Bull thought this was the most romantic thing he’d ever done. He mentally patted himself on the back at the brilliance of the surprise he had in store for his beloved. He glanced at her gazing out the window, a smile gracing her beautiful face. She played classical music, which relaxed him as he negotiated the curves and turns in the rural roads.
There was one other car in the tiny parking lot when they drove in, but Sam didn’t notice it. Bull ushered her inside quickly.
Bill and Carolyn Danfield opened the door to greet them. “So happy to have you here. Judge Hanover is waiting. Do you want to freshen up first? Maybe change?”
“What?” Samantha looked at her like she had three heads then at Bull. “What’s she talking about?”
“I haven’t spoken to her yet, Mrs. Danfield. Could you please give us half an hour alone? I’ll take the bags up.”
“It’s the attic room. You know the way, Mr. Brodsky.”
He nodded.
“You got the attic room! I loved that one the most,” Sam headed for the stairs.
When they got inside, he placed the bags down.
Sam climbed the three steps to the bedroom and flopped down on the bed. “It’s chilly up here. We’ll need to start a fire.”
“One’s already been laid. See?”
She sat up. “What did Mrs. Danfield mean?”
Bull joined her. “I have a surprise for you.”
She raised both eyebrows.
“All the wedding stuff. I think I’ve found a way for us both to have what we want. I figured if we got married by a Justice of the Peace first, then I’d be okay with a fancy wedding. After all, you couldn’t run out because we’d already be married. Nobody else has to know.”
“Just us?”
“Okay, okay, Stormy and Devon too.”
“Stormy and Dev?”
“They’re here. Downstairs. Stormy planned everything. Dev’s here to give you away. Say you’ll do it. Say you’ll marry me right now.”
“But I don’t have a dress and rings and—”
“It’s all been taken care of. Open the closet door.”
Samantha pushed up from the mattress and checked the closet. Inside hung a beautiful, short, white dress, just her size.
“Stormy picked it out. She said you’d seen it in a magazine.”
“Oh my God! Yes. It’s the Sylvia Gold dress. From my magazine.” She fingered the fine, white, silk chiffon.
“That’s what she said. Here are the rings. We can take them back. Exchange them after the ceremony if you don’t like them.” He pulled a box from his pants pocket.
Inside lay two, plain, gold bands.
“You’re going to wear a wedding ring?”
“Of course. It’s an honor to be married to you. I want the world to know.”
“I just want the football groupies to know,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“So, will you?”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Yes, I will.”
Bull laughed. “Dev brought my suit. We can change now and have the wedding downstairs. Everything has been set up. We own the whole Inn for these two days. Carolyn and Bill have agreed to make meals for us.”
“You planned all this?”
“I did. With Stormy’s help. You can plan your big wedding after we win the Super Bowl and before training camp.”
Tears threatened. “You wanted me to have a wedding all along, didn’t you?”
“Honey, I want you to have whatever you want. I just couldn’t do it without this first. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I think so. It’s so sweet. The sweetest thing.”
He hugged her and gave her his handkerchief. “Dry your eyes. Let’s change. We’ve got a wedding to go to.”
Bull zipped up her dress and fastened the little hook and eye. Samantha straightened his gold tie. He wore a charcoal gray suit and a white shirt. When they were dressed, they descended the stairs, hand in hand.
“You’re not supposed to see me in my wedding dress. It’s bad luck.”
“I won’t. On our official wedding day.”
“You’ve figured it all out, haven’t you?”
“Like a military maneuver, babe.”
He placed his palm on her lower back and guided her into the living room. There were two huge baskets of flowers on either side of the fireplace. The fire was blazing, warming the room. Devon and Stormy were chatting with the Danfields. They turned to greet the couple.
“Oh my goodness. You’re the most beautiful bride we’ve ever had here,” Carolyn exclaimed.
Stormy hugged her friend.
Devon approached. “Can I have a few minutes alone with my sister?”
Bull scowled at him, but consented. Dev and Sam strolled away into the dining room. Sweat broke out on Bull’s forehead. He’d better not be trying to talk her out of this! His nerves kicked up. Being left at the altar here wouldn’t be any better than if it had happened in front of a hundred people.
He inched closer and closer to the dining room, until he could hear their voices. Stormy had stepped into the ladies’ room, so Bull could listen in undetected. He justified his eavesdropping by saying to himself that he needed to know, but he prayed Sam wouldn’t find out.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bull heard Devon ask. “He didn’t force you?”
Sam laughed. “No, never.”
“Okay then. He seems to be a pretty good guy. Sure is serious about you.”
“Damn right. He’s wonderful.”
“You’re the best, sis. You deserve the best husband.”
“Thank you. I think I have him,” Sam assured her brother.
Bull tried to look nonchalant as Carolyn poked her head into the dining room. “Are you ready?”
At the siblings’ nods, Bill Danfield sat down at the piano to play Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
Although he had never been more sure of anything in his life, Sly Brodsky was sweating. He mopped his forehead as he turned to watch the bride come down the aisle on her brother’s arm.
****
Samantha’s breath caught in her throat. Emotion choked her. Devon’s smile warmed her heart. Sly had never looked more handsome, stuffed into a well-tailored suit, grinning at her. This was her big day. Well, her fake big day.
She couldn’t deny that the Inn was the most romantic place in the world to get married. For a split second, she wondered if she could find any other spot to be as fitting. Dev kissed her cheek and turned her over to Bull. Stormy, dressed in raspberry pink, was already crying softly next to her. Devon took the best man’s spot.
Before the judge could speak, there was a banging on the door. Carolyn answered it.
“Don’t start without me!” Trunk Mahoney rushed in.
“Well, it’s about fuckin’ time. Oops, excuse me,” Bull said, blushing.
Trunk tore off his coat and fluffed his carnation boutonniere as he took his place at his best friend’s side. Devon stepped back and joined Stormy.
“May we begin?” The judge looked at each person individually.
“This is everyone.”
The ceremony seemed to go so quickly. Sam’s nose was assaulted by so many romantic scents—Sly’s aftershave, the crackling fire, and the wonderful food, cooking in the kitchen.
After the “I do’s,” Samantha tossed her small bouquet of white roses to Stormy and the garter to Dev. Then, they sat down to eat.
The three course meal was elegant and satisfying. Cold asparagus to start. Caesar salad next. Filet mignon, grilled, with mushroom sauce, shoestring fries, and Brussel sprouts after.
A two-tier, beautifully decorated wedding cake was dessert. It was almost too much of a work of art to eat. There were tiny footballs adorning the sides and pink flowers with little green leaves made from frosting or marzipan, Samantha wasn’t sure.
Trunk got up to make the toast. “I’ve been working on this speech for a week.”
“Better be
good, Trunk.”
“To my best friend, Bull. Sly, really. May you have every happiness with your beautiful bride. May you enjoy a long life, healthy children, passion until the day you die, and football until you’re at least forty.”
He received a round of applause. Bill manned the piano, Carolyn moved the coffee table, and a few slow dances were enjoyed by all.
By nine o’clock, Bull was carrying Samantha up the stairs to their wedding night boudoir. “This might have been easier before you ate,” he joked, pretending to huff and puff. He dropped her on the bed.
“Very funny, Sly.”
“I thought it was.” He grinned.
Sam stared at the gold band. Mrs. Sylvester Brodsky. Mrs. Bull Brodsky. She grinned as the thought sent a chill up her spine.
“Well, Sam. How was it?”
“It was a dream come true.”
“Aw, you’re just saying that. You can do the real one up right.”
“I’m not sure I want another one. This one was real enough for me. This beautiful dress, our closest friends. The food, the atmosphere. I don’t think there’s a place more romantic to get married than here.”
“Funny. That’s what I thought too. But it’s up to you. You don’t have to make up your mind. But you do have to take off that dress.”
She pushed up and backed toward him. “Zipper help, please.”
Bull took his time. He kissed each inch of her neck and back as he revealed them. Sam shivered at the touch of his lips.
“I can’t believe we’re married,” she muttered, as much to herself as to her new husband.
“Me neither. A dream come true.”
She turned, stepped out of her dress, and went to work on his tie. When she pulled the knot loose, he ripped if from around his neck and tossed it on a chair. Next, she attacked his belt.
The fire had been lit, and the room was warming up. He took her hand and led her to the bed. “Tonight, I’m going to make love to my wife for the first time,” he said.
Sudden shyness gave her goosebumps at his words. Lust and love mixed in his eyes. Need flooded through her.
She inched closer to him and raised her chin. He met her, lowering his mouth to hers. Although desire was racing through her, she didn’t want to hurry. They had all night. But she wanted him, wanted him like she had never wanted a man before.
His beefy hand settled on her waist and eased her closer. He flipped open her bra easily. She shucked the it, baring her flesh to his eyes. His stare heated her skin.
“You are incredibly beautiful,” he whispered, before kissing his way down her chest. She combed her fingers through his hair as he slid her down on her back. He cupped her breast. She filled his hand. He gently pinched her peak, sending a zing right to her core.
She raised his head while she locked her lips with his. She glided her body under him while their tongues danced. He nudged her thighs apart and settled between, lowering his hand to her panties. He stroked the vee through the fabric. She moaned. More.
She ripped at her undies, yanking them down. Bull helped, tossing the tiny garment on the chair with his tie. He pushed his boxers down and off. She closed her hand around him. He was as hard as steel. Touching him caused her juices to flow in anticipation.
She scooched down and eased him between her lips, lowering her mouth on his shaft.
“Oh, my God, baby.” He groaned, combing his fingers through her long locks.
She gripped him and moved slowly, until he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away. “Stop. Gotta stop, honey.”
She sat up. “Why?”
“I’m getting too close. Lay back, baby. Let me take you to the moon.”
He moved between her legs. The moment his tongue touched her flesh, she bucked up. Need rose up in her, stoking her fires until she was panting.
“Do it, Sly. Do it! Take me!”
He chuckled. “Close?”
“Oh, God. Yes. Too close.”
“Want me?” he whispered in her ear, nibbling on her lobe.
“Yes, yes. Please.”
“I love it when you beg.” He slipped a digit inside her. Her hips rose up as she moaned.
He lay back on the bed, gripping her in his powerful hands. He picked her up as if she were a ragdoll and positioned her over his lap. She steadied herself with her palms on his chest and moved her knees flush up against his sides.
He rubbed himself along her wetness. “Oh, baby. Hot and wet.”
“And waiting for you. Impatiently!”
He eased himself inside her and pulled her flush against him. She sucked air through her teeth, closing her eyes and dropping her head back as he filled her. He took control, moving her up and down until she got into the rhythm. Sensations took over as he pumped into her. She moved in tandem with him, riding him with passion and energy. He rested his hands on her mounds, squeezing, kneading and pinching, eliciting more moans from her throat.
Lust, heat, and love mixed for a heady cocktail in her veins. The tension in her body screwed tighter and tighter until she burst forth with a strong orgasm. His name erupted from her mouth as she moved in ecstasy, pleasure shooting through her.
He moved her closer, skin-to-skin, and then closed his hand on her rear and flipped her over. Rising up on his knees, he pulled out then pushed back in, obviously relishing re-entry. Supporting himself on his forearms, he thrust into her hard, grunting loudly, his hips increasing the pace as he buried his face in her neck. She came a second time.
Samantha dug her fingertips into the muscles of his back and raised her legs higher. Bull filled her fully. She sensed his release as he muttered her name, thrust twice, and stopped.
She scratched her nails through the light sheen of sweat on his back. As he played with her hair, she kissed his neck.
“I love you so much,” she said.
He was breathing too hard to reply.
“Will you love me forever?” Her question was soft.
“Forever and ever, honey. Forever,” he responded, when he finally caught his breath.
Epilogue
Three days before the playoff game with the St. Louis Sidewinders
The team was warming up in the workout room before practice when they heard a commotion. Cursing, hollering, and the banging of metal, the breaking of glass, stopped all activity.
“Who’s in the locker room?” Griff Montgomery asked.
“Trunk,” Bull Brodsky responded. “Shit!”
Griff and Bull rushed into the room. There was Al “Trunk” Mahoney, trashing the locker room. He’d already busted his own locker, and now he was starting on an empty one. He’d thrown a chair through the window and broken a mirror with his fist, which was bleeding.
“Holy shit, Trunk!” Griff said.
“What the hell?” Bull exclaimed.
“It’s Mary!” Trunk yelled, closing his injured fist, making ready to take another swing.
Tuffer Demson, another defensive linebacker, raced into the room. He and Bull tried to subdue the big man. Trunk fought hard, but the others joined arms, pinning Al’s to his sides.
His eyes watered. In a moment, he was sobbing. His teammates let him go, and he sank to his knees. He picked up his cell phone, which lay in pieces, took out the SIM card, and tossed the rest in the trash.
“It’s Mary,” he choked out. “She’s leaving me. In a text.”
Silence clothed the room. The men glanced at each other, then stared at Trunk. Pete Sebastian, known as Coach Bass to the team, ran in. He stopped short at the sight. The destruction made him gasp.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” Trunk muttered.
“Come on, Trunk. Get him up, guys. Bring him to my office,” Coach instructed.
Devon Drake and Bull eased the wounded linebacker to his feet. They escorted him to Coach’s office then left and closed the door.
Coach was on the phone with security.
Trunk sank down onto a chair like a deflated balloon. “Almost four years of marriage. Down
the toilet.” He sighed, wiping his eyes.
Coach handed him a handkerchief. “Want to talk about it?”
Trunk shook his head.
“I think you should meet with Dr. McMillan.” Coach picked up the phone and called his wife, Jo, who worked doing publicity for the Connecticut Kings. “Doc’ll be here in an hour. Let’s get that hand looked at.” Coach pushed to his feet.
The two men walked down the hall in silence to the medical room, which was off the locker room. The sounds of staff cleaning and sweeping up glass met their ears.
“I’m sorry, Coach. I’ll pay for the damage. I promise.”
“Yeah, they’ll take it out of your check. No worries, Trunk. We need to get you fixed up so you can play.”
“I’ll play. Never missed a game.”
Coach sat with his player while the doctor cleaned the defenseman’s wounds, sewed up one cut, and bandaged the whole hand.
“If we give it a cushion, and a glove, he should be able to play, Coach,” the doctor said.
“Fine.”
Jo poked her head in. “Dr. McMillan’s here.”
“Come on, Al. Let’s go upstairs.”
Trunk put his hand on the coach’s arm. “Mary’s gone, Coach. What am I gonna do now?”
*THE END*
About the Author
Jean Joachim is a best-selling romance fiction author, with books hitting the Amazon Top 100 list since 2012. The Renovated Heart won Best Novel of the Year from Love Romances Café. Lovers & Liars was a RomCon finalist in 2013. And The Marriage List tied for third place as Best Contemporary Romance from the Gulf Coast RWA. To Love or Not to Love is a finalist in a 2014 contest held by the New England Chapter of Romance Writers of America. She was chosen Author of the Year in 2012 by the New York City chapter of Romance Writers of America.
Married and the mother of two sons, Jean lives in New York City. Early in the morning, you’ll find her at her computer, writing, with a cup of tea, her rescued pug, Homer, by her side and a secret stash of black licorice.
Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Page 22
