering, Meghan put on yoga pants and a T-shirt, then headed for the kitchen and coffee. She had a touch of a headache—it could be nerves or too much alcohol—either way, coffee would help.
The aroma of coffee acted like an alarm clock, and soon, the other women appeared in the kitchen like zombies looking for brains. Just the thought made Meghan giggle.
“Did you just say brains?” Chrissy asked, as she pushed her tangled hair off her face.
“Maybe.”
Chrissy added creamer to her coffee and took a sip. “Nice. So, are you ready for your transformation from single lady to ball-and-chain holder?”
Meghan snorted and almost spewed the coffee she’d just drank. Leave it to Chrissy to say exactly what she was thinking. “Uh, yeah, as long as the groom shows up. I suppose we could always use Jake as a surrogate. He might have to fill in for Rafe.”
“Sorry, the Commonwealth of Virginia does not allow surrogates,” Chrissy answered.
Of course she’d know that. Chrissy’s eidetic memory was downright annoying sometimes.
“Charlie texted. He got in last night, and Jake picked him up at the airport,” Lizzie announced.
“Well, that’s great. Now we have everyone but the guys,” Meghan said with a sigh. She’d been doing well since Dawn’s pep talk the other day, but now, things were getting real. “Chrissy, do you know anything about the Black Eagle’s status?”
“Nope. Sorry. I think Tony kept me out of it on purpose this time. But I know the Red Falcon team got back yesterday, so they’ll be able to make it,” Chrissy said with a smirk.
“Perfect,” Meghan answered as she dropped into a chair at the table.
“Hey, none of that. They’ll make it,” Miranda said. Ever the optimist, she was always the sunshine in the group, even when no one else could find a ray. Cam had been on target when he’d started calling her sunshine shortly after they met.
“Right. No long faces today; it’s your wedding day,” Lizzie said as she hugged Meghan. “Everything will be just fine. Mom’s even excited, she thinks it’s my wedding, but hey, it’s a wedding.”
Everyone giggled. Her mother was definitely a wild card for today’s ceremony. She might be quiet, or she could get up and try to take over. Either way, Craig was on bodyguard duty after he walked Meghan down the aisle.
“Okay. C’mon Sky, let’s hit the road. We’ll see you at the hotel in about an hour.” Miranda hugged Meghan and then giggled. “Don’t be late.”
Lizzie, Dawn, and her mom showered and then loaded the dresses, shoes, and makeup into Dawn’s SUV for the quick trip to the hotel. They’d finish getting ready there since the ceremony was outside on the beach behind the hotel. Then they’d go inside for the reception in the atrium
The guys also had an area to get ready, but there still had been no word from Rafe or any of the team. It was taking all of her faith in him to keep her from totally losing it. And God help him if he didn’t, his spitfire would like him on fire.
With less than an hour to the ceremony, Meghan was the only one not ready. She’d been putting it off, not wanting to wear the gown if she wasn’t getting married. And with still no sign of the groom, it was looking more doubtful by the moment.
She sat at the dressing table, finishing the last of her makeup.
Lizzie came over and rested her hands on her shoulders. “C’mon, you’ve put it off long enough. Let’s get you dressed.”
She met her sister’s gaze in the mirror and tried to keep from tearing up. How could she put on the gown now? Rafe was out of time. The guests were all outside, sitting in the chairs on the beach. Her brother was ready to perform the ceremony, and all her friends looked gorgeous in their royal purple dresses. They’d even found similar ones for Cindy and Lia.
Everyone was ready. Everyone except her.
Meghan was about to tell her sister, “no,” when her mom came into the room.
“Meggy, I have something for you to wear. It’s bad luck not to wear blue on your wedding day.” She held out a necklace with a single blue sapphire surrounded by little diamonds. “Your father gave this to me on our wedding day. Your sister wore it on hers. Now, it’s your turn.”
“I’d forgotten all about that, Mom,” Lizzie said as she took the necklace and fastened it around Meghan’s neck.
“It’s beautiful, Mom, thank you.” Meghan stood and wrapped her arms around her mom. It was the most lucid she’d been since they’d arrived in Virginia.
“Now, get your gown on and stop making your guests wait,” Kathy chastised. “Your young man is waiting impatiently. So hop to it.”
“What?” Meghan couldn’t have heard her right. Or maybe she thought Jake was Rafe.
“You heard me. Get moving, young lady, or he might change his mind.” Not only was her mother lucid, but she also sounded like she was about to take Meghan over her knee.
Meghan looked at Lizzie. “She’s got to be confused. Someone would have told us if he’d gotten here, right? Can you go check?”
Lizzie nodded. There was a knock. Chrissy stuck her head in, then came the rest of the way into the room.
“What the hell are you waiting for, girl? You’re holding up the show.” Her smile was ear-to-ear.
“He’s here?” Meghan could barely speak over the lump in her throat.
“Yup, five minutes ago and boy does that man look fine. I’d steal him if mine didn’t look even better,” Chrissy teased.
All the worry and stress Meghan had been holding on to fell away, and she jumped up and ran over to where her gown was hanging on the hook.
“Come on, Mrs. Henley, let me get you outside so you can sit down,” Chrissy said as she led Meghan’s mom from the room.
“He’s here, Lizzie. He made it.” Meghan could have walked on water right then. It didn’t matter if it was down to the wire, he was there. The man of her dreams would soon be her husband. It just didn’t get better than that.
“He promised. Dawn told you not to doubt him,” Lizzie said as she helped Meghan step into the long gown.
The gown was simple—off the shoulder, white silk with a lace overlay. The veil she’d chosen had matching lace with a small rhinestone tiara to hold it in place.
Meghan checked herself in the mirror, making sure her makeup hadn’t smudged. when her sister panicked.
“Oh my God, Meghan, where are your shoes? There’s only this box of sneakers.”
“Yup, that’s what I’m wearing.”
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, you’re doing what?” Lizzie sounded horrified.
Meghan cracked up. “I’m going to be comfortable. Like hell will I wear five-inch heels so I can fall on my face. Especially in the sand. Nope. Besides, they’re pretty.” She’d ordered them ages ago when she’d seen them in a bridal magazine. They were white canvas and decorated with white pearls.
“But—”
“Shhh, be quiet and give me my shoes. I’ve got a man to marry.”
Lizzie mumbled the entire time she helped Meghan get her sneakers on and tied. But when she stood up, no one could see what she was wearing on her feet.
“You’re lucky Mom isn’t still in here. She probably would have slapped you,” Lizzie said with a grin.
“Yeah, maybe. Do I look all right?”
“Meghan, you look gorgeous. Rafe is going to swallow his tongue when he sees you.”
“Well, shit, I sure ho
pe not. I’m counting on him using it later. I mean, you bought us all those raunchy toys.”
Lizzie snorted. “I really didn’t need to know that.”
“Guess it’s too late now,” Meghan said, then hugged her sister. “Thank you for everything. For putting up with me and getting me through these last few days. If not for you and Dawn, I’d never have made it.”
“Yes, you would have. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re a spitfire, remember? Now let’s get out there and get you married.”
Meghan grabbed her bouquet and handed Lizzie hers just as Miranda, Sky, Chrissy, Lia, and Cindy came in.
A chorus of oohs and ahhs filled the room. Meghan handed out all the flowers and then smiled. “Are we ready?”
Chrissy answered for everyone, “Hell yeah.”
A single violin was playing as Meghan stepped out of the hotel and onto the sand. The music changed to “Here Comes the Bride,” and Rafe in his dress whites looked up from where he stood between Charlie and Jake, his best man. He was gorgeous. And soon, he’d be hers forever and ever.
She took Craig’s arm as he led her over the white cloth path up to Rafe. With every step closer, the butterflies in her belly fluttered harder, and her cheeks got warmer.
“Are you okay?” Craig whispered into her ear.
“Fuck, yeah,” she answered, and he howled with laughter. One of these days, she’d have to learn to watch her mouth or “fuck” would be the first word out of her kid’s mouth.
Rafe must have read her lips because he chuckled.
Finally, she was standing next to him, and he took her hand.
“You made it,” Meghan whispered.
“I promised you I would.” Rafe smiled.
Her heart almost stopped in her chest. She’d never seen anymore more beautiful than him standing there in his dress uniform.
“You are so beautiful,” Rafe whispered, his eyes filled with love.
Charlie cleared his throat and leaned closer to the two of them. “Can I start now? There’s a bunch of people who are waiting impatiently.”
Meghan giggled. “Yes, brother. Get on with it. I can’t wait to start the rest of our lives.”
Charlie’s voice faded into the background as Meghan stared up at Rafe. They held hands the entire time, only letting go long enough to slide their rings on. Her heart was bursting with joy, and her butterflies had finally flown away, leaving love and the flare of desire as Rafe’s lips touched hers in their first kiss as husband and wife.
The reception was a blast. The kids were running around and dancing to the DJ’s music while Meghan and Rafe made their way around the room, chatting with everyone. It was nice seeing all the Red Falcon guys again, and even Rafe’s CO, Tony Knox, had made it.
They hadn’t had a chance to talk yet, but it didn’t matter. There would be plenty of time later, much later. After they’d said goodbye to all their guests, they went upstairs in the hotel to their room.
As soon as Rafe locked the door behind him, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “I love you, spitfire. You are my heart. Thank you.”
“I love you, Rafe. More than I ever thought it possible to love anyone. Why are you thanking me?”
“For not giving up on me, for agreeing to marry me, for everything. My life would be empty without you.”
Tears filled Meghan’s eyes, and a few tipped over and slid down her cheeks. Rafe brushed them away.
“No crying, baby.”
“They’re happy tears, my love. My heart. My dark knight in shining armor.”
Rafe helped her out of her gown, and then he slid out of his uniform.
Meghan sighed at his beauty. His broad-muscled frame sent heat pooling between her thighs and goosebumps along her skin. The need to touch him was overwhelming.
Rafe picked her up and carried her over to the bed. As he came down over her, he balanced on his elbows and gazed at her. Then he smiled as he slanted his mouth over hers and loved her as only he could.
About the Author
Want more of Rafe and Meghan? Read how they met in SEAL’s Spitfire, available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited: https://amzn.to/2EwDD0I
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Bound To You
Maria Luis
Bound To You (Broken Crown, The Prequel)
Maria Luis
Copyright © 2021 by Alkmini Books, LLC
It is illegal to distribute or resale this copy in any form.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Author’s Note
Dear Fabulous Reader,
Thank you for taking a chance on my words! I hope you’re ready for a trip to London where a prince is on the hunt for a wife, and may end up with more than he bargained for.
Bound To You is steamy read, and while it’s connected to my Broken Crown world, you do not need to read the series to enjoy this short story.
Happy Reading, and I’ll see you on the other side!
Hugs,
Maria
1
John
London, England, 1977
“I’m in need of a wife.”
Early morning sunlight spills in through the diamond-paned windows of St. James’s Palace, but I could be submerged in darkness and there’d be no missing how Henry Godwin’s stride falters when he shuts the door behind him with a soft, damning click.
Those green eyes of his snap to my face. “A wife.”
Ignoring the weight of his stare, I reach for the whisky set before me. The glass tumbler is cool against my palm and the amber liquid burns down my throat. Burns in a way that I welcome, gladly, after the morning I’ve had. “As ordered by the king.”
“John, you’ve got to be fucking—”
“I have a month.” The empty tumbler goes to the table as I shove to my feet, the chair beneath me scraping back against the ancient floor. “One month, that’s it, and I’ll be standing in Westminster Abbey and saying my vows.”
“With a woman you don’t even know,” comes his hard-edged baritone.
“With a woman,” I correct softly, holding his stare, “who will be my queen.”
He stands with his arms linked across his broad chest. A muscle ticks in his jaw, a sure-fire sign that he’s working to keep his temper in check when he’d rather let it flay me alive. But Henry Godwin has spent a lifetime wanting to murder me in one way or another—first as lads, when he’d still been bigger and stronger, and then as teenagers, when he was ordered to follow me to Eton and then, later on, to Cambridge for university.
A prince and his shadow.
We never should have become more.
I allow the abandoned chair to divide us now, my hands curled tight over the back.
Ever observant, Henry’s lips curve into a sneer at my paltry attempt to maintain separation and distance. Bitter. Furious. The inscrutable veil drops from his gaze. “Her name.”
Feeling a sharp tug of regret in my chest, I steel my grip on the chair. “Don’t, Henry.”
“Because I won’t find out on my own?” He pushes away from the door to track me across the room. Sunlight casts warmth over his rugged features, turning his green eyes a tawny yellow and his pale skin golden. The hair on the back of my neck stands tall but I hold my ground when he growls, “If I’m to share you, Your Highness, then I should at least know her name.”
Fucking hell.
There’d been no softness in my father’s voice this morning. No give of any kind. I was to be married, he said, and soon. I’m heir to the British throne, and Henry .
. . beautiful, stoic Henry will forever be a spy for the Crown, the fourth generation of Godwins to serve the royal family. His role within Holyrood—the off-the-books agency that’s secretly defended the monarchy for over fifty years now—will remain unchanged.
Meanwhile, I’ll step into my birthright as the most powerful man in Britain.
The puff of hot breath against the back of my neck is the only warning I’m given before soft lips touch my nape and muscled arms encircle my waist. “Is she pretty?” Henry’s voice is thick, cruelly pensive, as he splays a hand over my flat abdomen and drags me back against the solid build of his body. “Redheaded and doe-eyed, just the way you like?”
“I haven’t met her yet.”
“That means nothing.” The hand on my stomach fists my shirt before diving beneath the hem in a territorial display of ownership. “We both know you have a type, and if your bride is anything like the women you regularly shagged before we—”
“Enough.”
Spinning around, I take advantage of his surprise and shove him backward. He careens into the table, its wooden legs skidding across the floor as he catches himself on bent elbows. I follow, ignoring the warning that flickers in his gaze, and slam my palms down to the table on either side of his head.
My hips press into his, and I’m not surprised to find him already hard. It would be easy—so bloody easy—to take what he’s offering. Henry Godwin will get on his knees if I demand it of him. He’ll use his teeth on the button of my trousers and his tongue along the ridge of my cock, and he’ll do it because it’s all we’ve done for six months now.
Fucking, the kind that’s dirty and raw and destructive down to its very core.
Beneath me, Henry’s chest heaves with a sharp, labored breath.