The Officer Says "I Do" (13 page)

“Timmy, I think we’d like to speak with you alone.” Susie turned to Skye, her voice polite but firm. “I hope you understand. This is just a conversation for family right now.”

Skye started to stand, but he pressed down on her shoulder. “Skye is my family.” In for a penny… “She’s my wife. So you can talk in front of her.” It was time to take a stand. If he wasn’t firm on his marriage, his parents would never respect it, ever. Might not respect him. He couldn’t bear either scenario.

His parents exchanged pointed glances that spoke volumes. The benefit of being married several decades—silent communication. Finally his father spoke. “Your mother and I simply wonder if this is the best choice. For everyone involved,” he hastened to add. “Whether it wouldn’t be just a good idea to accept that a mistake was made and everyone can move on with their lives. Know when to retreat.”

This was the delicate part. Standing up for Skye and their marriage without completely pissing off his family. “I appreciate the advice, sir. But here’s the thing. Skye and I are married. And we’ll continue to be married for the foreseeable future. I understand you’re hurt by my choice of weddings, but I’m going to ask you to respect my marriage. And especially my wife.” He squeezed Skye’s shoulder, and her hand slid up to hold his.

His mother’s eyes narrowed in on their connected hands, then she stood up. “Well, I have to say, I’m a little relieved.”

“What?” he and Skye asked at the same time.

A small smile curved his mother’s lips as she walked over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “If you hadn’t stood up to us, then it wouldn’t have meant anything. I’m still a little confused,” she added cautiously. “This just isn’t something you typically do. Madison is the more rash one in the family,” she explained to Skye. “That girl was forever getting into trouble. Innocent stuff, but trouble nonetheless.”

“Knew I liked that girl,” Skye murmured.

“What your mother was attempting to say is that if this is your choice, then I’m glad you’re sticking by it. Not what we expected, but that’s what happens with kids.” His dad winked. “They grow up and continue surprising you.”

It wasn’t the best place to end the conversation, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either. “I don’t smell a roast. Didn’t get here in time, Mom?”

His mother gave a wry smile. “My groceries met an unfortunate end when I was startled by Skye in the kitchen. I’m afraid they’re a wash.”

“Looks like we’re going out.”

***

Skye absorbed every moment with Tim’s parents. These were the people who had shaped his life. Raised him, given him the moral foundation for his existence. By his own admission, Tim’s father was his hero and his mother was Superwoman. How could she ignore their influence?

Tim drove them to a chain restaurant. Fletchers might have been nicer, but she didn’t want her first dinner with her in-laws to be witnessed by the people she was supposed to supervise. Awkward. While waiting for a table, Tim’s father, Timothy Senior, entertained them with amusing stories of his days in the Corps. Every so often, Tim would finish the story, or remind him of a detail he’d left out. Obviously these were well-known tales in the family told mostly for her benefit. But she soaked up every word. His humor was at times a bit raunchy, a bit on the crude side. And more than once Tim’s mother gave him a playful swat on the arm and told him to watch his language in a mild tone.

So much of her husband was mirrored in his father’s movements. His speech. The way they both tilted their heads back when they laughed. Timothy was a good-looking man, fit for his age, and she found him charming and utterly endearing. She could see Tim being very similar in appearance and mannerisms in thirty years.

Why she was thinking thirty years down the road when she wasn’t even sure about tomorrow was beyond her.

His mother was another story altogether. Where Tim’s father was loud, she was soft. While Senior used rough language at times, her vocabulary was more refined. She was graceful and serene. Able to command attention and respect through her understated nature. Some shouted to be heard in a crowd. Susie O’Shay merely had to whisper.

And while her husband seemed almost to forget entirely the manner of their elopement, Susie was definitely on her guard. While Skye was observing Tim’s parents, she realized she was being watched in return. Though his mother made no comment as to her observations, Skye felt very much like a bug under a microscope.

Skye had to admit, she likely wasn’t even coming close to measuring up to Tim’s mother’s standards. The woman had been wearing the same outfit all day, and it looked as crisp as when she’d first scared Skye in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Skye had changed into fresh clothing before leaving—a pair of white cotton pants and a bright tunic—and she felt her outfit already drooping and wrinkling. The woman’s jewelry was understatement personified, and Skye’s made a great big statement. Skye hoped it was that she liked fun, colorful things and bright accessories. Her fear was that Susie read the statement more as
I
like
cheap
stuff
.

Not that she was attempting to impress. No, that wasn’t the point. But all the same, she didn’t want to alienate Tim’s family. Skye couldn’t help but look at Tim’s mother and realize this was the type of woman Tim likely had been waiting for. A calm soul with a quiet nature. Simple refinement wrapped in a beautiful, sophisticated package and tied with a classy bow.

Skye couldn’t find the word “calm” in the dictionary.

Tim’s father finished another joke and she saw her opportunity.

“Tell me a story about Tim as a child,” she asked.

“What kind? There are millions,” his mother said with a smile.

“Something embarrassing,” Skye replied, giving Tim a wicked grin. “Something I can pull out later to tease him with when I need to keep him in line.”

His mother considered her for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s see. An embarrassing story. Oh! Has Madison shared the laundry mix-up?”

“Nope. Sounds promising though. Let’s hear it,” Skye said, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Mom. Come on.” Tim groaned.

“Shush. It’s story time,” Skye reprimanded.

Tim merely buried his face in his arms and groaned again.

“When Tim was in the seventh grade—”

“Sixth,” he corrected in a muffled voice, not looking up. Skye bit back a laugh and rubbed his neck soothingly.

“Fine, sixth,” his mother continued, unruffled. “Timothy was deployed and I was ill. I’d been sick for days, running a high fever. But the kids were so active at that point, they weren’t around to help out with chores much. So I had to manage the bare essentials myself until I was feeling better. Laundry was the worst. My most hated chore,” she explained.

“Mine too!” Skye said on a laugh. “There’s nothing more boring than folding clothing.”

“Nothing,” Susie agreed. “In my feverish delusions, I’d put the laundry in the wrong places. Unfortunately, Tim had this habit of waking up with a minute to spare to get out the door for school. He had it down to a science, how much time he needed to get up, get dressed, grab a handful of breakfast, and go. We’re talking nanoseconds.”

“Susie quickly learned how to turn most of her breakfast foods into on-the-go meals that Tim could eat on the bus.” Timothy laughed.

“Adapt and overcome. If you need a good recipe for a breakfast wrap, let me know,” Susie said dryly. “Apparently he was running a few nanoseconds behind one morning, grabbed the first thing out of the drawers to dress in, not caring if it matched, and took off to school. And when he got to gym class and started to change, there was an unfortunate surprise.”

Skye smiled, sure she knew what was coming.

“I had mixed some of Madison’s favorite workout shorts in with his boxers.”

Skye laughed. “Tell me they were hot pink.”

Susie’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Better. Powder Puff Girls.”

“And boom goes the dynamite,” Tim muttered to no one in particular.

Skye couldn’t contain the hoot of laughter, picturing the twelve-year-old version of Tim wearing his sister’s shorts, face beet red. When she had wiped a tear away, she turned to Tim and said, “But you always wake up early now.”

“And now you know why,” he replied, sending her on another round of laughter.

Their food arrived, and Skye dug into her salad, starving after a long day at work.

“Tim, do you want a part of this chicken? I won’t eat it all.”

“Sure.” Tim held his plate out for his mom to slip some meat on. He nudged Skye with his shoulder. “I won’t bother asking if you want some of my steak.”

“Oh, but sharing’s what married people do,” his mom said in a teasing voice.

“That’s okay, I don’t eat meat,” Skye said easily and took another bite of salad. But the food stuck in her throat when she looked up and saw the stunned faces of her in-laws.

“None at all?” his father asked, apparently too shocked to comprehend the concept.

“Rarely. I’m not a die-hard vegan, but I don’t eat it when there’s a non-meat option available.” She worked hard to keep her voice even. Why was it hitting her so hard? This confusing
do
they
like
me?
trap she felt stuck in.

“That must be hard,” Susie murmured. Her face was passive, no censure.

“It can be. But it’s just how I was raised.”

Susie smiled then. “I guess I won’t be passing on a copy of my recipe box, since nine out of ten have meat in them for these carnivores.”

Skye laughed, glad for the mild joke to keep things light.

“I remember you said you’re working?” Susie asked, taking a sip of water.

“I am. Today was my first day. I’m a floor manager at Fletchers, downtown.”

“Skye worked at the hotel that the guys and I stayed at in Vegas. She snagged a job fast down here thanks to her experience.”

The pleased, proud tone in Tim’s voice made her flush. She took a sip of water to hide her smile.

“Sounds like you’ve got a knack for customer service,” Timothy said.

“I like working with people. They make it interesting. I’m not sure I could ever be a manager that just runs books and has business meetings all day. I need the interaction with people. I’d die of boredom otherwise.”

“Will you want to continue working or stay home eventually?”

“Um…”

“I mean, when you have children. Will you want to stay home when you start a family?”

“Mom.” Tim’s voice was quiet but solid as steel.

“Is restaurant management something you can move around with?”

“Susie,” Timothy muttered under his breath.

“What?” She looked at her husband, then sighed and folded her hands on the table. “I’m sorry, but I simply can’t ignore the elephant in the room. They’re married now. These are things that Skye needs to consider. They both need to consider.”

Tim said something to his mother, but Skye didn’t listen. Children? Portable careers? Staying at home? The possibilities, options, and choices swirled in Skye’s head. Susie was right. Once again, these were things married people knew before they took the plunge. And what were Tim’s expectations? Did he want kids right away? Did he want to wait? Did he not want them at all?

For the first time in her life, Skye felt a moment of true panic. Her “go with the flow, follow Fate wherever it leads” attitude suddenly seemed less like a good idea and more like a liability.

Liability—oh. Was that how Tim would see her? Dragging her from spot to spot?

You’re getting way too far ahead of yourself. Three deep breaths, and let it go. Either things will work, or they won’t. But having a panic attack in front of Tim’s parents won’t help a damn thing.

“So that’s the end of it, Mom. No more butting in.”

Tim’s mother nodded, her mouth drawn into a tight line. Part of Skye wanted to add in a few choice words herself, and the other part whispered she was just a mother protecting her child the best way she could.

The conversation came to an awkward halt thanks to some silent agreement to not bring up their marriage or the future in any capacity. Small talk was attempted but often flatlined after a few minutes. There was only so much praise one could lavish over a Caesar salad before you sounded like a moron.

The drive home was almost worse. His parents mentioned wanting to hit the road early in the morning. Tim said good-bye to his parents outside their door and Skye slipped in to give them some privacy, kicking off her sandals in the entryway. As she wandered around the living room, she took stock of what she’d gleaned from his parents.

They loved Tim more than anything. She could understand, even appreciate, their automatic protective stance against her and their marriage in the beginning. It wasn’t what they had expected. And to be fair, it wasn’t what Tim had expected either. But his father had jumped on the “go with it” bandwagon early on. At least by appearances, anyway.

His mother was another story. The woman was reserved with Skye. Not cold, but cool. Observant, most likely judging. But didn’t everyone judge? Skye only wished she knew what his mother’s overall impression was.

Or did she? If Skye ended up in the negative column on Susie O’Shay’s list, would knowing that fact help matters?

The evening had served to make her feel closer to Tim, and yet farther away. The niggling fear in the back of her mind that she was less than what Tim expected couldn’t be ignored. Not entirely.

Skye wandered into the kitchen and aimlessly opened the fridge. She wasn’t hungry; she hadn’t even eaten all of her dinner. But who could swallow around the mouthful of inadequacy she’d been chewing on the entire night?

She was the one who had pushed for the marriage. She was the one who had felt—still felt—the importance of what they were trying to work through. Tim was giving it his all; she had no complaints on that point. But would his reluctance in the beginning translate to an easy-out attitude later?

The front door opened, then closed. Skye scanned the shelves and picked up an apple and turned around.

“Thanks for that.” Tim turned a kitchen chair around and straddled it, arms folded over the top.

“For what?” She hunted around until she found a knife and cutting board, then began to slice the unnecessary apple. Having something for her hands to do—a prop of sorts—gave her more confidence.

“Dealing with my parents. They’re great people. It’s just a little hard on them.”

Skye didn’t turn around, concentrating on her slices. She could read between the lines without facing her husband. “I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. I understand why you didn’t mention the marriage. I just… I think we both wish we’d had some time to prepare.” She wanted to ask about his mother. Ask about his wants from a wife. But the words wouldn’t squeak by the lump in her throat. Did she want to know the honest answer?

No. Not yet.

“You were good with them.” His voice was closer now, but she didn’t turn around.

“They were nice. Made it easy.” For the most part, anyway. “Did you expect me to bite?” she teased as she took a step to the left to drop the knife in the sink.

His hand caught her wrist. She barely had time to gasp before he whirled her around, pushing her back against the fridge door.

Tim’s mouth was on hers in an instant. Aggression, possession. Everything ruthless, insistent, nothing sweet. His lips pried hers open, tongue thrust in to claim the recesses of her mouth. His feet bracketed hers. The outline of his erection was impossible to miss.

They were supposed to be taking it slow. Chaste, closed-mouth kisses were all they’d allowed themselves. All they’d managed to suffer through. But feeling his need, his desire in such a dark way, put a serious crack in the reserve she’d been holding onto.

But there had been a purpose. A damn good one. Relying on sex wasn’t going to get them any closer to a true marriage. Instant gratification always felt fantastic in the moment. But afterward? Never as good as the thing you waited patiently for.

Now, could she just get her body to catch up to where her mind was headed?

“No,” she breathed as his mouth worked over to her ear. His teeth nibbled, nipped, worked her lobe until her knees were spaghetti, along with her resistance. “No, we said—”

“We said no sex,” he said, breath tickling her ear. “This isn’t sex, is it? Not yet, anyway.” His tone said there was always hope.

True. No, wait. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But oh God, it felt so good.

One large hand crept down her rib cage with steady confidence, fingers bunching and pulling at her tunic until it sat above the waistband of her cotton pants.

She sighed when his fingers finally touched skin. The light caress of his rough fingertips over her belly spread heat and desire across her skin like a flash fire. She ached for him. Was too aware of the emptiness where he should be. Had been once before. Her mind drew a blank on reasons to stop his exploration. But there was one large, insistent reason to keep going, and it rocked against her hip with obvious impatience.

“Let me,” he panted against her cheek. “Let me.” His hand was untying the drawstring to her pants, tracing the skin above the waistband, making her shiver.

“Yes,” she whispered. As if she could say no. Not now. She was too far into it now to dig her way back out. Logic and reason be damned.

His fingers walked their way beneath the waistband, beneath her thong. Pressing into her core, massaging down to the place she wanted him most. He was taking forever and she squirmed to silently hurry him along. Instead he stopped completely.

“Wh—what are you doing?” Did her voice just break? Was she that far gone? Embarrassing.
Pull
yourself
together, McDermott!

“Slowing down. My pace,” he said, his tone hard. The other hand pushed her hips back against the fridge, removing her wiggle room. Taking complete control, demanding submission. “I lead.”

Every feminist, dominant cell in her body revolted. But when she gave him a hard stare, he only gave it back tenfold. The heat of his fingers only inches from her core was a burning reminder of what she had to lose if he changed his mind.

The man wasn’t joking. She had a very good feeling he’d rather walk away and suffer the blue consequence than relinquish control.

The message was clear. He might be indulgent with some things, letting her have her way. But when it came to this very base, carnal area of marriage, he was alpha dog. And that thought made her want to scream with frustration, all while she felt the faint, annoying flutter of excitement.

“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. She would play his way. For now.

Later, all bets were off.

“Good choice,” he said, voice husky, and took her mouth with his once more.

Inch by inch, his fingers brushed down until they traced the slick outer edges of her folds. She shuddered but forced herself to stay still. Torture. Absolute torture. One long finger dipped in, then pulled out. Her hips lifted to keep the contact, but he pushed her back.

“Cheating,” he murmured and started to pull his hand out.

“Okay!” She growled and fought back the urge to kick him in the shin. Had she really thought this domineering bit was sexy just a minute ago?

He rewarded her with another long, lingering stroke of his finger, grazing the bundle of nerves and making her whimper. But with supreme effort, she stayed in place when he retreated.

“Good.”

The single word of praise made her flush with pleasure.

Okay. Maybe the domineering thing was a
little
sexy.

His breath fanned over her collarbone as he worked his way down. The tunic’s wide neck gave him plenty of skin to caress, kiss, light on fire with his touch. One finger entered slowly. Her breath caught. The smooth glide in made a dent in her emptiness, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. As if hearing her thoughts, he added another finger, filling her more. Stretching her.

Skye’s head thumped against the freezer door. Every ounce of control in her body was focused on not thrusting up to meet his questing hand, to force the rhythm. She was pleased with her restraint… until he added his thumb.

The pad slowly pressed on her clitoris like a button, then released. Her body shook with the effort to remain motionless, to abide by his stupid rule. His fingers worked her faster, and his thumb pressed against her once more, then moved away.

It was maddening. No rhyme, no rhythm to his attentions. She had no way of anticipating his next move. Just his labored breathing against her shoulder, and the knowledge that at some point, when he felt like it, he would—ah, there!—touch her where she wanted it most.

The pressure inside built up like a teakettle, low in her belly. Her muscles were contracting; she could barely stand. He had to feel her straining with the effort to stay immobile, had to recognize how close she was to dropping like a sack of potatoes. He must have realized how unsteady she was, because he used his free hand to wind her arms around his neck for support.

“Tim. Tim, I need—” She couldn’t catch her breath. She was going to black out from lack of oxygen. And it would be all this infuriating man’s fault. All his fau—

His thumb brushed against her, circled this time, continued the pattern with more force and didn’t let go.

And the top blew off the teakettle.

Everything inside her shifted, shook, and exploded. Like the champagne bottles they served in Vegas, her insides roiled, rattled, bubbled until they had nowhere to go and she shattered. Her knees gave and Tim helped her sink to the floor, sliding his hand away as she landed with an ungainly plop.

After a moment of deep breathing, he pulled her onto his lap and rubbed her back in soothing circles. He pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured soft words while she came back to her own body. Her limbs felt like dead weight; her joints were loose and useless. But even as she shifted, she felt his cock still hard, still insistent, and she felt guilt.

Her own rule, and she broke it. Quickly. The man somehow managed to kill every single thread of resistance in her, even on something so serious as this. If he’d pushed, she had no idea if her body would have caved into the temptation to go at it like teenagers on the kitchen floor, damn the consequences.

Guilt, yeah. She had it. And a little bit of shame.