investigators had done their jobs.
Clara had thought about joining them, but she knew Merissa wanted a little time alone with Tank, so she pretended to be too tired. Merissa had just grinned at her, because she knew better.
“I told you it wouldn’t be an ordeal.” Tank chuckled. He had her hand in his. He didn’t want to let go. He’d come so close to losing her, twice now.
“Your family is very nice.”
“So is yours.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled up just a little distance from the front porch. The kitchen was mostly scattered timber now. Half the cabin was almost intact, but there was a good bit of fire damage.
“Two deaths in so short a time,” Merissa said softly. “My father and now this horrible man.” She shook her head.
“But you and Clara are alive,” he pointed out.
She smiled up at him. “So we are.”
He got out and helped her from the vehicle. They walked up onto the porch and around to the back of the house. The ground was wet from the fire hoses. There were pieces of sharp metal lying around, and shattered glass.
“Careful,” he told her. “Don’t step on anything sharp.”
“I won’t...!”
He swung her up in his arms, laughing. “I’ll make sure of it.” He stared into her eyes with soft hunger. “I still can’t believe you’re here with me, all in one piece. I’ve never been so afraid in my whole life.”
She linked her arms around his neck. “You asked me to marry you.” She flushed. “I thought it was just because you wanted to, well, you know. And then you looked embarrassed and I said I didn’t want to get married...”
She stopped because he was kissing her. He did it very carefully, very tenderly, because she was still fragile from her brushes with death. “I want to get married,” he whispered, “more than I can even tell you. I wanted it then, but I got flustered and messed it up.”
She smoothed her hand over his hard cheek. “I lied. I want to marry you very much,” she whispered.
He carefully put her on her feet.
“Here.” He put a box in her hand, a jeweler’s box.
She opened it. There was a matching wedding set, rubies and diamonds. She caught her breath.
“I had that in my pocket the day I blurted out that we needed to get married. Ruined the whole thing.”
“No, you didn’t.” She took out the engagement ring. “Will you put it on, please?”
He smiled as he slid it onto her ring finger. “Will you marry me?”
“Of course,” she breathed, beaming up at him with tears threatening.
His lips nibbled softly at hers. “How soon?” he murmured.
“Yesterday.”
He smiled against her mouth. “Day before yesterday.”
“Last week.”
“Last month.”
“Last...year.”
The kiss grew longer and deeper and harder, and she moaned. That was when he stopped, because he could feel how weak she still was.
He lifted his head and cleared his throat. “We can get married. But we’ll wait until you’re feeling better before we do intimate things.”
She laughed shyly. “Okay. I mean, I want to do intimate things. But I’m still a little rocky.”
“I know. It’s all right.” He searched her eyes. “I want you. That’s part of it, for a man. But the reason I want to marry you is because I’m in love with you.”
“You are?”
“Oh, yes.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “When I saw that explosion and thought you were in the house...” He drew her close and hugged her, hard. “The world went dark. I thought I was hearing voices when you called my name.”
“I cussed.”
He laughed. “Yes, you did. I was thinking of ways and means to get to you, even if it meant finding my way across that dark line into death.” He lifted his head and sobered as he looked into her eyes. “I have no life without you. I have no future. No world. No home. You are everything in the world to me. And I will love you until I die. Even longer.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I will love you that way, too. Forever.”
He kissed the tears from her eyes. “Forever.”
THEY WERE MARRIED at the ranch, by the minister of the local Methodist church. Merissa was still fragile, but she wore a beautiful couture gown with silk embroidery over white satin, with Brussels lace and a fingertip veil. She carried a bouquet of poinsettia, because even though Christmas was over, it was still sort of a Christmas wedding, and they stood in the same room with the enormous, beautiful Christmas tree blazing with light.
Rourke and Carson had been persuaded to stay for the ceremony, after which they were en route to Texas.
The assassin was dead, but there was a faint trail leading back to Hayes Carson and even Carlie. The death of the district attorney in San Antonio was the key. But if the dead assassin had already hired someone to take care of Carlie and her photographic memory, time was of the essence. It went without saying that he could hardly call off the hit now that he was dead.
Carson didn’t say much, but Tank noticed that he bristled when anyone mentioned the fact that Carlie could be on the hit list. For a man who hated her, he did seem conflicted.
“DID YOU CALL Hayes Carson?” a drowsy Merissa asked on the first night of their honeymoon in Montego Bay, Jamaica.
Tank drew her closer, smiling. “I did indeed. He and the feds and Rick Marquez are working on leads.”
He drew the sheet away from her small, perfect breasts and bent to draw his lips over them.
“I hope they can save the woman in Texas,” she said in a shivery whisper, arching her back.
“Me, too,” he whispered back.
She pressed close against his warm, muscular bare chest. The thick hair on it tickled. It felt wonderful, just the same. She looped her arms around his neck. “And I was scared to do this,” she added, fascinated.
“I noticed.”
It had been a little difficult at first. Merissa, naturally shy even with her clothing on, had to be coaxed out of it with a nice glass of wine and a dark room. He smoothed his hands over her soft body with the same sensuous delicacy he used when playing the piano, teasing her into relaxing, accepting, participating in a feast of the senses that far surpassed anything he’d ever known in his life.
At last, when she was sobbing and digging her nails into his long back, he arched down against her hips and quickly overcame the small barrier that was barely noticeable except for a tiny flash of pain.
His movements, urgent and hard and deep, lifted her off the bed in a shivering ecstasy of satisfaction even the first time.
“You said that it usually took a little time for people to get used to each other like this and enjoy it, especially for women,” she reminded him as he laid her back on the pillows.
“Well, yes,” he said, grinning. “But I neglected to mention that I was speaking about men who are far less skillful and patient than I am.” He chuckled.
“Skillful. Patient.” She gasped. “Sometimes a little too patient...!”
“Oh, am I?” He pushed down, hard. “Better?”
“More!” she gasped.
“Like this?” He caught her thigh and pulled her up to him, riveted her body to his and took her in a blind, pulsing fever that drowned them both in hot, sweet relief from a tension that had almost been pain.
