Page 14 of Rough Return

Yes, she did. And that secret would die with her. “Can we just get through this? Please?”

“Yeah.” He sobered, and she missed his smile. There must have been something wrong with her. She went from running cold to nearly melting into a puddle whenever he spoke or smiled or touched her. She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to let him have any power over her heart or her emotions. But right now, her frayed nerves needed soothing, and his smile did it.

She held out her hand and tried not to care whether or not he took it. And when he did, her smile came, and she didn’t try to hold it back.

* * *

“Do you, Kermit Grier Owen, promise Fiona Elizabeth Strong to hope with her, support her, be her favorite person even when she isn’t yours, to find adventure with her in every day, to cherish every moment that you share, and love her from this day forward?” The judge, a thirty-something obvious romantic, laid his hand over Grier and Fiona’s.

Fiona hadn’t looked at him since they’d walked into this room. And before he answered, by God, he would see her face. With his free hand, he curled his index finger and used it to tilt her chin up, so if she didn’t want to look at him, she would have to forcibly look away. Finally, she met his gaze, and he smiled. He couldn’t help it. “I do.”

The judge nodded. “Do you, Fiona Elizabeth Strong, promise Kermit Grier Owen that you will laugh with him, take his side even when he’s wrong, be the person he can cry to and with, love him even when he isn’t lovable, and to let him know you love him from this day forward?”

She nodded, and the judge leaned a little closer to her. “You actually have to say the words.”

Her giggle, nervous, but the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, came with red cheeks and shallow breaths. “I… do.”

The judge nodded, and Grier exhaled in a chuckle. Maybe this was more important to him than he thought. Godzilla could have finished the rest of the ceremony and Grier wouldn’t have realized. He was too busy memorizing every detail about Fiona and this day. The sparkle in her eyes, the way the sun hit her hair through the window, even the fake bouquet of roses the judge handed to her at the beginning of the ceremony.

“You’re married. Now, kiss your bride.”

Making the judge tell him twice would have been rude. He slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her forward. No way would she struggle in front of the judge, and if only this once, he would have his way.

His lips brushed against hers, soft at first, but when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed closer, desperation replaced any sense of restraint he might have been able to summon. Not that he tried very hard. He’d kissed her before, more specifically, she’d kissed him, but time had dulled the memory. This was exquisite. Glorious. An out of body experience. One he never wanted to end.

And he would have let it go on and on if the judge hadn’t cleared his throat. “Probably better take your celebration somewhere more private.”

Fiona giggled just a little then stepped back and touched her fingers to her lips. He had a similar urge. He wanted to savor the feeling of her lips against his, her mouth open, and her tongue swirling with his. The woman kissed with an intensity that robbed him of the ability to breathe, that made his blood flow, no, made it race, south.

He hadn’t wanted a woman so badly since… ever. And it took several deep breaths before he could get his shit together. He shook hands with the judge, nodded to Hamilton, then made the mistake of resting his hand at the small of Fiona’s back. Just one touch. An innocent touch. And his dick decided it wanted to stand up and say hello like he was some kind of horny teenager who’d just accidentally brushed the boob of the head cheerleader.

She didn’t talk. Didn’t even look at him. And he was almost positive if it wouldn’t have made their entire marriage look like a sham, she would have ridden away with Hamilton. But she let him lead her to the car and open the door for her.

She didn’t speak until they were almost back to the clubhouse for the wedding reception. “Kermit?”

He shrugged and started singing the Rainbow Connection. When she didn’t smile or join in, he shrugged. “I didn’t pick it.” Truth be told, he didn’t know a damned thing about his name or much about his parents. And that suited him just fine.

Fiona walked into the clubhouse ahead of Grier—rather, Kermit—and Hamilton. On any other day, her father in a wheelchair would have made her sad, would have had her bawling like some damned baby, but today, knowing what it took him to load his wheelchair into a car, to appear in front of everyone weak with a catheter bag attached to his chair, made her heart thump its own happy tune.

And she’d put the smile on his face. She’d had to marry Grier to do it, but she’d done it, and if it was the last one she ever saw, at least she’d know she’d helped put it there.

Grier moved next to her, slid an arm around her waist, and leaned in to whisper, “I want my bike back.”

She smiled and pulled him further into the room. He could have his bike back. A piece at a time if he wasn’t careful. And it wasn’t going to be today. Instead of answering, she leaned down to kiss her father’s cheek.

He looked up at Grier. “It’s done?”

“Yeah. She’s all mine now.” He made a show of pulling her into his side and kissing the top of her head.

Max nodded, eyelids drooping, hands shaking as he reached to take Grier’s hand, which meant he had to stop holding her. Not that she cared. Much.

Okay, she cared a lot. She wanted to hold his hand. Kiss him again. And by all means, have him kiss her again. And again. And again.

She smoothed her hand over her stomach, hoping the butterflies would respond and settle down. When they didn’t, she edged closer to her father. In the past, his presence gave her strength and helped her calm, find her inner zen or some such bullshit.

Her heart fluttered when Grier turned his smoky gaze on her. The suggestion, the promise, the heat, all reflected in that look, made her stomach roll. If this was all for show, she’d eat her shoe. Then she’d feed him the other one.

He turned back to Max, and she tuned out whatever they had to say. She studied Grier instead. Imagined him shirtless. She’d seen him once that way a long time ago. And the memory had been the kick-start for her first time with Kenyon Grear, who’d been chosen for his last name alone. She’d never called Kenyon by his first name, preferred pretending, which she could do as long as she kept her eyes closed.