Moments In Time (A Time For Love Book 3) Page 3

  She hummed happily. “Yeah, I think we can do that,” she agreed.

  I skimmed my fingertips over her hip. “This whole ‘being married’ thing isn’t so bad, huh?”

  She grinned. “Only when it’s with you,” she said.

  I grinned as I looked down at my wife. My wife. Yeah, that one was never going to get old.

  “Only with you,” I confirmed. And then I kissed her slowly, unhurried, knowing we’d have the rest of our lives to do it.

  THE END

  (But just for now! Keep going for more stories!)

  “Dance with me?”

  Jamy’s head snapped up, blinking at me nervously. Those pale green eyes of hers seemed huge in her round face, and she was chewing her red-painted lip as she worried a napkin between her fingers. The action drew my gaze to her nails, which were a sparkly navy today to match her dress. She’d even painted little sunflowers on them, like polka dots. I smiled, knowing that she’d probably spent a couple of hours painstakingly coordinating her nails with the theme of my sister’s wedding.

  Her eyes flicked to the dance floor, scanning the crowd, then back to me. “Um, sure. Okay. I guess.”

  I chuckled. “There’s the enthusiasm I was looking for.” I held my hand out to help her up, not letting it go once she was on her feet, because I was opportunistic like that. I eagerly took any and every excuse to touch this woman.

  She let out a small, tentative laugh. “Sorry. I would love to dance with you,” she clarified, and her smile seemed more genuine this time, if still nervous. “I’m just not sure I’d love to dance with all these people watching.”

  I squeezed her hand as I led her to the dance floor. “It’s just you and me, my love. No one but us here,” I promised as I pulled her into my arms. We swayed slowly despite the up-tempo number blaring from the speakers. “Besides,” I pointed out, “the worst part of the day is already over.”

  “So true,” she muttered darkly.

  We’d both given speeches a little while ago, me as the best man, and her as the maid of honor. I’d blustered my way through mine, since I’d predictably forgotten to write down what I’d planned to say. Conversely, Jamy had read carefully from a stack of index cards that looked dog-eared from all the times she’d practiced her speech, her face somehow flushed and green-tinged at the same time. But she’d done it. She’d faced her fears of speaking in public and being the center of attention, and come out okay on the other side. And I couldn’t be prouder of her for it.

  I pulled her closer, my hands circling her waist, and she sighed, resting her head on my shoulder. She smelled amazing, like lavender and sunshine, and I breathed her in, savoring this moment. I was dancing with the woman I loved, and I knew – finally, after way too fucking long apart – that she loved me, too.

  “I missed you,” I murmured, kissing the top of her head softly.

  She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly shining with tears. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  I knew she was apologizing again for the time we’d spent apart (I refused to call it a break-up), but she didn’t need to. I knew she’d just needed some time to work on herself, to be ready for a relationship. She would never be able to love me – truly love me – if she didn’t first love herself. And it seemed she’d spent the time apart productively. It really felt like she’d made progress. Her smiles were bigger, and she seemed lighter, freer somehow. I knew she wasn’t cured. The kinds of issues she had wouldn’t just go away overnight. But she was so much better today than I’d seen her maybe ever. She’d handled an unusually stressful day with aplomb.

  “It’s okay.” I shook my head, trying to reassure her. “I mean,” I continued, smiling sadly, “maybe let’s not go weeks without talking to each other again.” I pressed my lips to hers briefly, reassuring her. I tugged her lower lip between my teeth as I pulled back. “But I love you, Jamy. Nothing can change that.”

  She gave me a watery smile. “I love you, too,” she whispered, so faintly I could barely hear her over the music. But her eyes shone with sincerity, and she squeezed my shoulders tightly as she raised herself on tiptoes, her eyes fluttering closed.

  I dipped my head to meet her, capturing her mouth in a deep, searching kiss, telling her with my lips and tongue that she was my woman, and I was her man. We got so caught up that the ballroom faded, and it really was just Jamy and me: my hands gripping the lace of her dress, her fingertips brushing the hair at the nape of my neck, our bodies pressed together. When I kissed Jamy, I forgot where I was, forgot my own name, even. I forgot everything but this, everything but us.

  Until I felt a hand tapping my shoulder.

  I pulled away slowly, growling under my breath. I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night – hell, the rest of my life – kissing this woman. I leaned forward, resting my forehead on hers. I kissed the tip of her nose, squeezing her hips.

  “Dude!”

  The exclamation came from behind me, and the hand tapped me again, harder this time, jostling me. The motion pushed me into Jamy, and she wobbled for a moment. I put an arm around her to steady her, gritting my teeth the whole time. Once I was sure she was okay, I turned, glaring.

  Brian stood in front of me, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looked down at me. “Time to toss the garter, bro.”

  I huffed out a shallow, annoyed breath as I realized that the music had stopped, and the other guests were clearing the floor. “Right fucking now?”

  Brian threw his head back in a laugh. “Yes, right fucking now.” Over his shoulder, I could see a hotel employee pulling a chair onto the dance floor, while the DJ called all the single men up.

  I took a deep breath, then turned back to Jamy, giving her a rueful smile. “Duty calls,” I grumbled.

  Her eyes sparkled mischievously, but her smile was a little nervous. “Good luck, I guess?”

  I gave her a cocky grin. “Oh, I’m catching that thing no matter what. Even if I have to give every other poor schmuck here The People’s Elbow.”

  She laughed, clutching her belly, and I felt a swooping sensation in my gut. God, I loved that sound. I loved it even more when I was the cause of it. I was narcissistic like that.

  “Well, while you practice your suplex skills, I’m going to grab a drink.” She inclined her head toward the bar on the other side of the cavernous ballroom.

  I raised an eyebrow, a little worried to hear that. Jamy had a tendency to overindulge when she was anxious or stressed out. Plus, my mother had tipsily confessed to me earlier that the bartender wasn’t skimping on the good stuff tonight. I would always take care of my woman, but I didn’t really relish the idea of dodging her puke. Again.

  “Just one Malibu and Coke,” she promised as she turned away.

  I took a deep breath and nodded. If I was serious about this relationship – and I really fucking was – then I needed to let her be her own boss. Though I would do anything to take care of her, ultimately, I needed to trust that she would take care of herself.

  “Oh, but don’t go too far, Jamy,” Brian called after her. “The bouquet toss is next.”

  She turned and saluted Brian, then gave me a wink before making her way over to the bar. I watched her for a minute, loving the way her plush hips swayed with every step.

  “All right, all right, tuck your tongue back in your mouth, Romeo.” Brian chuckled, giving me a mocking grin.

  “Sure, sure.” I shook my head at him. “Laugh it up, fuzzball.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Chewbacca jokes. Man, I did not miss those while you were in Portugal.”

  “You know you cried every day without me.”

  “With joy,” he shot back, though his grin told me he wasn’t serious.

  Still, I gave my best friend a subtle one-fingered salute as we walked over to the dais, in front of which a group of guys had gathered. It was a motley crew, including a few pimple-faced cousins, Brian’s twelve-year-old nephew, and my Uncle Bill, who’d just celebrated his nine
tieth birthday.

  Oh, and he’d also been married to my Aunt Beth for about a million years.

  “This is for single men, Uncle Bill,” I reminded him as I sidled up to the group of (mostly) bachelors.

  He grinned at me, his new dentures blindingly white in his wrinkled face. “I know that, son.”

  I frowned. “Then what are you doing here?” I asked, wondering briefly if he was confused. The old bastard had always been sharp as a tack, but he was now beginning his tenth decade of life. It wouldn’t exactly be shocking if he was in the wrong place.

  He wiggled his bushy white eyebrows lewdly. “Because your aunt needs a new garter,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He eyed me speculatively as he leaned on his cane. “You introduced bondage into your sex life yet, Sammy?”

  I gave him a blank stare for a minute, unsure what to say to that. On the one hand, my beef Wellington gurgled uncomfortably in my stomach at the idea of my geriatric relatives having a spicy, active love life. On the other hand, I fervently hoped that the still-horny old couple who scared the young’uns in the family would be Jamy and me in about sixty years.

  Ultimately, I grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Can’t say we have, Uncle Bill. But I’ll think about it.”

  The DJ cued up that “Oh Yeah” song from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and I watched as Brian led my sister out onto the dance floor. Hannah’s cheeks glowed a fluorescent red, and she laughed at something her new husband whispered in her ear as she took a seat on the chair provided.

  Brian made a big show of digging around under Hannah’s skirt, hamming it up for the laughing crowd. But I tuned out the spectacle, scanning the guests instead. My eyes quickly found Jamy, who was now standing with our friend Celia and my cousin Sabine on the other side of the dance floor. She leaned in to hear something Celia said, then tossed her head back in a laugh. I stared at her for a few moments, just enjoying the view. God, I could look at her forever, especially when she was as happy as she’d been tonight.

  “Pay attention, son,” Uncle Bill’s gruff voice cut into my reverie, and I glanced over at him. He nodded to where Brian was standing, holding the garter up for everyone to see.

  “I thought you wanted to win?” I asked him, my eyes now trained on Brian. It might be a silly tradition, but I was going to catch that thing, damn it.

  Uncle Bill rapped my shin with his cane, and I cursed under my breath, wincing in pain. “I do. But victory is cheap when it’s not an even match.”

  I chuckled weakly, still rubbing my leg. “Fair enough,” I replied, just as Brian tossed the garter.

  It was a total scrum, with Brian’s nephew climbing over everyone, some nerdy dude that I was pretty sure was Brian’s co-worker jumping about three feet in the air, and Uncle Bill’s cane indiscriminately doling out licks. One of the teenage cousins, who was actually Bill’s grandson, looked near tears as he doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. But somehow, I ended up with the navy lace band in my clutches, and I didn’t even have to bust out my WWE moves.

  I couldn’t suppress my grin as I bowed to the crowd, then made my way over to where Jamy was standing.

  “Your turn,” I murmured as I kissed her on the temple.

  She smiled up at me, looking more relaxed than she’d been a few minutes ago. “I don’t think I’m a match for Sabine,” she replied. “She’s like twelve feet tall.”

  I winked at her. “I believe in you, my love.”

  Sabine snorted. “I am six-one, thank you. My hair just makes me look taller,” she said, patting her thick crown of curls. But then her smile turned to an uncharacteristic frown as she eyed Hannah, who was now standing in the middle of the once-again empty dance floor, her bouquet in hand. “Besides, I am not taking part in this fuckery. I am happy being single. No fucking strings for me,” she added vehemently.

  I frowned, wondering what that was about. She sounded like she was trying to convince us – or maybe herself.

  Jamy gave me a look that told me she was as mystified as I was by Sabine’s outburst. But before either of us could say anything, “All the Single Ladies” blared from the speakers, and a group of women lined up eagerly. Jamy made her way over quickly, positioning herself right in the middle. I gave her an encouraging thumbs-up just as Hannah tossed the bouquet over her shoulder.

  After a much politer scuffle than the one I’d just endured, Jamy emerged victorious, her face flushed and her smile wide. The DJ called for the two of us to take the floor, and I pulled her into my arms, laughing as the distinctive bassline of “Another One Bites the Dust” slinked from the speakers.

  Jamy grinned up at me as she looped her arms around my neck. “I think you’re supposed to wear that around your head,” she said, nodding at the garter peeking out of my jacket pocket.

  I wrinkled my nose. “That thing was just on my sister’s thigh. I think I’ll pass.”

  She laughed, raising herself on tiptoes to plant a small, sweet peck on my lips. “This was fun,” she said when she pulled back, sounding almost surprised.

  I dove in for another kiss, deeper this time. My tongue tangled with hers, and I got a hint of the sweet coconut flavor of her cocktail. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I replied, tightening my hold on her hips.

  “I guess ‘fun’ is what happens when you let yourself relax, huh?” she said, chuckling. But she tensed under my hands as she continued, looking around as the dance floor filled around us. “I mean, not that I’ve never had fun or anything. And I’m not totally relaxed right now. All these people are watching us, and I’m trying really hard not to freak out. Plus, I really have to pee, and my sp-”

  I cut her off with my lips on hers. I kissed her over and over, until finally she relaxed in my arms.

  “It’s okay,” I said when I finally broke the kiss. “They’re not even looking at you.”

  Her head reared back, and her eyes narrowed at me. “Yeah, right. Sam. They’re looking at me.”

  “Man, you’re conceited,” I teased, and she gave me a grudging smile. “I promise you, they’re looking at me.”

  “Okay,” she said, like she was humoring me. “Why are they looking at you?”

  I pulled her closer, planting my lips on her forehead. “Because,” I whispered, right in her ear. “I get to dance with the prettiest lady here. And she loves me, to boot.”

  She chuckled against me. “You’re incorrigible,” she said, but her tone was affectionate.

  We danced cheek-to-cheek through the end of the song, content to just be near each other. But she leaned back when the next song started, her eyes filling with tears as soft, lilting piano notes sounded through the room.

  “‘Songbird?’” She blinked, squeezing the back of my neck. “Did you do this?”

  I smiled at her. “Your favorite Fleetwood Mac song?” I pulled her closer again, kissing the top of her head as she settled it against my shoulder. “Of course I did.”

  And then I sang to her softly. Jamy loved to dance with me at home, and I’d lost count of the number of times we’d waltzed around her living room to this song. Usually she was the one singing to me in her melodic alto, but today I wanted to serenade her, to tell her how much this song, these lyrics, this moment meant to me.

  She sighed against me. “I love you, Sam.”

  I hummed contentedly. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of hearing those words. “I love you, too.”

  She tipped her head up to look at me, smiling. “But you need to stop singing.” She wrinkled her little button nose, her freckles scrunching. “You’re scaring your grandmother.”

  I laughed, looking up. My Gran was indeed a few feet away, looking at me with horror as my dad lead her slowly around the dance floor.

  “Don’t quit your day job, Samuel,” she sniffed.

  I grinned. “Sorry, Gran. Couldn’t help myself.”

  She harrumphed as she looked from me to Jamy. “At least you’ve gotten your head out of your ass, after
all those years in Portugal with that girl,” she hissed. But she smiled at me. “Good to finally see you with the right woman, dear.”

  My dad gave me an apologetic frown, nodding his head at his mother as though to say, what are you gonna do? I laughed, because that was my grandmother, in a nutshell. Vulgar as fuck, and somehow still your quintessential cute little granny.

  “And you look lovely,” Gran told Jamy.

  Jamy smiled back at her, though her cheeks were aflame with embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Whitfield.”

  Gran harrumphed again. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you to call me Gran, young lady? I’ve known you for what, twenty years?”

  Jamy vibrated with a silent laugh against me. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she sniffed. “Just do better.”

  And with that parting shot, Gran flounced away, dragging my father behind her.

  I grinned down at Jamy. “Gotta love that woman.”

  She smiled at me softly. “Gotta love you,” she whispered.

  “Gotta love you, too.” And then I bent my head, getting lost in her lips once again. Time fell away, our surroundings fading. The whole world was right here, in my arms.

  “Get a room!”

  I pulled back, looking for the goon who’d interrupted us. My gaze landed on Celia, who was grinning at us as she and her husband, Todd, swayed awkwardly, eight-plus months’ worth of baby bump sandwiched between them.

  “Don’t you two have makeup sexing to do?” she asked, leering at us in a way that was somehow both menacing and affectionate, as only Celia could manage.

  I waved my hand at her dismissively and turned back to Jamy, expecting her to be mortified by Celia’s comments.

  Instead, she grinned slyly up at me. “Actually, that’s a great idea.”

  My eyebrows flew up. “Yeah?”

  She nodded shyly.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, but then I tensed. “We could go to my house,” I said cautiously. The last time we’d talked about my surprise purchase, it had turned into a huge blowup. “I just moved in last week. It’s a mess, but the bed’s all put together.”