by R. E. Hunter
I glance down at my watch. We’ve been on the train now for seven hours and I’m antsy as hell. After our close encounter with Edmond, and my bad mood, we decided to do dinner in our room. I wasn’t ready to deal with other train people. Especially not in the dining car, where we were told that seating was four to a table and I’d be forced to socialize. But now, it’s late enough that a lot of people are sleeping, and I need to stretch my legs.
“Want to go check out the café car? I want wine.”
“There’s my girl! Let’s go.”
We step out into the hallway and I turn to make sure our room is locked. “I, um … ” I inspect the door then glance up at Brett. “How do we lock it?”
He shrugs. “I guess you can’t?”
I look at the door, and then back at my fiancé. “Be right back.” I pop into our compartment, grab what I need, and I’m ready to go. “Okay.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, indicating the large garment bag slung over my shoulder.
“You don’t think I’m leaving my wedding dress in an unlocked room, do you?”
His eyes widen. “So you’re going to carry it with you wherever you go on the train?”
“If that’s my only option, then yes.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, looking like he’s about to argue. He must think better of it because he turns toward the front of the car. “Okay, Princess, let’s go.”
Navigating between train cars is not the easiest thing to begin with. Trains are bumpy; they roll and sway. Moving between cars while keeping a death grip on a couture wedding gown? Not advisable. But we make it to the café car without incident.
I pick out a few half-bottles of wine while Brett stands by like a body guard, arms crossed, and glaring at anyone who dares to look at me funny with my large accessory.
“You look weird,” he whispers.
“I don’t care,” I snap.
“No one is going to sneak off with a wedding dress, babe. Where would they go?”
I turn to him, narrowing my eyes. “Where are we?”
He looks around and shrugs. “Somewhere between New York and Chicago?”
“More specifically,” I hint.
“On a train?”
“Exactly right, babe. We’re on a train.” I tilt my head and offer a saccharine sweet smile. “And why are we on a train?”
He opens his mouth to answer, then claps it shut. “Point taken.”
We head back to our little box with our bottles of wine. Brett walks through the door and nearly takes a mattress to the face as he notices the small top bunk hanging from the wall a moment too late.
“I guess Edmond stopped by.”
Brett glances warily around the room as if he’s not sure how to solve this puzzle. I push past him, kick off my shoes and crawl onto the slightly larger bottom mattress. There is literally no other place to move with the sofa pulled out and the top bunk above it.
I hang my dress in the makeshift closet and turn to find Brett still frozen in the doorway.
“Problem?” I ask sweetly, batting my lashes.
He glares at me then looses a breath. “Fine. You win. It’s fucking small in here.” He laughs and shakes his head before shoving the top bunk back against the wall and crawling across the bottom bunk.
We stretch out across the converted sofa, our backs to the wall, and pop open our bottles.
I hold my drink out to Brett and he clinks his against mine. “To us, babe. To our adventures.”
His smile is so genuine, filled with so much love, that I can’t resist leaning in to taste his lips. “And to never having to repeat this particular adventure ever again,” I say, smiling against his mouth.
Fine lines form at the corners of his eyes as he laughs. “Fair enough.”
We down our wine and set the bottles aside. Brett pulls me to him, his hand coming up to cup my face. “Since we’re only ever going to do this trip once,” he says, his gravelly voice vibrating through my ribcage and sending a wave of heat straight to my core, “we better make it count.”
I nod wordlessly, and his mouth finds mine, gently coaxing, as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I revel in the taste of him, the sweetness of the wine still on his tongue. I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the ridges of his muscles beneath his shirt as he kisses me senseless.
His lips leave mine too soon, and he stares down at me, eyes burning.
“I want my do over, gorgeous.”
4
Most people would assume I'm marrying Brett Parker because of his rugged good looks or his charming personality, and those are factors, sure. But my favorite part about my fiancé—well, other than that part—is his ability to incinerate my panties with just a few words, or a single stare. The man is sex. Plain and simple.
He can have his do over, and a do over of the do over, and then another do over of that. When he looks at me like that, he can have whatever he wants, as many times as he wants.
Reaching toward the wall, he flicks the light, bathing the room in darkness—then his attention is back on me.
He kneels on the mattress and tugs his shirt over his head. I gaze up at my future husband, my eyes raking over his muscled abdomen.
He pushes me roughly against the bed¸ nipping at my bottom lip and sending a shiver of pleasure straight through me. “See something you like?”
“Maybe.”
“Is that so?” He teases my lips and I open for him, his tongue stroking against mine and sending a wave of longing through my body.
I lift my hands to touch him, wanting to slide my greedy fingers across the muscled expanse of his chest, but he catches my wrists and holds my arms above my head. “Not yet.”
Grabbing the hem of my sweater, he sweeps it over my head, hands roaming my curves. His tongue slides across the swell of my breasts, and my nipples tighten in anticipation. I need his mouth all over me.
He deftly pushes aside the lacy cups of my bra, teasing my nipples with his tongue until I’m writhing beneath him, barely able to contain my need.
“You wanted a do over,” I say breathlessly. “Start doing.”
He lets out a soft, sexy-as-hell chuckle. “Patience,” he whispers against my skin as he kisses a path down my stomach.
His fingers tease the waistline of my jeans and I suck in a breath. One by one, he flicks open the buttons, and my nerves fray a bit more as each one comes undone. He drags my pants down my legs and crawls back up my body, eyes blazing. “You’re ridiculously fucking sexy,” he rasps.
I groan in response. His lips graze my collarbone, and I throw my head to the side to give him more access as he licks and nips his way up my neck. His hand snakes down between us, teasing my thighs and causing me to clench violently.
“Brett—”
My plea dies on my lips as he crushes his mouth to mine and pushes aside the lace of my panties. He plunges a finger inside me and sucks in a breath. “Fucking Christ. You’re so goddamned wet.”
“Only for you,” I grind out, desperately trying to hold myself together.
He removes his hand and drags his finger across my lips, letting me taste myself before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. “Always for me,” he growls.
His tongue entwines with mine, and I bring my arms down from above my head and dig my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
“Please, Brett,” I breathe. “Please, fuck me.”
As if all he’d been waiting for were those three words, he reaches down, whipping open his belt and kicking his pants and boxer briefs to the floor. “I’ve been dying to be inside of you since we left the house this morning.”
He fists his cock, dragging the thick head through my pussy, eliciting a small whimper. “You were inside me this morning,” I say, breathlessly.
“Mmm … fuck,” he groans as he sinks inside me. “I can never get enough.”
My breath hitches, body shuddering, as he drags himself slowly out of me and then slams back in.
“I want to live inside you.”
I pull his mouth to mine, tongues stroking as we find our rhythm. The motion of the train only heightens the experience, rocking and rolling on the tracks as Brett rolls his hips into me, stretching and filling me, taking me higher.
Pulling out of me abruptly, he flips me onto my stomach, tears off my panties, and sinks back into me. He reaches his hand beneath us, his fingers putting delicious pressure on my clit as he pumps into me from behind.
His teeth graze my ear as he whispers, “Number one. Welcome to the Mile Long Club.”
Welcome, indeed.
5
“Noooo,” I huff, turning away from the mirror and flopping into the recliner. I shouldn’t have looked in the mirror. My long, chestnut locks are knotted to my head in something that used to resemble a messy bun, and my eyes are bloodshot and dry. Not to mention the beginnings of a purple shadow forming on the thin skin beneath my eyes. Bags. I’m going to have bags under my eyes for my wedding. I’m sure I’m breaking every wedding rule there is. I don’t think there’s a “no train travel” rule specifically, but there is sure as hell a “relax and get a lot of rest so you look beautiful on your wedding day” rule, and I’m breaking it. I’m obliterating it. Demolishing it.
I. Look. Like. Hell.
After our induction into the Amtrak chapter of the Mile Long Club last night, Brett and I fell into a deep and restful sleep, and woke up feeling completely refreshed this morning. I can’t understand for the life of me why I look like this.
Just kidding.
I had the worst night of sleep of my life. I made the mistake of trying to sleep on the bottom bunk with Brett. It’s small, yes, but I didn’t want to crawl up to the top bunk. I had visions of rolling right off the side every time the train stopped. And I sure as hell didn’t want Brett’s big ass sleeping on that tiny pull out above me, he’s like a whole person bigger than me. What if it collapsed?
But after being pancaked against the wall for most of the night, thanks to my lovely fiancé, I finally ventured to the top bunk. It didn’t help. I’ve heard people say the rocking of the train soothes you to sleep. Not me. When the low rattle of the train on the tracks wasn’t driving me to madness, I was jolting up in my sleep every time the engineer blew the horn. All aboard the insomnia express.
We rolled up to Chicago’s Union Station bright and early this morning and transferred to the famous California Zephyr. We’re thankfully on the second and final leg of our trip now. In a little less than two days, we’ll roll into Reno, Nevada, and my parents will be waiting to drive us over to our cabin on the lake. Maybe I can find some oxygenizing spa treatment to combat my train face before the wedding. A girl can dream.
The door slides open, and Brett walks into the cabin carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands one off to me, and I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, breathing in the delicious smell of roasted coffee beans.
“My hero,” I sigh as I sip on my life’s blood. Our new car attendant makes me miss our little Edmond. She never actually told us her name, so we’ve been spending our time coming up with ones that might fit.
“Did you run into Helga on your trip to the lounge car?” I grin, triumphant in my choice.
“Ooh, good one.” Brett bends and drops a kiss on my head before stretching out on the couch facing me. “No. Brunhilde was too busy scowling at the guy in Room E for pushing his call button to notice me.”
I break into giggles. “You win. For the record, I’m becoming concerned at your knowledge of scary lady names.”
“Scary? These are coming straight from my list of possible baby names.”
My jaw drops, and Brett shakes his head at me.
“And by the way.” He pauses for a sip of coffee. “I double-checked on the luggage to make sure everything made it onto this train.”
“Thanks, babe.” I stretch my legs out onto the sofa across from me and stare absentmindedly out the window, watching the snowfall as we travel through Illinois.
Brett nudges my foot. “You ready for this?”
I look up to find his big brown eyes trained on me.
“For what?”
“The wedding.” He picks at an invisible thread on his sweater. “I know this wasn’t your preferred form of transportation. Things could’ve been a lot easier on you if we’d flown, I know that.”
I shrug. “It could’ve been. But you’re worth it.”
Just seeing the smile that spreads across his full lips as I say that reminds me that I made the right choice. He’s not wrong, though. Flying would’ve been a lot easier. With four days until our wedding, I would’ve been stressed either way. Add sleep deprivation, train food, and an orgasm thief into the mix, and you have the perfect storm for a bridal meltdown. But it is what it is. And it made him happy.
I lean my head back on the recliner, and my eyes fall on our carry-ons in the storage space.
“Hey, babe, where are my shoes?”
Brett looks at me, his gaze slowly traveling down to the Uggs on my feet, and then finds my eyes again. “Is this a trick question?”
“Not these.” I roll my eyes and point at my feet. “My wedding shoes.”
“Oh.” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
My heart stills in my chest.
“You … don’t know?”
“Babe, how would I know? Are they in the checked luggage?”
I jump up from the seat and frantically search around the little room, a knot growing in my stomach as I realize that I don’t actually remember seeing them on the last train, either. How could I have just now noticed that they aren’t here?
I turn to Brett, and the panic must be showing on my face, because his eyes are wide with concern.
“What’s wrong? Tell me what I can do?”
“Did you notice a white shoe box tied with white ribbon in any of our stuff since we left for Penn Station?”
I can see the hesitation written all over his face. He doesn’t want to answer.
“Just tell me,” I snap.
He shakes his head. “Unless it’s something you packed in the luggage, I haven’t seen them.”
I grab my hair in frustration. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
He glances down at his watch. “I’m gonna call your mom. They aren’t flying out until later this evening. If you left them home, maybe she can grab them?”
I’m elbow-deep in our carry-ons, tossing clothes and toiletries all over the cabin. Realistically, I know a pair of Manolo Blahniks with six-inch heels wouldn’t be hiding in my tiny make-up bag, but it makes me feel a little bit better to check.
Brett holds the phone to my ear. “Talk to your mom.”
“Sweetie?”
My face crumples and my eyes well with tears. Why is it I can always hold it together until I hear my mom’s voice?
“What’s going on? Brett said something about your wedding shoes.”
“I can’t find them,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around my waist in an attempt to hold myself together. “I can’t get married in my Uggs, Mom! What am I gonna do?”
“What you’re going to do is take a deep breath, and try to relax. I’ll go over to your house right now and check. If you left them there, they’ll be on the plane with us to Tahoe. If they’re not there…”
I suck in a panicked breath.
“If they’re not there, Morgan, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I know how much planning you put into this, sweetheart, but you have everything you need to get married with you on that train.”
“But I don’t have my shoes.”
“No, Morgan, you don’t. But you can get married without Manolo Blahniks on your feet, darling. Brett is the only thing you can’t get married without. And thank the heavens above, you can’t seem to get rid of that boy no matter what you do, so you’re safe.”
“Not funny, Mom.”
“But it’s true,” she trills. “Just go enjoy your fiancé, and let me worry about the rest
. I’ll text you when I get to your house.”
Brett tosses the phone aside as I slide to the floor. He’s beside me before the tears begin to flow. He pulls me close, and hooking a finger beneath my chin, lifts my face to his and places a sweet kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry, babe.”
I nod and lean my head on his chest. Taking comfort in his arms, I think about my mother’s advice. “It could be worse … ” I trail off.
We both start as the train’s loudspeaker blasts static before the conductor’s brusque voice echoes around the cabin.
“We’ve just received an update from the National Weather Service, and a winter storm is making its way through the Midwest. At this time, we’re looking at delays of up to a few hours. We’ll keep you updated of any significant changes that’ll further impact our arrival times.”
I tense in Brett’s arms, and he smiles down at me nervously. “I think it just got worse.”
6
I used to think I knew stress. Law school, studying for and passing the bar exam, seem so small now. Planning a wedding three thousand miles away, making a trans-fucking-continental train trip, and having absolutely no control over the delays and the timing of your arrival two days before your wedding when you already have guests arriving for the rehearsal dinner and still have flower arrangements and programs to finalize? This. Is. Stress.
“Okay, Dad.” I hear the frustration simmering just beneath the surface in Brett’s voice. “Yes, we confirmed with the reception hall three times that they will add Clams Casino for you.” He glances in my direction, arranges his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun, sticks it against his head, and pulls the trigger. I giggle uncontrollably as he continues to placate my future father-in-law. “Yes, Dad. I’ll make sure you have your own plate. Yes, even if we’re delayed, I promise you will get your Clams Casino.”
He hangs up and tosses his phone aside. “Clams motherfucking Casino. Can you believe that guy?”
I shoot him a pointed look. “Apparently that’s his one thing.”
“Touché.” He stands, stretching to his full height, then grabs me off the couch. “Come with me.”
