Disarm (28 page)

I turned back to my groom. “Henry, I love you. Those three words have a deeply embedded history. They come with a whole lifetime of laughter and tears. So when I say them, I hope you feel the weight of my words because they bear everything I hope. They bear everything that I am.”

Henry didn't wait for the priest to say the official words. He just grasped the sides of my face and kissed me in front of our friends and family, in front of the endless ocean, and anyone who might have been watching from above.

And we were married.

The reception was a simple affair. We set up two whitewashed wooden tables and placed the seashell candles and bouquets of flowers along their center. The place settings were a pretty mixture of mismatched plates and silverware with a tiny starfish attached to each white napkin.

When the sun set, the candles were lit and our little party glowed on into the night. Dad and I danced on the sand while Henry danced with his mother.

There were a few mishaps—wax spilled out of the seashells and onto the table, napkins flew off in the breeze and sand got into everything—but we didn't care. None of it mattered.

After dinner Henry and I shared our first dance as husband and wife under the stars. Hass played an acoustic version of “I Won't Let You Go” by James Morrison on his guitar as Henry pulled me by the waist and gathered me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I leaned my head against my husband's chest, breathing in his cool scent, sure that any second now, I was going to fly apart from all of the joy and love inside me. Only Henry's strong arms kept me in place and held me steady.

“I'm here, Els,” he said against my ear as we swayed, holding my palm against his heart. “I'll never let you go.”

Turn the page for a preview of June Gray's next Disarm novel

ARREST

Coming soon from Berkley Books

PROLOGUE

I ran my hands through soft waves of dark hair, the ends of which curled around my fingers. I looked up and into the blue eyes of the shirtless man staring at me through the wall mirror. “Are you sure it needs to be buzzed completely off?” I asked, disappointed that I'd once again have to cut off the very thing that had brought us together.

“Yes. Academy standards.”

Call me sentimental but I loved Henry's hair, which was a deep brown and had grown long over the past year. For the past several years I'd seen him with it cropped short, and it was only after he separated from the military that I was able to watch it grow again. Inch by inch, it felt as if the old Henry came back with each wavy strand, not only in appearance but also in attitude. The spark of mischief came back into his eyes, his smiles seemed wider, his laughter deeper.

I loved this unruly dark mess because it represented him as a teenage boy. It was a constant reminder that we had loved each other for nearly forever.

And now I had to cut it off. Again.

“Els?” Henry said, craning his head around to look up at me. “It's just hair.”

“It's
not
just hair,” I said, running my fingers through his dark locks again. “Once you start the police academy, then that's it. You'll never be able to wear it long again.”

“I can when I retire.”

“By then you'll be old and wrinkly and you won't look sexy with it anymore,” I said, only half teasing.

He spun around in the computer chair and grabbed me around the waist. “You think I'm sexy?” he asked with a cocky grin.

“Always.” I held his face in my hands, finding it hard to imagine his olive skin lined with age. It occurred to me then that I had the rest of my life to find out what he'd look like, and the thought filled me with joy.

“Okay, old man,” I said, spinning him back around and reaching for the clippers. “Let's get this show on the road.”

I took the first swipe in the center of his head, going all the way to the back. I grinned at him through the mirror, pausing long enough to chuckle at his odd appearance, and then went back to the task with more care.

As his dark hair fell quietly away, I thought of Henry's words in his therapy tapes, when he'd talked about the first time I cut his hair back in high school.

That was when I knew I was a goner. This girl in front of me was going to be my happily ever after.

I bet when he made that realization, he never would have thought he would somehow find himself in nearly the exact same place many years later, with our happily ever after no longer a whispered wish but a reality.

“You're so beautiful,” Henry said in a soft, raspy voice, drawing me away from my thoughts.

I looked up and studied my reflection in the mirror, looking at my curly brown hair, hazel eyes, light skin that Henry had once likened to milk. I'd always considered myself somewhat average in the looks department, but nobody else made me feel gorgeous with just one look. Nobody but Henry.

I met his eyes through the mirror, and for one brief moment, I saw that kid again, the one who wore braces, who stole trinkets from people's houses, who went home night after night to an empty house. Who could have guessed that kid would grow up to be this noble, honest, caring man?

“I think you're good to go.” I rubbed his bristly head, brushing hair off his bare shoulders.

Quick as lightning, his hand shot out and captured one of mine. He brought my palm to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my skin. Then he stood up and turned to face me, standing so close, my breath was ruffling the hair on his chest. “This is what I should have done back then,” he said and kissed me like we were just two kids in love, without a clue what the future held. “This time last year, I was in Korea, thinking I'd lost you for good. And now I'm here, with you, building a life together,” he said. “I could ask for nothing more.”

“I'd say we got pretty lucky.”

He shook his head with a tender smile. “Luck has nothing to do with it,” he said. “We're just two willful people who moved mountains to be together.”

Several months later . . .

“Honey, I'm home.” I unloaded my purse and laptop bag on the floor as soon as I shut the front door. When I heard nothing, I kicked off my shoes and carried them through the living room and to the kitchen. Still no sign of Henry. “Hello?”

“I'm up here.”

I eyed the cold pasta salad on the counter wistfully, my stomach reminding me that it was past eight o'clock and I hadn't eaten dinner yet. I grabbed a fork and took a few mouthfuls, chewing quickly before heading upstairs.

I found Henry in our master bathroom, folding a box and stuffing it into the small trash can. “Hey,” he said planting a kiss on my lips. He pulled away, licking his lips. “You taste like Italian dressing.”

I looked around the bathroom, trying to figure out what he had changed now. Since closing on the house in August, we had been slowly trying to update the outdated interior. But with Henry's long days at the police academy and my hectic hours at work, we hadn't been able to do much at all. We were nearing Thanksgiving and all we'd accomplished was replacing the dingy carpet, painting the trim white, and changing the color of the walls.

Too tired to keep playing sleuth, I finally asked, “Okay, what did you do?”

“Here, let me show you.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head then reached out and started to undo the pearl buttons on my teal shirt.

God, even with a nearly bald head, Henry's stark beauty never failed to strike me. Even at the end of a long day, when I was so tired I could barely stand, the very nearness of him sent ripples of arousal across my skin. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, reaching behind me and undoing my bra.

“Wake up at six in the morning and still manage to be so perfect by the end of the day?”

He cupped my breasts in his large hands, flicking at each nipple. “I skipped the gym and took a nap.”

Well, that answered that. I bet I'd look gorgeous too if I'd had some beauty sleep.

“Then I went to Home Depot and got something for you.” His eyes glittered as he pulled the gray shower curtain aside and motioned to the new chrome fixture with two showerheads, one of which was on a handle. “You've been complaining about the old one for the longest time.”

I stepped into the tub and turned on the water, nearly squealing with delight when the water came shooting out strong and straight. Henry stepped in behind me and reached for the handheld fixture. He twisted the control valve and then held the pulsating stream of water against my shoulders. “Oh, that feels good,” I said, bowing my head and closing my eyes. He kneaded my other shoulder and I about melted.

“So how was your day?” he asked, continuing the water massage.

“Not great,” I said. “My computer froze, so I restarted and then I got the spinning ball of doom. I had to work on the old iMac for the rest of the day, which is an exercise in frustration.”

“I hope you didn't lose any work.”

“No. Thankfully everything's saved on the servers. It was just a little stressful since we're still working on that Go Big campaign.” Go Big Sports was Shake Design's largest client to date, so a lot of resources and manpower were being utilized to make sure the company was happy. We were in the middle of a complete brand overhaul as well as a new web store design. The entire project was already a daunting and exhausting task, but as head of the team, I was under extra pressure to perform. The death of a computer was not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but it was added strain on an already-stressful day.

Henry pressed a soft kiss on my neck, pulling me away from thoughts of work. “Hey, come back. No more thinking about work for the rest of the night,” he murmured.

“Easier said than done,” I said and was about to launch into the next day's long to-do list when water was suddenly pelting me on my stomach, due south.

“Open up,” he said, nudging my legs apart with his foot. He brought a palm to my back and bent me over, exposing my backside while I planted my hands on the wall. “I'm going to make you forget about everything for the next half hour.”

“Half hour? We'll run out of hot water long before—oh!”

He had changed the spray to a stronger, more concentrated stream and was aiming it directly onto my clit.

“I love this showerhead,” I said between moans.

“Me too.” The water disappeared and was replaced by the different sensation of his tongue licking between my folds.

I peeked between my legs and saw him palming his erection as he lapped at me, sending an energizing jolt of desire through me. “I want you.”

He stood up and loomed over me. “You want me where?” he asked, pumping his length along the crevice of my ass.

I reached around and wrapped my fingers around him, guiding him to my entrance. “I want to feel you in here, filling me up.”

“Do you want it slow or rough?”

I sat back, allowing the head of his cock to penetrate my cleft. “Rough. Hard.”

He gripped me around the chest and with one swift thrust was inside me, stretching me, filling me. “Like this?” he rasped against my ear, sliding out and driving home again, causing me to lurch forward with its force.

“Fuck, yes.”

He obliged, kissing along my neck and nipping my skin with his teeth as he continued the assault. He kept murmuring sweet and nasty things as he pummeled me, the noisy slapping of skin intermingling with the sound of running water.

I closed my eyes and surrendered, content to give Henry full control of my pleasure. The man did not steer me wrong; he knew all the right ways to touch me so that I was racing toward that orgasm, my muscles coiling, grasping for tighter hold. When he held the strong stream of water against my clit once again, I broke apart. “Hell yes,” I hissed as my inner walls convulsed around his shaft.

“Here,” he ordered, pressing the showerhead into my hand. With both hands free, he gripped my hips and drove into me faster.

I flicked the water setting to a softer stream and pointed it between my legs and directly onto his balls. He made a pained noise, but when I pulled it away, he growled, “Keep it there. Keep it there. Don't stop. Fuuuuck . . .” His hips bucked wildly as he climaxed, thrusting into me one last time.

I could feel his heartbeat thudding on my back as he gasped against my ear. It took him several long seconds but when he recovered, he pulled out and reached for the shampoo bottle.

My scalp tingled as his fingers massaged the shampoo through my hair, turning all the bones in my body to jelly. I leaned my head into his firm but gentle touch and sighed with pleasure.

Then he soaped up the loofah and washed my entire body, spending a long time washing between my legs. I noticed his mind was no longer on cleansing when his fingers probed me, sliding inside and finding that sensitive nub.

“I can't . . . I have no energy to come again.”

“I'm just making sure you're completely clean,” he said, his fingers rubbing and kneading. He brought his mouth down to mine and kissed me, his tongue bringing me back to life.

I squeezed at his fingers, feeling the warmth spread throughout me, and unbelievably, I started to come again. I leaned against the tile wall when my legs buckled as Henry's hand worked its magic.

When the last of my orgasm had subsided, he turned off the water and reached for a towel and handed it to me.

“I don't think I have any energy left for work,” I said, wondering how I was even going to manage drying my hair, let alone do anything else.

“That's the point. You go to work early, get home late, and then do more work until nearly midnight.” He swept me off my feet and carried me to the bed. “Tonight, you deserve some rest.”

“I'm still wet,” I laughed, trying to sit up.

He held me down by the shoulders, a laugh playing in his eyes. “Then we shall have to dry you off, won't we?” he said and swept his tongue along the length of my stomach, lapping at the water droplets.

I grabbed the back of his head, too worn out to do anything but moan. “You're going to give me death by orgasm.”

He looked up and grinned. “Can't think of a better way to go.”

“Sherman.” The deep voice of my boss, Conor McDermott, echoed over the block of cubicles as he stood outside his office with his hands on his waist. “My office, now.”

Kari, a senior designer on my team, peered over the wall. “What did you do?”

“I have no clue.” I saved my file, straightened my blouse, and prepared myself for what was to come.

Conor was leaning against his desk when I entered his glass-walled office. “Sit down, please.”

I perched on the curvy chair made out of one thin piece of wood, uncomfortably close to where Conor stood. The Irishman was in his mid-thirties, with dark auburn hair and an intense icy blue stare that was currently fixed on my face.

“My last name is Logan now,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension. It was no secret that Conor was a ladies man, with a natural charisma that made him seem flirty without trying. Being the owner of Shake Design, he wore expensive suits, but he also rarely shaved, so that he was a mixture of crispness and scruff, professionalism and impudence. It was no wonder women fell at his feet.

“I'm sorry, I forget,” he said with a slight Irish brogue. He crossed one foot over the other and regarded me for another few uncomfortable seconds.

I tried to meet his gaze but felt a little strange doing so, as if simply finding another man attractive was an act of adultery.

“Are you happy here?” he asked, a question that took several seconds to sink in.

“Yes, very.” I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I've been keeping an eye you. You've been working really long hours, showing a lot of dedication to Go Big. I just wanted to make sure that you're happy.” He gave me a roguish grin. “Basically, I want to make sure no other companies try to steal you away.”

I returned his smile. “I'm happy to hear that.”

“So what can I do to make your life easier?”

“Make the Go Big execs agree on everything from here on out?”

He chuckled. “I suspect nothing short of a miracle can do that.”

“Can I have one more designer on the team then?” I asked.

He let out a long breath through his nose. “I was afraid you'd say that. I can't do that, however, as all of our designers are busy with other projects, but I will look into hiring a freelancer.”

I shrugged. “How about an icee machine for the break room then?” I joked.

“That I can probably arrange,” he said with a deep laugh.

“How about giving us all the entire Thanksgiving week off?”

“Now you're just pushing your luck.”

I shrugged. “Worth a try.”

Still smiling, he stood up and motioned to the door. “Well, if there's anything else you need—within reason—then my door is always open.”

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind,” I said, walking past him and catching a whiff of his expensive cologne.

“Elsie,” he said with a smile, one that held no hidden intent, only genuine joy. “I'm glad you're on my team.”

“Me too,” I said quickly and walked out. When I got back to my desk, my phone immediately rang.

“Psst,” Kari said into the other line. I stood up and shook my head as she held the phone against her ear and a hand over her mouth. “What did sex-on-a-stick want?”

I snickered. “Nothing. Just making sure I was content here.”

“So he didn't bend you over his desk and spank you for not getting those mock-ups done to perfection?”

I sat back down, stifling a surprised laugh. Kari and I had spent many hours together in the past several months and had become really good friends. One thing I really loved about her was her unabashed love for erotic romance novels, and the one about a troubled billionaire, in particular. “You are a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen,” I whispered. “Conor is
not
Christian Grey.”

“But he could be,” Kari giggled. “You never know what he's like behind office doors.”

“He's got glass walls.”

“So he's an exhibitionist too.”

“You're crazy.”

“You love it.”

“You're projecting your fantasies onto a mere mortal.”

“Give me one night with him and I'll turn him into a god.”

“You're nuts.” I wished her luck with her plans of seduction and hung up, still laughing to myself even after I went back to work.

That night, Henry was already starting dinner when I walked in the house.

I kicked off my shoes and washed my hands at the sink before standing on my toes to give him a kiss. I pulled away, noticing the redness around his eyes. “What happened?” I asked as I started to chop the bell peppers by the chopping board.

“We were pepper-sprayed at school today,” he said, pouring oil into the wok. “We stood there one by one and got sprayed in the face. It was . . . not fun.”

I looked down at the ingredients on the counter. “So you didn't get enough peppers? You wanted to eat it for dinner too?”

He shrugged. “Next week we get tasered.”

“Where? In the balls?”

He coughed. “Let's hope not. Ugh, that sounds like the worst pain known to man.”

“Then we can have rocky mountain oysters that night,” I teased, jabbing him in the side.

“You're sick,” he said, pulling me in for a noogie and making a mess of my hair.

“Stay away from the hair,” I said and held up a sliver of pepper. “I'll spray you again if you're not careful.”

He held his hands up in defeat. “I surrender.”

The good mood continued on into dinner as we talked about our days while eating chicken stir fry. I knew it wouldn't always be like this, that once he became a LEO—law enforcement officer—our times together would be unpredictable, at best. So I held onto the moment, completely immersing myself in the simple joy of being with the love of my life, and tried to avoid thinking about the future.