Then he sighed loudly. "Oh. I was thinking that with the all-night aerobics we participated in last night, we could take it easy tonight. Maybe cuddle and talk."
I blinked, lowering my arms. What the... "Huh?"
He cleared his throat and glanced out the window. "Yeah. We'll tell each other stories and spoon and fall asleep holding hands."
"For real?"
He watched my face for a long moment before busting out with laughter.
"Of course not," he said. "God. You're standing right in front of me naked except for that glittery slave girl bikini, looking like you stepped off the set of Return of the Jedi." He patted the spot beside him, and I climbed into the bed, settling there. "It's all for me. I'm not wasting all that with some spooning, that's for damn sure." He reached out and smoothed a hand up the inside of my bare thigh. "I don't care if I was half dead, I'd still be all over you, explosive spleen or not."
We kissed--he pinned my head back against the pillow ferociously, forcing my mouth open with his. When I came up for air, we were both breathing heavily. "I was worried there for a minute. That didn't sound like you."
He laughed. "I could want to cuddle and spoon..."
I made a face. "Maybe if you were half dead."
We kissed again, this time less urgently. He was trying to figure out how to get his hands up under my chain mail armor.
"If I'm the slave girl, then that makes you Jabba the Hutt."
He did his Jabba laugh. "Mmm. Fresh meat." He squeezed my thigh. "Jabba hungry."
"Now that sounds more like you."
As he leaned in to kiss me again, and my hands encircled his neck, I thought about how we hadn't forgotten a thing, how we were falling into the patterns we'd learned when we first started making love. Every movement of ours was like a dance.
Our choreography was practiced, but always fresh. Never tired.
We possessed an elegance branded all our own--legs aligned, parallel lines growing slowly tangled, then perpendicular, then locked together, needy. We intersected at certain vital points, becoming part of each other's geometry, then separated again.
Skin kisses, touching, pressing, kneading against one another. Hands smoothing, grasping, pressing, griping, releasing. Breathy exhales mingling, inhaled once again. Everything a new mix of my chemistry and his. This wasn't a mere blending of our bodies, the intersection of our sexual organs. We blended of our breath, our sweat, our skin cells. We merged and then separated, different in chemistry, different in body, different in soul.
Every time Adam and I made love, I came away with a new piece of him to carry around with me.
"Okay, that does it. I'm going to be unconscious in five minutes," he muttered after he'd rolled away from me, lying flat on his back, flush from the afterglow of his orgasm. The tangle of my metallic chain mail lingerie now lay in a shiny pool on the floor, all but forgotten. I rolled over, resting my head on his hard chest.
"Did I wear you out already?"
His hand came up to twine through my hair. As the low light glinted off his wedding ring, a thrill zinged through me. Perhaps I liked witnessing my proof of ownership as well.
"Only temporarily," he answered. "And mostly because of last night."
We stayed like that for long minutes. His hand relaxed, and his breathing became measured. I lay pillowed on his chest as he slept, his breath tickling my hair. I was tired, too. So tired. But I couldn't sleep.
I was a married woman. Someone's wife. Adam's wife.
Everything had changed even while this felt so familiar, so comforting, so us.
With a finger, I traced the outlines of the muscles on his delicious abdomen, and without realizing it, I was whispering their names. "External obliques. Pyramidalis. Tendinous inscription."
My hand traveled lower, toward his navel. "Umbilicus."
"What are you doing down there?" he muttered, and it startled me because I thought he'd fallen asleep.
"Oh, nothing."
"You're whispering something. What is it?"
I sighed. "It's nothing much. I was...um...taking this opportunity to brush up on my anatomy." I touched the ridge of muscle where his abdomen ended and his hip began, tracing it the entire length. His skin rippled under my touch as if I'd tickled him. "This is the anterior iliac spine." I traced lightly along the skin, over the light dusting of dark hair on his belly to land north of his pubic bone. "This is the reflected inguinal ligament." Which I duly outlined, slowly, firmly. "And this is--"
He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his burgeoning erection. "What's this one called?"
I thought for a moment as I palmed him. Despite his claim of exhaustion, it was already growing firm under my touch. "This one is called...Robocock."
"That's right," he said with a wide grin.
"How many wife points do I get for that?"
"Right now, you get all the wife points. You're a top scorer."
Then he hooked an arm around me and pulled me on top to straddle him, his hands wasting no time to find my breasts, palming them. "Definitely at the top of the leaderboard right now."
"Only for now?"
We managed one more time before we both collapsed in exhaustion. An hour or so later, when I awoke for a few minutes, I realized with a tired smile that we were spooning.
***
Adam was already up, showered, and dressed before I even stirred. Bright light through the open doorway hit me straight in the eyes, and I rubbed them, rolling over.
"Time to get up, sleepyhead," he said from the desk where he, unsurprisingly, sat in front of his laptop, sipping at a mug of coffee. "Happy New Year."
"Are you seriously working? On the first day of our marriage?"
He gave me a benign smile. "Down, girl. I'm tying up the last loose ends before we leave. I'm not even taking the laptop with me. Nor am I taking my phone."
"Oh?" I perked up. "For three weeks? You're going completely without?"
"I went two months without sex, and let me say I'd rather have sex than my cell phone, so this should be cake."
I folded my arms behind my head and settled back against the pillow. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Which means you are one hundred percent responsible for my 'entertainment.' We have to be up and out of here in an hour, so you'll see it soon."
"And where are we going?"
"You'll find out soon."
I gave a long-suffering sigh as I slipped out of bed and scooped the shiny lingerie from last night off the floor. "I hope there are more where that one came from." Adam nodded to it. "We'll be making good use of them."
I shook my head, depositing the lingerie on the dresser before hitting the bathroom and the shower.
Adam Drake and his mysteries...I guessed I'd known what I was getting into, didn't I?
Chapter 23
Adam
She had no idea the amount of planning that had gone into this surprise and why I was unwilling to give it up until the very last minute.
I was sure she was irritated with me, but hopefully, her delight would make up for it.
We raced toward Port Castries, the port of St. Lucia, in a high-speed boat that had taken us from the beach at Emerald Sky. A select group of people from the wedding--our closest friends and family who had wanted to get up early enough to see us off--were with us. Emilia still thought we were headed to the airport.
But as we rounded the last point, the harbor, with all of the white boats and bare masts lined up like soldiers, came into view, and her beautiful brow crinkled into a frown.
Soon, all would become clear. But she turned to me, clearly puzzled behind her dark sunglasses. I reached out and grabbed her hand. Her long, dark hair whipped behind her as we slowed and crept to a stop near one of the docks. The boat driver helped us out one by one, and I led the group to walk toward where the captain told me it would be.
"That looks like your yacht, Adam," Uncle Peter pointed out.
I glanced up at my boat, my h
undred-foot yacht that had been taken from our home about three weeks before--"for repairs," I'd told her.
It had actually been taken for a few minor additions and changes and then brought around to the Caribbean, via the Panama Canal, to meet us here.
"Adam's boat doesn't have a name," Kim said. "That one is named Eloisa."
I watched Emilia, who was staring at the boat with an open mouth. On the transom, newly painted in gorgeous script, it read:
Eloisa
Newport Beach
Her hand twitched inside of mine, as if she wanted to pull it free. My hold tightened around hers. I hoped that she appreciated the gesture--that I'd named the boat after her Dragon Epoch character rather than her real name.
She stopped. "What is this? Did you have your boat renamed?"
"It was never named before. Now it is." I stopped beside her.
"Why Eloisa?" Kim asked, and I didn't bother to answer. Heath was already explaining. Emilia stared at me with wide eyes behind her sunglasses.
"You had it brought all the way over here? Why?"
I smiled. "For our honeymoon. We're leaving on our own private cruise through the Windward Islands."
"Woo-hoo. Way to go, Mia!" Kat said from behind us.
"At last it's no longer a mystery!" She smirked at Kat. "I have a pretty awesome husband--though I'm sure the itinerary will remain a mystery."
Shaking my head, I filled her in. "We have some bigger ports scheduled, like Dominica and Grenada, but we also have a few privately owned islands and, for a few nights, a deserted island all for us."
"See," Kat jumped in. "He's giving up his secrets."
"Not all of them." I chuckled.
Emilia let out a long-suffering sigh. "Of course not." I brought her hand up to my lips and kissed it. "You like surprises too much."
"Only when I'm the one doing the surprising."
Our friends and family all came on board with us to wish us well while my yacht captain completed a final check before departure--and ran us through a mandatory evacuation drill.
The speedboat that had brought us here would return everyone to the resort, where they would stay a few more days. But first, we all enjoyed champagne and snacks, courtesy of a chef I'd hired for our cruise--as my usual executive chef hadn't been able to commit to the length of our trip. The food--Caribbean fusion canapes, creole-spiced crayfish, shrimp cocktail--was delicious.
With our family all disembarked, we left port while they stood on the pier cheering.
Once they were out of earshot, I pulled her close against me and kissed her gently. That familiar thrill tickled the back of my awareness. But this time it was more acute. Instead of kissing a woman I was powerfully attracted to or my girlfriend or even my fiancee...I was kissing my wife.
Calling her that, even in my head, compounded that exhilarating feeling, turned it into an electric jolt. It was more than physical attraction, more than sexual excitement. I was over the moon and so goddamn lucky that this woman--this amazing, strong, beautiful, brilliant woman--had chosen me to be the man to stand beside her for the rest of our lives.
We'd paid some heavy prices get to this moment. But being here with her, watching that shiny diamond sparkle in the sunlight off her left hand, knowing it was my ring she wore, my name she bore, me whom she had chosen... To be here in this moment after all that was worth any cost it had taken to get us to this point.
And I was certain there was not a happier man on this planet at this moment than me.
She kissed me back, with every bit of enthusiasm I showed her. And when she looked up into my eyes, the pure love I felt shone right back at me. She reached up, smoothing my hair against my head as it ruffled in the wind.
"Well, well, Mr. Drake. Here we are--you and me, alone at last. I can't think of a better honeymoon."
"You'll be sick of me soon."
"Not a chance." Her wide grin parted those kissable lips and revealed her gleaming teeth.
I took her hand, and we relocated to the bridge for an unobstructed, two-hundred-degree view.
"Next stops, Lesser Antilles Archipelago," the captain said. "Any directions?"
I turned to my wife, who was staring out the window, gazing at the wide, deep blue ocean before us. "Mrs. Drake?" I asked.
She turned to me. "Yes?"
"Any direction for the captain?"
She frowned at me for a minute before smiling. "Out there?" she mumbled. "How about thataway? Second star to the right and straight on till morning?"
I shook my head. "It's your order. Give whatever you want."
"Okay." She nodded. "Let's go west, then. I've always wanted to sail off into the sunset. And straight in to our future."
I pulled her against me, kissing her neck. "As you wish, Mrs. Drake."
Chapter 24
Katya
Jedi Boy: Cranberry--your last bug reports were incomplete. I hope you're on the way into the office. I need that shit done yesterday.
Me: Just landed. Those reports are SO complete. You have to stop inventing all these excuses just to see me.
Jedi Boy: Not everyone can just drop their work to go sun themselves in the Caribbean for weeks.
Me: Jealousy looks so unflattering on you.
Jedi Boy: You're starting to piss me off.
Me: I love you, too, darrrrrrrrrrrling!
I looked up and scanned the large room that Heath and I had just entered on our way to baggage claim. Signs everywhere labeled it Customs and Immigration.
My roomie--and travel buddy--leaned down with a knowing smirk. "That your team leader again? We just barely landed. Was he stalking the flight info?"
I shrugged. "Probably. He can't run his damn department without me, apparently."
Heath gave me an obnoxious wink. "Maybe it's more than just a work thing. I bet he's been pining away for you."
I shook my head. "I don't buy into your dumb theory about that."
His massive shoulders twitched. "Doesn't matter whether or not you buy into it. Someone who pesters you as much as he does isn't doing it just because of work. He wants you."
"Maybe he just savors the role of pain in the ass."
Heath pointed at a sign that bore both the stars and stripes beside a big red maple leaf. "Over here. Canucks go through the same line as Americans."
"Lucky us." I tucked my cell phone into my back pocket and began digging around in my backpack for my passport as we fell into line.
We wound through long lanes of retractable nylon stanchions that formed a little maze. Around me, I caught scraps of different languages spoken. Spanish mostly, but also Arabic and Chinese. The people speaking these languages appeared every bit as diverse as the languages themselves--women in colorful hijab scarves, men in robes or loose fitting trousers. All looking as exhausted as I felt after their own long flights.
Hearing spoken French, oddly, reminded me of home. No matter where someone lived in Canada, even in the most English of the provinces like my home British Columbia, he could not escape the plush accents of spoken French. Despite all those years I was required to take it in school, however, I still understood hardly a word.
"This place is usually packed. We must have hit a lull," Heath said.
As we walked directly to the passport agent, I kept my head down. I had no idea if they used facial recognition cameras here. And it was probably paranoia on a tin-foil hat crazy kind of level to assume that anyone would be actively hunting for me. But if I was in a database somewhere...
Breathe, Kat. Don't be nervous. I swallowed, trying to ignore the pulse pounding at my throat, drying my mouth. I'd finished my water bottle on the plane and was completely parched. And damn, did I ever have to use the washroom. Could I back out now and run for the toilet? Breathe, Kat. Don't show your fear.
Flashing through my brain at light speed was every possible problem that could occur.
No. There would be no problems, I assured myself. I shook the tension out of my s
houlders. I've got this.
There wouldn't be a problem, would there?
Governments didn't communicate that well between themselves, anyway. No way could this passport controller guy have any ideas about what went on in Canada. Americans seldom cared enough to know much of anything about the country just north of them. So neglect becomes my ally.
"Ladies first," Heath gestured to the next available passport control officer, and I nudged ahead of him, making a face at his flowery show of chivalry.
"I'll let any ladies around here know. In the meantime, Awesome Gamer Chicks first," I replied, and he snorted.
It would be perfectly fine. Perfectly normal. But if there was nothing to worry about, why was my heart thrumming at the base of my throat as I pushed that little navy blue booklet across the counter toward the man in the booth?
I grinned wide, hoping the toothy smile would help with my plans of distraction.
"Hey, there. How are you?" I piped.
The man, middle aged with dead eyes, showed no reaction whatsoever. His sausage-like fingers snapped up my passport, and he fumbled to the right page. I waited while he flipped to my picture then held the book in front of him to glance from the picture to my face and back again.
"Name?"
"Katharina Ellis." I made a funny face and posed in profile. "Sorry about the nasty picture. It wasn't exactly my best side."
No reaction. He was already typing the number on my passport into his computer. My fingers--of their own accord--drummed on the counter in front of me. I plopped my free hand on top of them to stop them and shifted from one leg to the other. I tried some yoga calming techniques the moment I recognized that my rapid breathing was causing my chest to rise and fall too quickly. Breathe in slowly through the nose. Hold breath. Count to three. Let it go through the mouth.
The man paid no notice, scrutinizing his screen instead. Heath had already passed through his booth and was standing, his American passport clutched in a big hand. He waited for me on the other side. People filed past him to head toward baggage claim.
I caught his eye, and he raised brows at me as if to ask what was going on. I shook my head and shrugged. Were it not for the sign prohibiting cell phones while at the passport control station, I might have pulled out mine to text him.
"How long were you out of the country, Ms. Ellis?"