What Doesn't Kill You(3)
No. Time to stop hedging; stop making excuses for what she was. Marcus already knew, and he loved her in spite of it. She wouldn’t find a better man.
“How soon is soon?”
“Now would suit me,” he kissed her forehead, worked his way down, hitting every sensitive spot. “But I don’t want a surly judge binding us together.”
“Judge?” She pulled away, to stop him nibbling at her jaw. She couldn’t think when he did that—much less hold any sort of conversation. “You want to go to a judge to get married?”
“Since our resident priest is out of the country, I figured it was a viable—”
“You figured wrong.” Claire pushed on his chest and started to pull away. Marcus snaked his arm around her, hauled her back in. “Damn it, Marcus—I am only doing this once, and I will not say my vows in a soulless government office. Just get that idea out of your head, right now.”
“And what is your suggestion?”
Not at all was her first thought. She bit back the sarcasm, let her temper even out before she spoke. “I know others, ministers who would be happy to marry us, in a timely manner, in a place of my choosing.”
“And that would be?”
“On the beach.” She spread her hands over his chest, and shoved. Marcus’ legs hit the bed and he fell backward, landing on the mattress. “With the sun setting on the water.” Claire climbed on the bed and straddled his hips. She lowered herself, smiling at his low moan. “And our friends as witness.” She nibbled her way up from his throat, enjoying the taste, the feel of him. She could hardly breathe by the time she reached his mouth. He kissed her with such tenderness it only deepened the passion. “Don’t leave me again, Marcus.”
“You have my word.” He rolled them until she lay on her back. “Now, I am going to play healer, and you are going to cooperate. Fully.”
Claire let out a sigh. “This was not the evening of seduction I had planned.”
A smile tugged at his mouth as he leaned over her.
“Who said I would need all evening?”
TWO
With a sigh, Annie Sullivan lowered herself to the kitchen chair, her stomach brushing the edge of the table. She still underestimated the bulk of her swollen, pregnant self, constantly bumping into things, like doorways, and tables, and people.
She felt clumsy, bloated, useless. To top it off, her stomach never completely settled, and the only thing that worked was lukewarm chamomile tea. Annie never told Claire, knowing her friend would be sympathetic, but gloating.
Eric set another cup of the disgusting stuff on the table. “I dosed it with plenty of cold rice milk.”
“Thanks.” She drank a good bit of it, to get the torture over with. “Blech. Why did it have to be chamomile?” Eric rubbed his mouth, and she knew damn well he was trying to hide a smile. “Go ahead and laugh, as long as you don’t tell Claire. Ever. I’d never live it down.”
She sucked down more. Her sour stomach eased, but it tasted just as bad. The only thing that kept her drinking was the almost instant relief. Eric had done extensive research before he let her drink it, when she discovered accidentally that the chamomile soothed, after a local café mixed up orders and gave her that instead of her usual, and completely ineffective, mint tea.
With wildly across-the-board opinions, Annie decided to try it, diluted with plenty of rice milk. Her obstetrician, Dr. Karen Meecham, gave the okay when she brought in a sample; there was so little of the herb, Dr. Meecham stated she couldn’t even taste it. But Annie could, and gagged it down at least twice a week.
Claire would laugh herself hoarse.
Eric rubbed her back. They discovered it helped take her mind off the taste. So did talking. “Zach still at the beach?”
“Yeah,” she said. It was his habit after dinner now. Eating as fast as possible, then bolting before Annie could force him to talk. Tonight he skipped dinner—the result of their latest argument, when Annie cornered him in the library, and poked at him until he took off.
He usually stayed out until after she went to bed. But not tonight. Since she’d chased him off, she decided it was up to her to go to him and apologize. She also decided, after noting the grief and anger their argument brought to the surface, that it was past time for him to confront the demons he kept running away from.
She pushed blonde curls off her forehead, and let out a sigh. “I’d better get out there. He should be headed back this way by now, since it’s after my bedtime.”
Smiling, Eric helped her stand. “I’d offer to go, but I get the feeling I’ll only be an awkward bystander.”