Still Not Over You(74)
Kenna and I stand on the sand, looking after her bemusedly. Kenna tilts her head. “Jesus. That girl...”
I laugh. “I know, Reb. But she kind of grows on you.”
She mock-punches my arm. “As long as growing is all she’s doing on you.”
“Not my type, and you know it.”
“Oh?” She angles her face up sweetly for a kiss.
“My type's right here. Only type I'll ever need.” With a growl, I lean down to capture her lips. Just a quick taste, like sugar on my tongue, but I’m already sparking hot and needing to be away from this ruckus.
With one nibble of her luscious lower lip, I break away. “We had our fun gabbing yet? Think we can sneak away early?”
She’s breathless, flushed, her eyes dilated, but she laughs. “Not unless we want to hear about it from our mothers for the next thirty years.”
“Heaven forbid.” I grin, desire curling dark in the pit of my stomach. “But after dinner, you’re mine.”
And I can’t stand the wait.
But I endure it, and even enjoy dinner. Even if I’m eager to have her...there’s a part of me that wants to slow down and enjoy this, too.
I feel like ever since my father died, I’ve been hurtling at breakneck speeds toward a crash. Now, though, I’ve come to a screeching halt just before hitting a brick wall head on.
Disaster averted, thankfully. Now, everything’s coming up Landon.
Dallas is in jail, rotting away in a cell probably not too far from his old man’s. The trial will be wrapping up soon, but he’s already not my problem anymore.
Kenna and I already testified as witnesses for the FBI. They’re done with us as long as they can reach us if they need to.
Reg in jail for tax evasion and underworld human trafficking atrocities. Dallas in jail for murder, and more.
Frankly, I’d rather leave them suffer than see them dead.
It only makes the happiness I feel as I toast my new bride before our friends and family at our reception dinner that much sweeter.
Everything's damn perfect.
Correction: damn near perfect, I remember, when we stop by the table with my main Enguard crew. I see Skylar nursing a coffee drink, her eyes anywhere but our wedding.
“What'd I tell you about tonight?” I say, breaking away from Kenna to pull up the empty seat next to her.
She looks at me and blinks. “I know, I know. Enjoy myself. I'm trying, Landon. Had the bartender throw some Kahlua in this thing.”
“After this craziness dies down, I'll help you find her. I promise.” I watch her till she nods, sheepishly gnawing her lip, hating to accept anything. “You can't do it all yourself, Skylar. I know you want to keep it in the family, going after Joannie, and I'm not here to cross any line I shouldn't. But, shit, you tell me what you need. Resources? Time? Manpower? It's yours. You're at my wedding because you're practically family, same as these other two party-crashers.”
I knock my fist against the table gently, catching smiles from both James and Riker. They're both busy chatting up a few of Kenna's old friends, and they know better than to start any shit that'll only cause trouble when they see the flash in my eyes.
“Thanks, boss. You're a good man and I'm seriously happy for you.” Skylar smiles, taking another loud slurp of her coffee. “You've got to get out of here, now. The last thing I want my crappy situation to do is drag down your wedding day.”
I throw a hand on her shoulder and squeeze one more time, and then I'm gone, finding my wife in the crowd again.
Although there’s a warmth, an afterglow, to feeling like I’m part of something again after the joy and rush of marrying Kenna, it’s a relief when time catches up. We watch the last car pull out from the driveway and leave us alone among the tables lined up along my private beach, just skirting the edge of the waves in the strip of sand between the ocean and the newly reconstructed beach house.
Kenna’s looking out across the water; the sky's a deep velvety blue, the waves black silk, and they meet where the stars and moonlight throw down their reflections to make glinting edges on the waves. I slip up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and then pressing my lips to her sun-freckled shoulder.
“Ready to go home, Mrs. Strauss?”
She smiles, soft and thoughtful. “I’m already home.” She turns in my arms, slipping her own around my neck. “Home is where you are.”
“Then come with me, my beautiful bride.”
That’s the only warning I give her before I lift her up in my arms, sweeping her against my chest. She lets out a yelping laugh, clinging to me, and rests her head on my shoulder as I carry her toward the beach house, stepping over two drowsy cats dozing on the front pathway.
They've had a big day, too, with all these people milling around. For once, I'm happy Velvet and Mews will be too tired to bother us tonight.
There’s a deep satisfaction carrying her over the threshold, as if honoring a time-worn tradition makes this final.
Makes this real. And there’s a sense of breathless anticipation as I carry her through the open, spacious rooms, into a new addition I had built into the reconstruction just for her.
The solarium is almost pure glass, and the curved dome of it turns the room into a glittering globe of the heavens captured just for us, a pocket of silver and shadow pulling the night into our own private heaven.