Page 108 of Vaquero
Meg’s smile widened. “You mean all this time I’ve had a gunslinger on my six? Really? You’re a no-kidding cowboy? Ooooh, I like that! What’d you do to earn that handle?”
The awe in her voice humbled and embarrassed Julio. He was nothing special. Just a guy doing what he could to make this tired old world safer for everyone, not just for the privileged few who could afford security systems, twelve-foot high walls, and bodyguards.
“I didn’t get it because I was good with firearms.” Though he was. “A vaquero is not a gunslinger. He’s a keeper of flocks, sweetheart. Of sheep. I’m no angel.” She ought to know that by now.
“Wanna know what my handle is?” Meg asked excitedly, a definite tease in her sassy tone.
Julio looked down into the sparkle of her eyes, thrilled that she’d let that annoying info byte slide, but not really caring what others called her. He lifted to his feet with her securely in his arms, shoved the chair out from behind him with the backs of his legs, and headed for the stairs again. “Mine,” he whispered. “That’s your handle. Only one you need.”
“Well, yeah. Of course, but Hotrod gave me a handle the day we flew back into Brazil, and I’d never had one til then and—”
Julio came to a dead stop on the third step up. Tipping his head, he covered her mouth with his and swallowed her words. Handles weren’t important, not in his current line of work, where too much information could get a guy or gal killed. Ghost might’ve been a better nickname for him, although now that he thought about it, with his hands all over Meg, Julio didn’t feel like a ghost anymore. He’d materialized, been resurrected, and brought back to life because of her.
“Make love with me?” he asked, his feet back on track to their bedroom. One door down from Dom’s.
“Yes,” she breathed into the hollow of his neck, inciting him until he took the stairs two steps at a time.
They fell into bed together, his hands under her shirt, her hands under his. Undressing each other had always been half the treat, but when he got down to her silky red panties and matching bra, his breath wheezed out of him. Julio rolled Meg to her back and stilled her greedy fingers before she took hold of him where there would be no turning back.
The tenderness of this rare moment snuck up on him with all its maybes and what-ifs.
It was time.
Swallowing hard, Julio reached past Meg to his nightstand. Tugging the drawer open, he retrieved his gift, then closed the drawer so no elbows or knees would hit it. He put the small square box in the center of her chest, over her heart and right above those red, silk-encased, perfect breasts.
“This is for you,” he whispered, his throat dry. “I’ve waited long enough. Maybe too long. But I wanted you to be sure—”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”
“But you went through so much with your first marriage, and I—”
“Stop talking. I’m sure.”
“But really, Meg. This will last forever,” he declared adamantly. “I believe in true love and commitment. Honesty. Until death do us part. Maybe I’m just a foolish romantic, but—”
She yawned. The woman he loved yawned! In the middle of his proposal!
“Am I boring you?”
Those naughty eyes grinned back at him. “Remember that time you told me that talk is cheap? Umm, let me think, I’m pretty sure you said…” Meg rolled her eyes, as her index finger landed on her pursed lips, tap, tap, tapping as if she were thinking. “Something about how pure love needs no words, only action to prove it exists. Yada, yada, yada, something, something, something.”
That did sound familiar. “Yes, I said most of that. Without the smartassed yadas. But yeah. I remember.”
Her arms slipped around his shoulders. Her hands came to rest at the nape of his neck as her long fingers danced up his scalp into his hair. He looked down at her bare body, totally smitten with her lush, gloriously beautiful breasts, now flattened like succulent pink pillows against his darkly tanned chest. Julio licked his lips, his heart thudding with an irregular hop, skip, and jump. He couldn’t swallow. Didn’t dare breathe. She had him right where she wanted him, and she knew it.
“I… ahh…” He forgot what he was going to say. Or if it was even his turn to talk. This woman drove him absolutely crazy.
She tugged him down to her face, her pretty eyes nearly crossed, she was that close-up and personal. Those sweeter-than-honey lips were wet and tempting.
“The thing is I don’t need an expensive ring. I only need you. You’re my hero. Every time I’ve needed someone at my side these last few months, you showed up. You were there for me. Out of the blue. I knew I loved you the first time I saw you. I’ve been dying to ask you to marry me, but now you’ve gone and asked me, and I said yes because you also said ‘let’s make love instead of talking’.
“You’re not going to open it?” He’d shopped for weeks. The ring cost a small fortune, and he’d put a lot of thought and worry into it. Meg should at least look at it.
“Well, all right,” she groused as she took the box into her hands and opened it. But then, she did it again. Instead of oooohing and ahhing over the size of that sparkly rock, Meg took the ring out of its velvet holder and set the box aside. He could tell she liked the ring. At least, she seemed to like the braided, rose gold band. The diamond, however, was pinched between her index finger and thumb like it was simply a handle or something.
He was having trouble swallowing and breathing again. He didn’t want to ask. Maybe she wasn’t a jewelry person like most women. After all, she had said yes. That should be enough. Shouldn’t it? Still, he waited. Something was missing. He just didn’t know what.
Until Meg peered up at him with tears in her eyes, blinking like a little girl as she lifted the band up to his nose. “You see,” she squeaked, “the most important part of engagement and wedding rings is this right here. This band of gold or rose gold or whatever it is.”
