Tim brought the steaks in sooner than she expected. They each filled their cups and sat down silently, as if not sure what to say to each other. Skye reached for her napkin, then halted. Did he pray before meals? She snuck a glance at Tim, who seemed to be staring at his drink cup, at the same impasse she was.
What did Tasha usually call this moment? Right. Awkward turtle.
“Thanks for cooking the meat,” she said. Lame. So lame. Then she reached for her own water and took a drink.
The tension leaked out of Tim’s body. He settled more solidly into his chair and grabbed his own cup. “No problem. It’s the only cooking I really do.” He grimaced at his kitchen. “Obviously. Are you much of a cook?”
Skye laughed as she started to cut her salad. “I’m proficient with a microwave. My mother did most of the cooking, and Dad helped out. I just didn’t pick up on much while I lived with them, I guess. In college, I ate dorm food. Then in Vegas, I usually took home a to-go box from the restaurant most times I worked and just ate junk the rest of the time.”
“Ah. So no four-course meal tomorrow night?” Tim asked, his eyes teasing.
“Probably not, unless you want tofu and veggies with every course,” Skye replied, reaching for one of the vegetable kabobs.
The horror on Tim’s face was almost comical. “Tofu? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Tofu’s not so bad, you know. If it’s cooked properly, half the time you can’t tell.”
“If you can’t tell the difference, why not eat the real thing?” he asked between bites.
“Well, because some people don’t eat meat.”
Tim glanced between her plate—which only had salad and the veggies—and the second steak on the platter he’d brought in. “Is that why the steak is still there and not in front of you?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I’m a pseudo-vegetarian.”
“A pseudo-vegetarian.” Tim looked like she just told him she was actually a robot bent on world domination.
“I’m not über-sensitive. I wear leather. I eat eggs and drink milk. I just don’t cook meat, or eat it most of the time. I avoid ordering it in restaurants. But I’m also not so hardcore that I bring my own tofu dish to dinner parties. I’ll eat a chicken dish every so often. And when I was younger, I would get a craving so bad that I’d dream about dancing Happy Meals… much to my parents’ dismay.”
“Who I assume are full-on vegetarians.”
“Hardcore, bingo.”
“Huh.” Tim sat back and chewed another bite of steak for a while. “Well, this is new. I guess that second steak is mine then, right?”
That was it? No questions about why? No mocking or saying that it was weird? “Yeah. That’s yours.”
“Great.” Tim stabbed the other steak and deposited it on his plate, then dug into his salad with gusto. “Gotta say, can’t really relate there. I was raised on meat and potatoes. My mom’s an amazing cook. She’d give Martha Stewart a run for her money.”
Though Skye was positive it wasn’t meant to be a jab, it still stung. But she cheerfully asked, “Tell me about your parents.”
“Dad was in the Marines,” Tim began, talking between bites. “Naval Academy grad like me, total warrior. I think he was my hero before I knew the definition of the word. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.” He chuckled. “I’m sure most boys say that about their dads at some point in their childhood. But I never grew out of it. So I followed in his footsteps. Did the Academy thing, commissioned in the Marines, and went from there. He was a pilot though. So not quite the same. But he was happy.”
The pride was so strong in his voice, Skye felt a little choked up. “How about your mom?”
Tim’s smile softened. “I used to think she was Superwoman. My dad was gone a lot. Training, deployments, missions, whatever. But she was a rock. She kept things as stable as she could. Always there for sports. Never dropped the ball. Strong woman. Never got overly emotional, never had a breakdown.”
Emotional. Didn’t that just describe Skye to a T? The inadequacies piled up. Skye mentally pictured shoving each of the imagined shortfalls into a steel box and shutting the lid, then pushing the box off to the side. She was overreacting. “Where do they live?”
“Dad retired and they moved back to Wisconsin. My grandparents live there. Or they do now. Grandpa was a Marine too.” The pleasure of carrying on the Marine tradition practically radiated off of him. “What do your parents do?”
Skye stood up, wanting some more ice for her glass. The scrape of Tim’s chair startled her.
“What are you doing?”
He looked at her, down at his feet, then back at her again. “Standing?”
“I see that. Did you need something?”
“No, I’m just… I mean that’s…” He looked confused. Adorably confused, like a puppy that didn’t understand why its owner was displeased with the chewed up shoe it presented. “Men stand when a woman stands. It’s how I was raised,” he said finally.
“Oh. Huh.” She walked to the freezer and grabbed a handful of ice, then reached in the fridge for the filter pitcher.
“Did your dad not do this?”
Skye paused in putting the pitcher back. “Do what? Stand when my mom or I left the table?” She scoffed and walked back. “No. Smacks of inequality.” She sat down and dug back in, choosing to ignore the curious look her husband was giving her. But she couldn’t ignore his question.
“Inequality how?”
“Just in that it makes the woman appear, I don’t know, superior somehow. More worthy of respect. You don’t expect me to stand when you leave the table, do you?”
“No.” Tim looked offended, and Skye had to laugh. She rubbed his forearm and squeezed.
“And I don’t want you to have to do it either.”
“But I want to.” He looked so lost, completely confused how to work himself out of the mess.
Skye sighed. “I’ll just pretend that you’re having a leg spasm and had to stand up.”
He tilted his head to one side as he picked up his drink cup. “What do your parents do anyway?”
“They own a store.” Okay. That wasn’t going to cut it. He’d been upfront with her, and she needed to do the same. She wasn’t ashamed. So time to air it all out. “Look. Here’s the thing.”
“Oh, boy,” he muttered under his breath.
She ignored that. “My parents are basically what you would call, um, modern-day hippies.”
Her husband’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. He stared at her, eyes wide. “Hippies? Like… hippies? Peace, love, protests, weed?”
“Not weed. My parents don’t do drugs. At least, not anymore. What my parents did in their youth before I was born isn’t my business.” It shouldn’t annoy her he had the same stereotype everyone else did… that all hippies were drugged-out potheads. But it did. “But the rest of it, yeah. Basically. They’re just pacifists who like causes, like to live as naturally as possible, and without government interference.”
Tim’s eyes glazed over, and he stared into the distance as if he was still processing. “And so… uh…”
“They live in Texas, on a commune that’s in a rural area. They run a health food store that offers mostly organic, all-natural products. And they actually have a very successful Internet business selling organic herbs and spices.”
“A commune, huh. Internet business?”
Skye smiled. “Seems a little at odds, doesn’t it? My parents are hippies, not idiots. They saw the organic market booming and decided to cash in. They know their food, they know their business. And they do well. They just prefer to do well where they are, with other like-minded folks.”
“And you grew up on this commune?”
“Yes. In a house, not a burnt out van that looks like the
Mystery Machine van from Scooby Doo. Think of the commune as just a rural neighborhood, a little removed from city life.”
Tim nodded, but she could tell his head was spinning, trying to take it all in.
Subject change needed. “I didn’t cause any problems showing up at work, did I?”
“No. Not at all. If you want to come see me, then come see me.”
Relieved, Skye grabbed a few bowls and stood up, patiently ignoring when he stood up as well, and headed to the kitchen to clean. He followed with an armload of plates, which were promptly dumped into the trash.
“Not exactly eco-friendly, but I won’t miss washing dishes tonight,” she teased. He smiled and she felt better. So the night wasn’t a home run. But it was a start.
***
Tim watched as Skye finished rinsing off the last dish, leaving a few to soak for a while. She danced in place while doing the dishes. It was like she had an iPod on shuffle in her head at all times. In her bare feet, she swayed side to side or raised on her toes and back down, always in motion. Her skirt swayed and wrapped around her ankles.
It was a seduction, plain and simple. She was luring him with her own natural way of being, and she had no clue. It was artless, it was effortless. It was Skye. God. No wonder he was so drawn to her from the beginning.
The front of her blouse was wet from splashing water, turning the material almost transparent. She wore a lacy bra that looked like it might be light pink. And he was dying to get the shirt off to double-check.
“Tim.”
“Yeah?” He was staring at her chest. Damn. Lifting his eyes, he caught her wry smile. “Sorry. Zoned out.” He did that a lot around her, apparently.
She glanced down, noticed the state of her top, and looked back up. “Uh huh. Zoned. I asked if you needed help with the grill. Outside. The thing you used to cook the steaks? Is anyone in there?” She waved a hand in front of his eyes.
He was watching her lips move. She definitely had tempting lips. Damn, he looked like an idiot. “No. I mean yeah, sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll do it now.”
She shrugged and wiped down the last of the counter. “Okay.”
The temperature had cooled down when Tim stepped back out to clean the grill. Unfortunately, the fresh air did nothing to chill his boiling blood. The woman got under his skin, and he had no clue how. Everything she did seemed natural, second nature. But her unintentional seduction wrapped around his senses and squeezed until he could barely breathe but for wanting her.
Tim applied himself to scrubbing the wire rack down. If he couldn’t take his lust out in the bedroom, he’d take it out on the grill.
Wait, why couldn’t he apply his lust in the bedroom? She was his wife, wasn’t she? They’d already had sex once. What was the problem? He’d left her alone the night before, figuring she might be tired and out of sorts after working out the details of their marriage attempt. But tonight…
Tonight she’d cooked him dinner. Or, well, set it up anyway. She’d set his table and made it look halfway decent with whatever she could find in his house. She’d bought flowers. She was setting up house. Nesting, his mom always called it after every move. Applying herself to the details of what made a house a home.
That had to mean she felt comfortable enough for sex. Right?
God, he hoped so. Otherwise he was going to be taking a very long, cold shower with very unsatisfying results.
Tim glanced down and realized the grill hadn’t been this clean since he bought it. That was probably a sign it was time to go in and check on his wife.
His wife.
Just about now he could get used to the sound of that.
Tim finished putting away the grill and its accessories then went into the kitchen to wash his hands. No sign of Skye. He dried his hands and drifted toward the hallway. Low sound emitted from the living room. As he rounded the corner, the soft glow of the television said to look for her there.
Skye was curled up in the big armchair, her knees tucked to her chest, feet peeking out beneath the skirt’s hem. Her head lolled to one side, eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. She looked as peaceful as a dreaming child. And he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. Not even with a hard-on that could drive railroad ties.
Tim figured he had two choices. He could either let her sleep in the chair all night and wake up with a crick in her neck. Or he could carry her to bed but risk waking her. Still debating his options, he picked up the remote and turned the TV off. The decision was taken out of his hands when her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey,” he said softly, making sure she was entirely awake.
She gave him a sweet smile that had his stomach clenching. “Hey yourself. Is the grill cleaned?”
Polished to a shine, thanks to pent-up sexual tension. “Yup.” Hating that he was looming over her, he dropped to his knees in front of the chair. He couldn’t resist, so he went with his impulse to brush a hand over her hair. She closed her eyes and turned her head into the caress, all but purring with contentment.
He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, a testing gesture. She responded, lips moving with his, opening quickly to deepen the kiss. And thank God, since he had no clue how he would manage to take being shot down by his wife with grace and dignity.
Hands speared through her hair; he let Skye be his anchor. Because he was sure he’d drown without someone there to pull him out eventually. His tongue dipped into the recesses of her mouth, tasting and teasing. She gave back, stayed with him with every swirl and flick. Her back arched, pressing her breasts into his chest. Her still-damp shirt had cooled, her nipples pebbling into tight buds, pressing against him. Begging.
Tim worked his way down her jawline, mixing nips with slow kisses. He paused when he reached her rapidly throbbing pulse, letting his tongue feel the intense beat, his confidence growing as he felt how agitated she was. Her body moved restlessly under his, as if holding back and reaching out at the same time.
With one hand he pushed her shirt up, peeling it away where it stuck to skin. Pink. He was right, the bra was pink. And lace. And gorgeously girlish, which only sent his blood into a frenzied rush to escape below his belt buckle. He let his breath warm the skin of her stomach as he pressed kisses from her navel up. Reaching the edge of pink lace, he left it in place and took one tight peak between his teeth.
Skye gasped, and her hands flew to the sides of his head. He waited to see if she’d push him away or pull him closer. But she did neither, leaving him to find his own way. He took another nibble, watched while her head dropped back, her eyes flickered with sparks of heat. He moved to the other breast, rolling her nipple between his teeth. The awkward angle meant he couldn’t remove her bra without serious repositioning, and he didn’t want to break the moment. But he could reach something else.
His hand strayed down to her ankle, following the line of her leg over her bent knee, pushing gently until they fell open, exposing her core. He let his fingertips dance up her thigh, soaking in the restless motion of her body, the way her hands tightened around his head, until he reached the edge of her panties.
More lace. She was a matcher, which surprised the hell out of him. The thought had him smiling against her breast. He tugged gently until he could work one finger under the lace edge.
Skye’s legs closed with a snap, trapping his arm between them. Her hands pulled until he released her nipple and looked her in the eye.
Breathing heavily, she managed to pant out, “I probably should have mentioned this before now, but…”
“But. What.” The words came out as a growl. He was so close one false move might have him losing his slippery grip on anything resembling control.
She bit her lip and glanced away before looking back at him. And then he knew. He knew exactly what she was going to say, and the mere thought of it had his legs trembling
with exhaustion.
Please, God, do not say it. I am begging You, if You are listening—
“I don’t think we should have sex yet.”
Chapter 9
Tim’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He swallowed hard, drawing Skye’s eyes to his throat.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said around clenched teeth.
“No, I’m really not. And there’s a very logical explanation. If you wouldn’t mind, um…” She tapped his elbow, which was all she could reach while her legs were firmly clamped together around his arm and hand.
He looked down, then sighed. With deliberate caution, he let his hand drift down her thigh until it slid out from under her skirt. She shivered automatically. The dirty rat. Though she probably deserved that for letting it get this far. Not that she’d planned it. The man could make her head spin with one kiss. Definitely not convenient for conversation.
“Explain. And make it fast.”
She struggled to sit up and pointed to the couch. “Could you sit over there? It’s easier to think when you’re not so overwhelming.” And boy, she could just bite her tongue for that slip.
He gave her a satisfactory—almost predatory—smile before standing up and adjusting the front of his jeans. The bulge was at eye level, impossible to miss. She gulped and looked away. The less temptation the better. She used the time to pull down her shirt and make sure it was covering everything that should be covered. Of course, nothing could disguise the way her nipples stood out through the thin lace and cotton. When she heard the give of the cushions to her left, she looked back.
Tim was lounging in a deceptively casual way, one ankle propped on his other knee, arms spread over the back of the couch. Add in some silky pillows and a few girls in skimpy robes and you’d have an indolent sultan relaxing at home with his harem. But the look in his eyes was anything but relaxed. He was a panther, ready to pounce at a word from her.
Oh, how tempted she was to just give the word…
“I’m ready to hear the amazing theory that you’ve developed that says we shouldn’t have sex yet. You know, us. The married couple who has already had sex once.” His tone was wry.
The Officer Says I Do Page 10