"That was some throw," he said finally, and a giggle escaped me.
"Is it broken?" I asked, feeling strangely disconnected and light-headed, as if I'd just drunk a two-liter of Coke after not eating in days.
He bent down to get a closer look, but didn't touch anything. "The flash definitely is. I don't know about the rest."
"I really must be crazy in love with you," I said, shaking my head and struggling not to start laughing like a lunatic.
"What?" he said, sounding surprised.
"Well," I began, "that was my favorite camera," and completely lost it, giggling until I fell on the floor, doubled over.
The two of them loomed over me, shaking their heads.
"Don't look at me," I heard Stevens say. "You're the one that's in love with her."
"God help me," was the drawled reply before I was unceremoniously picked up and hauled over a hard shoulder. My clearest memory of the entire event was hanging upside down and admiring Marshall's ass in his jeans while laughing until I cried. All in all, not a bad way to end an evening.
Epilogue
Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl. She had a tall, willowy body, a bright smile, and the belief, strong and frighteningly certain, that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. As she got older, and time marched over her like an invading army, raping and pillaging the fresh skin and pouting lips, the girl lost many things: her husband, her career on the stage, and her ever-loving mind, but never her belief.
When her grandchildren, twin boys, were born, she had them marked with the symbol of her new life—the mask, the divided face—and vowed that no other woman would ever have their hearts. They were hers, body and soul.
This was true, for a time, but then one of the boys fell in love.
"You're shitting me. The mayor's daughter?"
"Yep."
"She killed him over that?"
"Apparently he wanted to leave the carnie life behind and get a real job."
"Yeah, right," I snorted, "like her daddy would go for that: the princess and the carnie."
"Don't be cynical," Marshall ordered, tapping my nose with a finger dripping champagne.
I sucked it, smiling as his eyes heated.
"So when he told her," I continued, smiling at him and shrugging out of the straps of my top, "she shot him."
He nodded and leaned over to place a wet kiss on my collarbone. I shivered.
"And then bathed him, washed the blood from his body, and ordered her other grandson to get rid of the evidence," I said breathlessly as his kisses moved lower.
"Umm-hmm"—he nuzzled the slope of my breast—"but not before telling him to visit his brother's girl. Visit her and convince her that the man she loved was really a complete bastard."
"I guess he managed it," I choked out. He was suckling one nipple through the pink silk of my camisole while rolling the other between his fingers.
He lifted his head, staring at the dark rose spot his mouth had left on the fabric. "Okay, I've told you the details. Now answer the question."
"Could you run it by me one more time?"
"I'll run something by you one more time," he growled, and pounced on me.
"No!" I shouted, convulsing with laughter. "No tickling!"
"Then tell me," he ordered, pinning my hands above my head, "or I'll have to get the cuffs."
I wiggled my hips under him and smiled my lazy half-smile.
"Promise?"
The night at the fair had taken on a stunning unreality in my mind—almost as if it happened to somebody else (maybe that strange girl I see in the mirror every morning), but it was nothing compared to the dreamworld I was floating in now.
"Are you sure I look okay?" I asked Sara, turning to face her.
"You know you look beautiful, stop asking."
"But do I look like me? Like the Debbie you used to know?"
"No, actually."
"No?" I said, turning back to the mirror.
She hugged me from behind, careful not to wrinkle my gown. "You look like beauty itself."
"Oh," I said, tearing up, "that's sweet."
"That's me, sweet as honey. Now let's get your ass down that aisle so we can get on to the reception. I want first pick of the groomsmen."
I linked arms with her and headed slowly for the door and the long hallway where my sister and the rest of the bridesmaids were waiting for Sara to lead them down the aisle. My mother was there, too, undoubtedly wringing her hands and crying and smiling all at the same time.
I stopped Sara in the doorway and smoothed her nametag. I'd had them printed up for everyone in the wedding and most of the guests. Tacky, but effective.
"Just so you know," I said casually, "all the names of the single cops are printed in blue foil, the married ones are in black. I'll let you decide which ones you go after."
She smiled. "So I have my pick of them all, huh?"
I nodded and started walking again, knowing that at any minute I would take the hand of my detective and promise to love, honor, and cherish.
"Just don't touch the one in the gold. He's all mine."
USA Today bestselling author SHERRILYN KENYON knows men. She lives outside Nashville, Tennessee, with her husband and three sons. Raised in the middle of eight boys, and currently outnumbered by the Y chromosome in her home, she realizes the most valuable asset a woman has for coping with men is a sense of humor. Not to mention a large trash bag and a pair of tongs. Writing as Kinley MacGregor and Sherrilyn Kenyon, she is the bestselling author of several series, including: The Dark-Hunters, Brotherhood of the Sword, The MacAllisters, Sex Camp Diaries, and BAD Boys. Her novel Fantasy Lover was voted as one of the Top Ten Romances of 2002 by Romance Writers of America.
LIZ CARLYLE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero and three very fine cats. In her spare time, Liz supports various animal rescue and placement organizations. Visit her at www.lizcarlyle.com to learn more, or email her at [email protected].
NICOLE CAMDEN is a first-time author and aspiring novelist. She lives in San Diego with her none-too-bright cat and her beloved sister. Visit her website at www.nicolecamden.com.
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