120 Mph

by Jevenna Willow

  “That was . . . ,” he started.

  “The end of your five minutes,” she interrupted with.

  Christian’s easy grin slipped from his face.

  Sara brought it back, posthaste. “But it surely can be the beginning to the rest of our lives, can’t it?”

  “Are you saying . . .?”

  “That I will marry you?” she prompted.

  Christian nodded. He looked as if a grown man stuck in a kid’s candy store. Or, in this case, a man who was about to get his every dying wish.

  “Yes, Reverend Mohr. I am saying that I will marry you.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Christian pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers. He locked on, and didn’t let go.

  A clearing of the throat had them pulling apart, both looking rather guilty.

  Sara turned her head to find Harriet Thorn standing in the open doorway of the church rectory. She was quite surprised by the woman being there. This was a new place for Christian; a new town, in which he the Reverend. Why would Christian have given the one person who made his teeth ache access to his new position?

  Then again, Sara had been out of his life for quite some time. Perhaps he’d never really disliked the old woman as much as she thought he had; all a front, just to gain him sympathy.

  “If she’s finally said yes, can we get on with it?” Harriet asked tartly. She had on a lovely dress of bright blue and held a vase of purple freesia intermingled with white daisies in her withered hands.

  Sara’s head turned back to Christian, even more confused than before. She questioned about the woman’s presence within only her eyes. As answer for the intrusion of Mrs. Thorn, he made a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  “Yes, Mrs. Thorn. I would say we can get on with it.”

  “Um, Christian?” Sara asked.

  “Yes, Sara?”

  She whispered under her breath. “Why is Mrs. Thorn here?”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “We need a witness.”

  “A witness to what?”

  “A wedding.”

  Sara took a step back. “Are you trying to tell me that five seconds after I have agreed to marry you, I am actually marrying you?”

  “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “Ah, yes. It’s going to be a bit of a problem.” In fact, Sara felt it a huge problem.

  By God! She’d just gotten out of prison. Was he serious about this?

  “You and I are supposed to be together.”

  “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” she rued.

  “What’s to talk about? I love you. I would hope you feel the same since you’ve just agreed to marry me.”

  “Isn’t there some sort of protocol to follow, things that have to be done? Stuff that needs bought? Preparations.”

  He looked shameless as he responded to all of this. “Such as?”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Gee, I don’t know. Perhaps a marriage license, a wedding dress, and a damn good reason why you want to marry me a lousy half day out of prison.”

  “The only reason I want to marry you is because God has deemed it so. And well . . . I do love you.”

  “And?” she taunted, waiting for more.

  “And, unless you feel it really necessary for a dress . . .”

  Sara nodded. Yes. A dress was necessary. She’d spent the last six and a half years wearing the same color, day in and day out. Gray. If she to get married, she wanted to be wearing white. Okay, cream-white since no longer a virgin. She more than deserved a wedding dress at this point in her life.

  He smiled even more. “I have a dress for you Sara.”

  She balked considerably toward this newest news. “That’s a little presumptuous of you, wasn’t it?”

  “No. Not really.”

  Her brow rose to contradict the hurried answer.

  “Okay. Maybe a little presumptuous, but I know you’ll forgive me.”

  “A little presumptuous?”

  “Okay! A lot presumptuous.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And, if you don’t like what I picked or want to wear it, I’ll find you another.”

  Sara closed her eyes to the look that Christian held in his. He’d thought of everything. The Church, the witness, he even bought her a dress, for Pete’s sake! What he hadn’t thought of was how she would feel about the tremendous rush into matrimony to the one man who handed her over to the authorities, in which Sara to spend seven years locked inside a cage.

  She’d confided her deepest, darkest secret, and he’d turned that confession into Sara dealing with her past head on. The punishment of her crime long overdue, but that was beside the point.

  By her hesitation, he asked, “Do you even want this, Sara?”

  She barely made the words come out as audible. “I’m not certain what I want.” And this was the truth. On one hand, for the last seven years she has pinned for this man. Although there were certainly moments, a lot of moments, in which she hated him and wanted never to see his face again. Then those moments had slipped away by the reading of his letters. He truly did love her. He’d been at the prison gates to take her from her past. He was right before her, a gift to her future.

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler if you just let me lead the way this time?” Christian suddenly deemed.

  “Simpler for you, yes. But for me?” She paused, directing her gaze elsewhere. It was hard to look at him, and then not love him all the more. “Well, I’m not so certain things can ever be so simple.”

  “Things can be very simple, Sara. I love you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. I want you to have my children. I know it will take time for both of us to get to know the other, and to allow the past and our terrible mistakes freedom, but I feel this in my heart.” He tapped his chest. “I know this is right. I know it is what God wanted for my life. What He wanted for you.”

  “Well, God could have gone about things quite differently in my opinion,” she argued, “if this is even what He truly wanted for me.”

  Again Harriet Thorn cleared her throat, gaining their undivided attention.

  “Well? Are we having a wedding, or not?” She was not a woman who wanted to be kept waiting for long.

  Christian turned his head from Mrs. Thorn’s interruption to look Sara in the eyes.

  “Are we?” he asked.

  Sara suddenly felt a pull she’d never felt before; a giving in to a man worth giving herself too. Christian Mohr was all and so much more of what a kind man should be. He was an agent of God. Surely he wouldn’t lie to her that this was God’s plan, if not the truth. Surely he wouldn’t have asked her to marry him all those times, if he’d not meant it.

  Could she jump into the deep water with her eyes closed, and let this be the direction her new life is to take? Sara put clinical thought behind her spoken words. “So, what you are saying is . . . you bought a dress, have witnesses, asked for my hand in marriage—after having done all these things—and expect children out of me, as well?”

  His smile was sinful. “That does sound about right to me. I have set the bar pretty high in the expectation department.”

  “What if I had said no?”

  He gave her another grin that told her he wouldn’t have believed it even if told him while Sara kicking and screaming.

  Christian pulled her close. He put his mouth near her earlobe. “What if you had, Sara?” he whispered, leaning back far enough to watch her expression.

  Just the man’s mouth near her ear had sent shivers to all the right places, at just the right time.

  Sara’s answer was quick. “I would have been miserable the rest of my life, Reverend Mohr.”

  “So it is a firm yes this time?” he teased. “And we will do this now?”

  Sara nodded. “Yes, Reverend. Now is as good as any time to marry you.”

  He took her hand, raised it to his mouth, kissed all five of her knuckles, then told her, “Go change, Sara. I want to see you dressed in
white.”

  Harriet had come forth and guided Sara into the ladies’ waiting room. Once inside, the door closed, Sara discovered a gown every woman in the world would sell their soul to wear, hung on a rack and covered with plastic dress bag. The beading on the gown was so exquisite she was almost too afraid to touch it.

  “It won’t bite. Put it on. We haven’t much time,” Harriet quibbled.

  Rushed from one thing into the next, fifteen minutes later Sara was standing in front of a mirror in a wedding gown, her hair fixed, and makeup applied to her face. Things she hadn’t felt or done in six years. She looked at her reflection and frowned.

  “You look lovely, my dear. Why the long face?” Harriet asked.

  Sara’s thoughts were pulled back by the sound of the old woman’s voice.

  “Do I?”

  Harriet handed her a delicate bouquet of white roses. “Yes. Quite lovely when in that dress. But then I knew you would be.”

  Sara turned her head. “Mrs. Thorn, can I ask you something personal?”

  “Certainly.”

  “When we first met..,” Sara started.

  “At my yard sale,” Harried offered.

  Sara nodded. “Yes, at your yard sale.”

  Harriet quickly interjected her thoughts, well before Sara could even ask the question. “I told you he was the one, didn’t I.”

  Sara again nodded. “Yes.” She paused. “But how did you know?” How could anyone possibly know when another was right for someone?

  “I didn’t. God did.”

  “And how did He tell you?”

  “He did not speak to me, if that is what you’re asking. He simply made it seem right in the heart. And that is all we can ever ask of our God—for things to feel right in the heart.”

  “Feel right in the heart? I don’t understand, Mrs. Thorn.”

  “Yes, Sara.” Harriet gave Sara a quick pat to the back of her hand. “Does it feel right in your heart to be marrying Christian, and about to give yourself to one man for the rest of your life?”

  Sara moved her eyes away, back to the mirror before her. She took a moment toward putting thought over this while she stared at her reflection—a quick moment, because the answer was so easily reachable inside her head.

  “Yes. It does feel right.” A sudden smile came forth, and wouldn’t be checked.

  “Then let’s get the two of you married so you can start on those babies.”

  “Mrs. Thorn!”

  Harriet shook her head. Her bright smile crinkled her withered face and pinched up her cheeks. “I may be old, Sara, but I am not dead. And sex with the one you love is the most incredible thing there is—next to a full box of chocolates.”

  Sara could feel her cheeks burning red as the old woman escorted her out of the room, took her back to the large sanctuary, and walked her toward Reverend Mohr, who stood at the front of his church.

  He was now in suit and tie, looking as scrumptious as ever—to a woman who’d been without a man in her life for six full years. The last time she’d been free and had thrown herself at him, he, in turn, refused to accept the generous offer due to misguided convictions of displeasing his flock, community, and God.

  Sara’s slow and steady footsteps guided her past at least fifty people she’d never met before. All of them had smiles on their faces, a few with tears in their eyes. It wasn’t until she came to a full stop in front of Christian that she noticed he had a tear in his eye, as well.

  She whispered, “Are you sad about this?”

  Oh, God! If he’s sad about marrying me, then why did he ask?

  “Heavens, no!” he mentioned under his breath. “I am the happiest man alive. You look so incredibly beautiful, Sara . . . an angel in my eyes, especially in that exquisite gown.”

  She turned her head and found another Man of the Cloth standing behind the pulpit. He was smiling at both, Bible in hand, waiting for their brief discussion at the altar to end so he could get on with the proceedings.

  “When you are ready, Reverend Mohr,” he told Christian.

  Christian took Sara’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded his head. “I do believe we are ready.”

  Sara leaned her head over and whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Christian?”

  He did the same. “Yes, Sara?”

  The Reverend who was going to marry them had already started on his speech and was introducing himself to those who had come inside the church to witness the marriage.

  Christian had planned everything—even the guests.

  “I haven’t any underwear on beneath this gown.”

  The man standing at her side holding her hand suddenly looked as though lightning was going to strike him inside the walls of his church.

  “Lord Have Mercy, Sara. Did you have to tell me that now?” he whispered back.

  “I thought it best not to wait.”

  His face turned to her. “You did, did you?” he ruled shamelessly. “Think you can handle at least an hour wait?”

  He gave her a huge smile, turned his face to the Reverend about to marry them, and said loudly, “Get to the good stuff, Reverend Deed. I do believe God—and Christian Mohr—have become impatient all of a sudden.”

  Regrettably, there was not a man or woman inside the church who hadn’t found the words amusing.

  With a visible wink and an equally large grin, Reverend Deed stated his take just as loudly. “Just hold your horses, Christian. Some things are best when a man is made to wait.”

  “Reverend Deed?”

  “Yes, Reverend Mohr?”

  “You have no idea how long that wait has been.”

  Sara moved slightly and from under her gown stepped on his foot. His head turned rapidly to her and she gave him a sly wink.

  The pain in his foot mustn’t have fazed him because he repeated, “Lord above! You have no idea.”

  Reverend Deed asked both, “Well, if the two of you are done with yapping in front of the altar of God, and doing shenanigans under His watch, do you think perhaps we could get on with the ceremony?”

  “Perhaps we better,” Christian announced clearly.

  Reverend Deed restarted on the ceremony. “Dearly, Beloved . . .”

  Sara gave Christian’s hand a quick squeeze. He returned the gesture.

  “We are gathered here . . .”

  Reverend Deed suddenly paused, staring hard at the both of them. “—And we are apparently rather impatient for the sanctity of marriage between these two.”

  He then gave Christian a smile. And equally sized one turned in Sara’s direction. “And, as God is my salvation, my healer, and our witness to this ceremony . . . I’ll not be the person held responsible for making any man wait for the woman he loves.”

  The ceremony was quick, to the point, and over in less than twenty minutes.

  From prison clothes, to white wedding gown, to being Mrs. Christian Mohr, Sara was caught up in life at 120mph.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Come back to me, sweetheart.”

  Christian was seated in one of the two plush chairs set by a table. He watched Sara move slowly from the large window toward him. She’d been mesmerized by the seagulls right outside the window of the quaint bed and breakfast; and the waves washing ashore only a few yards away had drawn her attention from their first meal as husband and wife.

  He knew she needed time to adjust to being included into the outside world; Sara locked into a tiny room for so very long.

  They’d only just arrived, shown directly to their room, and then served a delicious meal of roasted lamb with stuffing.

  The room had been filled with rose petals, scented candles burning, and love. The two small suitcases brought for their honeymoon sat at the foot of the bed.

  They’d asked for the bottle of chilled wine replaced with something far less destructive to Christian. There was now a crystal goblet of orange juice and two glasses; as well, an assortment of fudge, cheesecake, and mints.


  He would take her outside later. Right now, all he wanted to do was to consummate their marriage vows. He was still in awe on being married to her, how beautiful she was, and how easy it was to love her and how much he cared about this woman.

  She glided right into his arms, and once there, settled in for the night.

  “Are you happy?” he asked quickly, brushing his lips against her face. He could not get enough of kissing her. Her skin was so soft, her lips, even more so.

  “Very,” she admitted, smiling into his eyes.

  Sara’s eyes were glassy—the woman radiant with love.

  With slow and steady purpose, Christian started to undo the tiny pearl buttons it had taken Harriet Thorn five full minutes to attach at the back of Sara’s wedding gown. She kept her arms wrapped around his body to allow him this incredible pleasure every man earned on his wedding night. When done, he peeled the material from her shoulders, gaining access to her bared skin. His lips found her collarbone, her right shoulder, then her left shoulder as intended target.

  She was putty in his hands within mere heartbeats. He could do whatever he wanted, but he would take this slow and make it count. The one and only time they’d done this, it hadn’t been love. It had been frantic sex coupled with anger and regret, topped with a generous dollop of remorse that ended tragically.

  “Can I ask you something?” she spoke, as his hands lowered her gown to where he was quite near discovering her bared breasts.

  His plan was to peel away the material, inch by agonizing inch, and kiss every one of those inches until she was left begging for release.

  “What do you want to ask me?” he ruled, nipping the warm flesh directly below her collarbone, then her upper arm. By this action, Sara started to purr, covered in gooseflesh.

  Christian had yet to expose Sara’s full breasts to his view, but he would get there soon enough. In fact, they had a lifetime in which to get there, and in no rush to waste even a single second of it by not making it perfect for the other.

  However, a certain part of a groom’s anatomy had other plans on his wedding night; a contradictory plan to this slow and steady path of mortal desire.

  Christian was torturing Sara, but a certain part of his body was screaming he should get on with it, or suffering the consequences if he went about this too slowly.