by Leighton, M.
As though she can feel me watching her, she glances over at me and smiles. She takes my breath away.
Her cheeks are flushed with color, mostly from the sun today, and her hair is platinum after spending so much time at sea in the last few months. Her eyes are sparkling happily, and something tells me she’s gonna be ready for some really aggressive sex tonight. That’s my favorite mood of hers. At least sexually.
She tips her head toward the path as the drums start beating, and I make myself look at the bride. Some Fijian men dressed in humiliating outfits are carrying Olivia on some sort of bed . . . thing. They stop not far from her father and let her down. He takes her hand and tucks it in the bend of his arm, and they turn toward Cash.
I look back at him. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look mad or aggravated. He looks stunned. I bet he couldn’t speak a word right now if someone held a gun to his head. I see my father clap a hand on his shoulder. I’m sure it’s a very emotional time for him, too. In all likelihood, I’d say he never thought he’d see this day. Today, many of my family’s dreams are coming true.
I hope one of mine will, too.
I look back to Marissa. I watch her as the man presiding over the wedding begins to speak. I still watch her as Olivia and Cash speak their heartfelt vows to one another. Only a few bits and pieces penetrate my preoccupation.
“You breathed life into parts of me I didn’t even know were dead,” Cash says solemnly. He finishes and there’s a pause before Olivia begins hers.
“You’re everything I could ever want in a man, in a mate. You’re the father of my unborn children and the person I want to grow old with,” she says shakily.
As I listen with half an ear, I watch as Marissa delicately wipes happy tears from her cheeks; they’re streaming from her eyes.
Even the minister’s words can’t bring my attention fully away from Marissa. “You may kiss the bride.”
I watch Marissa’s eyes shift to mine. She holds my gaze rather than looking back to Cash and Olivia. I wonder what she’s thinking right now, gazing at me across a sandy path, in the middle of paradise, as our loved ones tie the knot. Is she wishing I’d pop the question so she can have a wedding of her own? Is she disappointed that I haven’t already? Would she be crushed if I never did? Or would she be relieved?
I don’t see any answers in her eyes, only love. I see her lips move and can easily discern what she’s saying, even though she isn’t making a sound.
“I love you.”
I smile and return her silent words. The moment is lost when Cash and Olivia walk between us, announced as Mr. and Mrs. Cash Davenport.
They both look like they couldn’t be happier. And I couldn’t be happier for them.
The celebration starts immediately. Rather than having the wedding inside the small chapel, they opted for the beach. And rather than having the reception at the resort, they opted to have the food and drink brought to tables outside. Not that we need much, anyway. We kind of bring our own party.
Much later, I’m getting antsy. I don’t have a watch on, but I know it has to be past midnight, yet the others show no signs of wearing down. I look at the edge of the trees and see the horse tied there.
Rising, I walk to Marissa where she’s talking with Ginger and I take her hand. Without a word, I tug her to her feet. She looks up at me questioningly, but she doesn’t protest. She just follows me across the sand, to the edge of the trees, to the horse that’s waiting for us.
I help her onto it, still neither of us speaking. I climb on behind her and guide the horse slowly along the path, the one I memorized today.
We make our way through the lush forest, uphill until we reach the clearing. A white blanket is laid out in the grass. The red rose petals strewn across it would be visible even if the moon weren’t bright and full. The dozen or so candles lit and set around the perimeter see to that.
They flicker in the light breeze as I dismount and help Marissa down. I tie the horse to a tree and take Marissa by the hand to lead her to the blanket. We stand facing each other for a long while before I turn her toward the ocean. I step up behind her, wrapping my arms around her and folding her body in close to mine, enjoying the view over her shoulder and the smell of her hair.
The moon is reflected on the water, laughter can be heard from the beach below, and, off in the distance, I can see our boat floating on the gentle waves of the calm water.
“This night is just about the perfect way to end the last few months.”
“It’s been wonderful.”
“No regrets?” I ask, resisting the urge to hold my breath until she answers.
“Are you crazy? I’ve never been happier.”
“You don’t miss your job or your friends or your family?”
“I have everything I need right here,” she says softly. She tilts her head to the side to glance at me. I kiss the tip of her nose.
I feel an intense relief already. She never talks about her previous life. And I never ask. Until now.
Step two, check.
“See that boat out there?” It’s the only one visible from where we are.
“You mean your boat?”
“No, I mean our boat.”
“Well, just because I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time in the captain’s bedroom doesn’t make it mine,” she teases.
“No, but the ownership papers do.” She leans away enough that she can turn to face me. “A few weeks ago, I had the title transferred into both our names. Well, sort of.”
“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”
“Well, it’s titled to Mr. and Mrs. Nash Davenport.”
I hear Marissa’s hushed gasp. “And wh-why would you do that?” Her voice is breathy.
“Because I want my wife to know that she is a part of me, a part of my life, a part of everything I have and everything I am. All she has to do now is agree to marry me.”
Reaching inside my pocket, I pull out the ring that’s been burning a hole in my clothes for almost two months now while I’ve tried to find the perfect place to propose. Dropping to one knee, I take Marissa’s shaking left hand in mine.
Looking up at her, at the face I still dream about and the eyes that melt my heart, I feel the nerves disappear. I had wondered if there was any chance she’d say no. But looking at her now, the love she has for me bathing me as openly and completely as the huge moon above, I know she’s already mine. And I’m already hers. I have been since the first time I kissed her on a balcony in New Orleans, and I will be until the day someone puts my body into the ground.
“Please say you’ll be my wife. I want you tied to me in every way a man can be tied to the woman he loves. I can’t live without you and I never want to try. Share the boat with me. Share your life with me. If you will, I promise to keep you safe and happy every day for as long as I draw breath.”
She doesn’t say yes, but I’m assuming she means it when she pushes her finger into the engagement ring I’m holding. About two seconds after that, she bursts into tears and drops to her knees, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Yes,” she cries.
There are fireworks. Not on the horizon or ones that can be seen with the naked eye, but they’re there nonetheless. In all the places that matter, all the places that I can feel. “Welcome to our future, Mrs. Davenport.”
“I love you,” she mumbles into my neck.
“I love you, too, baby.”
And I do. More than anything.
The End
A FINAL WORD
A few times in life, I’ve found myself in a position of such love and gratitude that saying THANK YOU seems trite, like it’s just not enough. That is the position that I find myself in now when it comes to you, my readers. You are the sole reason that my dream of being a writer has come true. I k
new that it would be gratifying and wonderful to finally have a job that I loved so much, but I had no idea that it would be outweighed and outshined by the unimaginable pleasure that I get from hearing that you love my work, that it’s touched you in some way or that your life seems a little bit better for having read it. So it is from the depths of my soul, from the very bottom of my heart that I say I simply cannot THANK YOU enough. I’ve added this note to all my stories with the link to a blog post that I really hope you’ll take a minute to read. It is a true and sincere expression of my humble appreciation. I love each and every one of you, and you’ll never know what your many encouraging posts, comments, and emails have meant to me.
http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com/2011/06/when-thanks-is-not-enough.html
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next Wild Ones book
SOME LIKE
IT WILD
Available in March 2014 from Berkley Books
ONE
Laney
Four years ago, summer
“Come on, Laney. You gotta live a little. You’ll be eighteen in a few weeks and then you’ll be leaving for college. This is the last fair you’ll ever attend as an adolescent. Don’t you want this summer to be memorable?”
“Yes, but that does not include getting busted for drinking underage.” My best friend, Tori, gives me that look that says I’m hopeless. “What?” I ask defensively. “Daddy would kill me.”
“I thought preachers’ kids were supposed to be wild as hell?”
“I can be wild,” I tell her, avoiding her disbelieving blue eyes. “I just don’t want to be wild right now.”
“Then when? When are you gonna do something? Anything? You won’t make it a single semester away at college if you don’t learn some of this worldly stuff now, Laney.”
I chew the inside of my lip. I do feel ill-prepared for college. But the thing is, I don’t really want to do wild things. All I’ve ever really wanted out of life is to find the perfect man to sweep me off my feet, get married, have a family, and live happily ever after. And I don’t have to get wild to achieve any of those things.
Looking at Tori’s expression, however, makes me feel like some kind of freak for not wanting to break the rules. At least a little. But she doesn’t understand my dreams. No one does, really. Except my mother. She was the same way when she was my age, and she found everything she wanted in life when she met my father.
“Come on, Laney. Just this once.”
“Why? What is the big deal about getting it here? Getting it now?”
“Because I want to get it from him.”
“Why?” I ask again. “What’s the big deal?”
“I’ve had a crush on him for years, that’s what the big deal is. He went off to college and I haven’t seen him since. But now he’s here. And I need a wing woman.” When I don’t immediately relent, she presses. “Pleeeeeease. For meeeeee.”
I sigh. I have to give Tori credit for being one seriously gifted manipulator. It’s a wonder I’m not wild as a buck. She talks me into doing things I don’t want to do all the time. It’s just that, so far, they’ve been fairly innocent. Being the preacher’s daughter and living with such strict parents makes it hard for me to get into too much trouble. Tori ought to be happy about that. If it weren’t for the restrictions being my friend has placed indirectly on her, she’d probably be a pregnant, drug-addicted criminal by now.
But she’s not. Partly because of me and my “taming” influence. And it’s those stark differences in our personalities that make us such good friends. We balance each other perfectly. She keeps me on my toes. I keep her out of juvie.
“Fine,” I growl. “Come on. But so help me, if he tells on us, I’m blaming you.”
Tori squeals and bounces up and down, her ample boobs threatening to overcome the extremely low neckline of her shirt.
“Why don’t you just go over and do that in front of him a couple of times? I’m sure he’d give you anything you want.”
“That’ll come later,” Tori says, ruffling her blond bangs and waggling her eyebrows.
I roll my eyes as we start off across the fairgrounds. As we near the farm truck where the shirtless guy is unloading crates, I ask Tori again, “Now who did you say he is?”
“Jake Theopolis.”
“Theopolis? As in the peach orchard Theopolises?”
“Yep, that’s his family.”
“Why don’t I remember him?”
“Because your hormones slept through your freshman year. He was a senior. Jenna Theopolis’s older brother. Played baseball. Dated pretty much all the hot girls. “
“Except for you,” I add before she can.
She grins and elbows me in the ribs. “Except for me.”
“And you’re sure he won’t try to get us into trouble?”
“I’m positive. He was a bad boy. I’m sure there’s nothing we could think of that he hasn’t done ten times over.” We stop a few feet behind him and I hear Tori whisper, “Good God, look at him.”
So I do.
I can see why Tori would find him appealing. His tanned skin is glistening in the hot Carolina sun. The well-defined muscles in his chest and shoulders ripple as he picks up a crate from the back of the truck, and his washboard abs contract as he swivels to set it on the ground. His worn blue jeans hang low on his narrow hips, giving us an almost-indecent look at the way the thin trail of hair that leads away from his navel disappears into the waistband.
But then Tori’s words come back to me and I’m immediately turned off. She said he’s a bad boy. And I’m not interested in bad boys. They don’t figure into my plans. At all. In any way. That’s why I don’t have to worry about being attracted to him.
Even though he’s hot as blazes.
Tori clears her throat as we move closer. “Hi, Jake.”
Jake’s dark head turns toward us as he pauses in his work to wipe his brow. He looks first at Tori. “Hi,” he replies, his voice low and hoarse. His smile is polite and I think to myself that he’s handsome enough, but nothing to warrant Tori’s insistence to talk to him.
But then he looks over at me.
Even with him squinting in the bright sun, his eyes steal my breath. Set in his tan face and framed by his black hair and black lashes, they’re striking. The amber color is like honey, honey I feel all the way down in my stomach—warm and gooey.
“Hi,” he says again, one side of his mouth curling up into a cocky grin.
For some reason, I can’t think of one single thing to say. Not even a casual greeting, one that I would give a perfect stranger. I stare at him for several long seconds until, finally, he chuckles and turns back to Tori.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Uh, she’s just shy.”
“Shy?” he asks, turning his attention back to me. I almost wish he hadn’t. My belly is still full of hot liquid and I’m starting to feel breathless. “Hmm, I don’t meet shy girls very often.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Tori wave her hand dismissively. ”Eh, she’ll loosen up in a minute. In fact, that’s sort of why we’re here.”
Jake glances back to Tori, releasing me from the prison of his strange eyes. I take a slow, deep breath to settle my swimming head.
“Oh, I’ve gotta hear this,” he says, leaning back against the tail gate and crossing his arms over his chest. I can’t help but notice how his biceps bulge with the action.
Tori steps closer to him and whispers, “We were sort of hoping you’d sell us a bottle of that peach wine. You know, on the down low.”
He looks from Tori to me and back again before he bends to pick up one bottle. “One of these? To loosen her up?”
“Yep. It’s sure to do the trick.”
His golden eyes return to me as he slowly straightens to his full height. “I don’t believe you. I don
’t think she’ll drink it.” His gaze drops to my mouth and then on down my neck and chest, to my stomach and my bare legs. I wonder what he’s seeing—just the light green strapless sundress that sets off my tan? Or is he imagining what’s underneath? What’s underneath my clothes? Underneath my skin? “I think she looks like a good girl. And good girls don’t drink.”
The fact that he so accurately pegged me stirs up my temper for some reason. Immediately defensive, I pull in my stomach, puff out my chest, and jack up my chin. “What? I’m just some simple, one-dimensional country girl? Is that it?”
He shrugs, his eyes never leaving mine. “Am I wrong?”
“Yes,” I declare defiantly, even though it’s an outright lie. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
One raven brow shoots up in challenge. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”
Too proud to back down, I reach out and snatch the bottle from his fingers, unscrew the cap, and tip it back, taking one long gulp.
It’s just local, homemade wine from his daddy’s peach orchard, but that doesn’t mean the alcohol doesn’t sting the throat of someone who’s not used to drinking.
As I lower the bottle and swallow what’s left in my mouth, my eyes water with the effort not to sputter. Jake watches me until my cheeks are no longer full of the wine.
“Satisfied?” I ask, shoving the bottle into the center of his broad chest.
“I’ll be damned,” he says softly.
Ignoring the way his voice makes my stomach clench, I reach for Tori’s hand. “Come on. We have to get back for our shift in the booth.”
Tossing my hair, I turn and stomp off with as much dignity as I can muster. Tori is reluctant, but when I tug, she follows along.
“What the hell are you doing? You just totally screwed that up for me. Not to mention that you left the wine.”