With This Ring, I Thee Bed. Alison TylerЧитать онлайн книгу.
eyed the billboard as my foot mashed on the gas pedal. The thought cops hide behind big billboard signs like that flittered through my head, but I mashed it anyway. My speed crept from 68 to 74. I was late. I was so fucking late it wasn’t funny. I was racing to the altar. Hell-bent for matrimony.
Kelly and Tina and Tracy all awaited me at the church. No doubt pacing the small bridal room where they were to do my makeup and my hair. I could picture Kelly fretting as she ticked off the minutes in her head. How much time we had and what that would allow. Up-do with accent braids? Chignon? Traditional bun? She would kill me!
I shot past the sign advertising Rock Hard Gym and my stomach bottomed out when I saw the lights, my body tingling the way it does when I ride a roller coaster. The cherry lights atop the cruiser came on in a flash of crimson, and I gnawed my bottom lip.
Cop.
I pulled to the side of the road.
I didn’t have time for a ticket. There was hair to be done, makeup to be applied, panic to be embraced. I had to go over my vows and make sure the seating arrangements were perfect and check the church to ensure that Uncle Sal was not next to Great-aunt Dot (or they would kill each other). I had too much to do. And at the end of it all, hopefully I would be lawfully married and not insane. Then Jackson and I would run off to Nova Scotia, never to return!
Okay, so we were returning. The point was that we had to make it through this stressful, heart-pounding wedding and reception before we could escape. And all I really wanted was to be with him. Somewhere quiet. Just me and him and our lips pressed together, making out like horny teenagers the way we did when we weren’t tasting butter cream frosting or picking out dye to make shoes match dresses. I sighed, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. In my head, I was already pleading my case. Figuring out what I would say to Officer Friendly to get off with only a warning.
“Do you know how fast you were going, miss?” he asked into my semi-open window. My heart shot up into my throat and my stomach dropped to my feet. I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “I asked you a question, miss. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Too fast?” It was all could think to say.
The good officer laughed. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
His eyes studied me and I studied him. He’d pulled his aviator sunglasses down to peer at me, his mouth twisted in a wry grin. Bright blue eyes like an autumn sky, lush lips, peppering of dark stubble along his jaw. I thought it would be fairly easy to cut paper with his cheekbones, and I was struck, sitting out here in the bright October sunshine, by how utterly gorgeous he was. Nearly beautiful, to be honest.
“This section of road is zoned for 55 miles per hour, ma’am. You were going over 70. Were you aware?”
“No,” I lied. He put his hand on the door and I rolled my window all the way down. My eyes went to his thickly muscled forearms, and my head felt swimmy. I’m a sucker for thick forearms. But I had a wedding to get to.
“I think you knew, and you were speeding anyway.” He leaned into the window, crowding my space. He had a teardrop-shaped birthmark above his left thumb. I inhaled deeply and tried to think.
“I’m sorry?”
“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”
This officer, this man, this amazing specimen was nearly leaning headfirst into my window. So close to me and my jangling nerves I swore I could feel the invisible particles of his energy mixing with mine. It was downright dirty, was what it was, because my pussy was responding to the heady mixture of fear and excitement and attraction. “Yes, I am absolutely sure that I am sorry,” I said, and any idiot could tell I was lying.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. He put his pad in his pocket and ran his finger along the seam of rubber that protected my lowered window. I watched that finger trace, and fought the urge to cross my legs. This was crazy. This was silly. I should ask for my ticket and leave. I should make him let me go right this instant. My bridesmaids and others would be foaming at the mouth by now. I. Did. Not. Have. Time. I didn’t have time for this insanity!
“I assure you, sir.”
“You’re lying.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks. I blew out a sigh, trying not to think about church parking, place settings, snippy caterers and my betrothed’s mother’s insistence that we had some ridiculous disgusting red velvet groom’s cake.
“I don’t lie,” I lied.
“Could you pull around next to my cruiser and step out of the car please, ma’am?”
Real fear sizzled through me then. My eyes found my watch and I almost cried. I was already a half an hour late to the church. In two and a half hours I was supposed to be saying, “I do.” And then a party to rival all parties and then blissful, perfect alone time. Away from all the lunacy of a big wedding.
“Ma’am.”
“Look, Officer, I don’t have time for this. I truly don’t.” I smiled. He had to understand. He had to! I would make it all up, but right now I had to bolt. Hell, I pretty much needed a police escort.
“I don’t recall giving you an option, ma’am.” He smiled. That smile slid down my throat, snaked between my breasts, tickled over my belly button and stroked my clit like some living mystical thing.
“Urn … please?”
“Please drive around and park next to my vehicle, ma’am. Then I would like you to exit your vehicle and wait.”
I blew my bangs out of my face. Resistance was futile, as the saying goes. But I could just floor it. Mash my foot on the gas and take off like some bandit out of a seventies moonshine movie. God knows I’d seen enough of them. Even Jackson made me watch them! With a dad, three brothers and a car-crazed fiancé, I was pretty much a pro at car chases from the law.
He read my mind. “And, ma’am, if you try to run, you’ll be sorry. Way sorrier than you’ll be for lying to me now.” He smiled again, all tan skin, white teeth and twisted humor.
I harrumphed, started the car and slowly drove to park beside the cruiser. To be honest, what I did was pretty much drift my big SUV next to it. The cherry lights were still looping but the siren was off.
I put the car in Park, eyed the time again. “Oh, I’m screwed. I am so, so screwed.” But I knew from the set of that man’s face I was not getting out of this.
I could hear his big boots crunching and popping over the dirt shoulder of the road. I shivered, rubbing my arms. I was crosswired. Unbelievably turned on when I should be begging and pleading.
“Step out, ma’am!” he barked, and I yelped. I opened the door and lowered myself from the SUV. Shit, shit, shit. I had worn my yoga pants and a tee to the church. Flip-flops to let my pedicure dry. I hoped my toenails didn’t get dusty.
“Stand by the car, ma’am.”
“I am by the car!” I worried my fingers together. I was so wet between my legs it was insane. I studied the fretting image of myself in his mirrored shades. I wished he’d lower them and gaze at me again so I could try and get a read on those eyes.
“My car, ma’am.” He smiled and my nipples betrayed me by poking incessantly at the thin fabric of my ancient tee.
“Oh.”
I walked to his cruiser as if I were going to the gallows. When I got there, I wanted to cry. Now what? Should I face the cruiser? Face him? I had no idea, so I stood in a stupid, cockeyed stance kitty-corner to him and the car.
“Face the cruiser, ma’am.”
Damn. His voice was like hot caramel, melting chocolate, warm coffee on a cold day. It skittered down my spine and curled at the base of me. A steady wet echo sounded in my pussy. I was getting married in like … two hours!
“Hands