Make You Mine (20 page)

Once her sister had moved out of earshot, Allie tried to form a coherent sentence, but shock had tied her tongue. What was Marc doing here? Why was he dressed for prom? Who’d socked him in the eye this time, and what had he done to deserve it?

After a moment’s hesitation, she pointed at the ceiling. “So, the plane, that was you?”

He nodded and eased forward another inch. “It was my last hope. I’ve been tearing this place apart looking for you since yesterday.”

Allie’s brows shot up. “You’ve been here for two days?”

“Almost.”

“Why?”

Then he let loose the
real
shocker. “I came to get you back.”

Allie’s wounded heart leapt with hope, the sensation making her dizzy. Or maybe it was the booze. She touched her temple. “I need to sit down.”

“Of course.” Marc ushered her to a grouping of sofas in the center of the thoroughfare, then took a seat beside her. “I meant what I said,” Marc told her. “I’m here to make things right, if you’ll let me.”

Cautiously, she nodded for him to go on. “I’m listening.”

“I figured out why the cleansing ceremony failed.”

“Oh, no.” Not this again. Allie rose from the sofa while her spirits sank. Damn her for getting her hopes up again. “Enough with the curse. Go back home, Marc.”

“Please!” he begged, falling to his knees. “Give me one minute. That’s all. And if you still want me to go, I promise I will.”

He looked so pitiful kneeling at her feet, his hair loose and one eye half-swollen shut. She couldn’t say no. She took her seat and folded her arms. “Talk fast.”

“We couldn’t break the curse, because I failed you.” That got her attention. For once, he put the blame where it belonged instead of on some supernatural force of nature. “I had a chance to show faith in us, but instead I panicked. I offered a small piece of my heart instead of giving you everything—which is what you deserve.” He extricated one of her hands and held it firmly between both of his. “It’s what we both deserve.”

His confession made Allie’s throat grow thick while hot tears pressed against her eyes. “You hurt me, Marc,” she whispered. “I told you I loved you and then—”

He pressed a gentle finger to her lips. “I’m sorry, Allie. I was a coward.”

She nodded in agreement.

“But not anymore.” He jutted his chin toward the roof. “Remember that pea-sized plane you saw up there? I rode in that thing all the way from New Orleans because I couldn’t wait another second to be with you.”

Allie drew a breath. No wonder his tux was crumpled; he’d probably hugged his knees the whole way.

“And when I got here,” Marc continued, “I went to the wrong room and got my ass beat. But that didn’t stop me. I refused to quit.” He placed a kiss inside her palm. “And I mean to go on living that way—never, ever quitting on you—because I love you too much to give you anything less than forever.”

Marc’s stunning face was visible only as a wet blur, but the sincerity shone in his eyes. Allie told him, “Say that again.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I love you. I’ve never loved any woman but you, and I swear I never will.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a gleaming diamond ring. “This is what I should have done last week. This is how much faith I have in us.”

A gasp parted Allie’s lips.

“There’s a chapel down the hall,” he said. “Let’s get married right now. I’m asking you to be my wife. Take this leap of faith with me.”

She couldn’t believe it. Five minutes ago, she was missing him so much it hurt and now he wanted to marry her. It was too much. She couldn’t think straight.

Excited whispers sounded from nearby, and she noticed a crowd of gawkers had formed around them, including Devyn, whose pale cheeks said she was surprised, too. And old woman gave Allie the thumbs-up sign and mouthed
Say yes!
But it wasn’t that simple. Did Marc truly mean what he’d said?

“It’s so sudden . . .”

“Allie, please marry me.” Pure emotion choked him, blocking his words for a moment while melting all her doubts. “I can’t stand the thought of spending another night without you. I’m already yours. You own me, body and soul, and I want the whole world to know it. Please say yes.”

She glanced down at her bikini, which didn’t do much to cover her breasts. “But I’m not dressed. I can’t get married like this. What if we wait until we get back home, then—”

“I already checked,” he said. “If we get married in Cedar Bayou, there’s a three-day waiting period.” He presented the ring, dazzling her with a grin that drew out the cleft in his chin. Lord, how she’d missed that smile. “This ring belonged to Juliette Mauvais. I think I was meant to find it, because it belongs on your finger. This wedding is a hundred years overdue. Please don’t make me wait another minute.”

With tears spilling down her cheeks, she extended her left hand. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

The lobby erupted in cheers and wild applause with shouts of “Congratulations!” and “Kiss her!” rising above the din.

Marc slipped the ring on her finger and drew her in for a soft kiss. The touch of his mouth sent a wave of comfort washing over her. She locked both hands behind his neck and took more of his warmth. The brief taste wasn’t enough to sate the hunger rising low in her belly, but Allie reminded herself that they had the rest of their lives to make up for lost time. It seemed too good to be true.

When they parted, Devyn jogged forward and took Allie’s hand. She studied the ring for a long time and asked, “Was this really Memère’s?”

“Yep,” Marc said. “It just turned up last week.”

Dev turned and assessed Marc, staring him down for several silent beats. “And you love my sister?”

“More than anything,” he said.

“You’ll be good to her?”

“I swear it.”

Devyn gave a slow nod. “Then I guess the spirits have spoken.” When she reached out her arms to hug Allie, tears shone in her icy blue eyes. “Let’s have a wedding!”

There were no supernatural forces standing in Marc and Allie’s way when they linked hands in the resort chapel and prepared to recite their vows. If anything, the stars aligned to give Allie the wedding of her dreams . . . even if it was a tad unconventional.

A stately gentleman dressed like King Arthur cleared his throat and announced, “Hark, all ye fair maidens and knights, for we come together on this hallowed eve to bind together Marc and Allison in sacred matrimony.”

Allie bit her lip to contain a giggle. The folks at the Grand Palace Royale really took their work seriously.

The chapel walls were lined with a gray stone façade that mimicked the interior of a castle, complete with richly embroidered red tapestries. Clusters of wick-shaped bulbs flickered from a wrought-iron candelabra hanging from the ceiling, casting the wedding party in a soft glow. The experience reminded her of the Renaissance fair, minus the jousting horses and the oversized roasted turkey legs.

“Who giveth this maid to be joined in marriage?” the king asked.

Devyn stepped forward wearing a leopard-print sarong around her waist and a medieval-inspired circlet of daisies on her head. “I do, my liege.”

“And do ye know of any cause that might impede this solemnization?”

Devyn shook her head. “No, I do not.” She grinned at Allie and placed a kiss on her cheek before resuming her place beside Lady Guinevere.

“Then let us begin,” declared the king. “Marc Gerard Dumont, wilt thou take Allison Catrine to be thy lawfully wedded wife? Wilt thou love and honor her in sickness and in health, keeping only to her for as long as ye both shall live?”

Marc took her free hand and gazed at her with so much love, it brought a fresh set of tears to her eyes. In that breath, Allie knew he was right when he’d said this wedding was a hundred years overdue. It felt like every step she’d ever taken had led her to this moment.

“I will.”

The king nodded sagely and turned to her. “Allison Catrine, wilt thou have Marc to be thy lawfully wedded husband? Wilt thou serve and obey him in all—”

“Excuse me?” Allie asked over Marc’s snickering.
Serve and obey?
They were taking this “Middle Ages” thing a little too far.

“Ah,” King Arthur said. “I see thou art a modern wench, Allison Catrine. I shall adjust thy vows accordingly.”

“Thank you, your grace,” she said with a bow of her head.

“In times of feast and famine, wilt thou love, honor, and cleave to him for as long as ye both shall live?”

Now
that
she could do. “I will.”

Lady Guinevere handed the king the simple gold bands Marc and Allie had purchased from the adjoining shop just minutes ago. Arthur explained the symbolism of the rings and handed the smallest one to Marc, with instructions to place it on Allie’s finger.

“With this ring,” Marc said, sliding on the band with a sure and steady hand, “I thee wed, and pledge to thee my troth.”

Next it was Allie’s turn. “With this ring I thee wed. And with my body and soul, I honor thee, for all the days of my life.” The sight of the polished band standing in contrast against Marc’s tanned skin filled Allie with so much joy she feared she might burst. He squeezed her fingers and gave her a smile that reflected all the love in her heart. There, wearing her bikini and tacky borrowed veil, she’d never felt more like a princess.

King Arthur took their joined hands between both of his and raised them high in the air. “What God and the great state of Nevada hath joined together, let no man put asunder. I now proclaim that Marc and Allison are husband and wife. May their union be long, fruitful, and filled with merriment!”

The wedding party’s applause was followed by the recorded music of lutes and tambourines playing through speakers in the ceiling. As soon as the king released their hands, Marc took Allie’s face between his palms and kissed her, slow and sweet.

“I love you, Mrs. Dumont,” he whispered against her lips.

“I love you, too.” She held him close and tried to make room inside her for this newfound happiness. “I can’t believe we’re really married.”

“Me neither.” Marc admired his ring and then hers. “I think we should lock ourselves inside our suite until it starts to feel real—even if it takes all month.”

“Let’s get a picture first,” she said. “Then I’m yours.”

They posed for the digital camera, and minutes later, Guinevere brought their souvenir photo tucked inside a cardboard sleeve titled
YE OLDE WEDDING MEMORIES
.

Together, they laughed at their portrait—Allie’s wild curls barely contained by the sunglasses pushed atop her head, her nose sunburned, a line of deep cleavage spilling from her bikini top. Marc’s eye was swollen and blackened to a sickly shade of purple, his bow tie askew, and his shirt rumpled. But they were smiling like they’d won the lottery.

And in a way, they had.

“Not the most traditional wedding,” Marc said, “but I’ve never seen a happier groom.”

“Or a more dashing one.” Gently, she touched the edge of his swollen eye. “There’s nothing sexier than a man willing to fight for his fair maiden. Does it hurt?”

A soft grin lifted one corner of his lips as he took her hand and kissed it. “Sugar, a grand piano could fall on me right now and I wouldn’t notice a thing.”

For Allie it was the opposite—she was so filled with joy that it almost hurt to breathe. Every cell in her body called out to Marc in need for closeness, to feel him inside and above and all around her. She rose onto her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “Take your new wife upstairs. This honeymoon’s a hundred years overdue, remember?”

She didn’t need to ask him twice. After a round of quick good-byes to the wedding party and a hug for Devyn, Marc scooped Allie into his arms and carried her over every threshold all the way to his suite on the seventeenth floor—which turned out to be right across the hall from hers.

What were the odds of that?

Allie pulled the key card from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door, smiling when she spotted a bottle of champagne chilling on ice and enough red roses to fill the room with a rich floral scent. Someone had even folded a set of towels on the bed into the shape of swans and arranged their necks to form a heart.

“When did you plan all this?” she asked.

“Yesterday, when I checked in.” Marc shrugged. “I had faith in this honeymoon.”

With the greatest care, he placed Allie on the king-sized bed, then swept aside those adorable swans and kicked off his shoes. After shucking his tuxedo jacket to the floor and tugging off his bow tie, he knelt above Allie and took a moment to study her, shaking his head in reverence.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” he asked.

“I can stand to hear it again.”

So he murmured it in a litany as he lowered himself onto her body and wrapped her in his warmth. Gradually, his gentle kisses grew possessive, and Allie’s fingers worked the buttons on his shirt in desperation to get closer. Their mouths never parted as they clumsily peeled off tops and pants, socks and flip-flops. They’d made love before, but this was different—each caress and nibble lingered as if they had all the time in the world.

Because they did.

Finally skin to skin, they moved beneath the covers, where Marc slipped inside her, hot and hard and completely bare. They gasped at the brand-new sensation of smooth flesh gliding against wet heat. Just when Allie thought making love with Marc couldn’t feel any better, he surprised her with something as simple as bare contact.

Her pleasure heightened by unencumbered friction, she fought to last longer than a few moments, but it was no use. He was too good. She came for him quickly, then again with him while he clasped their left hands together, their gold bands clinking against each other as their gazes held and made them one soul.

Allie had never cried during sex, but this was so much more than the joining of two bodies. Marc had taken everything from her while giving all of himself, and the experience overwhelmed her. Their connection was so primal and beautiful that she couldn’t contain her emotions—they leaked from the corners of her eyes and dripped onto the pillow. Marc held her face between his palms and brushed away each droplet, replacing it with a kiss.

When the tears stopped, Marc rolled to the side and pulled her firmly against the safety of his chest, wrapping an arm around her while using his free hand to stroke her curls. She traced circles against his skin, smiling when her touch raised chills to the surface of his flesh.

“Love you,” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time, not that Allie was complaining.

“Love you more.”

His chest shook with quiet laughter. “Give me a minute to recover and I’ll prove you wrong.”

She used her fingertips to graze his nipple, then moved lower to brush his lower belly. “Challenge accepted.” Through the sheet, she could see him hardening again, and it brought a grin to her lips.

She filled her lungs with the masculine scent of her husband and lifted her left hand to admire the rings that proved they were married. She had a feeling she’d have to keep gazing at them to reassure herself this wasn’t a dream.

He must have felt the same, because Marc glanced at his own ring. Then he said something that caught her off guard. “I wonder if the curse is broken for my whole family, or just for me.”

Allie pushed up on one elbow and peered down at him to gauge his expression. He wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“Marc,” she said with a smile in her voice, “you’re not hexed. You never were.” She’d explained that to him at the cemetery. “It’s psychology that kept the men in your family from getting married, not voodoo.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Believe what you want, but I know what really happened.”

Just as she geared up to argue with him, she noticed something amiss. Marc’s fleur-de-lis tattoo stood in dark contrast to the skin on his muscled arm, but the wine-colored splash above his heart was gone—the mark all the men in his family had carried since birth.

She leaned in to get a closer look and scrubbed a hand over his chest. “Your birthmark,” she said, still scanning his torso. “Did you have it lasered off or something?”

“What?” He glanced down and examined the smooth patch of skin where the blotch used to be. “No, I haven’t messed with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Honey, I think I’d remember if someone sandblasted off my birthmark.”

“Then where’d it go? It was there a couple of weeks ago.”

“Exactly.” He smiled smugly. “Before we broke the curse.”

“Oh, come on.” But even as she needled him, she couldn’t help wondering if the two were somehow related. It
was
a bit coincidental. She bit her lip and stared at his chest, wondering if his brothers still bore the mark above their hearts. “It’s probably a temporary fluke.”

Chuckling, Marc rolled her onto her back and pressed her into the mattress with his solid weight. “Married less than an hour, and we’re already having our first argument.” When she began to object, he silenced her with a kiss and used a knee to part her thighs. “Does it really matter?” he asked. “Hex or no hex, we get to do
this
for the rest of our lives.”

“Mmm.” He had a point—and
this
felt awfully good. Allie tugged on his shoulders while wrapping a leg around his hips. “Who spends their honeymoon talking, anyway?”

“Sad, misguided fools, that’s who.”

She gave him a sly smile. “So why are we still talking?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” He buried his face at the crook of her neck and nibbled her speechless. One final thought drifted through Allie’s mind before she sank into oblivion. . . .

Voodoo or not, we’ll make our own magic
.