Under Fire: The Admiral
Page 18
He looked up and found Gemma leaning against the kitchen door frame, hair in disarray, face flushed, barefoot, standing on one leg like a flamingo, wearing his leather jacket with not a damn thing on underneath, watching him. She was so beautiful.
“Hungry?” he said, trying to keep his mind off sex and thinking he would never be able to wear that coat again without getting hard.
“For you,” she said in a smoky voice.
He laughed and went to the fridge for the eggs, then looked at her over the door. Shit! She meant it. He closed the fridge. “Give me a break.” He laughed and spread out his hands, butter in one and eggs in the other. “I need food and rest.”
She stood legs apart, giving him one hell of a view. “I bet I can talk you into it,” she said, using that smoky voice again. And he had no doubt she could talk him into it. He said nothing, enjoying the view. Gemma jammed her hands into the pockets, opening the jacket wide to give him an even better view. She froze, blinked a couple of times, and gave him a wide-eyed look.
Her right hand came out of the pocket holding the ring box. She looked at it, at him, and back to the box.
Ben emptied his hands and crossed the distance between them quickly, pulling her against him. He toed a chair away from the kitchen table and sat, pulling her down onto his lap. “Go ahead, open it,” he said. When she didn’t, he took it from her. “I got it this morning.” He popped the lid and she inhaled sharply when she saw the ring. “It’s the ring you saw yesterday in the window.” That was stupid. Of course she knew that. She sat silent, still wide-eyed, staring at him. “I was going to give it to you this afternoon at the café. I had everything planned.” He removed the ring. “I wanted you to know I was serious. I want to marry you.” She blinked several times and sucked in her lower lip. Still she said nothing. A stab of panic hit him. “I was going to tell you we could take everything slow. Get married in six months, a year, whatever you wanted. A big wedding. A small wedding. I’m good with anything you want as long as you marry me. He took her left hand and slipped the ring on her third finger. It was a little big and she adjusted it as she held out her hand to look at it. The diamonds flashed in the overhead kitchen light.
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips “Gemma Hendrickson, I love you, I want to spend every second of the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
“Ben, I . . .”
“Don’t say no, Gemma. If you aren’t sure give it some time. I want to wake up next to you every morning. Hear your voice every day. See your smile. Being married won’t change who we are. I don’t want you to change. I don’t expect you to stay at home in a polka-dot dress and frilly apron and take care of me.” He shuddered. “If anything, I’ll make you PB&J sandwiches and pack them in your Wonder Woman lunch box for you to take to the Hill or the bridge of your ship. I know one thing,” he rattled on to keep her from saying no, “you don’t need to protect me. We stand together shoulder to shoulder and—”
“Yes.”
“Think about it.”
“Ben,” she stroked his cheek, “I said yes.”
“Yes?”
She nodded.
He felt light-headed, giddy. “We get back to D.C. I know a wedding planner. One of the doctors, his wife.” Gemma was shaking her head. “Okay. If you want to wait longer.” She was still shaking her head. “What, what do you want to do?” he asked slowly.
“I want,” she took in a long breath and let it out slowly, “to get married here, in Paris, as soon as we can. I don’t know what the requirements are, but I have a friend in the embassy who could help us get anything we need.”
“Here?”
She nodded.
“Now?”
She nodded and smiled. “There is one thing.”
He grew wary. “Tell me.”
“I don’t have a Wonder Woman lunch box, will you go with me to look for one?”
Epilogue
One week later
Gemma peeked into the bag at the Wonder Woman lunch box Ben had paid an obscene price for in an antique shop. Her cell chirped in her pocket. It wasn’t Ben. She could see him across the park coming toward her with a coffee in each hand. She dug it from her pocket and looked at the ID. Olivia.
“Olivia.”
“Mom.”
Gemma’s heart almost exploded. The last time her daughter called her Mom she was a tiny thing.
“Mom, are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Sam tells me you took our new Beechcraft surfing.”
Was her daughter actually joking with her? “I, I did.”
There was a long pause. “Sam said you’re okay. I’m glad you weren’t hurt. Don’t worry about the plane, we have more than enough insurance.”
Ben sat next to her and mouthed Who?
“He also said there was something going on between you and our client Ben Walsh.”
“Olivia,” she said, and Ben nodded. “I have some news.”
“Okay?” Ben whispered.
Gemma nodded. “Ben Walsh and I were married here in Paris two days ago.”
There was silence on the other end and she was afraid the connection had been broken or Olivia had hung up. “Olivia?”
“For real? You’re not messing with me?”
“For real.”
“Wow! Just wow! I’m. I’m. I’m surprised and happy for you. Walsh is a nice guy. I wish you all the happiness. You deserve it. But you tell him if he does anything to hurt you I will track him down and make him wish he’d never been born.”
“I will tell him.” Ben wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “But that’s not something you or I will ever have to worry about.
“I know we don’t have much time.” Their calls were kept short for security. “Tell me about you and Dec.” Olivia and Declan, a DEA agent, had crushed a drug cartel. While Declan recuperated from near fatal wounds and for their protection, the government had hidden them in a safe location. Contact was forbidden but Olivia had found a way to occasionally get a call through.
“We’re both fine. He’s a hundred percent, Mom.”
Gemma beamed at her use of the word.
“He has some wicked scars. I’ve just had a thought. When we get back Ben might be able to take care of that.”
Gemma looked at her husband. “Yes, I think he could. When do you think that will be?”
“Soon. Very soon. Sorry, it’s time . . . Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, baby girl.” The connection was broken.
Gemma looked at her husband. “She good with us?” he asked.
“Yes.” The lump in her throat was making it difficult to speak.
“You happy?” Ben said.
“Very.” How could she not be? Her daughter called her Mom and said she loved her. By some wonderful alignment of the stars and planets, she was with a man she could trust and loved. Thank God he hadn’t given up on her.
“Good. Gemma Walsh, I’ve become a very goal-oriented person. Keeping you happy is my number-one goal. You”—he pointed a finger at her—“being happy makes”—he pointed the same finger at his chest—“me happy, and me being happy is my number-two goal.”
“I love you, Ben Walsh.”
“I love you, Admiral.”
She squinted at him. “Are you always going to call me Admiral when you want to make love?”
“Yep. It’s a definite turn-on.” He took her hand and stood, pulling her up with him.
“Come on, pretty lady, I have goals to meet.”
About the Author
Rita grew up running the beaches of a barrier island on Florida’s east coast. An island brat, she spent more time climbing weathered oaks and chasing alligators than playing with the dolls her family gave her. She married a Marine and feels fortunate to have lived many places and traveled to the states and countries she didn’t live in.
Retired from government service, she moved back to that barrier island, where she writes
contemporary women’s fiction and suspense thrillers, weaving her experiences into her stories. Her heroes and heroines are either in the military or government service because she writes what she knows. Her father was in the Coast Guard and immediate family members served in every branch of the service. They ranked from private to admiral, and worked as desk jockeys, grunts, pilots, and everything in between. She’s experienced the highs and lows of military and government life and is grateful for each experience.
Rita finds living on the island inspirational to writing: brilliant sunrises over the Atlantic; long walks on the beach having conversations with her characters; enjoying sunsets over the intercoastal waterway from the dock.
She reads or listens to two to three books a week (she prefers listening while doing housework so as not to waste time). She has no favorite author, she just loves a good story.