The Officer Says "I Do" (10 page)

***

Tim watched as Skye finished rinsing off the last dish, leaving a few to soak for a while. She danced in place while doing the dishes. It was like she had an iPod on shuffle in her head at all times. In her bare feet, she swayed side to side or raised on her toes and back down, always in motion. Her skirt swayed and wrapped around her ankles.

It was a seduction, plain and simple. She was luring him with her own natural way of being, and she had no clue. It was artless, it was effortless. It was Skye. God. No wonder he was so drawn to her from the beginning.

The front of her blouse was wet from splashing water, turning the material almost transparent. She wore a lacy bra that looked like it might be light pink. And he was dying to get the shirt off to double-check.

“Tim.”

“Yeah?” He was staring at her chest. Damn. Lifting his eyes, he caught her wry smile. “Sorry. Zoned out.” He did that a lot around her, apparently.

She glanced down, noticed the state of her top, and looked back up. “Uh huh. Zoned. I asked if you needed help with the grill. Outside. The thing you used to cook the steaks? Is anyone in there?” She waved a hand in front of his eyes.

He was watching her lips move. She definitely had tempting lips. Damn, he looked like an idiot. “No. I mean yeah, sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll do it now.”

She shrugged and wiped down the last of the counter. “Okay.”

The temperature had cooled down when Tim stepped back out to clean the grill. Unfortunately, the fresh air did nothing to chill his boiling blood. The woman got under his skin, and he had no clue how. Everything she did seemed natural, second nature. But her unintentional seduction wrapped around his senses and squeezed until he could barely breathe but for wanting her.

Tim applied himself to scrubbing the wire rack down. If he couldn’t take his lust out in the bedroom, he’d take it out on the grill.

Wait, why couldn’t he apply his lust in the bedroom? She was his wife, wasn’t she? They’d already had sex once. What was the problem? He’d left her alone the night before, figuring she might be tired and out of sorts after working out the details of their marriage attempt. But tonight…

Tonight she’d cooked him dinner. Or, well, set it up anyway. She’d set his table and made it look halfway decent with whatever she could find in his house. She’d bought flowers. She was setting up house. Nesting, his mom always called it after every move. Applying herself to the details of what made a house a home.

That had to mean she felt comfortable enough for sex. Right?

God, he hoped so. Otherwise he was going to be taking a very long, cold shower with very unsatisfying results.

Tim glanced down and realized the grill hadn’t been this clean since he bought it. That was probably a sign it was time to go in and check on his wife.

His wife.

Just about now he could get used to the sound of that.

Tim finished putting away the grill and its accessories then went into the kitchen to wash his hands. No sign of Skye. He dried his hands and drifted toward the hallway. Low sound emitted from the living room. As he rounded the corner, the soft glow of the television said to look for her there.

Skye was curled up in the big armchair, her knees tucked to her chest, feet peeking out beneath the skirt’s hem. Her head lolled to one side, eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. She looked as peaceful as a dreaming child. And he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. Not even with a hard-on that could drive railroad ties.

Tim figured he had two choices. He could either let her sleep in the chair all night and wake up with a crick in her neck. Or he could carry her to bed but risk waking her. Still debating his options, he picked up the remote and turned the TV off. The decision was taken out of his hands when her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” he said softly, making sure she was entirely awake.

She gave him a sweet smile that had his stomach clenching. “Hey yourself. Is the grill cleaned?”

Polished to a shine, thanks to pent-up sexual tension. “Yup.” Hating that he was looming over her, he dropped to his knees in front of the chair. He couldn’t resist, so he went with his impulse to brush a hand over her hair. She closed her eyes and turned her head into the caress, all but purring with contentment.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, a testing gesture. She responded, lips moving with his, opening quickly to deepen the kiss. And thank God, since he had no clue how he would manage to take being shot down by his wife with grace and dignity.

Hands speared through her hair; he let Skye be his anchor. Because he was sure he’d drown without someone there to pull him out eventually. His tongue dipped into the recesses of her mouth, tasting and teasing. She gave back, stayed with him with every swirl and flick. Her back arched, pressing her breasts into his chest. Her still-damp shirt had cooled, her nipples pebbling into tight buds, pressing against him. Begging.

Tim worked his way down her jawline, mixing nips with slow kisses. He paused when he reached her rapidly throbbing pulse, letting his tongue feel the intense beat, his confidence growing as he felt how agitated she was. Her body moved restlessly under his, as if holding back and reaching out at the same time.

With one hand he pushed her shirt up, peeling it away where it stuck to skin. Pink. He was right, the bra was pink. And lace. And gorgeously girlish, which only sent his blood into a frenzied rush to escape below his belt buckle. He let his breath warm the skin of her stomach as he pressed kisses from her navel up. Reaching the edge of pink lace, he left it in place and took one tight peak between his teeth.

Skye gasped, and her hands flew to the sides of his head. He waited to see if she’d push him away or pull him closer. But she did neither, leaving him to find his own way. He took another nibble, watched while her head dropped back, her eyes flickered with sparks of heat. He moved to the other breast, rolling her nipple between his teeth. The awkward angle meant he couldn’t remove her bra without serious repositioning, and he didn’t want to break the moment. But he
could
reach something else.

His hand strayed down to her ankle, following the line of her leg over her bent knee, pushing gently until they fell open, exposing her core. He let his fingertips dance up her thigh, soaking in the restless motion of her body, the way her hands tightened around his head, until he reached the edge of her panties.

More lace. She was a matcher, which surprised the hell out of him. The thought had him smiling against her breast. He tugged gently until he could work one finger under the lace edge.

Skye’s legs closed with a snap, trapping his arm between them. Her hands pulled until he released her nipple and looked her in the eye.

Breathing heavily, she managed to pant out, “I probably should have mentioned this before now, but…”

“But. What.” The words came out as a growl. He was so close one false move might have him losing his slippery grip on anything resembling control.

She bit her lip and glanced away before looking back at him. And then he knew. He knew exactly what she was going to say, and the mere thought of it had his legs trembling with exhaustion.

Please, God, do not say it. I am begging You, if You are listening—

“I don’t think we should have sex yet.”

Tim’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He swallowed hard, drawing Skye’s eyes to his throat.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said around clenched teeth.

“No, I’m really not. And there’s a very logical explanation. If you wouldn’t mind, um…” She tapped his elbow, which was all she could reach while her legs were firmly clamped together around his arm and hand.

He looked down, then sighed. With deliberate caution, he let his hand drift down her thigh until it slid out from under her skirt. She shivered automatically. The dirty rat. Though she probably deserved that for letting it get this far. Not that she’d planned it. The man could make her head spin with one kiss. Definitely not convenient for conversation.

“Explain. And make it fast.”

She struggled to sit up and pointed to the couch. “Could you sit over there? It’s easier to think when you’re not so overwhelming.” And boy, she could just bite her tongue for that slip.

He gave her a satisfactory—almost predatory—smile before standing up and adjusting the front of his jeans. The bulge was at eye level, impossible to miss. She gulped and looked away. The less temptation the better. She used the time to pull down her shirt and make sure it was covering everything that should be covered. Of course, nothing could disguise the way her nipples stood out through the thin lace and cotton. When she heard the give of the cushions to her left, she looked back.

Tim was lounging in a deceptively casual way, one ankle propped on his other knee, arms spread over the back of the couch. Add in some silky pillows and a few girls in skimpy robes and you’d have an indolent sultan relaxing at home with his harem. But the look in his eyes was anything but relaxed. He was a panther, ready to pounce at a word from her.

Oh, how tempted she was to just give the word…

“I’m ready to hear the amazing theory that you’ve developed that says we shouldn’t have sex yet. You know, us. The married couple who has already had sex once.” His tone was wry.

She shifted until she could cross her legs beneath her, adjusting her skirt to cover her knees. Two fingers restlessly traced and worried the hem of her shirt and she forced her hands to lay flat on the armrest. “Do you really want this marriage to work? Be honest.” She couldn’t look at him when she asked. Too afraid of his face giving away more than his answer.

“I don’t half-ass things. Skye. Hey, look at me.” She did. “I either go balls to the wall or I don’t go at all. I wouldn’t have bothered asking you to move in if I thought this was a bad idea. Or a pointless idea, I should say. I don’t know what’s going to come of this, but I’m trying.”

She nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I want this to work too. And if it doesn’t, then I want to make sure we put forth every effort first. There’s just something here that Fate has for us.”

Tim rolled his eyes at that. “Fate again?”

Anger simmered on the surface, but she fought to keep it down. Three cleansing breaths later, she said, “Yes, Fate. It’s what I believe in. It’s what I believe led us to this spot. Ignore it all you want, but we’re in this position for a reason.”

“Please don’t get started on that again.”

The thin hold she had on her anger snapped. She let out a muted scream from the bottom of her throat, leapt out of the chair, and started to pace, realizing this was in some vague parallel to her conversation with Madison a week earlier.

“No, I will get started on this! If you don’t want to call it Fate, then fine. Call it something else to yourself. But at least respect where I’m coming from.” She reached the end of the room and whipped around, feeling powerful and in control. The effect was ruined when she had to spit out hair that had flown into her open mouth.

She glanced over and saw Tim fighting a smile. “Not. Amused.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Pace like a pissy tiger?”

She continued her pacing, but her anger had abated. “Yes. It helps me work out the tension.” When he smiled, she sighed and let the rest of her anger flow from her body. “I want this to work. And sex is going to get in the way.”

“Sex can only help, the way I see it,” he muttered.

Skye skidded to a halt in front of him. “Care to explain that, soldier?”

One annoying eyebrow winged up. “Number one, I’m not a soldier. I’m a Marine. Number two, you heard what I said. Doesn’t get much more clear than that.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she grabbed a handful of her hair and gave a sharp tug, letting the pain clear her mind. “How?”

Tim settled back further in the cushions and crossed his arms over his chest, straining the old T-shirt around his shoulders. She could physically see the seams straining. And damn it, she was checking him out again.

“We’ve already had sex. Plus, we’re married. So morally there’s really no problem. Besides that, from what I remember, the sex we had was pretty fuc—pretty awesome. Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “As I was saying, sex feels good. Right now, I think feeling good sounds like an excellent way to start off this marriage.”

“Sex is all we have, though.” Skye flopped back into the chair and propped her feet on the coffee table. “I want you. You want me. There, I said it.” She laughed when Tim’s eyes widened. “It’s the truth. Don’t bother denying it. But we can’t let that get in the way of working through this marriage. How can we get to know each other, to know whether we fit together—”

“We fit just fine.” He smirked and propped his feet next to hers.

She kicked until his feet landed with a thunk on the floor. “Shut up. The fact is, we don’t know how compatible we are—don’t say it—within the marriage. Removing the haze of lust or the happy pheromones we get from making love will help us focus more on bringing the emotional aspect up. I’m very serious about this. You can laugh at it, but I believe abstaining—for now—will help us grow in the relationship.”

Tim was silent, staring at the mantel above the fireplace for what seemed like a lifetime. She glanced up, following his eye line to see him staring at a wooden picture frame holding a smiling family of four. A much younger Tim and Madison, and what was most obviously his parents.

“It’s important to me,” she added quietly.

Finally he propped his feet up next to hers again and sighed. He looked at the ceiling and called out, “God, are you listening to this? Is this some kind of sick humor?”

“Oh, She has a great sense of humor,” Sky teased.

“I’m choosing to ignore that.” He ran a hand down his face then looked at her. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I get your point. And I guess that we can try it.”

Skye smiled. He was reluctant but willing. It was a good sign. Better than she’d had reason to hope for yet.

He placed his hands on his thighs and stood up. “So I guess that means separate bedrooms for now.”

“I can take the guest bedroom once Madison moves out.”

“Nope.” When she started to argue, he held up his hand. “I know this might be hard for you to accept, but
you
need to respect where
I’m
coming from. And this is one of those times that my background trumps all. So you’ll take the big bedroom and I’ll sleep in the guest room.” He shrugged. “Or I will once Madison moves.”

“Fine.” If he had to give, so would she. She held out a hand to end the negotiations.

Tim stared at it for a moment, then grasped it and pulled until she flew to her feet and landed on his chest. “I think married couples have a better way to seal a deal, don’t they?”

She couldn’t get a word out before his lips cruised along hers. Light as a breeze, almost as if it hadn’t happened. But when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her with such an intensity she was shocked that’s all he did.

“Just remember what we said.”

He planted another kiss on her mouth—this time a playful, smacking one—and stepped back. “We said no sex. This is just kissing. Which could lead to sex…” he trailed off hopefully. But when she shook her head, he just sighed. “I figured. Can’t blame a guy for trying. Anyway, I can’t agree to not kiss my wife. Not gonna happen. So add ‘kissing’ to the list of things we
can
do. ’Cause, sweetheart,” he said while he turned and walked toward the staircase, “if that’s all I get, I’m going to take it.”

Tim walked up the stairs, leaving the light on for her. She waited until she heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on—cold, if she had her guess—before she sat down and touched a finger to her lips. And thanked Fate once more for the opportunity in front of her.

***

Tim debated asking the question the next morning. He knew Skye would never ask for it herself. Partly because she wouldn’t know what to ask, and partly because she didn’t seem to be the sort to rely on others. He respected that about her. But he’d feel like a shit for withholding the opportunity, since he
did
know.

“Do you want an ID card?”

“Hmm?” Skye stood at the stove, making some egg and alfalfa omelet creation she swore was amazing. Tim thought adding hay to a perfectly decent breakfast staple was near criminal, but he politely declined and poured himself a bowl of cereal. Mornings were clearly not her thing, with her sleep-heavy eyes and hair in complete disarray. He wasn’t even sure why she woke up so early when she didn’t have to. But somehow she was up when he was and had insisted on having breakfast with him.

Her exhausted, just-dragged-myself-from-a-warm-bed look only made him want to drag her back to bed and spend hours tiring her out some more. His muscles were still tense, his nerves taut as a tripwire. Last night’s cold shower had done nothing to alleviate the sexual tension he was carrying around.

“An ID card. All dependents carry them. It—”

“I hate that word,” she grumbled at the omelet she was flipping.

“It…what? What word?”

“Dependent.” She waved her spatula in the air. “Ignore me. Continue.”

“Uh, right. The ID card for de—um, spouses gives them access to base stuff. The commissary, exchange, gets you on base, that sort of thing.”

“Hum.” Her hesitation was obvious. Was the hesitation because of her, or him? She scratched one calf with her opposite foot and didn’t turn around. “I think that would be a good idea. If you wouldn’t mind. That is, if it won’t screw things up for you at work.” Skye dared a quick glance over her shoulder before focusing in on the stove again.

She was more observant than he thought. He wondered if she’d picked up on the surprise from Colonel Blackwater the day before. Apparently she had. “No, it won’t screw stuff up. It’ll just take some paperwork. I guess while we’re at it, we should make sure you’re signed up for Tricare. Health insurance,” he elaborated when she gave him a confused look.

Skye said nothing, just flipped her omelet and patted it with the spatula.

Okay, fine. He could do the talking for two this morning. “And while we’re at it, we could get your car registered on base as well. So you don’t have to wait for Mad or I to take you.” Was he starting to sound desperate? Or was that just his imagination? For a woman who was so concerned about having a nice, healthy marriage, she wasn’t exactly making this easy on him.

“That’d be nice,” she said absently as she grabbed a plate to slide her breakfast onto.

“I’ll try to get out of there early today and come back for you. Will you be around at three?”

“I should be.” She cut herself half a grapefruit, poured herself a glass of her own milk she’d bought yesterday—was soy milk really a milk product?—and sat down next to him. “I have some things to do this morning, but afterward I should be good.”

He wanted to ask what her plans were that day, where she’d be going. But for some reason he didn’t feel like he had the right to ask yet. Stupid, he argued silently, that he didn’t feel like he could ask his wife what her plans were for the day. Not when she was being so quiet herself.

He stole quick peeks at Skye from the corner of his eye. But slowly he realized that maybe her lack of conversation skills wasn’t so much about her hesitation to get involved in the marriage, but about the fact that she was practically falling asleep in her fruit bowl. Yeah, to say Skye wasn’t a morning person would be a vast understatement. He bit back a smile and let the relief soothe his nerves.

He finished his cereal and placed his bowl in the sink. Then, after a moment’s thought, he rinsed it out and stuck it in the dishwasher. Normally he did the dishes at the end of the day, but he didn’t want Skye thinking he was a slob or thinking she had to pick up after him like a little kid.

God, being married was hard work.

He walked back to the table and kissed her on top of her head. She leaned to one side and looked up at him, all sleepy eyes and a soft half-smile. Then he kissed her sound on the mouth, just because he could.

This part of marriage he could get used to.

“I’ll be back around three. Try to be ready so we can knock out as much as we can today.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” she said and gave a little smartass salute.

“That’s the Navy, sweetie.” But he smiled at the effort. “Have fun today.”

As he walked toward the front door, he thought he heard her mumble, “Not likely,” but he wasn’t sure.

Regret that he couldn’t drag her back upstairs for a quick morning nuzzle in bed before he left strained his tentative hold on control. There had to be a better outlet for his frustration than just another cold shower. He grabbed his cover from the entry table and his gym bag, then tripped and almost landed on his face. He glanced down and saw a tangle of shoes, all small and girly and obviously Skye’s. Tennis shoes, flip-flops, and sandals were heaped together by the door, begging to be walked over. He shoved them all back into a somewhat tidy pile and headed out the door.

An hour later, he was knocking on Dwayne’s door. After hearing the enter command, he poked his head in.

“I’m in the mood to beat the shit out of something. Up for some MCMAP?” Marine Corps Martial Arts Practice. Guaranteed to kick anyone’s ass. Hopefully hard enough to dislodge the ever-present physical need for Skye. Maybe if he took enough punches—or gave enough out—he could concentrate on the hurt instead of the burn.