Turning Thirty-Twelve (22 page)

I started to throw back the champagne like shots of whiskey, wishing they were every bit as strong. I was buzzed, but not quite enough to calm my jittery nerves.

Mark threw me a disapproving frown a couple of times, but I just shrugged in response.

Kathy was sipping champagne from a fluted glass Nate handed to her. I figured one glass of alcohol wouldn’t hurt before realizing everyone else was now holding a drink too. It was time for the toasts. Mark wrapped his arm around my waist and held me closer.

Nate picked up a fork and hit his glass until the smattering of conversation died down. While my youngest wasn’t a shy person, he hated speaking in public. Since he’d assumed the role of best man, Nate was going to have to give a toast.

“Um… well…” Nate cleared his throat and tried again. “Patrick and I want to welcome Mark into the family.” Kathy elbowed him in the ribs.  “Oh, and Kat and Carly, too.” He raised his glass. “Have a nice, long marriage.”

Why did that sound so much like a judge passing sentence on a convicted prisoner?

Carly, my maid of honor, took over. Raising her glass of grape juice, she smiled at her father. “Daddy, Kat, and I are happy to have Jackie around. She made my dad smile again when I was afraid he’d forgotten how.” She took a sip from her flute as the guests did the same.

Mark and I clinked glasses and drank champagne. He leaned in and kissed me. “Can’t wait until we can get out of here so I can get you alone.”

My thoughts were in tangles. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. So why was I trying to drown myself in alcohol? Just this once, why couldn’t I simply enjoy feeling good and being happy?

Because he married you
, my brain whispered.
It’s all downhill from here.

“That’s not true,” I mumbled, before furtively looking over to see if Mark had caught me talking to myself.

He seemed too busy chatting with a friend to have noticed.

Oh, yes, it is true. Now that’s he’s got you, he doesn’t have to try anymore. He’ll get bored and discard you just like David.

I stopped the waiter as he walked by and grabbed another glass of champagne.

***

“I hate leaving the kids to clean up,” I said as Mark held the door open. “Are you sure they won’t come back here?”

“Carly said they were staying at your house at least for tonight. Patrick was supposed to bring Uno. Could turn ugly.” He grinned. “I imagine they’ll be here tomorrow. I mean, it’s Christmas, and they’re all greedy.”

Stepping into our house, I was rendered speechless as I took a good look around. The lights were out. A fire crackled in the fireplace, giving the room a warm glow. The Christmas tree sparkled with multi-colored lights. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver ice bucket on the kitchen island where two fluted glasses stood at its side. A bowl full of chocolate-dipped strawberries sat next to two small plates. Soft music filled the air, compliments of the stereo.

Carly was truly a miracle worker. I had no idea how she managed to pull all this off while she was at the wedding, babysitting the nervous bride.

Mark helped me out of my overcoat, and then hung it next to his on the coat tree. Coming behind me, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back against him. “How are you feeling tonight, Mrs. Brennan?”

Mrs. Brennan
. It was such a lovely name but a shame it wouldn’t be mine for long. “I’m...fine. And you Detective Brennan?”

“Never better. Want some champagne?”

God, yes!
“That would be wonderful.”

It took him a few moments to remove the wrapping on the bottle, and he struggled to get it open.

“Having a little trouble popping the cork?” I asked.

“My cork always takes a long time to pop,” he replied with a naughty smile. “Wouldn’t want to rush you.” With a big tug, the cork came free, hitting the ceiling, and bouncing somewhere in the living room. “Shit.” The champagne spilled from the bottle in a burst of bubbles and foam.

I grabbed the glasses and tried to catch the overflow. Mark put the bottle down, grasped the kitchen towel that was sitting by the sink, and dropped it over the spill.

“Don’t you think we should clean it up?” I asked.

“It’ll still be there later.”

After we had full flutes, I carried them into the living room and stood in front of the fire, watching the flames lick greedily at the pieces of wood.

Someone had moved the coffee table to one side, and a couple of quilts and a few pillows were spread out on the carpet in front of the fireplace. A lot of thought had gone into this honeymoon.

Thank you, Carly
.

Mark followed with the bowl of strawberries and the plates. He glanced down at the pile of bedding on the floor. “That’s interesting. I think someone assumed we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.” He put everything down on an end table and took a glass from my hand. “They were right. A toast.”

I held my glass up. “To what?”

“To us. To a long, happy life together. To OfficeMax. To ice-skating. To—”

I took over. “To cabins in Michigan and raspberry jam.” I felt a blush spread across my face.

I drank the champagne in one gulp. Mark did the same.

He went to the kitchen and brought the bottle back. He refilled both our glasses. I drank the liquid down in one big swallow.

“Easy there. I don’t want you drunk.”

I held the flute out to him. “More.”

What was I so nervous about? It wasn’t as if we hadn’t had sex before. Great sex. Fantastic sex. Mind-blowing sex. Why did I suddenly feel the need to get blitzed out of my mind?

Because marriage ruins everything
, my thoughts taunted.
He doesn’t have to try anymore, and he’ll get bored with you.

“Shut up,” I mumbled at my stupid brain.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”
Just thinking too much again
. Holding out my empty glass, I asked, “More please.”

“You sound like Oliver Twist. Want to switch to Jell-O shooters?” he asked with an acerbic smile as he refilled the flute.

I drained the glass.

“All right, that’s enough.” He took the empty glass out of my hand and set it on the table next to his. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

I really needed some more champagne. The mind-numbing buzz was fading too quickly. Was there any zinfandel in the kitchen? “Nothing.”

Knitting his brows, he frowned. “I know you better than that.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I repeated.

I thought I heard a slow ten count.

“Jackie, babe, what’s wrong?” Mark asked again as he took my hands into his.

I didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to think I’d lost faith in him, until I realized that was exactly what I was doing. I was losing faith in him and in me—for no good reason.

We were married now.
So what?
I still loved him and still wanted him. Judging from the front of his trousers, he felt the same.

I finally let it go. Standing there in that room—a little champagne-buzzed and nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs—I let it all go. I let go of all the pain, all the insecurity, and all the uncertainty.

Mark Brennan was not David Ryan. Mark Brennan wouldn’t stop loving me if some twenty-something swung her hips in front of him. Mark Brennan wouldn’t become a selfish lover. Mark Brennan kept his promises.

I felt the weight of fear and worry melt away. “Nothing, Mark. Honest.”

The best thing I could do was distract him. Pushing my hands up his chest, I helped him shrug off his coat. It fell to the floor, and he kicked it aside.

He reached for me.

I dodged his hands and held up an index finger to stop him. “Not yet. Patience.”

He smiled at me, that saucy smile that always made me so hot. “Fine. I’m putty in your hands.”

I ran my fingers across the front of his pants, loving the hardened cock that greeted my palm. “Oh, no. There’s nothing
soft
about you.”

I unbuckled his belt and pulled it free before turning my attention to removing his tie and shirt. His bare chest shone like gold in the firelight. I ran my fingers through the patch of dark hair that covered his pecs, loving the total masculinity of him. I got his shoes, pants, and socks off in short order.

Standing there in nothing but boxers, he looked like some Greek god. Or at least he would as soon as I got him naked. How odd it was being there in my wedding dress, while he was next to nude. I felt a primitive thrill tumble through me.

Mark started to say something, but I put my fingertips to his lips to stop him. Then I backed up a few steps and tried to find my bravado.

The high heels were first to go, but I didn’t just kick them off. I hiked my dress up to my thigh and put my foot on the coffee table. I ran my hand down my leg before slowly taking the shoe off, and then I repeated the actions with the other leg. With my feet back on the floor, I turned my back to Mark. “Think you could unzip me?”

I felt his warmth against my back as the zipper was slowly dragged down. His lips caressed my bare shoulder as his hands came to rest on my hips. The front of the dress fell forward, and I caught it to keep it in place. Turning around, I backed up a step. “Tell me what you think.”

I let the dress fall in a pool at my feet, revealing a strapless bra and a full set of thigh-high stockings complete with white, lace garters. I passionately hoped I appeared as sexy as I felt.

Mark growled and took a step toward me.

“No, no, no,” I said, holding a finger up again, stopping him in his tracks.

“Jackie...”

“No. Not yet. Patience.” I walked a slow circle around him, letting my fingers caress and slide over that heavenly skin, reveling in the fact that I had the poor guy so worked up.

“Jackie...”

“Yes?”

“I want you.”

Relishing the huskiness in Mark’s voice, I stepped in front on him and took a good, long look at every inch of him. “I can see that.”

“Now.”

I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him long and deep. He rumbled his approval deep in his chest. When I pulled away, he groaned. Finally, I dropped to my knees.

I took those boxer shorts down, and awed at the thick cock that bobbed at me, demanding my attention. With no prelude, I took him deep into my mouth—my wedding present to him.

His fingers threaded through my hair, and I savored each moan, each throaty sign of his approval. He thrust his hips forward. “You’re killing me, babe.”

All I did was hum in response. It was heady stuff, realizing how much I could affect him, how much my doing this meant to him. I felt naughty. I felt downright wicked. And loving him heated my body as much as anything I’d ever done. I was wet and oh so ready...

His hands slipped under my arms and jerked me to stand. I had to laugh at his impatience. The man knew his way around women’s undergarments. He popped the garters and slowly slid each stocking down my leg, kissing my body until I felt tipsy. The panties and bra joined the rest of the abandoned undergarments.

Mark pulled me down to my knees as he dropped to his. He embraced me and lowered me to my back, drugging me with deep kisses.

Settling himself between my thighs, he supported his weight as he stared down into my eyes. “I love you, Jackie. I’ll always love you.”

The emotions roiling through me caused tears to roll from the corners of my eyes. This moment was everything I had ever wanted in my life, all I would ever need. “I love you, Mark.” He slid inside me as I gasped my appreciation.

Nothing had ever felt so fulfilling, so right. The slow rhythm quickly became frenzied. My hips rose to each of his thrusts.

He breathed hard in my ear. “Oh, God, Jackie...”

I couldn’t find a single word, couldn’t do anything except feel the blood pounding through my veins, while the core of me throbbed and demanded satisfaction. Pleasure raced over me in spasms and waves.

Mark gasped my name in my ear and shuddered.

I forgot all about the notion that marriage ruined everything, and that silly notion never floated through my mind again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Mark said as he waltzed in the door. He had that mischievous look in his eyes and was obviously hiding something behind his back.

A glance at the clock yielded a pleasant surprise. It was nice to have him come home at a fairly normal time. I’d quickly learned detectives kept odd hours. Mark was constantly being called to crime scenes. The stupid criminals of our fair city didn’t seem to have much respect for allowing Detective Brennan nor his poor schoolteacher wife the proper amount of sleep.

Mark threw his jacket over the coat tree and started to remove his shoulder holster, so I looked away.

On the mornings when we got ready for work together, I had a hard time watching Mark strap on that gun. I wondered if I would ever get used to knowing he might be in danger. I coped by constantly reminding myself that detectives weren’t on the front line and weren’t answering patrol calls or responding to alarms. He seldom talked about work, and I didn’t ask. From my point of view, denial was the easiest way to function.

Do all cop wives have the same apprehension?

I’d always been afraid of weapons. It didn’t matter what kind—guns, bows, swords, bazookas. My father and his brothers hunted, so it wasn’t as if I wasn’t used to seeing them. For some odd reason, I always felt a cold grip of fear whenever I saw an instrument that could kill something. Or
someone
. 

My boys had grown up watching all the ridiculous action flicks that macho young men indulge in, but I blamed their father. David always told me I was overprotective if I protested whatever Bruce Willis or Mel Gibson movie they chose. I hated weapons. I hated blood. I hated pain. Why combine all three and call it “entertainment”? But—as with many arguments from my years with David—I’d always lost.

Seeing that shoulder-strapped gun on Mark only meant one thing to me. It meant that he could get hurt. As he went around the corner, I hoped it was to put the gun away in the small gun-safe he kept in the utility room. I tried to shake the feeling of apprehension and dried my hands on the kitchen towel. He came back into the kitchen, and I went to give him a proper Valentine’s greeting. Before I got close enough to kiss him, he whipped a long-stem red rose from behind his back to present to me.