Page 31 of Grissom
This chaste kiss was the start of something he and she could work on and work out. No one could ever treat her as good as he and his sons would, and he intended to prove it. This was the beginning of their life together. He’d been duped into a loveless marriage, and she’d been battered by the wicked hands of fate or destiny or, shit, whatever. Grissom didn’t need destiny—ordensity—to tell him what to do. The self-demeaning crap that had defined his entire life stopped now. He wanted Tuesday, and together, they’d make their own way in this messed-up world, and it’d be good. Make that great. Damned great.
But this kiss… Her sigh… The feel of her delicate body laid back in his arm. It took Grissom a helluva lot longer to pull back from Tuesday’s sweet mouth than he’d planned. He swore he could smell roses even as he tasted strawberries. Plush, juicy strawberries he wanted to bite into and savor. His tongue pressed the seam of her lips, asking for entry. Daring to at least try, to coax her into giving in to him. Just enough to let him know she was feeling the same electrical current he was.
The wives were still out there somewhere, watching and whispering, but he couldn’t bear to end the sweetest kiss of his life. Not as limp as Tuesday had gone in his arm. Not as easily as she’d just sighed. The taste of her was temptation defined. A man could get addicted to the delectable, slippery sensation of her tongue tentatively tasting his bottom lip. Was she asking permission to explore?
Oh, yes, ma’am, permission granted.He opened his mouth and was instantly lost in the timid inquisition of the tip of hertongue tasting his. Of her trembling. Of her heart pounding so hard he could hear it. Of his bigger, stronger muscles flexing to reassure her that she could trust him, that he’d never let her fall.
“Ahem,” someone behind him murmured.
Tuesday gasped into his mouth, and Grissom couldn’t help but grin, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He’d finally done it, found the only woman he wanted to let into his life. Into his boys’ lives. Barely pulling back, he refused the slippery panic inching up his spine. He didn’t care if he’d made the wives uncomfortable. He couldn’t release Tuesday, wouldn’t dream of it. Not now. Damned if the confounded relentless panic pounding in his head didn’t cease the moment he whispered into her awe-struck face, “No worries, love. I’ve got you. Trust me, I won’t ever let you fall.”
It hadn’t been a no-holds-barred kiss. If anything, it’d been damned tame. Yet she lay there dazed, quiet as a mouse, blinking up at him through hooded eyes, her lips glistening from his mouth, and the prettiest pink glow on her face.
“Grissom,” she answered breathily—softly, almost reverently—making it sound like a prayer. Not that she was praying to him, oh, hell no. He could never compete with the Man Upstairs, but maybe her prayer had beenabouthim?Forhim? Maybe because she wanted him to kiss her again? That much was written on her face, and the light shining out of her startled green eyes made him want to beat his chest like Tarzan.
The noose his mother had been strangling him with for years fell away. His diaphragm expanded, then contracted. His lungs finally had enough room to breathe. As they filled again, Grissom knew—he just knew—he would marry this woman someday soon. This time, he wouldn’t need to be drunk to do it. Now was not the time to ask, but—fuck! How many times in one day could he fall for this woman? Didn’t matter. He’d keep falling as long as Tuesday kept catching him. What theyhad was a two-way thing called trust. He’d never let her fall, and if he messed up, she’d catch him. They’d survive. Somehow. Together.
Manfully, and with great care, he settled Tuesday onto her feet, then pulled her under his arm before she could get away. Not that she tried. No way she could fall now. Tuesday was breathing hard, and he knew he’d embarrassed her. He might’ve ruined his chance with her, but—
“Oh, my,” purred out of her pretty mouth. “Let’s do that again.”
Not a nasty word. Not a hint of the crushing disgust that would’ve poured out of his wife’s ugly mouth. But that word—wife—would soon apply to Tuesday. Until this claiming kiss, it’d been nothing but an anchor around his neck. A curse. But now? Grissom knew he’d never mean it the way he’d meant it with the witch who would forevermore be known asWhat’s-Her-Name. Or—better yet—What’s-Her-Fuckin’ Name.Yeah. That fit better.
“You liked that?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she breathed, her fingertips on her swollen lips. “I did.”
When he finally pulled his gaze from Tuesday, Grissom found China, Judy, and Persia blocking the doorway to the kitchen, as if keeping others from intruding. China and Judy were smiling, but Persia’s eyes glistened. “That was beautiful, Grissom,” she whispered, her fingers fluttering over her heart. “There’s nothing sexier than a man who isn’t afraid to show how much he loves his woman.”
“You have no idea,” Grissom muttered, his voice gravelly and his eyes as misty as hers.
“Yes, I do, and I’m glad I was here to see it. Walker’s been so worried about you. Do you have any idea how much you mean to us? To all of us? How important you are?”
“Well, ahh, err…” He didn’t want to make this moment about him, not after he’d just admitted he loved Tuesday—before he’d told her. “No.”
“Well, you are, you big dumb ox,” China grouched. “It’s about time you pulled your head out of your ass and realized how much everyone cares about you. And if you ever try that stunt again—”
“What stunt?”
“Driving drunk and slamming into the rear end of a truck!” China had a soft touch for her horses. Not so much with people. “How do you think you got that knot on your head?”
He ran his free hand up the back of his neck, to the ever-present bump on the back of his skull. He knew he’d hit a FedEx truck when he’d crashed. Also knew the bump wasn’t as big or as tender today as it had been weeks ago. His skull was slowly healing, but Doc said the knot on that bone might never disappear completely. Come to think of it, he vaguely recalled being tasered by a cop that same night. Also knew the shock-and-awe of getting stunned hadn’t slowed him down, which was telling. The only people who didn’t go down when hit with a modulated electrical current designed to incapacitate a person’s neuromuscular reflexes, were meth heads. Idiots who were so wired, they were out of their minds.
“You don’t remember anything about the night you wrecked, do you?” China’s voice softened.
“No, but that’s why my bike’s in the shop,” he replied. Walker had told him that much during a quiet come-to-Jesus moment on the flight home from Central America. If he played this right, China might tell him everything else that happened that night. Like why he’d been drunk in the first place. What had kicked off the night of mayhem that ended with him incarcerated in Shady Hell Sanitarium, or whatever the place was called. And why hadn’t that taser knocked him flat on his ass? Or out?
“But we’re working on getting those memories back, aren’t we, Grissom?” Tuesday interrupted his nefarious plan to bait China, her palm soft and sweet on his jaw. It felt like an angel had reached from heaven and was touching him.
Grissom looked down at the prettiest woman in the world. Tuesday didn’t seem to care who was watching, just kept stroking his jaw, as if she knew how much he needed her hand on him. He pressed her other hand to his mouth and kissed the middle of her palm. He didn’t need any answers from China. Not anymore.
“Knock, knock,” Walker announced from behind the ladies. “This a private party or can anyone join?”
Persia turned into him, and the moment Walker looked at his wife, a colder-than-shit threat arrowed across the room at Grissom. “What did you do?” he hissed.
“Grissom didn’t do anything,” Persia murmured. “He and Tuesday just had a moment, honey, and I… I’m…” She stalled. Her chin tilted up to Walker. “I’m pregnant,” she stage-whispered.
He wrapped her inside his well-muscled arms. “I know, sweetheart.”
