The Officer Says I Do

by Jeanette Murray

  There was no censure in her voice, no judgment. Even though she’d be justified in giving him hell. Still, Tim internally flinched at the reminder of his own ass-like behavior. Skye didn’t seem to notice his own thoughts and kept going.

  “Basically, what I’m saying is, there’s a reason we’re married. And I’m ready to find out what that is.”

  “In plain English, that means…”

  She looked him straight in the eye, all seriousness as she said, “I want to stay married.”

  His heart skipped, then slowed, then rolled down into his shoe. Holy shit. She was dead serious.

  Tim forced himself to breathe and remember his own plan of attack. All the things he had been ready to suggest.

  A quiet divorce. Quick annulment. Simple, clean break. A quick roll between the sheets, just for old time’s sake.

  She wanted none of them. And Tim couldn’t quite understand the stab of fierce relief that filled his chest before he remembered the entire reason he’d stopped kissing her in the hallway. The reason they couldn’t just do whatever the hell they wanted to.

  It wasn’t responsible. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t the right thing to do.

  But first, he needed to work at untangling the mess one knot at a time. “What do you think the reason for our marriage is?”

  She threw her hands up in the air and gave a sort of strangled, feral cry to the heavens. “How the hell should I know? That’s not for me to understand. At least not yet. But there’s a reason. Fate’s waiting for us to catch up. And we’ll figure it out.”

  He shook his head. “I told you that’s not my thing.”

  Skye visibly deflated in front of him, like a balloon without the stopper. Just like that, her explosive, dramatic show was over. She gave another sigh, then plopped back down in the chair. Leaning back, she tucked her legs under her in what looked like an impossible position. “Okay, we’ll ignore Fate for a second since She makes you uncomfortable.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. “Let’s just focus on the rational for a second.”

  Ah, finally they were on his level. “The rational thing is to divorce.” He looked at the tray of glasses, for some reason uncomfortable looking at her while he brought it up. “Or get an annulment. Not sure exactly which would be more appropriate in this situation.”

  “Neither. And let me tell you why.” She leaned over and grabbed one of his hands, lacing fingers. He barely stopped himself from jerking back at the jolt. It was like all the pulsating energy she held within her body vibrated down her arm and made his own hand tingle. Pins and needles, like the limb had fallen asleep and was just starting to wake up again.

  Or was that another body part?

  He met her gaze, saw the little smile in her eyes. “You feel that too. That’s why. There’s something between us, and even with your death grip on logic and reason, you feel it too.” She gave him a quick grin. “I’ll be nice, and I won’t even make you say it out loud. Maybe we didn’t go about it in the most logical manner, at least to you. But I feel like we’re supposed to see where this takes us.”

  She squeezed his hand, then slithered out of his grip. His hand felt empty without her smaller one in it. “We’re already married. The deed is done. Which would look worse? A two-week marriage? Or a marriage that just didn’t work out down the road, after some time and effort put into it?”

  She did have a point. While he didn’t relish explaining the quickie wedding to anyone—parents included—an even quicker divorce would be humiliating. “So exactly what are you saying, Skye?”

  “I quit my job in Vegas.” She paused, as if waiting for him to tell her how crazy that was. But really, at this point, wasn’t crazy expected? When he said nothing, she continued. “I’m here. You can’t come to me, obviously, so I’m here with you. I figure with my experience I could look for a management position at a hotel or a restaurant. There are enough of them around, it seems. I’m earning my keep, not looking for a handout.”

  “Never thought you were,” he murmured and realized that it was true. As many pathetic stories as there were floating around about female con artists taking advantage of servicemen and cleaning out their bank accounts and homes while they deployed, it never once occurred to him that Skye was one.

  “Well, good. Because I’m not,” she reiterated fiercely. “I’m here because I believe in this. And you.” She ran a hand through her hair, fingers tangling in the long, wavy ends. He had a vague memory of his own hands gripping those silky strands, angling her head so he could access her mouth more deeply with his tongue, giving himself better position to—

  “Tim?”

  “Yeah?” Shit. One of the most important conversations of his life and he was in the middle of his own wet daydream.

  She smiled knowingly. “I could be a bitch and take that ‘yeah’ as your answer, but I won’t. So I ask again… do you want to go out with me?”

  “Go out with you.” Did they step back in time and hit the seventh grade?

  She laughed. “I know, not the most adult way of wording it. But it comes to the same. Do you, for the moment, want to forget we’re married and just date? If it doesn’t work out, then we’re no worse off than if we’d divorced today, except maybe you save some face and I feel like I wasn’t going against the plan of Fate. And who knows, maybe we’ll surprise ourselves.”

  She wanted to stay married. And date. It was crazy. It was insane.

  And yet he was struggling to bite back the urge to drag her upstairs and whisper yes in her ear… preferably while in the middle of getting her naked.

  He drank the Kool-aid. Or rather, lemonade. Where’d he put his new white Nikes again?

  Tim thrust the idea of her, pink-skinned and glowing and lying in his bed, out of his mind. “Are we telling people we’re married?”

  She bit her lip, and he wanted to soothe the mark with his tongue. “That’s up to you, I guess. Though I think it makes more sense to tell people than not. They always say the truth comes out eventually, and all that.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “I have a deal with an extended stay motel, but I thought I’d look at rentals in the area after we were done here.” She glanced at the door and said ruefully, “I’d thought Madison might want to come with me. Help me find the nicer areas and—”

  “My wife isn’t staying at a motel,” he bit off, then swore at himself. The caveman routine was not attractive, nor was it going to help him get through this rationally.

  She shrugged one shoulder, shifting the fabric of her shirt to drop over the other one, exposing her shoulder. He was thirteen again. That was the only excuse for why that completely innocent slip of skin had him harder than Kevlar.

  “You’ll stay here.”

  She raised one brow, as if to say, Do you know what you’re saying?

  But he did. Being in control gave him some sense of normalcy, and he grasped onto it for dear life. “We’re going to go get your things from the motel, and you’re coming back here. With me.”

  “But Madison lives here.”

  “So it’s one big party, then. Don’t you girls always have sleepovers and stuff?”

  She smiled. “Fine. But you don’t have to come with me. I can pack myself up.”

  “How about you get started, and I’ll come by to do the heavy lifting?” Before she could argue, he stood, taking her hand and pulling her up with him. In her bare feet, the top of her head reached his chin. She looked up at him, disbelief and skepticism clear in her eyes. Two things he never wanted her—anyone—to feel with him. To wipe them both out of her mind, he pulled her flush to his chest, bent his head, and kissed her with determination.

  She resisted for a nanosecond, then melted against him. Her arms crept up around his neck, her hips cradled his erection, and her mouth opened on a s
igh. He took the smallest of tastes, not trusting himself with more, then took a step back.

  “Grab a head start on packing. I’ll catch up soon.”

  ***

  Skye struggled to breathe normally as she packed her things in the sparse, but clean, motel room. She hadn’t really relished spending any more time in there than necessary. But at the same time, she wasn’t prepared to be so close to Tim on a daily basis.

  She tossed her skirts into the open duffle, not caring if they wrinkled. Someone invented an iron for a reason. With her work clothes from Cloud Nine, she took more care, more out of habit than anything else. Though she had no love for the restricting, monochromatic black pants, white collared shirt, and black vest, she still respected the uniform from her old job. It fit the image the restaurant wanted to uphold, and she wore it with pride.

  She threw another gauzy top into the bag and thought about how Tim had stared through her shirt at one point. The memory turned her both hot and cold, causing her skin to feel clammy and her face to feel flushed. Sure, he wanted her. That was both an obvious and delicious fact. But did he want her for more than her body? And why the sudden one-eighty on the trial time period?

  Skye realized she’d been twisting a skirt into a knot and deliberately smoothed it out on the bed, then folded it and put it in the bag. She just had to accept that this was another way of Fate lining up things in their favor. So she would move in, and spend time with Tim, and see where it led them.

  Skye’s cell phone rang and she picked it up absently, still finding things to toss in the suitcase.

  “You haven’t called in a few days. I was getting worried!”

  “Tasha.” Skye breathed a sigh of relief and sank down on the bed, crossing her legs under her. The sound of her best friend made her miss home, miss her simple life. Just not enough to turn back around. “What’s up?”

  “Jessie’s here too, on speaker, just to warn you. So has he come back yet? Did you see him? Deets, please.”

  Skye sighed and ran fingers through her hair, frowning when they got tangled around her shoulders. She pried them out while she spoke. “I saw him today. He finally came home.”

  There was a silence, very unusual for her friends.

  “And after a thoughtful conversation”—and some super-hot making out against a wall—“we’re going to give the marriage a shot.”

  “Yes!”

  “No!”

  Skye held the phone away from her ringing ear. “Okay, care to share which of you was which?” she called so they could hear her.

  “I think this is great.” Jessie. The marriage fan. “You deserve happiness. And you liked the guy enough to marry him, so this really just works out for the best!”

  “The guy ran out on her on their wedding night. How can that be for the best for anyone?” Tasha now, angry. And blunt. “He doesn’t deserve another shot. So sign those annulment papers and hustle your ass back here.”

  “No can do. I made a commitment, back in Vegas and again today. We’re going to try our best. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.”

  “This isn’t like trying out a new car, Skye. It’s marriage. In fact, I think you put more effort into researching your cute little hybrid than you did your husband. That’s gotta say something, right?”

  “Yes. It says something about this man who reached out and grabbed Skye by the throat. And she’s open to it.” Jessie sighed. “It’s all pretty romantic when you think about it.”

  Tasha snorted.

  Skye debated hanging up to see if her two friends would even know she was gone. Obviously they were having more fun talking about her than with her. Instead, she cleared her throat.

  “I have to go. Tim’s coming by to help me transport my stuff to his townhouse. And don’t say it, Tash. I know you want to. But his sister lives with him too. It’s not going to immediately turn into some lovebird’s nest. It’s a trial period.”

  Tasha grumbled but said nothing more. Skye ended the phone call quickly, under the pretense of having more to pack. In reality, she was done.

  Was Jessie on the right track with the romance angle? Would she and Tim be sitting around in sixty years, telling the funny story to their grandchildren of how Grandma and Grandpa met? Or was the entire thing doomed from the start, as Tasha hinted?

  No way to find out but to give it a shot. Maybe Fate meant for them to be married forever. Maybe they were only supposed to be together for a few months. But there might be a million other reasons why she was supposed to be in this place at this time. And she intended to figure it out.

  ***

  Jeremy sat between a pissed off Dwayne and a somber Madison at the O Club bar. Dwayne was three sheets to the wind and working on a fourth. And Madison was quiet. Too quiet, for a girl who hadn’t shut up almost since the day he’d met her.

  Yup. Recipe for disaster. He tipped his beer and took another swig, wondering whether it would be an advantage to follow Dwayne into the abyss or a hell of a bad idea. Dwayne took the choice out of his hand by ordering another round for all three of them, then leaned over Jeremy to look Madison in the eye.

  “So, are your lips loosened enough yet, sweetheart? Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on with Tim?”

  “Loose lips sink ships,” Madison said with a smile and a sip of her fresh Jack and Diet Coke. “Tim’s business is Tim’s business. And I’m not going to bite the hand that gives out the rent-free living. Not that I think that’ll last much longer.” She leaned her torso over Jeremy to face Dwayne, breast brushing his elbow in an innocent, half-drunken movement, and he froze.

  But she didn’t notice. Of course. “All I can say is that the woman that he met while in Vegas with you two”—she gestured between himself and Dwight with her glass, ice clinking—“is at the house right now. And they’re having a serious discussion, for which I was kicked out.”

  Dwayne snorted. “Well, this should be interesting. Guess we’ll get the scoop tomorrow, when we report back to the battalion.” He muttered a curse under his breath and took a long pull of his beer. “Hate this stop-and-go shit. Looks like I’ll just be heading back out again though, sans you two.”

  Jeremy just nodded, not sure what else to say. Deploying without the rest of the battalion was never fun but a necessity at times. Your number was called, you went. At least Dwayne would have his company with him.

  Madison stood abruptly, Jeremy and Dwayne lurching to their feet after her out of habit. She scowled at them. “How many times do I have to tell you two to stop that with me? I’m just making a head call.” With that she flounced away… as much as someone who was well on her way to Drunktown could flounce. The leers from other Marines that followed her as she shuffled toward the hallway had Jeremy clenching fists.

  Dwayne nudged him with his elbow. “You’re still standing; go follow her, will ya? If she face-plants and busts that pretty little nose of hers, Tim will never let us hear the end of it.”

  He wanted to tell Dwayne to follow her if he was so damn concerned, but he’d already turned around and ordered another beer. At this rate, D couldn’t hold up a toddler if he had to. Jeremy steeled his senses and headed after the woman who had tormented his mind for the past ten years.

  The hallway was empty so he headed toward the restrooms. A trio of guys passed by and entered the men’s head, then the silence continued. He waited another few moments and was debating the wisdom of knocking on the door and calling out Madison’s name when it flew open and she walked right into his chest. On instinct, he grabbed her shoulders, then realized he was pulling her into him rather than steadying her. He humored himself by taking one deep breath of her scent—whiskey and something fruity, like pears—and leaned her back against the wall. After one giant step away, he studied her in the dim lighting.

  Her face was flushed, a few f
lyaway hairs stuck to her forehead. Instead of the regulation bun he normally saw her with, the brown locks flowed down past her shoulders. No, not brown. Auburn and mahogany and cedar all mixed in a jumble of colors that made him want to bend down and feel how silky they would be against his cheek.

  Her eyes were wide, as if she was still caught in surprise. And her lips, which were normally going a mile a minute with her constant friendly chatter, were parted as if caught mouthing the letter O. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out, brushing the hairs off her face, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, just to break the silence, then inwardly groaned. Now she would think he was asking about her bathroom trip. Casanova, move over. Jeremy Phillips was in the club.

  Her eyes widened a fraction more, then crinkled as she chuckled. “Is that why you were about to head into the women’s restroom? To check on me?”

  Not trusting himself to answer verbally any longer, he shrugged.

  Madison glanced around, then grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the end of the hallway. “Come on.”

  “The bar’s back that way,” he reminded her, letting the woman drag him along behind. He could have planted his feet and stopped her in a heartbeat, but he had a small problem of never denying Madison what she wanted whenever physically possible.

  Or, who knew. Maybe she was about to be sick.

  She stopped at the end of the hall, throwing a not-so-subtle look over her shoulder before throwing the door open. Fresh, cool night air greeted them as she led him out and the door shut behind her.

  He surveyed their surroundings, which weren’t many. A Dumpster, the brick exterior of the O Club itself, and a metal fence. There was no streetlight, nothing but the half-moon to highlight the area. Ambiance was lacking, for sure. But as he started to take mental notes of the spot, thinking it might be a great place for a fictional body dump, Madison pushed his shoulders. Caught off guard, he stumbled back until he smacked against the rough brick wall.