by Kait Nolan
All her adult life, Sandy had put others first. Her son. Her family. Her town. For once, she wanted to take something for herself. She wanted to take this chance. Take him. And she wanted to believe it would last. Had to believe it would last.
Giving into the urge to touch him, she framed his face. “Whatever we have to do, I just want to love you.”
His hands came up to cup her shoulders. “To be clear…is that a yes?”
She tightened her arms around him, wanting no room for misinterpretation. “Yes. Yes, I’ll stay your wife.”
“Then I should give you this.” Still serious, he pulled a black velvet box from the pocket of his pants and opened it. The princess cut solitaire was remarkably simple in the elegant, old-fashioned setting. And it suited her far more than some ostentatious display of his wealth.
“Oh Trey, it’s perfect. Where did you find time to get a ring?”
“It was my grandmother’s. I’ve been carrying it around since I first came back to Wishful. I told myself I was being foolish, but I couldn’t come back to Mississippi without it. Just in case.”
Her gaze snapped to his. He’d been carrying this ring for a year and a half? “So long?”
Trey jerked a shoulder and offered a sheepish smile. “Maybe I buy into the town slogan that this really is the place where hope springs eternal.”
She laughed, though a knot of tears clogged her throat.
“It’s not the ring I gave my first wife. It wasn’t meant for her. I always wanted to give it to you.” They both watched as he slipped the ring on her finger. It looked right there, as she felt right in his arms.
Trey lifted her hand to his lips. “I know you probably won’t want to wear it in public for a while, at least until we decide to announce it, so I got you a chain. I thought maybe you could wear it as a necklace in the meantime.”
Sandy stared. “Did you think of everything?”
“I made a concerted effort. And if you want another wedding somewhere down the line—a proper one, with friends and family, and no Elvis officiating, we’ll make it happen.”
She winced. “I’m thinking it might be a good thing I don’t remember much of that ceremony.”
“There’s video.”
Surely, she hadn’t heard him right. “Video?”
“They told me when I stopped by the chapel to ask. I bought a copy, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it.”
It took a moment to process the stunning horror of that. “I’m not sure how I feel about there being video evidence of our recklessness. If The ’Berg got ahold of that…”
“The ’Berg?”
“As in the tip of the iceberg. It’s as close as Wishful has to a tabloid. A few years ago, somebody decided to add a little modern to the gossip mill, so they started a blog. Nobody actually knows who’s behind it, and it is, unfortunately, widely read. Video of the mayor’s drunk Vegas wedding would be the creme de la creme that beats out Dinner Belles and The Grind. And God knows the internet is forever.”
“I don’t need the real tabloids getting their hands on it for my own reputation. I’ll destroy it.”
“Without watching it first?”
“Unless you want to see it, then yeah.”
She didn’t want to watch it, but it somehow seemed a shame to wipe out the one piece of information that could fill in some of the blanks from their trip to Vegas. “You’re not even a little curious?”
“It wasn’t the wedding you deserve. None of it was what you deserve. I’ll make it up to you.”
His expression was so earnest, she couldn’t help but reach out to frame his face again. “Okay, let’s make a pact.”
“About?”
“Let’s stop beating ourselves up for how we got married and focus on the fact that we are. I don’t want the tone of the rest of our marriage to be tainted with regrets.” She stroked her fingers along his nape, staring into his eyes. “I don’t regret this, Trey. I don’t regret you.”
“No?”
Sandy shook her head. “No. In fact, out of all of this, I only have one real regret, other than how I behaved yesterday.”
He tensed again. “What’s that?”
She ran her hands lightly along the slope of his shoulders before bringing her gaze back to his. “That I don’t remember much about what came after the wedding.”
The slow smile that spread over his face was full of hot promises and satin sheets. “Well now, I expect we could work on a reenactment of the wedding night.”
Heart thumping, Sandy looped her arms around his neck. “That sounds like an excellent plan, Mr. Peyton.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Peyton.”
Mrs. Peyton. For so many years, she’d been branded by the lingering reminder of her first marriage, opting to keep Crawford for Cam’s sake, instead of going back to Campbell. Who knew the prospect of finally being free of it would be so welcome? Or maybe that was the clever mouth Trey had pressed to hers.
Sandy sank into the kiss, into him, letting go of the stress and worry of the past couple of days to just feel.
He laid her back on the thick rug in front of the fire, his toned body stretching out beside hers. She wanted the weight of him, wanted to peel him out of those wet clothes. She reached between them, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he made love to her mouth, seducing her with long, drugging kisses. His hand slipped beneath her shirt and the simple contact was shocking. No one had touched her bare skin in years. Not since…
“Wait.”
He nuzzled at her throat. “What’s wrong? Uncomfortable? Do you want to move to a bed?”
“Later.” She was vain enough to prefer the firelight. “It’s just…there are things you probably didn’t notice the first time we did this.” At the thought of it, the lovely liquid pull in her belly turned to knots.
Trey pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Neither of us is twenty anymore. You’re even more of a knockout now than you were then.”
He could make her smile, even now. “You’re besotted and have impaired judgment.”
Propping himself up on one elbow, he skimmed his gaze over her. “I’m the one doing the looking, so my judgment’s the only one that matters in this equation.”
The heat in his eyes was beyond gratifying. She clung to that and to him as she said the rest. “I just don’t want you to be shocked when you see the scars.”
“Scars?” He went very still. “Did Waylan hurt you?”
Recognizing the carefully leashed rage, she cupped his nape, wanting to reassure. “No. No, nothing like that. They’re surgical scars.” Her fingers trembled faintly as she unbuttoned her shirt, tugging it back to reveal the scar slightly below her collar bone. “This was from my PICC line. For chemotherapy. I had breast cancer.”
Voice thick, he murmured her name and lowered his brow to hers. “I could’ve lost you before I even found you again.” He shuddered.
She raked her hand through his hair. “It’s okay. I’m three-and-a-half years cancer-free. But I had a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. The surgeon did a good job, as far as that kind of thing goes, but I just…wanted to warn you what you were getting into.” Some of that was to protect him, but an equal part was a hope that if she warned him, maybe he’d be able to control his reaction, in case he didn’t take it well.
Sandy hadn’t expected to be nervous. She’d made peace with her post surgery body ages ago, and she was grateful to be alive and in remission. It was more than so many others ever got. But she hadn’t shared that body with anyone until him, and she found his opinion mattered a lot more than she wanted it to.
Trey shifted his hold, cradling her face. “I don’t need a warning. I just need you.”
God, she hoped that was true.
He stroked a thumb along her lower lip, making it tingle. “Is there anything that hurts? Anywhere that’s too sensitive or that I need to otherwise be careful of?”
“No. A lot of the nerves were cut in the s
urgery. I’ve regained some sensation, but I’m not sure how much in this particular context.”
“Okay.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, unraveling her anxiety with infinite patience and lingering kisses that left her floating. When he parted her shirt, she gave a little hitch. But Trey only kissed her again, smoothing out the edges of her nerves as he smoothed his hands over her skin. Arousal sparked to life, at once new and intimately familiar. Her body, at least, remembered his touch.
She managed, with Trey’s help, to get his shirt off, and reared up to press a kiss to his chest, then higher, up his throat. He eased off her shirt the rest of the way, holding her close as he nudged down the strap of her bra. His mouth followed it down the slope of her shoulder, her arm, before repeating the motion on the other side. She felt him pinch and release the catch, and held her breath as he drew it away, leaving her chest bare.
Trey bent his head, pressing a reverent kiss between her breasts, over her thudding heart. “You’re beautiful.”
He made her feel beautiful and cherished. Emotion welled up alongside the heat as she accepted the gift of this vibrant, thoughtful man, who’d chosen her, despite everything.
He eased her back again, kissing his way down her torso as he unfastened her jeans and worked them off. His eyes gleamed in the firelight as he took her in from head to toe—scars, stretch marks, and all. “Mine.”
The possessive edge to his voice had heat blooming low. Then his hands slipped between her legs to stoke the flames, and she forgot about anything else. He tortured her with ruthless patience, dragging her just to the edge, then shifting rhythm to drive her higher still, until she was gasping his name, begging. He pressed his fingers deeper and she shattered, the orgasm ripping through her like a storm.
Boneless, she lay before the fire, searching for breath.
“I love your legs,” he said conversationally. “You’ve always had glorious legs.”
“Oh?” she rasped.
He moved lower and picked one up, pressing a kiss to her ankle. “Miles long. I’ve spent so much time imagining them wrapped around me.” As if to demonstrate he slipped between them, hooking her knees over his shoulders.
“Oh.” It came out a squeak as he kissed the tender skin of her inner thighs, his stubble scraping gently, making her tremble. She felt exposed and vulnerable with him down there—and unbearably turned on.
“You’d probably be perfectly scandalized at the things I used to think about doing to you back in college.”
Lifting her head so she could look down her body at him, she threaded her hand in his hair. “Let’s find out.”
Trey smiled, wicked and wonderful. “As you wish.”
She wasn’t scandalized. She was seduced—thoroughly and with no mercy, until she forgot everything but his name and the desperate need he built inside her. When he filled her, she wrapped around him, holding tight as they lost themselves to oblivion.
Chapter 8
Trey meant to leave at a respectable hour. Really, he did. But somewhere after round two, as he lay curled with Sandy in her bed, filling in the gaps of what they’d done with their lives in the past decades, he convinced himself it would be okay, as long as he left in the wee hours, so the neighbors wouldn’t see his car in the morning. Except he’d fallen asleep, wrapped tight around his wife, and somehow dawn was breaking.
“You have to go!” Sandy tried shoving him out of bed.
Trey just tugged her back and rolled her beneath him. “I can think of much better ways to start the morning.”
She gave a moan that was half frustration, half arousal before slapping him on the ass and shoving again. “If Delia Watson next door sees your car here, it’s going to be all over town by breakfast that you spent the night with the mayor.”
“I spent the night with my wife.” Saying it still made him grin like ten kinds of idiot.
“Which nobody can know yet. So, you have to go. Before she lets Southern Baptist out to do his morning business.”
He couldn’t have heard that right. “I’m sorry. Southern Baptist?”
“Her dog. Keep up!”
“You can’t not explain that one.”
Sandy gave an exasperated sigh. “Delia got into an argument with Odette Simmons from the Presbyterian Church about whether or not pets have souls. Odette insists they don’t and therefore don’t go to heaven. Delia insists that, of course, her dog will. He’s Southern Baptist. They nearly came to blows over it, and Delia makes it a point to walk SB by Odette’s yard at least once a week to indicate what he thinks of her by peeing on her hydrangeas. But SB is the least of our worries if Delia sees you. You do not want to get on the Casserole Patrol’s radar!” She wiggled out from under him and began frantically searching the floor. “Where are your clothes?”
Trey propped himself up in bed and admired the view. “Probably in the living room, as that’s where you got me naked.”
She went racing out of the room, grabbing a robe on the fly. Clearly, she was serious about this.
With a yawn and a sigh, Trey rolled out of bed. As soon as Norah and Cam’s wedding was over, that honeymoon was going to be his top priority. Along with figuring out when and how they could reveal their own marriage because he had a feeling today wouldn’t be his last day of sneaking around like a teenager after curfew.
Sandy hustled back into the room and shoved his clothes at him. “Hurry!”
Trey snagged her around the waist and reeled her in. “Hey, slow down. Everything will be fine. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I know, but I don’t want people to think—”
To put an end to whatever objection she was about to make, he kissed her. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, fitting her body to his in a way that had him dropping the clothes and backing toward the bed.
“No. No! We don’t have time for this. You have to go! I swear, it won’t be forever.”
Trey sighed. “Fine. But we definitely have to figure out a better system until we go public with this.” He let her go and began to get dressed.
“Trey?”
He lifted his gaze to hers.
“I love you.”
Well, damn if that didn’t just make everything better.
Fifteen minutes later, he was calling himself an idiot as he snuck in through the service entrance of his hotel, surprising the housekeeping staff and making up some kind of malarkey about a surprise inspection and keep up the good work. Given his suit was wrinkled and stiff from having dried in a wad on the floor, they probably didn’t believe him. He could only hope that the fact that he signed their paychecks would buy him a little discretion. At least they didn’t know where he was coming from.
He spent most of his shower split between reliving last night and trying to come up with a better plan. The simple fact of the matter was that after thirty years apart, he didn’t want to be away from Sandy. Not for a single night. Achieving that was going to require some even more significant changes to how he ran his business. Probably he shouldn’t yet spring it on his CFO that he’d be fully moving to Mississippi in short order. Bruce was still reeling over yesterday’s changes. Better to give the guy a little chance to adjust, wait until it was safe to announce he’d gotten married. Everyone would be more cooperative then. He already had the best in telecommuting technology installed here. They could make it work.
Ready to hit the ground running on business, Trey drew up short when he stepped into his office to find Brody. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you.”
His former project manager rose from the chair. “Sorry about that. Louis let me in and said you’d be along shortly.” Brody nodded toward the bar. “He made coffee.”
Thank God for that. Trey went to pour himself a cup. From the look on Brody’s face, he was going to need it. “What’s the problem?”
“I just came from the church and a meeting with my night crew foreman. As you know, we had to do some more demolition to get the structure to a
place where we could effectively tie in the repairs.”
“You found another problem,” Trey guessed.
“A mac daddy of a problem. There’s massive termite damage. From my analysis, three-quarters of the structure is impacted. It’s going to take far more extensive repair, and there’s just no way it’ll be ready in time for the wedding.”
“Well, shit. The wedding is five days away.”
Brody spread his hands. “I wish I had better news. I know it took forever for Cam and Norah to set a date around work schedules and town projects. At this point, they may just go down to the courthouse and have done with it.”
Trey wanted better than that for Norah. “There’s got to be something we can do.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t know that this is a problem you can fix with money and connections.”
He heaved a sigh. “Well, I’m not ready to give up just yet. Hang on a minute.”
Sandy answered after the first ring. “Miss me already?”
The smile in her voice tugged one of his own. “I do, but that’s not why I’m calling. Brody’s in my office.” Trey glanced up to find his former project manager brows up and knew he’d heard her side of the conversation. Ignoring that, he relayed the problem.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Okay, time for plan B.”
“There’s a plan B?” First he’d heard of it.
“An inkling of one.”
“And what might that be?”
“Norah and Cam saved the town. Now it’s Wishful’s turn to return the favor.”
~*~
The din of voices filling the community center was enough to make Sandy’s head pound, but the noise was worth it to see the turnout of those who’d answered her call for aid in pulling off Cam and Norah’s wedding. Her heart swelled at the sheer number of people filling the bleachers and overflowing into standing room at the periphery. God, she loved her town.
She scanned the faces, looking for Trey. He’d been tied up in meetings all day and wasn’t sure he’d be able to get loose. Seeing no sign of his dark head, she opted to get the ball rolling. So far, she’d managed to keep this meeting on the relative down low, but her niece, Miranda, would only be able to run interference with the bride and groom for so long. Nodding to Jay Quimby, their county tech guru, she accepted the microphone and took her position at the front of the gym, beneath the basketball goals.
