A Man for All Seasons (26 page)

“We'll offer them coffee and cake and they'll leave,” she said reasonably.

“Why will they leave?”

She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, we don't have any, do we?”

“They'll offer to go and get some!” he raged.

She shrugged. “Then we'll just lock the doors before they get back.”

He burst out laughing. “Honey, you're a treasure.”

“I married one, too.” She moved as close as the seat belt allowed and laid her head on his shoulder. “Marc, did you remember to call Gretchen?”

“I phoned her from the church on my cell phone, while you were tidying up in the ladies' room,” he said. “She wasn't in, but her personal secretary will relay the message.”

“That reminds me. I'm related to a head of state now!”

She sighed. “I feel as if I should stand up and salute or something.”

“Speaking of things that stand up and salute…” he muttered as he pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the bevy of grinning people.

“Congratulations!” Judd Dunn drawled, and moved aside to uncover a huge cooler. He opened it, displaying two magnums of the best champagne.

“Don't forget the food,” another Ranger reminded him.

“I haven't forgotten a thing.” Judd opened another cooler, displaying chilled shrimp on a platter with an interior bowl of cocktail sauce.

“My favorite food in the whole world!” Josie exclaimed. “You sweet guys!”

“And gals.” A brunette popped out, sticking her head from behind one of the really tall visitors. Four other female heads joined it, all grinning.

“And gals!” Josie added on a chuckle. “Thanks so much!”

“I didn't know you liked shrimp cocktail,” Brannon said, surprised.

“You should read her résumé at the attorney general's office,” the brunette said. “Like we did. She also likes French crepes and meat loaf.”

“Yes, I know. I can cook those,” Brannon murmured.

The Rangers exchanged wicked grins.

Brannon took off his hat and whacked Judd Dunn with it. “Thanks for the champagne. Now go away!”

“Marc!” Josie gasped, outraged.

He gave her a pointed glare and hit Judd again with the hat.

“Stop that,” Grier said in his best law enforcement voice. He moved in front of the other law enforcement people, holding a sheet of paper in his hand. “Lady and gentleman,” he read, with a deadpan glance at Brannon. “We, your friends in law enforcement, wish you all the best in your married life. If you are ever in trouble and need help, remember that we are only as far away as your phone.”

“My phone is in San Antonio,” Brannon said pleasantly. He extended a long arm and pointed. “It's that way.”

“I have six more pages to read,” Grier announced belligerently.

“I have a shotgun in my den,” Brannon replied.

Everybody laughed.

“All right, Grier, you've done your bit. Now we're leaving. We planned to, anyway,” Judd told Brannon with a chuckle. “Come on guys and gals, we've got bad men to catch!”

They all formed a line to shake hands and offer con
gratulations. Josette didn't recognize the names, but she knew she'd learn them over time. She was touched by the crowd's friendliness, and astonished at Grier's.

They drove away, car by car, and Josette turned to her husband with soft, loving eyes after the last one had been waved off.

“We're going to live in a very nice place.”

He nodded. He studied her soft, pretty face, surrounded by a cloud of blond hair. He smiled gently. “You make a beautiful bride, Mrs. Brannon.”

“You make a handsome groom.”

He sighed and turned to the coolers of champagne and shrimp cocktail. “Which would you like first?” he asked, studying them.

She closed both coolers and took his hand in hers. “Later,” she said, and lifted her wide, soft eyes to his.

 

It was still daylight. Even though the master bedroom was dark, she was a little uneasy with him. Her early memories of intimacy were painful ones, despite her joy in Brannon's touch.

He drew her to him and searched her wide, worried eyes. His fingers drew lightly across her soft mouth. “A man who is a man doesn't tear petals off rosebuds,” he whispered. “Do you understand me?”

She smiled slowly. “Yes. I think I do.”

He smiled back. “I've waited a long, long time for you, Mrs. Brannon,” he said softly. “I promise you, it's going to be worth it. For both of us. Now stop worrying. We're teenagers making out in a big, square parked car. Okay?”

She hadn't thought that intimacy could be fun. He made it sound more like a wicked adventure than an ordeal of embarrassed first times.

She looked around at the room. “A big, square parked car?” she echoed.

“With all the windows closed,” he murmured as he brushed his lips against her mouth. “We're going to fog up the windows.”

She remembered doing that in his vehicle outside her hotel, and she chuckled as she moved closer to him. “That was a small space. This is a very big room.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he agreed lazily. “But we're going to generate a lot of heat together.”

As he spoke, his hands moved gently up and down her sides, not even touching her intimately. He began to kiss her, very lightly, smiling as he felt her body relax into his.

For a long time, all he did
was
kiss her. Josette sighed as she felt the nonthreatening brush of his hard mouth
on her lips. It was like when they'd first started dating. He was gentle and slow, and it was like exploring unknown territory all over again.

But this time, she wasn't locked up in bad memories and afraid of the unknown. She loved this man with all her heart. She wanted a life with him, children with him.

Brannon nibbled her upper lip. “You see?” he whispered. “Slow and easy, Josie. We've got all the time in the world.”

She sighed. “I was so nervous,” she confessed.

“So was I.”

Josette drew back and met his twinkling eyes. “You're not a novice,” she pointed out.

“With you, I am,” he replied quietly. “In the past, it was a need I satisfied, nothing more.” He searched her eyes. “With you, it's an act of love.”

Her face mirrored her fascination. She touched his mouth with her fingertips. “I never loved anyone else,” she said slowly. “It was…always you.”

“Just as it was always you, for me,” he replied, bending. “For the past two years, I've gone hungry. You're going to be the most delicious little banquet I ever put my mouth to.”

Josette smiled at his wording. Then his hands drew
her into full contact with him and she felt the sudden hardness of his desire against her. She hesitated, but only for a few seconds. His mouth brushed her lips apart and one lean hand went slowly under her skirt and up against the silken skin of her thighs. He kissed her more insistently as he found her beneath the trifle of lace she wore and began to discover her intimately.

She gasped and his tongue shot into her mouth. She couldn't get her breath. He'd only touched her like that once, a long time ago. But now he wasn't hesitant or shocked at what he found, because her body was no longer a fortified sanctuary. It was open to his touch, to his desire, and she moaned jerkily as he found a pressure and a rhythm that lifted her in an arch against him.

It was evident that she'd never known physical pleasure. She clung to him, her nails bit into him, and she held on as if she were terrified that he might stop.

“Easy,” he whispered as she twisted against him. “This is just the beginning.”

“Marc…!” Her voice was tortured. She was blind, deaf, dumb. All she knew was the delight her body was discovering.

Her eyes closed so that she could savor it more fully. She was falling. There was something soft and cool at
her back. The pleasure was dark and wicked and…she gasped as the urgency of it increased all at once.

“You're much too intense,” he whispered into her mouth, and smiled. “Let me take the edge off that hunger first. Then we'll start again.”

Josette didn't understand. She started to speak when a jolt of pleasure lifted her off the bed. Her eyes flew open and met his, but they were sightless, blind with the building ecstasy that made her shiver with each brush of his fingers.

“No…oo!” she choked out, frightened.

His lips pressed tenderly to her eyes, closing them, and his touch became insistent. “I love you more than my life,” he breathed. “Let it happen.”

Seconds later, she went over some hot, pulsating precipice and began to shudder rhythmically, helplessly. She clung to him, her mouth open against his shirt as she gave herself to the ecstasy of fulfillment.

Afterward, of course, she cried. It was embarrassing and shocking, and her emotions were so scattered that she couldn't tell up from down.

Brannon laughed tenderly, his lips slow and gentle on her face even though his powerful body had a faint tremor. “And now that you have a taste of what you
can expect,” he whispered wickedly, “we can learn to share.”

“Sh…share?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He stripped her out of her dress and underthings and bent to put his mouth hard against her stomach before it moved up and brushed slowly over her taut breasts. “I love the way you taste,” he said softly. “Holding back is the hardest thing I've ever done. But it has to be perfect, this time. Absolutely perfect.”

Brannon stood up and began to divest himself of his own clothes. Her glasses were on the side table, but he was close enough that she could see him. When he got to the black boxer shorts he wore, her head turned away in faint embarrassment.

“None of that,” he said gently. “Look at me, Josette.”

Josette knew her face was scarlet as she forced her eyes back up. He was so aroused that it was impossible not to know it. His powerful body seemed poised on a knife edge as he looked down at her.

Amazingly, the sight of him like that made her hungry. She felt her body move of its own accord, and the eyes that met his were misty with desire.

“I don't…understand what's happening to me,” she managed to say, shivering.

He smiled slowly. “You will,” he said. And he eased down beside her.

I
n the tempestuous minutes that followed, Josie learned more about her own body than she'd ever known. His hands were expert as they brought her from one peak of pleasure to another, only to let her down gently at the last minute and start all over again.

“You're killing me!” she protested wildly, as he stopped short again and rolled across the bed with her, one long, hard-muscled leg between both of hers as he bent to her breasts again and suckled her.

His fingers dug in at the top of her thighs and he chuckled against her body as he drew his hair
roughened leg against the inside of her soft one. “That's the idea,” he murmured. “What?”

Brannon nipped her shoulder before his mouth moved back up her chin to torment her swollen, soft mouth. “That's what they call it. The little death.”

“Marc,” she groaned as his mouth bit hard into hers. Her hands were buried in the damp thickness of his wavy hair and her body was trembling. So was his. She wondered at his stamina, because it seemed a long time since he'd undressed her. He was still fiercely aroused, but when she lifted to tempt him, he only moved away again.

She felt him touching her as the hunger built to flash point. She steeled herself for another sudden stop, but it didn't happen. This time, he sank into her. She felt him with awe, with wonder, as her body protested just faintly the newness of invasion.

He lifted his head and looked into her wide eyes. His face was clenched and she felt him shiver with every hard downward movement of his hips. Only then did it occur to her that he'd reached the limit of his endurance.

“Help me,” he whispered harshly. “I can't hold it for much longer.”

“I don't…” she faltered breathlessly.

“Find the position you need,” he murmured against her mouth. “Shift your body against mine until you feel the pleasure bite into you…there, sweetheart?”

“There!” she gasped, lifting helplessly in an arch. “Oh…yes…there!”

His mouth opened and began to penetrate hers. He felt her body dance with his, felt her arch up to him, press herself as close as she could get. She was rigid with it, he could feel the pulsation in her even as he felt it begin in himself. He was hot, throbbing, swelling…

He cried out in an agony of release, his whole body flung up into glorious joy and mind-killing satisfaction. He hoped she was going with him, because he lost it entirely. He shuddered again and again and again, groaning her name as the waves of pleasure knocked him almost unconscious.

She felt his pleasure even through the violent satisfaction he gave her. So this was what it was all about, she thought dazedly, clinging to him with bruising fingers. Her mouth opened against his bare shoulder and she shivered with the intensity of it, the beauty of fulfillment. She understood at last what he'd meant when he said he'd given her a taste of satisfaction just as they began. Words couldn't do justice to the sensations that
whipped through her slender body. She kissed the taut muscle of his shoulder hungrily as she sank into the mattress with a final, agonizing shudder of ecstasy.

It was hard to breathe. She couldn't stop shaking. Her body was sore, but gloriously pleasured. She felt the dampness of moisture clinging to her skin, her hair. Her fingers brushed lightly against his long, lean back and she felt the same moisture there. She moved, and felt him deep in that secret place and she laughed softly.

“For a nervous beginner, you're a quick study,” he murmured into her throat.

She laughed out loud and hugged him close. “Oh, you rake,” she whispered lovingly, kissing his throat. “You wonderful, wonderful rake!”

He laughed, too, exhausted but completely relaxed for the first time in years. He rolled onto his back, still intimately joined to her, and held her gently on his body. “Two years of stoic repression. My God, am I glad I waited!”

“So am I.” She kissed his chest, the hair tickling her nose where her lips pressed. “We forgot something.”

His lean hand smoothed her hair with magnificent unconcern. “What?”

She punched him in the ribs. “You know what.”

He only sighed. “It's in the drawer.”

“It does us a lot of good in there!”

His mouth traveled over her chin.

“I know that.” He sighed. “Kids are great. I wouldn't mind one, even this soon. But we should use more restraint next time.”

“Sure,” she murmured. Then she laughed. She yawned. “I'm sleepy.”

“So am I.”

“Shouldn't we…?” she asked, moving slightly.

His lean arm came around her. “Stay right where you are,” he whispered. “I don't want you any farther away than you are right this minute.”

She smiled and snuggled closer with a sigh. “That goes double for me. Marc?”

“Hmm?” he asked sleepily, his voice deep and soft at her ear.

“I like being married.”

She felt the faint rumble of laughter under her. “So do I.”

It was the last thing she heard for a long time.

 

The honeymoon was officially over in a week, but people around Jacobsville noticed that it never seemed to end. You never saw Marc unless you saw Josie. She worked out of the D.A.'s office, and he worked out of
the Victoria Texas Ranger post, but when they weren't on the job, they were inseparable.

A few months later, Josie was sweeping off the front porch early on a Saturday morning while Marc was getting the men assigned to the day's work when two long, black limousines flying diplomatic flags pulled up in the dusty front yard.

Josie was wearing jeans and a dusty sweatshirt. Her hair was loose and still a little tangled, she had no makeup on, and she was wearing ancient moccasins and socks with holes in them. So, naturally, this had to be Gretchen Sabon and her husband the Sheikh. It was nice to know that she was going to make a suitable impression on her new relation, the head of state of Qawi. They'd wanted to fly to Qawi for the meeting, but their jobs had made it difficult. And there had been another power struggle in Qawi that had only just been resolved successfully. Now the Sabons had apparently taken matters into their own hands and decided to just show up as a surprise. Josie groaned and shook her head. Her hair wasn't even combed!

Marc came striding out of the barn grinning as the tall bodyguard he recognized from Gretchen's wedding got out, waved and opened the back door.

“Hi, Bojo!” Marc greeted the tall man, shaking
hands. He opened his arms as Gretchen got out, looking young and happy and very elegant, and went rushing into them.

“Hello, big brother!” Gretchen laughed. “We came to welcome Josie into the family. You remember Philippe.”

Her husband was now standing beside her, tall and handsome even with his scarred face, and beaming at his wife. He shook hands with Marc.

“Welcome to the fraternity,” Philippe murmured.

“Imagine you, getting married, and to somebody as nice as Josie,” Gretchen said warmly. She looked up onto the porch. “Hi, Josie!”

Josie put down the broom, wiped her hands on her jeans and danced down the steps, feeling shy and nervous.

“I wear jeans and sweatshirts around the palace,” Gretchen said, realizing at once what the problem was. “And I
never
wear makeup around my husband,” she added with a wicked glance at the tall, smiling man beside her.

“It is a waste of time,” Philippe drawled. He glanced at Marc and grinned. “As you know, I presume.”

“I do.” Marc pulled Josie close to his side. “This is your new brother-in-law, Philippe Sabon. He's the ruling Shiekh of Qawi.”

“I'm very honored,” Josie began.

Philippe took her hand and raised it to his lips with a smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, madame,” he said. “We thought you might like to meet your nephew as well.”

He said something in Arabic, and a woman in a hajib and an aba climbed out with a young man of about two years of age held tight in her arms. “Our son, Rashid,” he introduced, grinning at the child, who reached for his father and went eagerly into his arms.

“See that?” Gretchen said with a sigh. She shook her head. “His first word was da-da. He cries unless Philippe reads him a story at bedtime. When he gets up, he runs to his father.” She threw up her hands. “I'm just a walking incubator around here!”

“Liar.” Philippe chuckled, grinning at her. “You are a walking reform committee,” he corrected.

“I have only made a few minor changes,” she began.

He smiled and kissed his son on the cheek. “Can you make coffee?” he asked his new sister-in-law. “It has been a long and very thirsty trip out here from the airport.”

“I make excellent coffee,” Josie said, laughing. “I work in the district attorney's office. We live on it.”

“Yes, I heard about your new job,” Gretchen said,
linking arms with her. “I want to talk to you about some legal issues….”

“Oh, my God,” Philippe groaned.

Marc patted him on the shoulder. “Now, now, I'm sure it's only things like water pollution and global warming.”

“We really need to do more about prison reform in Qawi” Gretchen was saying as she and Josie went into the house.

Philippe exchanged a complicated glance with Marc.

“I've got some aged scotch whiskey in my office,” Marc said.

“Yes. And big glasses” came the amused reply.

“Uh, Your Highness…?”

Philippe turned. Curtis Russell was standing just outside the limousine alongside another Secret Service agent and two of Philippe's personal bodyguards.

“Yes?” Philippe asked.

Russell cleared his throat. “About that matter we discussed?”

Philippe sighed. “Complications, complications.” He glanced at Marc. “Your bureau chief at the FBI is willing to give Russell a job if you recommend him.”

Marc looked as if he'd been asked to swallow a salt block.

“It seems that his last assignment proved unlucky,” Philippe continued.

“He was sticking his nose into organized crime the last time I heard anything about him,” Marc pointed out. “In Austin, I believe?”

Russell swallowed hard. “I was only showing them how good an agent I'd be. And I did help that guy Phil Douglas get some evidence that helped us track down the Gates woman and bring her back for trial.”

“Yes, you did.” Marc had to agree.

“Sadly,” Philippe interjected, “he identified himself as an FBI agent.”

“You're Secret Service!” Marc exploded.

Russell grimaced. “Well, yes, technically, sort of.” He coughed. “I was on vacation at the time. I did
used
to work for the FBI, for a year or so.” He scowled. “Look here, I'd make a good agent. With all due respect, I'm wasted on visiting dignitaries! I can solve crimes. All I need is a chance!”

Philippe lifted an eyebrow at Marc, who shrugged.

“All right,” Marc said. “I'll put in a word for you. With one condition,” he added very deliberately.

“Anything!” Russell exclaimed with delight.

Marc's eyes narrowed. “That you work in one of the
other
forty-nine states of the union!”

Russell gave him a tight salute. “You bet. Yes, sir. Florida looks good to me. I love beaches.” He grinned.

Marc threw up his hands and went into the house.

 

That night, after the company was nicely settled in the guest bedroom, with guards outside the door, Marc and Josie lay close in each others' arms while moonlight made stripes across the quilted coverlet.

“Christmas is next month,” she murmured with a smile, snuggling closer. “I want a live tree that we can plant.”

“Done.”

“And some new decorations just for us.”

“You can have all the rope and spurs you want.”

Josette chuckled. “And a special ornament.”

“Hmm?”

“You know, one of those that has our names and the date we married.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Next year we can add new ones.”

He was drowsy. “New ones. Mmm-hmm.”

“Like one that says, Baby's First Christmas.”

“First Christmas. Nice. I like…what?”

He sat straight up in bed and gaped at her. “Did you say what I thought you said?”

She grinned. “We never did open that drawer next to the bed,” she reminded him.

Brannon wasn't listening to explanations. His lean hand pressed softly against her belly and he looked at her as if she'd just solved the mystery of life.

“My very own miniature Texas Ranger, boy or girl.” He chuckled softly. “What a Christmas present! Lucky, lucky me,” he whispered, and bent to kiss her with breathless tenderness.

She smiled under his mouth and lifted her arms to bring him down to her. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Lucky
me!
”

Outside, the wind was up. It was autumn after all, nippy and frosty and crisp. But inside that room, there was a warmth that all the snow in Alaska couldn't have chilled. It was, Josie thought, going to be the most wonderful Christmas of their lives. And it was.