Honey Moon (13 page)

What if I… Shut up and get on with this.

The pilot-legal handgun tucked to his back under the pressed pilot jacket, Sam strode with false confidence past the rows of couples. He could feel their gazes burning into his backside as he approached the shuttle. Someone was certain to cry out any second, calling for security to apprehend a fraud who knew as much about flying a rocket as websites could cram into a guy within two days of losing a bride.

“Sweetheart, over here,” called a low soprano. “Sam? You need to wait in line with me.”

That’s my name, but sweetheart?
No woman had ever called him that before
.
More importantly, his gut clenched because the voice sounded hauntingly familiar.

Don’t look. Can’t be.
He kept walking.

“You bastard, quit messin’ around.”

He came to a dead stop. Bastard was an endearment he’d heard countless times.

“Sam? Please.”

He turned and it felt like his heart hit the pavement. The woman he’d obsessed about non-stop for forty-eight hours stood alone, a little backpack on her shoulder, almost at the end of the queue.

Oh shit.
His heartbeat skipped, his cock perked and he sucked in a sharp inhalation. Songbirds would return to spin round his head, if they weren’t being blasted out of existence by shock and a bunch more words that began with ‘S’.
She’s here!
Too short, too sexy, too smart, but, without doubt, love at second sight.
Christ, she’s so sweet
. Her presence, doing the one thing he’d told her not to do, could be a good thing, right?

Hell, no. I’ll kill her myself
. He stomped forward with the fury of a guy worried the only woman he’d ever thought of as a sweetheart would never squirm with joy against anyone’s chest again, let alone his.

“Have you been drinking?” She blushed at him. “Silly man. That pilot jacket won’t fool anyone. But geez, you do look handsome.” Her gaze fell, bright eyes glistening, as she babbled. “Wow. Can’t believe we’re headed on our honeymoon and I’m so nervous. Do stop playing around. Okay, husband?”

Sam stopped, toe-to-toe with her. His hand beneath her chin forced her to face his most ferocious scowl. “It’s almost as if I don’t even know your name, wife.”
Ohgodohgod, she’s not a hallucination. So pretty. Smells so damn good. Want to hug, kiss… Can’t.
He dropped his hand, making sure she noted his fingers curling into a fist. “Didn’t you get the message when justice said honor and obey? I told—”

“Stop being mean.” She glanced down at her mid-calf skirt. “I know you wanted me to wear that black thing. Short skirts get me into so much trouble. We must behave, or they’ll throw us out the airlock.”

She reached for him and his hand shot out so fast to grab hold of hers, an adorable twitch of a smile curved her lips. “You missed me then?”

Absolutely. Like I’d found and lost a part of my soul.
He deepened his frown to an intense glower. “No. I said no. I’m afraid—”

“Yes. I said yes and I’m not afraid.” The timid edge about her disappeared, eaten up by defiance. “What could you possibly fear so much you snuck off on this morning, of all days?”

Her little fingers trembled in his, and he grumbled, “I only had a few beers. Forgive me? You’re the best quickie to ever happen to me. But if you’re as smart as I think you are, nothing like someone stupid enough to hook up with random guys, you’ll divorce me right now.”

He narrowed his eyes at the pair behind them. They turned to each other, pretending they weren’t listening.

“Never. Till death do us part.” She tugged her hand from his and he reluctantly let go, watching her open the pack.

“You left your ring on the dresser,” she said. “I finished and filed the paperwork as well. Isn’t it stupid we still call it paperwork, when no trees are…?” She drew in a deep breath and peeked at him. “Sorry. I’ll stop babbling any time now. Regardless, we’re all set, Mister Bond.” She glanced at the woman in front. “Good thing he’s so darn cute, right?”

His jaw twitched. What the hell had she done? And why couldn’t he stop staring at the splash of freckles across her face, those sweet lips, the dip in her throat he’d savored when he’d kissed the spot, the swell of breasts within the button-down blouse and pebbled nipples he hadn’t tasted?

“Here you go, Samuel James Bond.” She pressed a thin gold band into his hand that matched the one gleaming on her finger, angling her wrist phone screen for him.
Jenna Bond.
He licked his lips and jerked his attention back to face, breasts, stomach, heaven, long…short legs.

Christ, not good
. She was trembling. Nervous and afraid, a strong breeze could topple her. Unlike his normal type where he had but to turn his head and dip an inch or so to reach lips, he’d love to grab her and pull her to tiptoes, and bend—
behave, asshole.
Felt like his heart plummeted to his damn toes. He had to protect her—from boarding that shuttle and from himself.

“Hm, notice the witnesses?” she mumbled. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“No. It’s as if I never had chance to really look at a gift that I have to return.” He continued raking his gaze over her. “Speaking of cute butts. Turn round. Run home and make sure we didn’t leave a light on.”

She snorted. “Ha ha. A check of home security is easy enough from here. Let me show you how couples save the day… I mean, don’t waste electricity by cooperating.” She grabbed his wrist and linked her phone to his. Electricity jolted up his arm, racing in every direction before his brain kicked in and rerouted the current to skip north, east and west to concentrate on south.

His eyes widened, hairs on his arms competing with the rest of him to stiffen, as she unhooked their phones and playfully slapped his stomach. “Everything’s fine. Forget the past and pay attention to the now. It’s almost time to board.”

Attention? Yeah, that wasn’t an issue. His cock was as hard as it had been when he’d seen her for the first time two days ago. He’d gone past high alert into ramrod mode, more than eager to salute her over and over for hours, days, years—a lifetime.

“Sam?” Her voice quavered.

He shook his head, jarring the layer of lust swamping him. Maybe she wasn’t trying to prove to him again how magnetically attracted they were. She wanted him to understand authorities would connect her to him, the man with a handgun registered to the guy bound and gagged and laid out on his bed. The idiot who had to get rid of his unexpected wife and get onboard that shuttle as an employee loaded with something other than a throbbing hard-on, ready to pilot newlyweds into the stars.

But, Christ. She—
my wife!
—had gone viral with her identity. Her alias was now connected to him. Making her, this sweetheart of a spy—
Bond, lol—
as doomed as he was. It also meant that whatever she’d done to his wrist phone guaranteed them access into the shuttle, if some numbnut wasn’t carrying a stolen weapon or a real co-pilot came running out to replace the missing one.

Few techies knew how to override files, let alone replace them so thoroughly security couldn’t tell. But what if he was wrong? Could be she’d done nothing but further sabotage a fool’s mission. Nah, that didn’t ring right. Despite only knowing Mrs. Bond in the biblical sense, he was certain the beauty staring up at him all starry-eyed was the real deal. A brilliant, highly motivated do-gooder about to regret he wasn’t up to par, not even close.

She smiled at him, taking in the pilot cap. “I can’t believe you dressed as if you could drive that thing. You’re going into a pod like your wife is, got it?”

Fuck no.
His jaw clenched, heart pounding. He didn’t seem able to think much past how much he wanted to grasp her and take those lips he’d never expected to see again.

Do it. We’re newlyweds. Who’s gonna care if I kiss and kiss and fuck…make love to her mouth with my tongue.

Forget it, you sick dog. Keep your tongue on lockdown, swallow that drool and save her.

Somehow he had to keep this Mata Hari grounded—her feet firmly planted and heading anywhere but outer space. Not like she knew he’d get busted with a handgun if he walked up the steps with the rest of the passengers. Anxiety galloped in his veins as the surroundings closed in around him. Eight more couples, and their turn to extend wrist phones while being rayed for metal and plastic. He snapped his gaze back to her.

Jenna. A lovely name, maybe even real. What had she said? That he was going into a pod like her? He furrowed his brow. “Lonely souls destined for a jail cell do whatever shenanigans they damn well please, little lady. Those pods are no fun. Only room for one, my dear. That’s clearly written in the stars.”

“Little? No way. I can’t associate you,
my dear
, with the word little.” Heat flooded her cheeks. “Have to wait until we get to the moon. Then we can do any shenanigans,” she smirked. “Seriously, who says that? Then we can do whatever you…I mean, that
I
want.”

He plastered on a leer. “Wrong. I’m not a patient guy. Forget the out-of-the-atmosphere-high club. I’m primed and ready and dangerously
illegal
.” He clasped her arms, yanked her forward, and pressed his groin into her stomach. “You’re a sweet patsy who’s gonna get screwed. Again. Run fast,
little girl
, from a Casanova, Bluebeard, Henry the VIII who marries in a blink of an eye, and doesn’t even remember it.”

She punched him in the chest, exaggerated a wince, and squirmed away. “Stop that. Don’t you understand what happened? Any identity you think you have, Mister Womanizer who’s really not a rake but…pardon more lame literary puns…a dark and stormy knight on a quest that must have two rings, not one, to bind them all. Stupid Samwise Gamgee, all that you were was erased when you signed that ‘until death do us part’ doc. We are
both
headed for Mount Doom…I mean Mons Hadley—the lunar crater waiting for bonded partners to explore. So shut up about divorce or single status or…just shut up.”

Fuckin’ balls.
She’d erased his stolen pilot clearance? His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. “Woman…Jenna, do you know what you’ve done?”
Should I kiss her or strangle her?

“I do. I’ve landed the hottest guy on Earth who can’t conceal a smokin’ pistol, not from me.” Her smile slipped, her voice lowered to a mumble. “Do you think bad things happen to those who hesitate?” She inched closer. “That I should be bold and go where all those ex-wives have gone while I still can?”

She slipped her hand beneath his jacket and his cock began humming, sucking down every drop of blood left in his brain. Last time she’d worked her hand beneath his shirt… Damn it, those clever fingers headed the wrong direction. He grunted as he felt her hand bump into the revolver. Shrugging the opened pack to her arm, she flung her other arm around him, and his insane dick cheered as she fumbled her hand over his butt.

He bent to growl in her ear. “Leave it. I can talk my way out of anything.” Public indecency… They’d get tasered before they even boarded the death shuttle.

“Right. Dumbass.”

He snorted while she wiggled the handgun loose. “Leave the dumbass then. The real action is round front anyway.” The couples, only three of them now, looked anywhere but at them.

“Later. We’d best aim to misbehave on another world.” Jenna eased the weapon out and around. “Too many eyes on this one.” The slight smack to his drooling cock wasn’t necessary but it—almost—helped him deflate as she shoved the revolver into the pack. Her face as red as the highlights in her bright hair, she rummaged through the bag. She pulled her clenched fist out, as if she held something the size of a button, and awkwardly closed the pack.

He grabbed for it.

“No.” She swung it from him. “Pay attention. You can rip straps, so fate rests with you after we board.” Big, brown, most frightened of eyes pleaded with him. “Trust me?” Her hand flew to her mouth then reached out to him. “Give me a kiss?”

What’s she up to?
She looked so worried.

Ahh, hell. Moth to flame, bee to honey, husband to wife, he homed in.

He was vaguely aware of the final couple shuffling around them. He was completely aware of her tongue insisting he swallow the fat pill she slipped from her mouth into his.

The moment his Adam’s apple bobbed, she broke the kiss. “Not sure,” she whispered, “but a guy I hired found invoices. Chemicals. Pharmaceuticals. I think…hope you swallowed the antidote.”

“Jenna and Samuel Bond?” a rough male voice bellowed.

Sam turned. A brute wearing an attendant’s uniform, LC on the lapel, glowered at them.

The bastard ogled Jenna. “Save it for the moon. Lucky I don’t have you arrested for overly annoying public displays of affection.” The man shifted his gaze to Sam and narrowed his eyes. “Nice suit coat and hat.” He flipped his fingers at the shuttle. “As if any pretty flyboy compensating for a”—his tones flooded with sarcasm—“wittle itty dick would handle one of these.”

Sam swallowed his snort. Doomed regardless, before he went down perhaps he’d have chance to shove the pilot cap down this prick’s throat.

The guy glowered right back at him and snapped, “Move your horny ass or this trip of a lifetime leaves without you.”

Mister Customer Service—who needed his face rearranged—disappeared into the shuttle. Approaching footsteps had Sam twisting his head to the side. A thin, short man in need of a shave thrust his arm into a white jacket identical to the one Sam wore, while striding in a beeline for the separate entrance to the cockpit.

Christ. Calling in a sub, instead of delaying and investigating what happened to the scheduled pilot, sure didn’t bode well for any sucker boarding this ride to the moon. Also incriminating, what legitimate pilot could they get with such short notice, and why was no one asking who the clown was standing in line wearing a uniform, as if he should be called into action?

He was screwed. Royally. The only hope to make the brutal beating in store for him tolerable was to get it through the thick head of his bride that she didn’t have to be on the rack with him.