A Wedding Story (4 page)

He met her gaze square on, no hesitation, nothing hidden. “I’m not the one with doubts, Rhubarb.”

“No, you’re just the one who’s never said a word in al the years we’ve known each other.” The truth of al he’d been saying that day had sunk in right to the core of her.

His mouth curved downward, wryly. “It’s not exactly easy on the ego when the girl you want more than breathing compares you to algae. What would you have said if I showed up under your window some night and asked you to love me for the rest of your life?”

“You mean after I looked for the video cameras?” She smiled, using her gentlest touch to caress the curve of his mouth upward, where it belonged. “I probably would have jumped out the window and into your arms.”

He took hold of her hand, keeping it pressed to his cheek. “You hated me.”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted you. I just thought you were out of my reach. That you enjoyed showing me how far.”

“Rhubarb, I would have proposed when you were in pigtails and bobby sox.”

She laughed. “So think you might get around to it while I’m in staples and hairspray?”

“What?”

“Propose, dufus. We haven’t done a damn thing right this far. I’m not marrying you if we don’t do it right from the get go.”

His eyes lit up as he sank to one knee. Al around them the crowd gasped and tittered. “Ruth Anne Barbel is, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

“Ooooh, that was good,” she replied, the slightest laugh escaping with her delight.

“Yeah, wel , I’ve been practicing for twenty-some years.”

“You know what I’ve been practicing for that long?”

He shook his head.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear. “I love you, Robert Wichowski.”

His eyes turned smoky and before she could take even a single intake of breath, he was kissing her. The crowd roared, Ruth Anne wondered if maybe she heard her sister wailing, and she knew she heard their mothers sobbing happily. When Bobby let her go, she discovered he’d already walked them halfway over to the priest.

“This won’t be legal,” she murmured.

“Then I guess I’l have to marry you every day until it is.”

They stopped cold in front of the dark glower of Father Larkin. “What do the two of you think you’re doing? I told you to wait in my rectory.”

“Couldn’t wait,” Ruth Anne replied, leaning away from Bobby’s side and stage whispered to a nearby aunt of his. “I got him pregnant.”

“Happens to the best of us, honey,” the aunt replied, slightly slurred but happy as a clam.

“Ruth Anne!” her mother exclaimed.

“Better get it done, Father Larkin,” Bobby’s mom said with a knowing grin. “She’s infected now.

There’l be no peace for anyone until it’s done.”

“Probably not after, either,” Father Larkin agreed. With a deep sigh, he rol ed up his robe’s sleeves and set to work.

“So that’s how I married your Aunt Rhubarb,”

Bobby was saying to the crowd of kids at yet another wedding's kids’ table.

Ruth Anne came up behind him, smacked the back of his head and lowered herself careful y into the chair next to him. He, of course, jumped to his feet to help her sit, smiling down at her before dropping a kiss on her lips. She smiled, shaking her head rueful y. Even after a lifetime with this man, he never failed to surprise her. One of his best qualities, real y.

“Is that true, Mommy?” Mary Beth, their precocious seven-year-old demanded from the far side of the table. Ruth Anne stifled a grin. Their first born was their own mothers’ revenge—a child way too much like them. She had her Daddy’s eyes, blue and bedazzling, her mother’s riotous curls, and the ability to find trouble with the accuracy of a laser.

She had the fastest comeback for a single digit age group and, of course, she could set up a trap faster than you could snap. Their five-year-old son, Robert James, was just like her. No one knew quite sure what to make of two year old Emma Jean, redheaded like her but calm as the sky after a summer storm. Many had asked if she was adopted.

Bobby insisted it was just an old-fashioned case of the bodysnatchers. As for one so impatient to get out into the world that he had rendered Ruth Anne’s bladder bruised nearly beyond using (dammit), wel , she figured they’d know soon enough.

“Is what true?” Ruth Anne asked, watching her husband fit his long length into the seat and scoot up to the kiddie table. Ten years of marriage and she stil got a thril watching him move in the slightest of ways. He wagged an eyebrow at her, letting her know he was aware of what she was thinking. Again.

Wel , they’d just see, wouldn't they?

“Did Daddy real y kidnap you from Gramma’s house and take you to a castle in the sky and write you a song every day until you agreed to marry him?”

Every time he told the story to the kids—who’d heard it a thousand times or more—it became more fanciful, more imaginary and definitely more heroic on his part.

“Sure, honey.” Why ruin their good time?

The truth was it took a whole year after their actual wedding—only a few days later, in a judge’s office for legalities sake—for the scandal to die down. Everyone was sure she was pregnant and while Father Larkin had never spil ed the beans about finding them on his desk, everyone kept counting on her having been impregnated at the reception. Of course, Bobby did give it a damn good effort as soon as he whisked her away home, which stil made her flush when she thought about it. But despite their very best continued efforts, Mary Beth Wichowski didn’t come along until she was good and ready...something she did in every aspect to this day.

“See, I told you my daddy was a hero,” Mary Beth exclaimed to the oohs and ahhs of her cousins.

“Gramma says she’d have wasted away if my Daddy hadn’t come along.”

Ruth Anne didn’t have to guess which Grandmother had helpful y mentioned that. She would have defended herself—lots of heroes had shown up, Bobby was just real good at getting rid of them—but the twinges in her back and bel y had gone from noticeable to disturbing in a second.

(Apparently,
this
baby knew the truth.)

“Hey, Rhubarb,” Bobby said, noticing almost as soon as she did. He spread a palm over her tightening bel y, before giving her a slightly cross look when the contraction loosened. “How long has this been going on?”

“Only since this morning. I’m fine.”

“Come on, we’re going to the hospital.”

“It’s a Wichowski, Bobby, he’s got no plans to come out until God makes him. We’ve got time.”

“Then we’l drive nice and slow.”

She grumbled, but let him help her up. Of course, the second she stood, another contraction hit.

“See what happens when you chal enge God?”

he said as he hefted her up into his arms.

“Bobby, no, I’m gonna crush you.”

“If I can carry a baby grand, I can carry you.” He grunted and repositioned her better while walking through the party, a trail of excited Wichowskis hopping along behind him. “Mama!” he bel owed, snagging the attention of anyone who happened to miss them.

“I’l watch the kids,” Evangeline replied without missing a beat—or a bite.

“You’re comparing me to a baby grand?” Ruth Anne demanded. Okay, she was no lightweight, but come on. That was like cal ing her an Orca.

“Come on, baby, you know those pianos get me hot.”

Rakish grins real y shouldn’t have been her weakness, Bobby didn’t have any other kind.

“Getting you hot is what got us in this situation.”

“Actual y, I think that little red teddy thing got us in this situation,” he replied, strol ing down the steps at a fast clip.

“I wouldn’t have worn it if you hadn’t gotten tenure at the University,” she reminded him.

He stopped walking, looking disappointed. “You wouldn’t have worn it?”

Ruth Anne rol ed her eyes. “Okay, yes, I would have worn it. I’d already bought it when you cal ed.”

He gave her a kiss. “Good, I knew that thing was lucky. What say you wear it again as soon as the doctor gives us the clearance?”

“First, let’s have the kid, Bobby. Then we’l get back to your raging libido.”

“Oh yeah.” He started walking again towards the car. “Did we ever come up with a name for this one?”

“Bil y?” she offered, hunching a bit into the next contraction.

“How about David?” He freed his keys while she hung tight to his neck, and pressed the button on the mini-van for the sliding door to open. Gently, he set her on the bench seat.

“David’s good,” she replied, huffing a little as he secured her with a seatbelt. “If you get me to the hospital before he’s born, I’l let you pick the middle name too.”

“Sounds like a deal.” He gave her a quick kiss then, apparently thinking the better of it, gave her a

solid one, before closing the door and rushing to the other side.

As the car pul ed away, Ruth Anne smiling while her husband sang a nonsensical song about red teddy bears to keep her occupied, neither of them gave a thought to the crowd waving them off, or the circle of little girls watching and grinning.

“See,” Mary Beth Wichowski said to her cousins, reiterating what obviously didn’t need to be proved. “I told you my Daddy was a hero.”

Continue on to sample two original erotic romances from
Dee Tenorio
,

"
10 Ways To Steal Your Lover
" and "
Convicted
"!

10 Ways To Steal Your Lover

“Again.”

The sex-laden voice, rough and demanding, roused Delilah from sleep. Without opening her eyes, a smile—already wel -satisfied—curved her lips. Her head gave a dul ache but it was lost in the wash of sensation as strong, firm hands took control of her hips, lifting her up onto legs stil shaky from the last loving. She rubbed her face against the pil ow, almost embarrassed by the rush of heat and need that arrowed down to the open folds of her sex.

Folds that even now grew plumper, slicker, beneath the intensity of a gaze she could feel like a stroke of his tongue.

She wanted that tongue. Again. Feeling wanton, almost powerful, she stirred her hips for him slowly waving from left to right and back again.

His grip tightened, but he did nothing to stop her. "I've waited years to look at you just like this."

She almost laughed. She'd never had a problem with his looking, but Craig almost never wanted her positioned like this anymore. The last month or so, he'd barely even touched her…

Delilah frowned, her fuzzy brain trying to remember something, something important. She stared down at her hands, her fingers knotted in the sheets, focusing on the rings on her finger. Not the silver band Craig had given her six months ago. Not the pale sapphire he’d said matched her eyes.

Instead a clear diamond, marquis-shaped, bound by gleaming gold and a matching smooth band next to it, resting where Craig’s ring should have been. She blinked at it, confused how it got there, when the heat of his open mouth came down on the highest curve of her unturned ass. Synapses fired like the fountains outside their hotel and the thought was gone.

She lifted higher for him, crying into the pil ow with a voice gone half-hoarse. He ate at her flesh, licking and suckling hard enough to leave a mark and send her nerve endings into paroxysms. Up over her hip, along the sensitive nip of her waist, along the indent of her spine as one hand reached beneath her and cupped her aching breast. She jerked against his mouth, shocked at her own unexpected reaction, torn between feeling too much and wanting even more.

It's never been like this before…

She'd been with Craig for three years, but not once in al that time had he devoured her like this.

Had he set her on on fire like this. Though she’d always crushed the stray, not-quite-sated thoughts from her head, this time she couldn’t get over how every part of her body felt at this moment. Alive.

Tingling. As if he’d spent the entire night wringing pleasure from every single inch of her and stil wanted more. Made
her
want more. Why now?