The Big Fix

by Linda Grimes

  “May I?” Nils said, reaching for my hand.

  Mark nodded once, looking as if he would have refused if he could. Billy hadn’t been thrilled with Nils over in Sweden—he’d thought my inexperienced head was being turned by the big Norseman—so that was one more check in the “Billy” column. As far as I could remember, Mark had had no problem with Nils.

  Hmm. Maybe I could manage this without admitting defeat. Which would be good, because there’s nothing I hate more than admitting defeat, especially to Billy.

  The band played an old Frank Sinatra tune as the big man led me into an enthusiastic, if inexpert, two-step. If I’d been trying to follow his sometimes unexpected moves in heels, I probably would have been on my ass, but Laura, bless her sweet Southern heart, had left the footwear selection entirely up to her attendants. Mom had lobbied heavily for heels (“Only three or four inches, honey, so you won’t get lost in the pictures.”), but I’d told her comfortable feet were more important than looking taller. Besides, I was wearing yellow—I wanted to get lost in the pictures. Thank God for understanding brides and kitten-heeled dress shoes.

  Nils laughed, and apologized when he stepped on my foot. (Karma is a bitch.) I told him not to worry about it, that I had a spare. It really was good to see him again, and reassuring that friendship was all I felt toward the handsome Swede. Maybe my hormones weren’t as out of control as I thought.

  Thomas cut in, sending Nils in search of another partner. Judging by the way Sinead and Siobhan were ignoring their lawyers and giving him the eye, it wouldn’t be difficult for him.

  “Mark sent me to you,” Thomas said. “Told me it was time for the bride and groom to dance the customary dances with their attendants, or some such nonsense.”

  I glanced at Mark, who was dancing with Laura, chatting pleasantly, keeping a respectful distance between them. When he caught me looking, he nodded his head once, with a highly satisfied look on his face. For what, separating me from Nils?

  “Wouldn’t want to fly in the face of tradition, would we?” I said to Thomas. “Speaking of which, don’t forget Mom, or you’ll be paying for it the rest of your life.”

  He smiled down at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Bri’s going to play something special for that one. Guaranteed to make her cry.”

  “Good thing she wore her heavy-duty waterproof makeup,” I said. “By the way, I’m sorry I set you up for this. That was bad.”

  He looked down at me. “Yeah, right. As you can see, it’s killing me.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, grinning up at him. I love it when my nefarious plots work out for the best.

  “Don’t press your luck. And don’t do it again.”

  I laughed. “Better make sure this one takes, then.”

  Our song ended, and Thomas excused himself to find our mother. When Brian started singing Lucero’s “Mom”—sounding even better than the original—I knew Thomas was right. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for our mother to start the waterworks. Even Thomas’s eyes were glistening.

  See, this was the problem with weddings. If you aren’t all that close to the couple, they bore you silly. And if you are, they squash your heart. Stupid song.

  A strong pair of arms hugged me from behind, pressing a cocktail napkin into my hand. I dabbed my eyes with it.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said, leaning into his embrace. The first man I’d ever loved, and the only one I could count on not to drive me crazy.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie pie. I’m feeling a bit damp-eyed myself,” he said. “May I have the rest of this dance?”

  We made it through with minimal tears, thanks mostly to the truly horrendous knock-knock jokes Dad kept whispering in my ear. He’d used the same tactic on me when I was little and had needed distraction from one of my endless crises. After the song, he gave me a squeeze and said, “I better get over to your mother before I have to mop her up off the floor.”

  “And now an antidote to all that sentimental stuff…” Brian announced from the stage.

  Thank God, I thought, and took another goblet of cider offered by a passing server, both of us almost getting knocked over by Molly as she whizzed past. She didn’t slow down until she was onstage. The drummer vacated his seat for her. After a sign from Brian, she hit her drumsticks together three times. Brian let loose a crazy laugh, culminating in “Wipeout!” The band dove into a rousing rendition of the Surfaris’ classic instrumental, dominated by the ten-year-old on the drums.

  After a few seconds of stunned silence, the whole crowd was up and moving. Molly was good, and, like any Doyle, she knew it. The look of utter concentration on her face as she beat the hell out of the drums was exhilarating to behold. She must have been practicing with Brian.

  I hopped around throughout the whole thing. But at least I wasn’t the only one. Heck, even Auntie Mo got into the act once she was over her shock. When the tune was played out and Molly took her bow, it was Mo who added a piercingly appreciative whistle to the thunderous applause.

  After the cake was cut and served (the one part of any wedding reception I looked forward to), things moved along at a brisk pace. We had to vacate the premises by eleven, thank goodness. A Halligan event could easily go on until dawn if not strictly reined in by the rules.

  When it came time for the bouquet toss, Laura exhibited deadly aim. Even though I was standing as far on the outskirts of the group of giggling singles as I could get away with, the bundled bunch of fall flowers hit me right in the middle of my chest. I grabbed it reflexively, some part of me thinking it would be a shame if the pretty arrangement hit the floor. Mom and Auntie Mo clapped their hands and hurried over to me.

  “Oh, honey, what fun!” Mom said.

  “I wish Billy were going to be here for the garter toss,” Auntie Mo said, as if I couldn’t already read their collective mind.

  I felt myself blushing, and looked at Mark, who was grinning broadly. Much more characteristic of Billy than the spook. And when Thomas tossed the garter, he was front and center, surreptitiously elbowing Nils out of the way to catch it himself, after which he made a crack about his training making it impossible for him not to jump in front of a bullet to protect his fellow man.

  As maid of honor, it was my job to help Laura change into her travel clothes and pack up her wedding dress for her. She thanked me profusely for all I’d done to make her day so perfect, which made me feel kind of guilty about all the inner bitching and moaning I’d been doing.

  While she was in the restroom, I checked my cell phone to see if Billy had ever left me a message. It was possible—just barely—that he’d spent this whole evening thinking I knew he was playing Mark and had just been giving him a hard time for the fun of it.

  No such luck. I slipped my phone into my bra (the top of my dress was blousy enough that you couldn’t tell), figuring it didn’t hurt to keep it close. Sometimes texts got delayed.

  Back upstairs, waiting for the bride and groom say their farewell to the crowd, I felt my boob buzz. Aha! I edged to the side of the room and dug my phone out. A text from Billy after all. Better late than never.

  Hey, cuz, it read, are you ready for me to rip that yellow rag off you?

  Trust Billy to understand my feelings. I automatically searched the room. Sure enough, Mark was slipping something into his pocket. Billy’s phone? He smiled when I caught his eye.

  I walked deliberately over to him, passing through a group of elderly ladies laughing it up over the questionable dance moves of one of my great-uncles. Some of the ladies were distant relatives, some of them were friends of the family, and all of them were wearing way too much perfume. I sneezed, absently took a tissue one of the ladies handed me, and held to my path.

  Mark’s eyes were hot on me by the time I got to him. “Gesundheit,” he said.

  Bingo.

  Chapter 14

  If I hadn’t already figured out it was Billy at the wedding, I would have known it for sure when I saw the Chevy in the parking lot of The
Barns. I raised my eyebrows at Mark. Because he was, of course, still Mark. Billy wouldn’t drop the aura until completely free from prying eyes.

  “My car is still on the job with Billy, so he let me borrow his.”

  Ah. So, that was how it was going to be, was it? We weren’t through playing games.

  I finally realized what Billy was doing. Or, rather, what he thought he was doing. He’d mentioned, back at the ranch, that he wished I’d gotten Mark out of my system before we’d embarked on our own relationship. He’d also once told me he was afraid my lack of experience with the opposite sex would make me wonder what I’d missed, and had offered me, on more than one occasion, a “safe” way to experiment. Putting two and two together, I was guessing this was supposed to be my safe opportunity to satisfy any lingering curiosity about Mark.

  If I dared. I mean, it was wrong, wasn’t it? It was at the top of the adaptor No-No list to use another adaptor’s aura without permission. Of course, Billy had permission. Technically. Mark had to have asked him to fill in, right? You can’t specify every little thing you’re going to do ahead of time—that wouldn’t be practical. Given the circumstance, Mark had to know there would be social interaction involved. Not that we’d be telling Mark the extent of the interaction. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right? Or piss him off.

  The question was, what the heck did I want to do? Was Billy right? Did I still melt around Mark only because a decade-long crush had been cut short just shy of its ultimate fulfillment? Would acting out my fantasy somehow exorcise it?

  Gah. I didn’t know. It felt wrong, but … well, was it really so very different than the role-playing games non-adaptors played to spice up their love lives? Adaptors just had access to more realistic “costumes.”

  The thing was, my love life with Billy didn’t need any spicing up. When I was with him, he was the only one I wanted. He got me revved up like no one else could. But I couldn’t deny that Mark did still have an effect on me. If Billy was doing this, he must have thought it would help somehow, and he had a hell of a lot more experience with sexual matters than I did.

  Whoa … wait a second. Was this the “surprise” he’d told me about? Hmm.

  Maybe I should see how far he wanted to take it before I backed out entirely. Right before the first time we made love, he’d called me a chicken. Teasing me, like he always did. He wasn’t being mean. He’d suspected—rightly so, as it turned out—that goading my temper would make me forget my fears. He knew me that well. I didn’t want him clucking at me over this, though—I should be past silly sexual fears with him, shouldn’t I?

  The ride back to my place with Mark (it was easier to think of him that way as long as he was wearing the aura) was filled mostly with chitchat about the wedding. I tried not to roll my eyes when he called me “Howdy”—I thought Billy might be overplaying it a little because I hadn’t let him get away with calling me that since the time he’d called me “Howdy-Doody-In-Your-Pants” when we were eight years old.

  When he got a small overnight bag out of the trunk, I raised my eyebrows again.

  He looked a little sheepish—well, as sheepish as anyone wearing Mark’s aura could look—and said he was hoping his old room was free, since Tom and Laura were borrowing his boat for a few days. They didn’t have time for an extended honeymoon, but both loved sailing. The use of his boat was part of his wedding gift to them.

  The room that had been his when he’d shared the condo with Thomas after they graduated from college was free, as Billy well knew. His sisters were staying at the hotel with their parents, and catching an early flight back to New York the next morning.

  “Sure,” I said. “You know you’re always welcome to sleep over.”

  Okay, I admit it. I laced it with a hint of innuendo. If Billy wanted to play, I could play. I thought he looked mildly shocked (again, hard to tell—Mark’s aura didn’t show shock easily), but not displeased. I guessed he was happy I was going along with the game.

  Once inside, I took his bag, dropped it on the entry hall floor, and pushed him back against the door. Before he could say anything, I pulled his head down to mine and put my mouth on his. We’d see who veered off course first in this game of sexual chicken.

  He froze, but only for a moment. An instant later, our positions were reversed, and I was against the door, lifted to his level, his lips moving on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth as my feet dangled off the floor. My shoes fell off. Or maybe I kicked them off. Who needed shoes?

  My arms clung to his neck, more to hold him closer to me than to hold myself up. I knew he wouldn’t let me fall.

  He pulled his lips away from mine, kissing his way closer to my ear. He was breathing hard. “Ciel … are you sure?”

  I forced myself to take a steadying breath. Billy did tend to push me into things I might not otherwise do, but he always gave me the opportunity to back off if I needed to. Like the parachute in his plane. Well, I hadn’t needed it then, and I wasn’t going to wimp out now either.

  I focused on his eyes, trying to read what lay behind the aura. Did he really want this? I was met with intense gray. The color might be different, but the desire was there, same as always.

  “I’m sure if you are. I trust you,” I said.

  With that, he hooked one powerful arm behind my knees, leaving the other supporting my shoulders, and carried me up the stairs. The door to my room was ajar. He kicked it the rest of the way open and crossed to my bed in the dark.

  Holy crap. I’d been Rhett Butler-ed. And, my God, it was every bit as exciting as I’d imagined it would be the first time I’d seen Clark Gable carry Vivien Leigh up that grand staircase in Gone with the Wind. I felt dizzy with the memory of it.

  Instead of laying me on the bed, he stood me next to it. My hands slid from his neck down his chest, stopping at heart level. Impatient with the feel of cloth, I pushed his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He yanked his tie loose and dropped it to the floor while I started undoing the tux buttons on his shirt. The cuff links were next, and then, like magic, his shirt was gone.

  It was too dark for me to see his chest clearly, but I could picture it as I ran my hands over it. Lightly covered in blond hair, well-defined pecs, and a six-pack—no, make that an eight-pack—that wouldn’t quit.

  I felt his hands at the back of my dress, searching for the zipper.

  “There’s a hook-and-eye fastener at the top…” I said, and sucked in my breath when he found it.

  He unzipped me in one swift motion, and swept the cap sleeves off my shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor. My bra was next, undone in seconds and gone even faster. When he kneeled to slip off my lacy underwear, I had to hold myself upright by gripping his shoulders. His (I reminded myself to breathe) very well-muscled shoulders.

  Before he stood, he kissed me lightly, right below my belly button. And that’s when my legs buckled. Man, I was never going to hear the end of that …

  He caught me beneath my arms as he straightened. “Easy there,” he whispered, sitting me on the edge of my bed, and leaning down to find my mouth again with his own.

  “Wait,” I said, pulling back a little. “You’re really okay with this? I wouldn’t want you to … I mean, just because you know I—”

  “Ciel, if you want this, I want this.”

  Okay, then. My hands reached out to unhook the waistband of his pants. He got the idea, and took them off, along with his shoes and socks.

  My eyes were getting accustomed to the dark. I could see well enough to notice the impressive bulge in his boxer briefs, at any rate. I swallowed hard.

  He kneeled in front of me, parting my legs so he could get closer, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace that nearly overwhelmed me with its skin-to-skin contact. He rubbed his chest lightly against mine, until my breasts ached with the need to feel more. As if he knew what I was thinking, what I was feeling, he kissed his way from my shoulder to the hollow of my throat, and
then downward, until I felt the hot, wet suction of his mouth on one breast.

  I cried out. He moved to the other side. I moaned, trying my best to keep it inaudible. Not succeeding.

  When he moved lower still, I bit my lip against the sound I was afraid I would make next. He eased me back until I was lying down, my knees bent at the edge of the bed. He spread them farther apart, and then … then I stopped thinking at all.

  The next few minutes were pure sensation. I would have jumped right off the bed if he hadn’t been holding me down. As it was, I was pretty sure the bedspread I was clutching would never be the same again.

  He didn’t allow me any time to recover before he was on the bed next to me, cupping me gently but insistently with one broad, strong hand as he kissed me deeply, until I felt the tension start to build again. I scooted farther up onto the bed, pulling him with me.

  He settled on top of me, between my legs, kissing the most sensitive places on my neck as my hands played over the muscles of his back. Reaching lower, I was annoyed to find he was still wearing his boxer briefs. I slipped my hands beneath the cotton jersey and let them glide over the hard, smooth muscles, pinching to test their firmness. With a harsh sound in his throat, he ground himself against me, giving me a good idea of what was in store for me. I grabbed the waistband and yanked his briefs down, leaving it to him to kick them off entirely.

  Finally as naked as I was, he rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him. His hands slid over me, from shoulders to hips, heating every bit of skin they touched, until I was shivering from the contrast with the cool air. His fingers paused briefly over the small birth control patch I wore on one hip, circling it a few times before squeezing my ass with both hands. He sat me up and adjusted my position until my still ultrasensitive flesh settled against the hard length of him lying flat against his belly.

  And then he started rocking his hips, ever so slightly at first, until I was gliding back and forth along him, so wet I would have slipped off if he hadn’t been holding me upright. It felt so … damn … good … that I thought I’d go crazy with it. But I needed more. I needed to feel him inside me.