Dangerous To Love

by Chevon Gael

  Very carefully, he lowered her to the nearby couch. He covered her body with his, careful not to crush her. She put her arms around his shoulders and returned his kisses with a fierce urgency that told him how much she wanted him, too. Then she broke the kiss.

  "Oh, Brett!” she breathed. “I missed you so much. The days were so long, busy, but empty at the same time. And the nights..."

  "Don't talk to me about the nights,” he growled into her ear. “I haven't slept in weeks."

  Tara took back the lead and pressed his hands into her bare breasts. “But, you'll sleep tonight. With me."

  "How about here and now?"

  He expertly fondled her body, the rough pads of his fingers teased the sensitive tips of her breasts to hard peaks. Waves of pleasure rippled through her creating a raw, aching need inside her. A need she demanded he fulfill.

  "If you don't make good on your intentions"—she arched against him, deliberately rubbing the erection pressing between her thighs—"I'll wear nothing but long flannel nightgowns for the rest of our married life."

  He chuckled softly next to her ear. His warm breath tickled the tiny hairs on her neck and she shivered with delight.

  "Come next January, you might be wearing them anyway. It gets mighty cold up here."

  Tara buried her face in his neck. “I'll find a way to keep warm.” His chin was rough from the day's growth, but she rubbed her cheek against him anyway. His weight on top of her felt so damn good. The way he smelled, warm and fresh. Aroused. She started to inch his shirt out of his pants. He took his cue from her and sat up to allow her easier access. Meanwhile, he helped himself to removing her corset and unlacing her petticoat. His fingers were a little hesitant when it came to the strings holding up her pantalets, but he grinned outright when he discovered that authentic bloomers had a large accessible split between the legs.

  He slid one large, warm hand between her legs and cupped her there. Tara gasped from the sheer pleasure he gave her. She clumsily fumbled with his belt and was relieved when he brushed her hands aside and quickly shed his pants. It was wonderful dèjá vu all over again, but she didn't care.

  "You know, one of these days we'll have to do this in a real bed."

  "Or the back seat of my cruiser."

  "It's a date."

  "Right now, consider this an endorsement of your goods."

  Tara laughed. “I can just see the writing in the catalogue. ‘Endorsed by the R.C.M.P., guaranteed to make any Mountie horny and mad with desire.’”

  Brett kissed her softly, silencing her attempt to lighten the situation. “I'll settle for the private endorsement of an ordinary man madly in love with his future wife.” And he proved it by covering his body with hers. No preliminaries, no foreplay. Just two people starved for the feel of each other, naked and skin to skin.

  Tara kissed him all over, furiously and fast in an effort to make him hard, and heighten her already volatile desire. Brett responded with the rough intensity of a man anxious to brand his woman with his scent, his body, his passion. This time it was Tara who pushed him on his back and mounted him without even bothering to remove her vintage drawers. She reveled in the feel of him filling her, of sliding her slick body onto his stiff cock.

  He grasped her hips and let her ride him, his own desire multiplying each time he heard the slap of her buttocks against his crotch.

  "Oh, Tara. My love, my woman. I want you like this every moment. I need to make love to you all night, every night."

  Tara heard him, but was too busy enjoying her own peak pleasure to answer coherently. But she knew, she felt, he understood. When at last he grabbed her and forced her downward with a fierce plunge, arched and filled her with hot seed, she knew he belonged to her.

  Afterward, they cuddled together on the sofa. Brett murmured love words to her, sex words, words that promised of their life together. Finally, reluctantly, they dressed. Tara had a change of normal clothes and was in the middle of pulling on a sweatshirt when she heard Brett swear.

  "Oh shit, what?” she asked and tugged on her jeans.

  "We did it again.” He sighed and shook his head.

  Tara hugged him. “We certainly did, darling."

  "No. I mean we tossed out the birth control issue."

  Tara brushed her hair into a loose ponytail. “Well, nothing happened the first time. What are the chances?"

  "But we haven't even talked about having kids. I don't know if you want any more."

  "Do you?"

  "If they're like Kerry and Patrick, I'd love a dozen."

  She swatted his arm. “Don't get carried away. I'm thinking one, two at the most."

  "I guess you're right. We'll talk about it at dinner. Like you said, what are the chances?"

  EPILOGUE

  Chambers of Judge Elsie Dixon

  Eight Months Later

  "Please be seated, everyone. Especially you, Miss Morgan. Is it still Miss?"

  "For the moment,” Tara replied and gratefully accepted the judge's order and lowered her enlarged center of gravity into a chair, aided by Brett and Patrick.

  "Mom,” he whispered. “You gonna ask her, Mom?"

  Judge Elsie smiled and crooked her finger at Patrick. “Ask me what, young man?"

  "If you'll marry my mom and my new dad so we can be a real family. All of us, even my sister.” There was an obvious tone of displeasure in the way he said sister that told everyone he was not very happy with Kerry right now.

  "Patrick!” his mother admonished.

  "Sorry, Mom, but she stuffed gummy worms in my DVD drive."

  Brett stepped in to defuse a potentially volatile situation. “Don't worry, son, Corporal Dennison is going to fix it for you."

  "Oh, yeah. I forgot. Thanks, Dad."

  Brett beamed a smile as he did every time Patrick called him dad. “Thank the corporal when he brings it back."

  Judge Elsie smiled at Patrick. “Little sisters sometimes do things like that.” She turned to Tara and Brett.

  "I know I asked you to keep an eye on her, Constable, but isn't this going a bit too far?"

  "It's been said, ma'am, that we always get our man. I wanted to make sure we got our woman, too."

  "It looks like you got more than you bargained for. Is that why you're in Red Serge in my court, Constable?"

  "I'm taking my family to the musical ride this afternoon. I'm involved in some practical demonstrations during the intermission."

  Patrick jumped up. “Dad's going to let me visit the horses after the show.” Excitement beamed from his young face. He turned and smiled proudly at his step-father to be. “I'm going to be a Mountie when I grow up,” he said solemnly.

  "So I take it that you're officially sponsoring Tara Morgan to stay in this country."

  "Yes, your Honor. Tara has agreed to become my wife.” He bent and planted a kiss on his future wife's head.

  "And not too soon by the looks of things,” she said peering over her glasses with interest at Tara's swollen belly.

  "You have no idea,” groaned Tara who was trying to remove her flat shoes from her swollen feet.

  "Oh, yes, I do. Six children, fourteen grandchildren. I remember being in your shoes."

  "And I remember being able to see my feet and being able to walk without waddling."

  "The answer to your question is yes, I'll perform the ceremony for you. I do weddings at the courthouse on Fridays. I have a spot open next week. I suggest you take it if you can manage on short notice."

  Brett knelt beside Tara and helped her remove her shoes. “Trust me, your Honor. We'll be there."

  And they were. With Carter standing up for Brett and Rachel beside Tara, the little group and their combined families attended the small, intimate wedding. Patrick fidgeted in his new suit and had sole responsibility of his new cousin Michael Brett O'Conner, who slept through the entire ceremony. Kerry Rose ignored the formal occasion, as she was too busy rocking from side to side so she could see her lace petticoat swishin
g back and forth.

  Afterward, the O'Conners hosted a small reception catered by Molly Malone and attended by a few dozen police officers and their wives. Brett and Tara managed to slip away just as Big Mike decided to lay out the poker chips on Rachel's dining room table, much to her dismay.

  "How long do you think they'll be at it?” asked Tara as she adjusted her seatbelt around her middle.

  "Oh, by the time it's all over, about three days from now."

  "Or until Rachel kicks them out."

  "That, too. But Rachel's used to it. Mike and Carter's poker runs are legendary."

  "I see the sergeant demanded to be dealt in."

  "Of course. After last year's loss at the games, he has to redeem the good name of his detachment somehow."

  "How do you think he'll do?"

  "I think I'll be wearing that T-shirt for a long time."

  They both laughed.

  "Exactly where are we going, husband?"

  "It's a surprise. I'd planned to take you to the Caribbean on a cruise, but that's out of the question.” He reached over and rubbed her tummy. “I've never seen an outie before."

  "Shut up!” she snapped and brushed his hand off.

  "I think it's kinda cute. Whoa! What was that?"

  Tara released a long breath of boredom. “He moved."

  "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  "I'd like him to move—out."

  "Soon."

  "So, where are we going again?"

  "A nice little bed and breakfast just north of the city. They have a special spa package, especially for pregnant moms. Massages, gourmet meals, facials, you name it. This is your honeymoon and I want it to be special."

  "Oh, sweetheart. Sounds heavenly! Thank you."

  "No, thank you. There's only one thing missing."

  "Me in a bikini?"

  "That, too. I was hoping to borrow a cruiser."

  "What for?"

  "Because, Mrs. Sinclair, one of these days I'm going to get you into the back seat ."

  Tara patted Brett's hand over her stomach.

  "I can hardly wait."

  Chevon Gael

  Chevon has been writing professionally for six years. She is a Canadian girl, born and raised, who loves the ski slopes in the winter and combing the beaches of the Maritime Provinces in the summer. She is happily married to a true-blue, red-blooded Canadian Mountie. Chevon and her husband belong to a short-haired domestic tabby named Buddy.

  * * * *

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