Shotgun Marriage

by Day Leclaire

  A sharp pain twisted in the vicinity of his chest. “I’ll see what I can do.” He glanced at the minister and indicated the ballpoint pen lying on a nearby table. “Would you mind?”

  “Please. Help yourself.”

  Unscrewing the pen, he removed the copper ink cartridge. His blade made short shrift of slicing the ticket in two, but the metal wasn’t pliable enough to bend. Crossing to one of the candles scattered about the room, he utilized the scissor accessory on his knife to hold the smaller half of the ticket above the flame. In no time the metal had softened enough to mold. Using the thin ink cartridge as a guide, he rolled the ticket into a neat cylinder. A final twist curled it into a finger-sized circle.

  “Perfect,” Ella whispered in delight. “Now make the other half of the ticket into a wedding band for yourself.”

  He started to refuse, wanting to reject such a touching request. But looking into her face and seeing her anxious expression, stopped him cold. What did it matter if he wore a ring? Let her enjoy the moment, let her revel in all the small marital rituals, meaningless as they were. It wouldn’t change the eventual outcome. It would only add greater impact to the lesson she’d soon learn.

  Without a word, he fashioned the second ring and gave it to her. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his bride as she placed it on his finger, though. His instinct for self-preservation was too strong for that. Instead he focused his full attention on the odd-looking ring. It burned into his finger like a brand. It must still be hot from the flame, he tried to tell himself, knowing all the while that it had cooled long ago or he’d never have allowed Ella to touch it.

  As though from a distance he heard the minister impart the solemn vows. Heard a sweet, joyous voice repeat them, followed by another voice—one that was lower and rougher. Then the ceremony ended and it was no longer Ella Montague who stood by his side, but his wife.

  Ella Beaumont.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the minister prompted with a smile, his bright blue eyes glittering from behind his glasses.

  Rafe gathered his wife’s face between his hands, intent on bringing a swift end to the ceremony. He had no problem with this part of the ritual. He’d have preferred a little more privacy, but he was patient. He could wait until they returned to his suite at the Grand to bring this night to its natural conclusion.

  He lowered his head to deliver a swift, hard kiss. But instead of taking her mouth in a stamp of ownership, he found himself bestowing a kiss of infinite tenderness. She opened like a flower to the heat of the sun and like a hungry bee, he chased after her sweetness.

  In that instant, he felt his control slip.

  With a half-bitten exclamation, he released her and stepped back, furious with himself for letting down his guard for even so brief a moment.

  Ella gazed at him in confusion. “Rafe?”

  “My apologies, amada,” he said roughly. “I got carried away. If you would say goodbye to your parents, we should go.”

  He silently endured another round of hugs and kisses, his tension mounting with each passing moment. If he didn’t escape soon, he’d explode. He dragged air into his lungs, willing himself to hold on for the few remaining minutes before they could leave.

  At the door, Donald offered his hand again. “I’ll be interested to see which wins in this game you’ve started,” he said as a farewell. “Your head or your heart.”

  Rafe flashed him a look of grim warning. “You would be foolish to bet on the heart.”

  “For my daughter’s sake, I hope you’re wrong.”

  “For your daughter’s sake, you should hope I’m right,” he growled in reply.

  With that, he dropped a possessive arm around Ella’s shoulders and swept her from the room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “THE SUITE is beautiful,” Ella informed Rafe. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, wondering for the umpteenth time if he’d begun to doubt the wisdom of their marriage. He’d barely spoken a word since they’d arrived at the Grand Hotel.

  He didn’t reply and she suspected he was so consumed by his own private demons that he hadn’t heard her comment. Yanking at the bow tie constricting his throat, he prowled a sitting area that would have been spacious if not for his presence.

  She crossed the room, joining him as he came to a restless halt in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The full moon had begun a slow descent, gilding the desert’s stark features with silver. She turned from its cool beauty to confront the far starker features of the man beside her.

  “What’s wrong, Rafe?”

  He rested his forearm against the plate-glass window and stared blindly at the surrounding landscape. “Your father puzzles me,” he said at last.

  She sighed in relief. So it wasn’t their marriage that troubled him, but something her father had said. “I noticed you two were having a rather intense conversation before the wedding.”

  “I thought he would stop the ceremony,” Rafe stated unexpectedly.

  Nervous dread feathered a path along her spine. “Did you hope he would?”

  “No.”

  “Then why—”

  He swung around to confront her, folding his arms across his chest. He’d opened the top portion of his dress shirt and the soft cotton parted to reveal the bronzed skin beneath. A thin white scar sliced across the left side of his collarbone, snagging her attention. It hadn’t been there five years ago.

  Before she could ask about his injury, he said, “I thought he’d stop the ceremony in order to protect you.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Protect me? From what?”

  His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, but his eyes glittered darkly, seething with a desperate intensity. “Protect you from the man you planned to marry. Who else?”

  Her gaze cut to the scar again and she frowned. “He knows as well as I that you’d never hurt me.”

  The bitterness of his laughter shocked her. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

  She met his gaze with a calm assurance that came from the very bottom of her soul. “Did you marry me in order to hurt me?”

  “I married you because I want you,” came his oblique reply. He swallowed the distance between them, catching her arm in an iron grip. “I married you because it was the only way I could get you in my bed. The only way to keep you there until we’d had our fill of one another.”

  Her eyebrows shot upward. “Our fill? You mean making love is like quenching a thirst or—”

  “Or sating a hunger,” he interrupted forcefully. “Yes.”

  “I don’t know about you, but a while after I’ve eaten I’m hungry again,” she dared to tease.

  “Don’t mock me,” he warned through gritted teeth. “Do you think I have never desired a woman before? Do you think I have not taken her to my bed and—once satisfied—left without a backward glance?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “No. As a matter of fact I don’t believe that. The affair may have ended because you weren’t right for each other, but you’d never just take what you wanted and then leave. Not without making sure she was satisfied, as well.”

  “Do not shape me into someone I am not!” His accent deepened. “It will make the truth that much harder to endure.”

  “What truth are you referring to? That once we’ve made love, that’s it? It’s all over?” She laughed, genuinely amused. “Do you think our feelings for each other are so superficial?”

  “Si! No hay duda.”

  She wondered if he realized he’d answered in Spanish. Probably not. It only happened when he came under extreme duress. In fact, she’d only witnessed his losing control to that extent once before—which meant he considered this issue serious. Very serious.

  “Did my father know you felt this way?” she asked. “Is that why he should have stopped the wedding?”

  Rafe swung around, the edge of his fist hammering against the window casing. The glass shuddered beneath the impact. “He knew why I married you and stil
l he stood by and did nothing. Why? Why would he do that?”

  She thought carefully before answering. “Perhaps because he loved me and wanted what was best for me.”

  “No! That is not right.” A muscle jerked in his cheek and he stabbed his index finger in the air to emphasize his point. “If he loved you, he would have dragged you from that room. He would have taken you as far from me as physically possible.”

  “But, why?”

  “So I could not hurt you.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “Don’t you understand? He must make sure that no harm comes to you. It is his duty. His responsibility. Why does he shirk it?”

  For some reason her father’s actions—or rather, inaction—had infuriated Rafe. And though the reason for that fury eluded her, she felt an obligation to try and explain her father’s point of view on the subject.

  “You must realize that I’m a grown woman,” she began.

  His eyes flashed in dark amusement. “I have noticed.”

  “Then you must also realize that I make my own choices and my own decisions. Dad knows that, just as he knows that if my choices are wrong, I’ll learn from them.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “Does he stand aside and allow you to wander into the path of an oncoming truck, confident in the knowledge that once it hits, you’ll have learned not to make such a mistake again?” His sarcasm intensified. “Of course, you are injured beyond repair, but no doubt you have learned your lesson.”

  “Are you comparing yourself to a truck?” she asked. Despite his anger, a smile tugged at her mouth.

  He set his jaw. “In this case, yes.”

  “It certainly makes for an intriguing image,” she murmured. Not giving him an opportunity to vent a reply, she hastened to say, “Seriously, Rafe. My father will always be there to comfort me when I need it. But he can’t wrap me in cotton wool in the hopes that I’ll never injure myself. It would be pointless. He can’t look after me every minute of every day. He can only do his best.”

  Rafe closed his eyes, visibly waging an inner war. She waited patiently until he looked at her again. The darkness had fled from his gaze, at least for the moment, and his eyes had turned from blackest slate to a brilliant silver-gray. He reached out and cupped her cheek, tracing her lower lip with the rough surface of his thumb.

  “I could not do as your father has,” he told her. “I could not stand aside while one I cared for was threatened.”

  “You’re not a threat,” she repeated.

  His mouth twisted into a self-derisive smile. “And you, amada, are far too innocent. Too trusting.”

  “Because I believe in you?” She shook her head, her steady regard never wavering. “You’re my husband. I’d trust you with my life.”

  A sigh shuddered from the depths of his chest. “Then heaven protect you, for I cannot.”

  “I don’t need heaven’s protection. All I need is you.”

  He drew her into his arms, the tenderness of his touch betraying far more about his true nature than he realized. Lowering his head, he rested his jaw against her temple. “Have you any idea what I have planned for you?” His words brushed the side of her face in a feather-light caress. “Do you?”

  When had her ear become so sensitive? she wondered hazily. Or was it Rafe that made it so? “What have you planned?”

  He nuzzled the side of her neck beneath her earlobe, warming the sensitive skin with his breath. “I plan to hold you in my arms while I strip away every scrap of your clothing.”

  A smile trembled on her lips. “How shocking. And then?”

  “Then I’ll carry you to the bed. And there I’ll make you mine while the moon and stars look own.”

  “I see why you thought I needed protection,” Ella whispered. “It sounds like a fate worse than death.”

  She slid her hands into the thick blackness of his hair and gave in to the temptation that had plagued her from the moment she’d set eyes on him. Pressing her mouth against the hollow of his throat, she tasted his unique flavor.

  He tilted back his head to give her greater access. “Ah, amada,” he muttered harshly. “I will regret this night. I will pay a thousandfold for what I do to you.”

  “Why such a steep price?” Hunger gave her voice a husky edge. “When it’s what I want, too.”

  “Be very certain,” he warned.

  “I’ve never been more positive of anything in my entire life. Is that certain enough for you?”

  He didn’t need any further urging. The single shoulder strap of her Grecian-style gown parted beneath his hand and the bodice drifted to her waist, baring her. For a brief instant, a virginal fear kept her frozen in place. Then her breath escaped in a soft rush. This was Rafe, the man she’d wanted since she’d first learned what it meant to be a woman. She could no more fear him than she could fear the passing of night into day.

  “Dios,” he breathed. “I’m afraid to touch you. My control... It’s shaky, amada. Very shaky.”

  “It’s all right. I still trust you.”

  A near-silent groan spilled from his throat. “That may not be wise.”

  She stepped free of his embrace intent on proving her words with action. Reaching for the zip at the side of her gown, she tugged it downward. “According to you there’s very little I’ve done this evening that’s wise.”

  “Very little,” he concurred, giving her every movement his strictest attention.

  “And also according to you...” For a breathless moment the silk clung to her curves with nothing to hold it up but sheer defiance. He reached for her dress as though itching to lend gravity a helping hand. “... There’s little I’ve done that’s smart. Starting with our marriage.”

  “A bad decision.” His graveled response betrayed how close to the edge she’d pushed him.

  “And ending with this.” Surrendering to the inevitable, her gown drifted to the floor like flaming fingers of gold.

  His gaze could no more resist the pull of forces beyond his control than her dress. His breath hissed through his teeth as he looked his fill. “Ending? Oh no, mi alma, this is not an ending but a beginning.”

  “In that case...” She dropped her arms to her sides in a gesture of total faith. “I leave the rest to you.”

  “Your first wise decision.” He reached for her, stopping mere inches from her breast. His hand quivered ever so slightly and with a muttered curse, he curled it into a fist. “I am but a schoolboy around you. Thank heaven I did not know how little lay beneath this tress.”

  “Or?”

  He didn’t evade the truth, but looked her square in the eye. “Or we would have been further delayed in that glade tonight.”

  “I’m not sure I would have minded.”

  His mouth tightened. “It would not have mattered if you had,” he replied in a clipped, strongly accented voice. “I realize it does not speak well of my self-control. But to have seen you like this and left you untouched...” He shook his head. “It would not have happened.”

  He opened his hand again. This time his fingers were rock-steady. And when he reached for her, he didn’t draw back as before. His eyes contained the silver flash and sizzling heat of summer lightning, his desire like a ferocious storm drawing her into its fiery center. Now it was her turn to tremble, for her thoughts to twist and scatter like leaves in the midst of an autumn gale.

  At his first velvety caress, a startled cry escaped before she could prevent it. “Easy,” he murmured. “You set the pace. I won’t push faster than makes you comfortable. Tell me what you want. Tell me, esposa.”

  She knew that word, considered it the most beautiful she’d ever heard. Wife. “Kiss me, Rafe.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just kiss- me and I’ll know it’s all right: ”

  He sank his fingers deep into her hair, pulling the ebony curls free of its elegant knot. “A kiss to make you feel better about what’s to happen this night?” he demanded. The silken strands spilled through his open hand like a midnight tide, swirling a
round her pale shoulders. “Is that what you want from me?”

  Did he think her a child in need of reassurance? “No, not a kiss like that,” she corrected unsteadily, her mouth teasing the tension from his jawline. “I want the sort of kiss a husband gives his wife on their wedding night. For the first time in my life, I want to experience a lover’s kiss. A beginning without end”

  The air seeped from his lungs. But instead of his tension easing beneath her tender caress, it increased, communicating itself to her in the tautness of his arms and the heavy beat of his heart. “Mi amada y mi alma,” he whispered the husky words. “Te adoro.”

  Then slowly, powerfully, he cupped her bottom in his calloused hands and lifted her against him. Her breasts slid along the soft cotton of his shirt, the friction a delicious torture. It was incredibly erotic, her near-nudity a shocking contrast to his formal attire. For a breathless moment his hot silver gaze lay claim before his mouth captured hers. He held nothing back, rejecting the preliminaries to invade the warm interior, taking her with the desperation of a man too long denied.

  Her hunger rose to match his, boundless in its need. She put every last bit of her heart and soul into the kiss they shared, saying with hands and mouth what he’d have rejected if she’d dared to speak aloud. She loved him. Dear heaven, how she loved him.

  He released her mouth, seizing her lower lip between his teeth in a brief hungry bite. “Is that the sort of kiss you wanted?”

  “It’s a start.”

  She didn’t know where she found the presence of mind to goad him. But it had an extraordinary effect. He reacted to the challenge with the swiftness of a hawk swooping toward its prey. He swept the legs out from under her, lifting her high in his arms. A few rapid strides carried them from the sitting room to the bed. Her high-heeled sandals thudded to the floor at the same instant as her backside hit the mattress. She bounced once before tumbling against the pillows.

  He stood over her, his chest heaving beneath his gaping shirt. His eyes burned with an ardent promise that fueled her own painful need. “I’ve waited an eternity for this. But no longer.”

  Without a further word, he jerked the gold cufflinks from their holes and dropped them unheeded to the carpet. His shirt and cummerbund followed. And that’s when she saw them—a dozen silver scars striping his chest and shoulders. With a shocked gasp, she bounded from the bed and flew into his arms. Now it was her turn to touch him with a shaking hand.