Kissing The Bride (Stewart Island Series)

by Tracey Alvarez

  Del started the scooter, and they puttered down the road that ran beside Shearwater Bay. The sun sank below the horizon of another stunning autumn evening, casting sparks of pink light off the small waves rippling ashore. He slowed the moped at the first bend in the road, then stopped, bracing his boots on the gravelled surface. He tapped Shaye’s leg and directed her attention to the beach.

  “Look who’s back for a visit,” he said.

  A huge, mahogany-colored lump lay on the sand, halfway up the beach between road verge and the water. The lump moved, propping itself up on two flippers and shaking its enormous head.

  “Do you think it’s Boris?” Shaye’s weight shifted as she leaned around him. “It’s definitely a bull male—look at that mane.”

  Del squinted at the sea lion, which was at least two and a half meters long, and would’ve weighed more than he and Shaye and their bike combined. A long, zig-zagging scar marred the dark-brown fur covering his flank.

  “Yeah. It’s Boris, all right.”

  The animal threw back its blunt-shaped snout and let out a roaring bellow, as if recognizing the nickname locals had called him since he’d started hauling out on Shearwater Bay for at least the last ten years.

  Shaye straightened. “Well, thank God we’re on the scooter since he hates cars.”

  Del patted her knee and gassed the throttle. “Wouldn’t take it personally,” he said, as they puttered past. “Boris hates everything.”

  The sea lion gave them the stink-eye then turned his head majestically back toward the ocean in a direct snub.

  Del pulled into Holy Trinity’s parking lot and slotted the moped into a gap between West’s new daddy-mobile—no more bike rides for him and Piper since baby Michaela’s arrival—and Ben’s ute. Before he’d time to kill the motor, Shaye slid from the pillion seat and hauled off her helmet. She cocked her head at the sound of raucous laughter drifting out from the open doors of the old wooden church. Her eyes narrowing into what Del privately nicknamed the psycho-bride glare, Shaye shoved her helmet into his hands.

  “Dammit! I knew we should’ve gotten here earlier. Now they’ll never settle down.” Then she was gone, her cute little ass twitching under her jeans as she power-walked into the church.

  Del switched off the engine and stood, dumping Shaye’s helmet on the pillion seat and then removing his own. He followed Shaye’s footsteps to the church’s entranceway—at a slower, less crazy-psycho pace—and froze.

  The Holy Trinity church, a classic New-Zealand-style building with white weatherboard walls, a steeply pitched, corrugated iron roof and a tiny bell tower, was postcard pretty and a picture of piousness. At least, it would’ve been, if not for the riff-raff of Del and Shaye’s friends and family filling the interior.

  Competing voices rose and fell, swooping back and forth between the two rows of pews on each side of the single aisle. Zoe and Jade, Shaye’s nieces and flower girls, played a giggling game of tag up and down the blue-carpeted aisle with Kezia trying to corral them. Two of his mates who would act as ushers, Harley and Ford, leaned against the eastern wall, apparently unaware of the whole God-is-watching-you thing since Ford grabbed a laughing Harley in a headlock and scrubbed his knuckles on his twin’s head. Carly, Del’s stepsister and grooms-person, sat on a wooden pew, her bright-red hair tilted toward Holly, both women in deep discussion. His soon-to-be sister-in-law, and Shaye’s maid of honor, Piper, stood at the front of the church, poking her brother Ben—Del’s second grooms-person—in the belly. Forming the third part of the triangle was Piper and Shaye’s mother, Glenna. She held Del’s red-faced-with-teething niece on her shoulder and swayed from side to side. Six-month-old Michaela spotted West lounging on a pew closest to the front and let out an almighty shriek, likely requesting her daddy rescue her.

  And there, a few steps in front of him, hands fisted on her curvy hips, Shaye stood, taking it all in. Del wiped the smile from his mouth, as he suspected his fiancée really did have eyes in the back of her beautiful head. She probably wouldn’t see the humor in the situation—but hell, if it wasn’t his own wedding rehearsal, he’d have been the one yukking it up with the Komeke twins. Or napping on the back pews as someone was, their crossed ankles poking out over the aisle.

  Weddings, you know—nutty family stuff was part of the package.

  The feet in the last pew dropped to the floor, and a moment later, Bill’s head appeared as he sat up with a yawn.

  “Hello, girlie,” his father said to Shaye, who stood a foot behind him, still in what Del assumed was shell-shocked silence. “You finally made it. Welcome to the mad house.”

  Del thought he heard Shaye’s teeth grinding above the various chatter, thumps, squeals and rising baby-cries. He hustled his ass forward and slipped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into his side. Stiff and unyielding, she continued to follow the bedlam around the tiny church for a moment longer before turning her gaze up to him. Her bright, olive green and suspiciously shiny gaze. Shit.

  “Mad house?” she said. “This is my wedding rehearsal, and, and…it’s God’s house, goddammit.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” A gravelly voice came from behind them. “But I don’t think he’d mind so much.”

  Shaye’s eyes popped wide open, and she twisted around. “Reverend Dave! Oh, God—um, gosh—I’m so sorry about all this.”

  She waved a hand to include the continuing noise level, which hadn’t dropped even though a couple of people had noticed their entrance and waved hello.

  Holy Trinity’s Reverend Dave Kaipo, a six-feet-plus barrel of a man of Maori heritage dressed in a Led Zeppelin tee shirt, old shorts, and flip-flops, who had the smile of a choirboy and the aim of a sniper when it came to dart-night at the pub, grinned at them.

  “The Big Guy’s pretty tolerant about his whānau inside his house or out of it,” the reverend said with a chuckle. “And His son went to a few weddings—and maybe even a rehearsal dinner or two, who knows.”

  “Created a nice vintage for the bridal party, too, apparently.” Del let go of Shaye and offered the reverend his hand to shake, but he was dragged into a bro-hug instead.

  After a hearty back slap, the reverend released Del and bent and kissed Shaye’s cheek. “Don’t stress, love.”

  Shaye’s fake I’m trying to be polite smile wobbled. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

  “It’s all good.” Reverend Dave wandered over to Bill and slung an arm around the older man’s shoulders. “How’re ya doing, mate,” Del heard him say.

  Del squeezed Shaye’s hand. “They’re happy for us, and they’re just being who they are—our arguing, laughing, gossiping, crying, nutty family.”

  Shaye squeezed his fingers back and the fake smile faded like morning mist on the harbor, replaced by a genuine grin that squeezed Del’s heart tighter than her grip.

  “Yeah.” She sighed and shook her head. “The nutty bunch. I guess they are.”

  Del bent and kissed her earlobe. “But enough’s enough,” he whispered. “The sooner we practice fake getting-married, the closer we are to real getting-married, and the closer I am to getting you back home to bed.” He straightened, and slipping two fingers into his mouth, whistled like he’d once whistled for a cab in New York City.

  “Hey!” Del said in the beat of silence following his cab-whistle. “Drinks on us at the pub if we can get this done and dusted in under an hour.”

  And as if in a well-coordinated military maneuver, friends and family scurried into their positions within the church. Reverend Dave winked at Del and Shaye then strolled down the now-empty aisle to the altar.

  “Can I get an ‘amen’ to that, brothers and sisters?” he hollered.

  And the nutty but loved friends and family gave him one in a hearty chorus.

  ***

  4 days before the Big Day and counting…

  Shaye stepped into the dressing room of Invercargill’s Next Stop, Vegas bridal boutique, and a delicious thrill of déjà vu ting
led down her spine. Nearly a year and a half ago, at her bridesmaid fitting for Piper’s wedding, Del had entered this changing room while she’d been trapped in the merciless grip of her Spanx underwear. Okay—so that was more mortifying than sexy—but sexiness had ensued when Del had put his hands on her.

  Today, however, four days before D-Day, she’d invented a little ninja-ish plan to make up for all the crap she’d put her long-suffering man through.

  A light tap on the door before it cracked open and MacKenna, the boutique’s owner and Holly’s cousin, poked her head around. “All set?” she asked.

  “I just sent him a text.” Shaye smoothed her hands down her lace-edged, silky robe and shot MacKenna a smile. “Now if you can ply my bridesmaids with orange juice, bubbles, and strawberries out the back as planned…”

  MacKenna rolled her blue eyes so hard they disappeared under the honey-blonde hair falling over her brow. “Your sister’s downed half a jug of orange juice and your besties are already on their second glass of bubbles—lushes, the pair of them.”

  “Just keep them occupied for twenty minutes once you hear the front door buzz.”

  “Will do.” Dimples popped in MacKenna’s cheeks as she tried not to smile. “I hope your man enjoys this wedding present more than the toaster oven I planned to buy.”

  Shaye nipped at her lower lip, happy-nervous flutters dancing low in her belly. “I’m pretty sure he will.”

  MacKenna laughed and shut the door. Footsteps moved away from the dressing room toward the boutique’s back door, which led to a small staffroom and a patio area where brides and their friends could relax. With Del down the road being fitted for his suit, along with his best man, West, and Ben and Carly—who also insisted on wearing a kick-ass black suit and heels—it wouldn’t take her man long to make the trip.

  Shaye glanced at the phone in her hand one more time.

  Can you come help? she’d sent. I’ve a small Spanx emergency!

  His answer came with a quick vibrate. I’m on my way. Don’t panic.

  Shaye dumped the phone into her handbag hanging on a hook beside her bagged wedding gown—her gorgeous, one-shouldered, silk-and-chiffon wedding gown with a bona-fide train. She couldn’t wait to see Del’s face as she walked step-pause-step down the aisle of Oban’s Holy Trinity church—the same cute, century-old church where her parents had married many years ago.

  A bzzzzzt from outside the dressing room sounded as someone opened the shop door. Rapid footsteps followed and then a soft tap on her door. “Shaye?”

  Pressing her lips together to keep any stray giggle from escaping, she slid along the back wall so the opening door would hide her from view.

  “Del, get in here before I tear something. I need you,” she said, totally winning an Oscar for her acting skills.

  The door cracked open wide enough for someone to squeeze through. Del, protecting her privacy from the rest of the boutique, bless him, slid inside and shut the door. Shaye had a momentary stab of guilt at his rumpled hair and obviously thrown on, inside-out tee shirt.

  “Hey.” He held up a palm, most likely trying to figure out what the Spanx emergency was when she was very obviously not strangled by a misbehaving bodysuit. “You’re not stuck in the Spanx?”

  Awww, her darling sucker had really fallen for it. That, ladies and gentlemen, deserved a reward.

  “I kinda lied,” Shaye said.

  The soft squeak of footsteps tiptoed past—MacKenna, going to lock the front door and turn the open sign to “Back in 5 minutes”. Or twenty minutes, give or take a few.

  “But I wasn’t lying about needing you.” Shaye’s gaze skimmed down Del’s broad shoulders to his worn-soft jeans clinging to his leanly muscled thighs, and the denim cupping the package between them. Nope, totally telling the whole truth, nothing but the truth there. “Lock the door.”

  The confusion on Del’s face evaporated beneath the smoky heat of his glance as he took in the silky fabric of her robe…and the jut of her nipples poking against it. Legs suddenly weak, she leaned against the dressing room’s back wall and tried to slow her choppy breathing.

  Reaching behind him, Del flicked the door lock. “What have you got going on under that robe, cupcake?”

  The soft muzak being piped through the boutique abruptly finished, then a new song started. Del froze, his gaze darting to the speaker high up on the dressing room wall as Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” flowed out. His lips twitched then parted in a grin hot enough to melt the synthetic lace panties she wore under her robe.

  “MacKenna?” he asked.

  “Yep.” Shaye giggled. “But that’s the only part of the plan that’s hers.”

  “Oh, there’s a plan?” He moved to brace his palms either side of her shoulders, trapping her against his big, warm body. “Of course, with you, there’s always a plan.”

  The whole oxygenating thing suddenly became difficult. She wound her arms around his neck, touching her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Del followed the movement like a cat honing in on a laser dot. “Tell me about this plan,” he said, lips skimming lightly down her temple, his breath tickling her skin. He leaned closer, his chest pressed against her breasts, his hips and every delicious inch between them nudging into her. “Or better yet…show me.”

  His palms left the wall and stroked down her sides, brushing the curve of her breasts. The brief contact sent tingles straight to her nipples and focused there with a thick, pulsing throb that matched the one in her womb. Shaye rose on tiptoe, placing a soft kiss on his mouth.

  “We’ve got twenty minutes.” She slid a hand down the taut muscles of his back until she reached his truly biteable ass. After a cheeky squeeze, she wriggled her fingers between their bodies, finding the button on his jeans and popping it open. “And as your sous chef, I’m pretty damn good at time management.”

  He dipped his head, capturing Shaye’s mouth in a kiss that could’ve spanned one minute or ten—she lost track, sucked under by the raw passion Del poured into every second of his lips caressing hers. By the time she came up for air, her silky robe had fallen open, and she’d shoved Del’s tee shirt halfway up his chest.

  “Shirt off,” she gasped, her fingers scrabbling across the rippled muscles spanning his stomach to tug on the shirt’s hem.

  Wicked smile in place, Del complied. And he slid her robe off the rest of the way so it puddled on the floor at their feet. Shaye hooked her fingers into her panties and went to draw them down her legs.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  She froze then melted under the furnace-heat of Del’s gaze as it skimmed over her curves and zoomed in on her lacy panties, which, truth be known, had even less substance to them than the crotchless pair she’d tried to hide from him on their first awkward meeting.

  “We’re only doing this wedding thing once, right?” he asked, dropping to his knees in front of her. Big hands rested either side of her hips, his thumbs stroking the crease where her legs met her body.

  “Yeah.” Talking. Hard. Hands, so, very, close. “One time deal.”

  “Then since we’re unlikely to ever be in this room again, I’m using up every minute on one of my favorite sexual fantasies.” He pressed a kiss to the little bow on the front of her panties. “Starting right here.”

  His warm breath misted through the lacy holes of the fabric. Shivers raced through her as he tugged the panties aside and breathed on her again. Del moved forward; his tongue licked through her slippery folds to unerringly find the spot that had her gripping his tousled hair with a moan.

  “Please…”

  “My pleasure,” Del said.

  He set his lips over that magic spot, flicking it with his tongue until Shaye’s eyes crossed. Cinnamon sticks! The man had diabolical oral skills.

  Shaye’s head thunked against the wall. Forgetting every last inhibition, she spread her thighs farther apart and rode his mouth mindlessly. The first shimmers of an impending climax weakened her kn
ees, and she clamped a palm over her mouth as the orgasm hijacked her vocal chords and made her scream.

  While she slumped boneless against the wall, Del kicked off his shoes and stripped off his jeans. Good Lord, she was about to marry the most beautiful man in the world. Del, all hard-packed muscle under tanned skin, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her until there was no oxygen left in the room. She made not one murmur of complaint as he grabbed her knee and hooked it over his hip. He nudged against her opening, stretching her wide as he pushed home in one ovary-quivering thrust. In fact, aside from their harsh gasps for air, the only sounds in the tiny dressing room were Shaye’s panting moans as he drove up into her over and over.

  “I love you, cupcake.”

  Rough and filled with such honest need, Del’s voice shoved her higher into the next level of arousal, the one just before…Her body clenched around him, and he growled, angling her hips so their connection was even deeper, harder, more intense and—oh, God…Shaye flew apart, her answering words of love muffled against the warm skin of his throat.

  “That was one hell of a plan,” Del said a few minutes—five minutes?—later.

  Shaye blinked, pulse still in the danger-zone of a coronary event, her nose still smooshed into the basil-and-leather-and-Del-scented skin of her man’s neck. If Del hadn’t flattened her against the dressing room wall—that is, propping her upright—Shaye suspected she’d be an orgasmic puddle on the floor.

  “Need to up your game for the honeymoon, hotshot,” she muttered.

  He gave her ass a familiar pat. “I hear ya.” A pause of a couple of beats. “So how long did you bribe MacKenna to keep your sister, Holly, and Kez busy for?”

  Shaye’s thighs trembled, and damn if her good-bits didn’t give a long, hard squeeze of anticipation. “Twenty minutes.”

  Movement from his right arm being raised to eye-level, then a raspy chuckle. “We’ve still got four left.”

  He cupped her jaw, his blue eyes scanning hers until he seemed to see what he needed to—her total love and trust invested in their relationship…in him.