by Lyn Stone
Her eyes flew open. “What is it?”
Joe swallowed hard, tremendous relief all tangled up with disappointment. “At least you aren’t dead.”
She looked confused and also a little amused. “No. You stunned me but I’m still breathing. You were great, but let’s not overestimate your effect.”
“But you aren’t a bride, either,” he muttered.
She shrugged. “No. No, I’m not. What’s all this about, Joe?”
“I had a vision of you all in white, surrounded by it. And I think this is…what I saw,” he said, pointing at her swathed in the white sheet, the pillow bunched beneath her head, unwilling at the moment to go into an explanation of his so-called gift. “I didn’t know what it meant at the time.”
“Will you marry me, Joe?”
Elation shot through him. “You want to? Really?”
She shrugged, a slight smile playing about her mouth. “I guess we’d better.”
Then he realized what she might mean. They had had unprotected sex on the boat. And again just now. Damn, that would screw up all her plans. At least for now. “You’re pregnant?”
She laughed, wiping the frown off his face with a sweep of her finger. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then why?”
With one hand behind his neck, she pulled him down for a kiss. When she released him, she answered, “Because if you’re going to retain a vision of me in your head, I want it to be one where my hair’s combed. Why do you think, Joe? I love you.”
“You never said,” he accused.
“I’m saying now,” she replied, teasing his bottom lip with her finger. “But before you make an honest woman of me, I’d like at least one more adventure as a single girl if you don’t mind.”
“Anything you want,” he promised, grasping her to him and hugging her hard. Adventure? “What?”
He knew that tentative question had probably betrayed his fear that she would insist on going with him on the next mission or something equally risky. It would be just like her to demand that.
“I’d like to break some Academy rules again,” she said, wriggling against him to make her intentions clear.
“Maintenant?” he asked, just to show her he’d been paying attention to her very brief but effective lesson. He was already rising to her expectations.
“Oh yeah, Corda. Right now.”
“That would be tout suite! Hmm? Oh yeah, all my French is coming back to me now.”
Her laughter was like the bright sunshine now permeating his quarters and his heart like a blessing.
Epilogue
“Dammit, I knew this would happen,” Joe grumbled as they danced around the polished oak floors of Christa’s. The old pub’s oak and brass fittings were buffed to a high shine and gleamed with old world charm. Joe had rented the whole place for the evening and a judge friend of Clay’s had performed the ceremony.
“Ah, don’t tell me. You had a flash of me dressed in French couture?” The laughter in her voice was hard to resist.
He kissed her, still moving to the strains of the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody,” compliments of Christa’s old-fashioned jukebox.
Earlier, as Martine and he had said their vows, Joe realized this, their wedding day, was only the second time he had ever seen Martine in a dress. That simple little black number back in Atlanta had been racy, but this…
She was gorgeous when barefaced, sporting jungle fatigues or that asexual getup she wore on the job. Dressed in this ultra-feminine, slinky, ivory satin number that looked like star-stuff out of a thirties movie, her hair and makeup perfect, she just blew him away. That was probably the whole idea, stunning him into compliance. Unfortunately, it might be working. He dipped her, just to get her off balance for a minute.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with her. He sure didn’t want to postpone their honeymoon. But Martine coming to France with the team on this mission seemed to be tempting fate. They had waited until just after the ceremony to tell him. “Language advisor, huh? This is a misuse of power or nepotism or something equally illegal, I bet, contracting a family member. Mercier will flip when he finds out Holly requested you for this.”
“No, we weren’t married when the Bureau approved it. And from what she tells me, Jack’s in no position to object at the moment.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He’s in jail.”
“Shh.” He goosed her waist for emphasis, sliding his fingers over that special curve. “Remember where we are. And why we’re here.”
It was a small, private affair, owing to the speedy arrangements. Their immediate families had flown up for the ceremony and all the members of Sextant were there except for Jack, who was already in France, setting up the mission.
“So what’s your role?” he asked with a resigned sigh, accepting the inevitable.
“I’m to be the cover.” She pretended to preen, tossing her sunny mane and looking smug. “Wealthy author incognito and her entourage.”
Joe released her long enough to twirl her around. “I’ll be your bodyguard.” Whether she wanted him to or not. From what he’d been told about this gig, they could be dodging worse than bullets. Joe wasn’t sure that even he could protect her from what they might be facing.
“Nope,” she informed him with a saucy grin. “Will’s the bodyguard.”
“I’m your driver?” He executed a turn expertly as his mother had taught him all those years ago when preparing him for the prom, then drew her close and slow danced like the randiest teenager.
“Sorry, Eric’s the chauffeur,” she said, one ice-pink nail tickling his neck just above his collar. “And Holly’s my secretary. She has it all worked out.”
“Then what am I, your cook?”
She giggled, a lovely throaty sound that stirred his insides. “You’re my Latin lover, my boy toy! Can you handle it, Corda?”
He kissed her ear. “Typecasting if I ever heard it. Let’s go buy Holly a drink.”
She laughed out loud, her head back, her eyes shining up at him. The effect nearly caused him to step on her feet.
“Quit trying to lead, Mrs. Corda,” Joe warned.
“Only for this dance, Joe,” she promised, her laughter subsiding. “This one last dance.” They both knew she was referring to the decision she had made without him.
“And after France?” he asked, praying there would be an after.
“The world will be a little safer for our children,” she said as the music faded. She touched his brow. “Close your eyes, Joe, and tell me what you see.”
He didn’t need a vision. “Us. Together forever. Whatever comes.”
* THE END *
ISBN 0-373-27351-7
DOWN TO THE WIRE
Copyright © 2004 by Lynda Stone
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