The Officer Says "I Do" (2 page)

“Stay close,” he said. It was an order, not a request.

“Are you my designated keeper?” she retorted, though the order gave her another shiver.

“I am tonight,” Tim replied. He motioned something to his friends who nodded. Jeremy leaned in to speak in his ear, but Tim shook his head and waved him off. “I’m good.” When he glanced down and saw she hadn’t moved, he smiled. The look was predatory, pure male satisfaction. “Very good.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the closest cash-out counter. She walked with him, but only because he had an iron grip on her hand and it was either follow or be dragged caveman style.

“We’re heading to X-cess!” Tasha called out behind her, naming the popular nightclub also housed within the casino. “Call me if you need me!” When Skye glanced back, all she could see were four blurs moving toward the hotel’s largest nightclub.

Abandoned. Tasha and Jessie were in a matchmaking mood tonight. Otherwise they wouldn’t have dared leave her alone with a stranger.

Skye stood back a few feet while Tim spoke to the cashier at the window, then a manager. Some papers were thrust at Tim, and he scratched on them with a pen for a few moments and then passed them back. He walked away, slipping what looked like a room card in his pocket.

“Comped room?”

He gave her a strange look. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Isn’t that how it always works?” she said vaguely. Of course she knew. She was an employee. A one-night stand didn’t require she share her life story.

Tim pulled his hand back out of his pocket, the room key still in his hand. Long, tan fingers flipped the card over, rubbed the smooth glossy finish, traced the edges of the plastic. Those fingers—and the not-so-PG images they were creating in her mind—could do some serious damage to her self-control. What little she had.

“Do you believe in following signs?”

Skye’s breath caught in her chest. “Yeah. I do.” Talk about a big, neon marquee.

Tim nodded silently, still staring at the room key. Was he going to ask her up? That’s where this was all heading anyway, right? A night of pleasure before he went back to wherever he came from.

Not that she did that often. Rarely, actually. Skye was more of a relationship person. But she was also a woman, and between boyfriends she never felt like there was much wrong with enjoying herself.

But Tim called to her senses like no other man had before. And walking away without even seeing if one night was an option would have been almost painful.

“Ever realize that you’ve been watching life instead of living it?” He looked at her, but his eyes weren’t seeing her. Skye would have guessed waving a hand in front of his face wouldn’t have fazed him. It was like he mentally left the building.

“Kind of a philosophical question for the first meeting, don’t you think?” she teased, hoping for a reaction.

He gave her a grin and she relaxed. “You’re right. Screw being philosophical.” Before she had a chance to say anything in response, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her around a corner. In the shadow of a potted palm tree, he gently nudged her back against a wall. “Just need to see,” he murmured and then his lips were on hers.

The bright casino lights, the buzz of voices, the clanging of bells and wailing of sirens all faded to nothing, as if they’d stepped in a bubble built for two.

Skye wasn’t one to lie to herself. She could play the outraged damsel, she could act the indignant uptight woman. But since she was neither, and because it was exactly what she wanted, she only wound her arms around Tim’s neck to bring him closer. To encourage.

Not that he needed the encouragement. The man was taking what he wanted whether she agreed or not. His tongue licked the seam of her lips and dove in without waiting for her to catch up.

He tasted like whiskey, and he felt like velvet. Large hands circled her waist and pulled her against him. The outline of his erection was hot against her hip, and she felt powerful. One palm coasted up her ribs until he cupped her breast, then thumbed her nipple through the thin material of her tank top. The other lifted the hem of her shirt up. Just enough to have her gasping, wondering how far he would go. But he only let his thumb rub the skin of her lower stomach. Nothing more.

All smooth and sensual, the kiss wasn’t meant to make her knees weak. No, it was meant to strengthen her enough to handle what followed. This wasn’t the main course. It was the appetizer.

Thank
you. Thank you, Fate, for bringing me this fine specimen.

He murmured something in her ear, but she couldn’t hear it.

“What?” she asked. Oh God, was that her voice? It sounded so thin, so vague.

“I said marry me,” he said and bit her earlobe.

Marry? Did he just ask—no, tell—her to marry him?

What
the
hell, Fate?

“Um…” She tried to form a complete sentence, but her mind was slipping into some hazy alternate universe. A universe where, apparently, the thought of a forever commitment with a complete stranger wasn’t enough to send her screaming into the night.

“I have never felt this pull before. And tonight is about living. And we’re in Vegas.” He took a good nip on her throat and soothed the spot with his tongue. The hand on her breast tugged until her tank neckline lowered. Until his hand was cupping her bra and not her shirt. Oh God, he was going to undress her in the hallway. And she was going to let him.

Skye let her head fall back until it thudded against the wall. Was this what Fate was planning the entire time? Was the fact that she hadn’t said no automatically a sign?

“I don’t know anything about you,” she said weakly. Weakly, as if she was losing power by the second.

“Thirty-one. Never married. Clean bill of health. Captain in the Marine Corps. Twenty-nine Palms. Last name O’Shay.” He ended each description with a pinch of her nipple, a twist of the flesh.

She was drowning. That’s why her lungs were working double-time to drag air in. No other explanation.

“Not going to share anything?” His other hand scooted up to her bottom rib, taking her shirt with it.

“McDermott,” she managed to breathe out. “Twenty-eight. Restaurant manager. Never married.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. One knee pried her legs apart until she was riding his thigh. The pressure between her legs was a torment. “Feels better.”

On that, she couldn’t disagree.

“Well?” he asked against her lips.

Fate
is
never
wrong.

Skye took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Fate
is
just
waiting
for
you
to
catch
up.

Tim opened the door to his comped suite with a flourish, then caught himself as he almost fell through the door. “Welcome.”

The brunette walked in and looked around, dropping her purse on the entry table. Skye. Her name was Skye. How the hell had he gotten her up here?
Think, Tim. Think
.

Blackjack. Palm tree. Car ride. Paperwork. Did he bring paperwork? Did he sign something?

He ran a hand down his face and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples. He was losing chunks of time. Damn, why did he keep drinking after he won all that cash?

This
is
why
I
don’t drink whiskey. This is why I’m always the nanny.

He watched as Skye—what an odd name—surveyed their surroundings. He hadn’t been in the suite himself yet. With each step, her hips swayed in that little black skirt she wore and he stopped caring how they got from Point A to Point B.

Kissing Skye. That was something he remembered. Vividly.

She walked over to the L-shaped couch, sat down, and crossed her legs. Her skirt slithered up her thighs, dangerously close to showing him exactly what she was wearing underneath. That was a mystery he was more than willing to look into.

Patting the couch cushion beside her, she said, “Come over here.”

He walked over, ignoring the way the room tilted, and plopped down on the couch beside her. Had she followed him up? Or did he invite her? Shit, why couldn’t he remember?

“I think we need to get to know each other a little.”

He bit back the urge to ask why. That would have been rude. Tim didn’t do rude. Unless he was drunk. Fuck, was he drunk? No. If he was drunk he wouldn’t be so damn horny. His arm curved around the top of the couch, hand dangling, fingers brushing the soft skin of her shoulder.

She gave a shy smile, like she was embarrassed. “Tell me something about you. I know your name and your age. But that’s all.”

“What do you want to know?” To take her mind off conversation, he leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek, then let his lips roam over her jawline.

“Well,” she breathed. “What do you do in the Marine Corps?”

Still talking. He scooted until he was facing her and brushed a hand down her arm. She shivered and he smiled against her neck. Working his way down to the place where her shoulder started, he lightly bit the tendons. She gasped, and a hand came up to cup the back of his head. Ah, that was better. He tugged at the hem of her tank, letting the back of his fingers brush against the warm skin of her stomach while they drifted up.

“You… you didn’t answer,” she said on a sigh.

“Comm. I’m a Comm guy.” There. Hopefully that was enough to satisfy her. To ensure her silence, he sealed his mouth over hers.

God, she tasted good, like something light and not entirely tamed. She groaned in his mouth, firing his blood more. He leaned and shifted enough to get a good grip on her hips, then sat back and dragged her over so that she straddled his lap. Letting his hands wander down, he felt the piece of fabric she called a skirt bunched up around the top of her hips, leaving nothing but a scrap of lace between her core and his fingers.

He pulled his head back long enough to yank her tank top off, throwing it behind him. Only he forgot the couch backed up to a wall and the back of his hand bashed against a picture frame and her tank top slithered down to drape around his shoulders.

“Shit,” he groaned. Was that the picture frame or his hand he heard crack? Before he could check for damage to either, he glanced up and his mouth watered at the sight in front of him.

See-through black lace cups offered up firm breasts, and he took one pebbled nipple in his mouth. The rasp of fabric and his tongue had her panting, moaning his name.

That was a sound he could get used to. Pain was a long-forgotten sensation.

Quick fingers undid the front hook and he brushed the bra aside and down her arms. He moved his attention to her other breast, sucking and nibbling, inhaling the faint scent of her. Clean, fresh, like she just stepped out of the shower. No cloying, overly sweet, fake scent. He focused on her breasts with the utmost concentration. If he let his mind wander to the nearly-bare heat pressing against his groin, he’d never last. He needed her desperate for him before he even attempted to go further.

Her nails scraped in his short hair, scouring his scalp. He could feel her galloping heartbeat under his palm as he massaged her other breast. Her hips thrust forward, rubbing her against him, begging for more.

He ran a palm down her stomach. Reaching that layer of lace, he traced one finger down her seam, felt the dampness of her arousal through the lace. He damn near lost it then, knowing how primed and ready she was. But his control was a thing of legend, and he wasn’t about to let it go now. He debated for a moment, then took a good hold of the side of her panties and ripped until the fabric split in half.

She gasped and stared at him with wide, wild eyes. She was a goner, and it gave him a fierce sense of satisfaction.

He shoved the fabric aside and let his fingers drift once, twice over her damp lips before pushing one finger deep into her wet heat. She groaned, and he would have sworn her pupils dilated. He smiled against her breast and bit the soft flesh, mostly to hear her breath speed up. He wasn’t disappointed.

Another finger added to the first, and her head dropped back. God, she was something.

“Please. Tim, please.” Her voice was harsh, like gravel stuck in her throat.

“What do you want?” Would she ask? Was she too embarrassed to ask for an orgasm?

“You.” With what looked like great effort, she lifted her head to look directly in his eyes. Her hair was a riot of curls, her eyes were heavy, her mouth swollen. “I want you inside me.”

He was beyond denying her—or himself—at that point. He nudged her so that she swung one leg back off. With shaking fingers, he undid the buttons to his jeans and slid them down to his knees, taking his boxers with him. His erection thumped his stomach, and he wondered when the last time he’d been so hard so fast was. With an affectionate slap on the thigh, he pulled her over his lap again. She shrieked and laughed, her core heat cradling his cock.

But when he lifted her up to take him in, she resisted. Looking up, he was surprised to see embarrassment on her face that, seconds ago, had held blind lust.

“What?”

She stared at his lap, then back at him. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then asked, “Protection?”

Shit. How the hell had he forgotten that? Where the fuck was his head? He hadn’t made that mistake since he was seventeen. He motioned for her to scoot once more so he could reach into the back pocket of his jeans, still hanging around his knees. Reaching into the wallet, he grabbed the foil packet there and tossed the billfold on the coffee table. But before he could take care of things himself, sly fingers took the packet from him.

Gone was the hint of embarrassment. Now that she didn’t have to ask him blatantly stupid questions—like reminding him rule number one of consensual sex—she seemed more at ease. No, not at ease. The slight tilt of her lips as she knelt down on the floor between his legs was one of a temptress who knew exactly what she was doing.

One slender hand peeled his erection away from his stomach. She stroked him, letting her thumb graze the top of his head and spread the moisture that seeped out at her firm touch. She used her teeth to tear open the packet, and in a smooth caress, she rolled the protection over his cock.

When had safe sex ever been so damn sexy?

She stood and gave him a peck on the nose, which had him grinning. Then with a quick zip and a shimmy of her hips, the skirt that had been bunched around her waist fell to the ground with a soft rustle. Keeping her heels on—oh, that was nice—she crawled back onto his lap. Her hands stayed on his shoulders for balance and she rocked against him. Her mouth touched his and he lost all remaining hope of holding off any longer.

Reaching between them, he guided their bodies until he inched inside the beckoning heat. With slow, controlled movements, she slid down until he was fully encased.

Holy mother of Chesty Puller. His head dropped to the back of the couch. She rotated around, and he closed his eyes and bit back a groan. God in heaven that was amazing.

“Feel good?” she asked against his neck. Her teeth grazed his pulse.

“You have no clue how unbelievable that feels.”

She chuckled. “I might have an idea. We’re kind of in this together. All the way in this.”

Her tone was so ominous, he made the effort to look up. For just a moment, her eyes held a serious gleam rather than the sultry promise of earlier. He almost asked what she meant. But then she smiled and rose up on her knees, only to sink down again fully. At that moment, she could have told him she was Mary, Queen of Scots and he wouldn’t have cared.

He let her set the pace, and he was thankful that it was a bruising one. Sweat created a sheen over their skin. Their stomachs stuck together. The pull and give of their bodies created a wet, suctioning noise that was almost more arousing than anything. But the thing that caught his attention most was the intense way she focused on his face. Peppering kisses, gentle caresses, gazing into his eyes. He wasn’t sure if she knew it or not, but she was imprinting herself on his brain. He doubted he’d forget the look on her face as she climbed toward release if he lived to be ninety.

She panted his name, but he could barely hear over the buzzing in his ears. His vision started to tunnel. When had that happened before? But he wasn’t about to let go of the opportunity to finish with Skye. He reached between them and used his thumb to rub quick circles around her clit.

Explosion. That was the only word to describe her reaction. Her head flew back, hair raining down to almost brush his thighs. She moaned; her nails bit into his shoulder. And her body convulsed around him. The reaction triggered his own orgasm, every moment of release pure bliss.

She dropped her head down onto his shoulder, and all he could think was,
I’m done for. I’ve never had an orgasm do this to me. Sex can kill.
Then his vision blackened and the world went silent.

***

Skye woke up to daylight pouring through the window. What the hell? When had she drawn the curtains? She never left those open.

Oh, for the love of Mother Earth.

She shot up in bed, grabbing the sheets to cover her breasts. Hand impatiently pushing away at hair that flew into her face, she scanned the room.

Bedroom, one of the suites at Celestial Palace. No sign of Tim.

Her
husband.

Her knees drew up and she let her forehead drop down to rest on them. What the hell had she done? She let her ideals of Fate walk her into a quickie Vegas wedding. A Vegas wedding. The cliché of all clichés. Where was her head? Where was her common sense?

Where was her husband?

She gingerly pushed the sheets back and crept out of bed, naked as the day she was born. She didn’t hear anything. No noise coming from the living room. None from the bathroom. Maybe he snuck out for breakfast?

How he could walk after last night, she wasn’t sure. After sharing that mind-blowing orgasm, she was ready to snuggle up and talk. Get to know each other more. See what they had walked into. Make plans for the future.

What an idiot she was.

Instead, Tim had passed out cold. She almost thought he’d died, the way his head tipped back and clonked against the wall. But his breathing had been normal, pulse was steady. Apparently he’d been drunk, and she hadn’t even realized it.

How did she miss that? Drinking, she knew that much. But drunk as a skunk? She was a restaurant manager, for cripes’ sake. She knew what intoxication looked like. Daily battles were fought with patrons trying for just one more beverage. But she’d either missed every sign he’d given on her quest to follow that conniving bitch Fate, or he was just one of the few who was a light switch. Fine until it flips, then it’s game over.

There was no way she would have been able to shift him into the bedroom like that, so she did what she could to clean him up and lie him flat on the couch. The faint sound of his snores followed her as she went to the bedroom to sleep by herself. On her wedding night. With her husband passed out on the couch.

Every bride’s dream.

She decided to grab a quick shower while she had the chance. If she was going to face her consequences, she wanted to do it feeling fresh and without morning breath.

A quick shower and blow-dry later, she donned one of the fluffy white robes provided by the hotel. With one hand on the door leading to the living room, she paused. What if he was still asleep? Or waiting for her, ready to ask for an annulment?

Annulment her ass. There was a reason they were married. And she was going to keep it that way.

Skye pressed a hand over her racing heart.
Pull
it
together. You can do this. Fate led you here for a reason, and you followed willingly. Put on your big girl panties and face the music. Or, well, the Marine.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. More light poured in from the window, a stark contrast to the dark, seductive cave from last night. Tim wasn’t on the couch, but her clothes were. Folded neatly, they sat all alone on the middle cushion, the clutch purse she’d had with her resting on top. On the same cushion where they’d made love the night before.

Her cheeks and neck flushed, though she wasn’t sure why. A quick glance to the kitchenette and balcony showed he wasn’t in the suite at all. Nor were any of his things. Not his wallet or his watch or anything that showed he even existed anywhere but in her mind. The horrible thought made the bottom of her stomach drop, then double-check her purse.

Yup. Still there. Folded into a tiny square was the marriage license. Signed, dated, and legally binding. She wasn’t sure whether the cool relief she felt was because they really were married, or simply because she wasn’t crazy, hadn’t dreamed the whole thing.