The Officer Says I Do

by Jeanette Murray

  “Sorry, I know you’re his wife and all, but you seem like you can’t breathe, so I’m gonna take first dibs.”

  “First dibs on—” Skye started to ask, but Madison was already gone. Out the door, down the sidewalk, and launching herself at Tim. He stumbled back once and caught her, spinning in a circle while her legs dangled.

  Well, no time like the present. Skye took one more look at her outfit—one of the most sensible things she owned that wasn’t a work uniform—and headed out the door. But she stopped on the sidewalk, feeling like an intruder in a private family moment.

  You’re a part of that family now too.

  But she wasn’t. Not really. Not yet.

  Soon.

  She took one deep breath, prayed her knees would hold her up, and walked up behind Madison, who was still clinging to her brother with a desperation that spoke of her love for him.

  His hat had flown off at the sisterly attack, and she could see his face clearly now. And then her lungs compressed again, like a vise in her chest. This was the man she had married. And every single reason for why she had agreed flooded her again. Still handsome, still serious. But at the same time, happy. Happy to see his sister again. Then his eyes blinked open, and she saw a flash of something in them when he noticed her.

  The urge to pace the cement walkway was strong, so instead she locked her knees and waited for the moment with Madison to pass. Finally, Madison peeled herself off of Tim and stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. She gave a sheepish look to Skye.

  “Sorry. I know he was only gone a week but… you know. It was supposed to be longer.”

  At the weepy look in the otherwise-strong woman’s eye, Skye felt a little misty herself. But when she caught sight of Tim staring at her, the mushy emotion faded into something much more like panic.

  How would he react? Would he give her a hug like his sister? Would he give her a kiss? A handshake? For some stupid reason, how he greeted her seemed like it would set the tone for what was to come.

  Apparently the tone was… nothing.

  He stared at her, his gaze neither welcoming nor condemning. He shifted his weight forward, then back on his heels again. It was like he couldn’t figure out how to respond, what the right thing to say was. The right thing to do.

  That makes two of us.

  Madison shifted beside Tim, and Skye realized the two of them were staring at each other like a high noon showdown. Okay, so this would be awkward. But what did she expect—him to sweep her off her feet and cart her off to Aruba for a honeymoon?

  “Welcome home, I guess. I didn’t realize when you said you were deploying that you meant so soon.”

  He shrugged and bent to pick up a long, olive green bag. “That’s the way it works.”

  Madison picked up a thick briefcase-shaped box and headed for the front door. Relishing the ability to have something to do with her hands, Skye grabbed a knapsack and slung it over her shoulder, following Madison. She barely made it through the front door before a large hand touched her neck while reaching for the strap. The brush of rough fingertips made her shiver.

  “I’ll take that.” Tim slid the pack off her shoulders and dropped the entire bundle on the tile floor by the door. “I’m just going to leave it here for now.”

  The three stood in the foyer, a heavy silence settling around them. Nobody seemed to look at anyone else. Should she go? Was this a time for him and his sister to talk? It was their house, anyway. But there was so much she needed to tell him, it was practically bursting out of her. She tamped down the urge to yell out her reason for coming, get it over with like ripping a bandage off.

  Definitely not the right impression.

  Tim cleared his throat and gave Madison a pointed glance. “Dwayne mentioned drinks at the O Club with Jeremy. Maybe you wanna go check that out, squirt.”

  Madison rolled her eyes and laughed. “Subtle. Very subtle. But you’re right. Drinks with those two sounds perfect.” She picked up a purse sitting on the entry table and stood on her tiptoes to give him another kiss on the cheek. “Good to have you back, bro, even for a little while.” Before she closed the door behind her, she called out, “Don’t call me squirt.”

  Tim’s chuckle rumbled through the nearly empty room. Then he turned toward her, and the amusement evaporated into an intense hunger. Something she could relate to.

  She was hungry for him too.

  ***

  For four days, Tim had planned out exactly what he was going to say. He would apologize profusely for his behavior in Vegas, for getting them into the mess they were in. Yeah, he might have been drunk, but he still should have kept a cool head. And then, like the strategist he was, he outlined exactly how he would fix things, make them better.

  His calm, cool, organized plan of attack faded away as he stood there alone with Skye, in his house. He tried to think of his opening sentence, his follow-up statements. Nothing. It was a big, fuzzy blank. Everything but Skye was gone from his mind. She was standing there, in the flesh. The woman he’d been thinking about the entire bus ride across the country. She looked confused and completely out of her element. A contrast from the confident Vegas woman he’d met a few weeks ago. But somehow just as appealing.

  “So, um.” She fingered the hem of her long shirt, as if afraid or embarrassed to look at him. “How was your trip?”

  Was she really going to just stand there and make small talk?

  “Good. Long, and proved to be pointless. But can’t complain I guess.”

  She nodded, glancing around like she was looking for inspiration. “Your deployment was canceled, then? Madison was telling me about how sometimes things like that happen. Though she hadn’t heard of it happening so soon before you guys left. But that it wasn’t out of the question. I guess that’s weird to me since nothing in my job would ever be so last-minute. I mean, you get problems all the time and you have to think on your feet in the restaurant business, but then that’s true of any… job… I guess…” She lost steam and took a deep breath. And he lost it.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he whirled her around until her back hit the wall behind him. A picture rattled on the wall, her hip bumped the entry table, and keys clattered to the floor. He didn’t care about that. He cared about her eyes.

  Wide, a little shocked, a little wild. But no fear.

  He bent his head and did what he’d been dreaming about doing. What had been playing on a God-awful loop in his mind since the day they left Vegas. He kissed her. A testing brush first, but when she didn’t haul back and slap him, he tried another. Her lips rose to meet his, and he was lost at holding back. Her hands came up to pull him closer, and she widened her stance to cradle him. Her message was clear.

  Take it, it’s yours.

  And he did.

  Teeth clashed as they each moved in desperate strokes to get deeper. He let his fingers tangle in her hair, vaguely remembering the weight of it in his hands before. He definitely remembered the soft skin of her jawline, how her pulse jumped as his tongue flicked over it. There was no forgetting how responsive she was when he ran a hand under the sheer top she wore to cup her breast over the layering tank beneath. How her body arched into his touch. How she moved under him like they were a carefully choreographed duo on the dance floor.

  “Tim,” she gasped. “Tim, hold on, we need to talk.”

  “Talk,” he muttered into her shoulder. No talking. Why did she always want to talk when they were in these positions?

  “Yeah. Talk.” She gasped when his teeth scraped along her collarbone. “About our marriage.”

  A kick to the crotch wouldn’t have slowed him down as fast as those three simple words. He let go and took a big step back, breathing heavily. Fuck. How did he forget that? The marriage mix-up. He was trying to find the best way to end this painlessly, and instead he practi
cally attacked her against a wall. Damn.

  “Yeah.” He screwed his eyes shut and pressed into his eyelids with his thumbs, willing his erection away. The cammies had room, but not that much. “Yeah, marriage. Sorry.” He opened his eyes and saw a still-flushed, still-mussed Skye leaning against the table with one hand. The image wasn’t doing anything to cool his head, so he turned away and walked toward the living room. “Let’s talk in here.” She followed without a word.

  He got to the room and saw glasses of lemonade. Perfect. He picked one up and took a big gulp, hoping the tangy sweetness would clear out the cotton that seemed to be lining his throat. Just when he wondered whether he should sit on the couch with Skye or not, or what she expected, she did him the favor of choosing the armchair, crossing one leg over the other. He sat on the couch, catty-corner to her spot. Close enough to touch, but he didn’t dare.

  He waited for her to talk, but instead she sat with her hands in her lap, staring at them like they held the answer to world hunger. Finally he cleared his throat and decided to give it a shot.

  “I need to apologize for being such a dick that night.”

  The way her head shot up and she stared at him, that wasn’t what she expected. He wasn’t sure why, but it stung.

  “I’m not a teenager anymore. I know better than to run out on a woman and not even say good-bye. Not that I do the one-night thing all that often,” he added quickly when her brows drew together. “I just know it’s not what a man should do, and I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. But obviously I didn’t chase you down here for an apology.”

  Understatement of the century. “Right, yeah.” He took another drink. “Um, exactly how did you find me anyway? I know the Internet’s good and all, but—”

  “Friend who works at the hotel.” She gave him a smile. “I wouldn’t know where to start with the Internet, but I do know someone at the front desk of the hotel. And you filled out a customer form before they gave you the key to the suite. It had your address on it.”

  “Thought that stuff was private,” he grumbled, then saw how one brow raised. “Not that I’m not glad you found out. God, I keep shoving my foot in my mouth, don’t I?”

  “I think I’ll forgive you for odd circumstances,” she said with a chuckle. Then she laughed a little harder, and he had a flashback to the casino. Skye smiling at him from across the blackjack table. Breathless behind some tree, in a dark corner while his hand crept up… Okay. That wasn’t helping the boner he was fighting off.

  He was grateful for her understanding… and her happy attitude. He was wound too tight, like any sudden movement would cause him to snap. But Skye just smiled, slid her feet out of her sandals, and tucked them under her on the chair. God, she was adorable.

  “So, um, where do we go from here?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” She took a sip of her own glass of lemonade and leaned forward to set it down on the table. Her shirt dipped forward, and he caught a glimpse of the tight tank under the sheer, gauzy fabric of her top.

  Focus, man.

  He cleared his throat, and hopefully his mind along with it. “Well, I probably don’t need to tell you that the night is a little blurry for me. Bits and pieces are there, but not the whole thing. So this is kind of a shock.” Yet another understatement.

  “Yeah, I got that from Madison. It’s funny, though. You never acted drunk. At least, not until you blacked out,” she added with a sly smile. “Then it was kind of hard to miss.”

  He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Pure, simple embarrassment mixed with a healthy dose of shame. “I don’t drink like that often… basically never. I just—”

  She held up a hand. “I work in Vegas. Trust me, you don’t have to explain it. And because I can see you’re already struggling with this and you’re embarrassed, I believe that you don’t make a habit of this. So I’ll end the misery of wondering and just say that you were a gentleman and didn’t do anything obscene or obnoxious.” But she blushed as she said it.

  What did that mean? When he arched a brow, she just sighed and looked at the fireplace while she mumbled, “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

  “Thank God for small miracles,” he muttered. “But obviously I made a cake out of myself. How the hell did we get married if I can’t even remember it?”

  “Short version is you proposed. I accepted. We took a limo to the courthouse and then to a small chapel off the strip, then limo back to the hotel where your suite was waiting. No driving involved, hardly any paperwork.” She grinned. “They like to make it easy for couples in Vegas. It’s kind of our thing, obviously.”

  “Our thing.” What the hell did that mean? How could she be so nonchalant about the entire thing?

  “Yeah, Vegas in general. Tourism, the casino, you know.” She waved a hand enthusiastically while she talked. She was a hand-talker, clearly. “People come in for just a short vacation, and then get the wild hair to get married but aren’t sure how to make it happen. Vegas, as a whole, makes it easy. It’s our stock in trade.”

  “Our?”

  “Oh, I lived there. And worked there. I was a manager at one of the restaurants in the Celestial Palace. Cloud Nine.”

  “Ah, I see.” No, he really didn’t. But that wasn’t the biggest of his problems. “So we got married. How legal is that?”

  She threw her head back and laughed again. He stared at the exposed pulse point, wanted to go back to making her moan while he paid extra attention to her throat.

  “It’s legal. I have the license. So no worries there.”

  No worries? He felt like she was talking circles around him. And this time he wasn’t even drunk. “Okay, so how do we fix that?”

  “Fix what?”

  Chapter 5

  He stared at her, waiting for the “gotcha” face, or for her to start laughing again. Or for Ashton Kutcher to bust down his door and tell him he’d been punked. Instead, she stared at him like he was the crazy one. “What do you mean? The marriage. The… the thing. What do we do?”

  Her face went carefully blank. “I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t think there was actually anything to fix, to be honest.”

  He let that sink in, let her change in demeanor wrap around his mind. Huh. Maybe he was the crazy one. Because if she meant what he thought she meant…

  She must have grown impatient with his silence, because she blew out a breath and asked, “Do you believe in Fate?”

  He snorted. “No. Not really.”

  “Okay, how about destiny? Chance? A belief in some invisible string pulling us along a path? People call it different things.”

  He shook his head. “No. Our future is what we make of it. I’ve seen too much shit in my life to believe that it’s all out of our hands completely. I want to go into war knowing that my future is dependent on the choices I make, not on the whim of some deity or whatever. I control me.”

  “Well, and I agree. At least to an extent.” She folded her hands in her lap, then looked at them for a moment. Suddenly, she jumped up so fast it was as if there was an eject button under her butt. When he started to stand as well, she waved him down. “No, I just think better on my feet.” And with that, she started to pace the floor in front of the fireplace. Her thin top billowed as she made turns in the tight area, her bare feet made no sound on the floor, and her hands were fluttering in front of her. Then she stopped.

  “If you don’t believe in Fate, then how do you explain this?”

  “This what?” He was really starting to lose it. Maybe the AC on the bus was laced with some noxious gas.

  “This. Us. Our marriage.”

  “I explain it as too much alcohol and a misguided desire to let loose for the evening.”

  She
snorted and started to pace again. He sat back and watched, equal parts amused and concerned. He’d never seen someone so animated before, so vibrant. She made thinking exciting. But then again, this wasn’t exactly the time for excitement and animation. A serious topic called for calm heads and cool conversation.

  Excitement and animation led to a quickie wedding in Vegas. Yeah. They needed more level thinking here.

  Suddenly, his mind went back to something she’d said. She’d lived in Vegas. She’d worked there. Past tense.

  “Skye,” he said, measuring his tone carefully. “When you said you worked and lived in Las Vegas, was that a tense slip? Do you still live there?”

  An about-face had her staring at him with a Man, you’re an idiot look. “No. If I still lived there, I’d say I live in Vegas. I know English.”

  “Okay. So where do you live now?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Where do you think?”

  He was starting to piece the Skye-shaped puzzle together, one bit at a time. And what he assumed was the finished product both exhilarated and terrified him.

  “Maybe you should tell me exactly what you’re after here, Skye. Why did you go through all that trouble to find me?”

  She walked over and plopped down on the chair again, bouncing once before settling. “I thought it was obvious, but maybe not.” She clapped her hands together and sat forward. He blinked and made sure to keep his eyes above her neck.

  “You and I are legally married. You don’t subscribe to the idea of Fate, but I do. But for whatever reason, you asked me. And I said yes. We got married. And after you left I had a lot of time to think about what that meant.”