Return of the Bad Boy (15 page)

Everyone else falls away, because this time, I don’t need help from anyone to make this decision. This time, I’m going to let my heart lead the way. It’s never let me down before. “Hell, yes,” I whisper.

He slides the ring onto my finger, and what do you know? It’s a perfect fit. The crowd erupts in applause as he gathers me into his arms and kisses me. I look around and see my parents applauding, his brothers pumping their fists, all of them rushing forward to be the first to congratulate us. They all approve of this.

Finally.

But even if they didn’t, I still know it’s right. I one-hundred percent, no doubts, know that this is where I’m meant to be.

I don’t remember what else happens that night. I think there’s a cake and more dancing and a lot more alcohol, and the party doesn’t really end until the wee hours of the morning. But the only thing I’m completely sure of is that I don’t leave Dax’s side for the rest of the night. I do remember staring at my finger a thousand times, falling asleep against his shoulder in the truck on the ride back to the apartment. I remember telling myself from now on, I’d be letting my heart make all my decisions.

Turns out, it knows best.

T
hree months later
, and two weeks before the official Grand Opening of Harding Automotive Works, is the official start of our happily ever after.

The church is small, and so full of people that the air is cramped and stuffy, even in the coldest day of late fall. My father chats with me, telling me I’m so beautiful and nervously adjusting his tie as we get ready to take the long, life-changing walk. His girlfriend Patsy is there, and even if she won’t ever be my favorite person, it turns out she’s not a complete wench, either.

My mother has cried a lot about this day, but I don’t let that fool me. She’s brought her new boyfriend up from Florida. He’s very tan, a retired business owner whose wife passed away a few years ago. It’s weird seeing her not with my dad, but I guess I’ll have to get used to it. She doesn’t have to say anything-- I see from the light in her eyes that she is deliriously happy. I keep asking her why she’s crying when everything is so very right, and she tells me that these are the good tears.

Dax’s brothers actually look like different people. They’re wearing button-down shirts and ties, their hair is slicked back neatly off their faces, and their hands are scrubbed clean of oil and grease for once. Wob has a girlfriend named Emily who he spends nearly all his time with. She’s shy and polite and looks a little . . . bookish for the Harding clan.

Obviously, I’ve been trying to encourage him with her wherever I can. When people say they can’t possibly fit together, I tell him that they most certainly can.

Seeing all of these people seated in the pews, waiting for me, brings me enough happiness to make my heart burst.

But then the music begins to play, the priest steps out of his vestibule, and Dax follows.

He’s wearing a tuxedo. Waiting for me.

And I can’t help it. I lose it. Lots, and lots, and lots of those good tears fall down my cheeks. The little lace handkerchief my mother gave me as my “something blue” isn’t nearly enough.

When I get to the altar and my father lifts my veil and kisses me, I turn to Dax and nearly wobble right off my heels. Dax reaches out and steadies me. His hair still tumbles over his forehead, and he has the same intense green eyes, but so much is different. He shaved. I’d expected him to be all fidgety and uncomfortable in the tuxedo, but he owns it. Damned if he doesn’t look like a GQ model dressed up to the nines like that, covering all his tattoos and everything that makes Dax, Dax.

Still hot as hell.

“Hi,” I whisper to him.

He takes my hand and leads me up the steps before the priest. “I see you bought a new dress for the occasion.”

I can’t help but laugh. I try to stifle it as the priest looks down his nose at me, but I can’t. I’m grinning from ear to ear. And so what? This is a day for happiness, for celebration. And so I let the laughter come. “What, this old thing?” I whisper back.

He chuckles.

After the ceremony, we have the reception in the church hall. I’d wanted to have it out in the field, in back of the shop, but that wouldn’t work considering it’s only forty degrees outside. We wanted to get married as soon as we could.

But it’s not the place that makes the day special. It’s the people.

One person in particular.

My Dax.

He says he has a surprise for me after the band announces us as man and wife. I grit my teeth. I’m scared to death about his surprises after the last one he pulled.

When the cheering dies down, I see him across the dance floor. He signals to the band to start playing, and I listen for the first song we’ll dance to, as an official married couple. The first notes scrape my eardrums. It’s country music.

I burst out laughing. I put on my scary game-face and point at him, signaling that he’s going down.

But strange thing is, the song is kind of familiar. When the singer begins to belt out a tune that’s on the very tip of my tongue, I know why. It’s Celine Dion. My Heart Will Go On. In country.

He takes me into his arm, pulling me close against him, as I laugh and laugh. Honestly, I’ve never heard this song sound better. “Is this your way of saying we’re going to have to find a way to compromise on a lot of things?” I ask.

“Nah. Here’s a secret. You keep giving me that cute little pout of yours, and hell, you’ll win every time.” He kisses my forehead sweetly. “I love you like crazy, Katydid. In my mind, losing to you ain’t nothing but winning.”

The rest of the night is amazing. Even in a church basement, I’m on cloud nine. After midnight, he carries me over the threshold to the apartment, but instead of having a romantic night, we spend most of the time pulling 500 bobby-pins out of my hair. Once that’s done, I say, “do you want to see my wedding lingerie?”

He’s lying on the bed, head propped up on one elbow, chewing on one of those plastic stirrers and just watching me, like I’m the most precious thing in his life. The five o’clock shadow is back, his hair is rumpled, and he has his tie and jacket off and his shirt undone.

Damn, he’s my husband? Yes, yes he is. I am really that lucky.

“Is that a trick question?” he asks.

I grin. I get this naughty idea half in my head about doing a sexy strip tease, but then I realize that just like I couldn’t get into my dress without the help of my mom and Aunt Linda, I can’t get out of my dress without help, either. It’s all laces and buttons in back. I turn to him. “Could you . . . free me?”

He nods. Very carefully, he starts working the buttons on the dress. I feel it loosen little by little until finally it gives way. I breathe a sigh of relief and turn around. Okay, Sexy Strip Tease, Take Two. I start to lower the dress, then suck my lower lip into my mouth. I have no idea how to be sexy. So I just let the thing fall, revealing my corset, g-string, and garter.

He watches all this intently, then breathes, “I have the sexiest wife,” a look of complete awe on his face.

He thinks I’m sexy. Somehow, he thinks I’m sexy, even standing here, feeling foolish, having absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to do.

He hooks a finger toward me, beckoning me forward.

I look at the monstrosity of a dress, puddled around my knees, and say, “Um. Hold on.” I kick off my heels, then climb out from the mess of white silk, crawling catlike onto the bed. “Free!” I sigh. “I’m free!”

“Not for long.” He grabs my wrists with one of his hands and vises them over my head, then rolls on top of me, smiling smugly. “Why, hello, there, Mrs. Harding.”

I grin. “Hello, there, Mr. Harding. You’re looking especially well tonight.”

“Thank you for being my wife.”

“Thank you for being my husband,” I reply.

“Did you have fun tonight, my wife?”

I laugh. He clearly just likes saying that phrase.
My wife.
I understand, because I get the same giddy feeling every time I think that Dax is
my husband.
“Best time ever,” I gush. “In fact, tired as I am, I’m not ready for it to end, are you?”

He shakes his head, running a finger down the lace of my corset, letting it linger lazily on the top of my breast. “Nah, baby, I’d say it’s just beginning.”

“
Y
es
, Mr. Farley, if you get your Ferrari to us by tomorrow, he should be able to take a look at it by the weekend and let you know what the problem is,” I say from behind the reception desk at the office of the brand new Harding Automotive Works.

I hang up the phone and type Farley’s information on the schedule for Wednesday, leaving not so much as one empty spot on the calendar, from morning to night for Dax. That’s practically heaven for him, damn workaholic. Luckily, we have the apartment, and usually I can coax him into taking extended lunch breaks.

It’s crazy busy for a snowy Tuesday in January, making me long for those warm ocean breezes at Myrtle Beach, the site of our honeymoon. I pull my sweater tighter on my shoulders and peer into the busy waiting room, checking to make sure it’s relatively straightened and that there’s still coffee in the pot out there. Then I crane my neck to see through the adjacent window, where Dax is just finishing up with the Beamer’s brakes. He looks up at me, and I wave at him frantically, those butterflies alighting in my chest.

Finally. I’ve been feeling neglected.

He comes through the door, chewing on an apple, and says, “How goes it?”

“Farley’s Ferrari, tomorrow,” I say, pointing out his schedule. “Transmission problem.”

He nods and rests his backside against the reception desk. “Cool. Is that all?”

I shake my head. I’ve been trying to wrestle him away from work all day, but it’s been one fire after another. “Can you take a break?”

He raises an eyebrow, because he knows what our breaks mean. Then he frowns. “Shit babe, I’d love to. But I’ve been backed up all day with Tom out sick.”

I sigh. “You need more mechanics. What about that guy from Hampton?”

“He don’t start ‘til next week,” he says, noticing my obvious disappointment. He wraps a hand around my wrist, spins my chair out of the desk, and sweeps me to my feet, straight into his warm arms, a little grin on his stubbly face. “Why, babe? Can’t wait til tonight?”

I pout. “I have something to show you.”

“That so?” He finishes chewing the apple and swallows, his eyes heavy on mine, trying to gauge what that means. “Anything of yours, I want to see, babe. Believe me.”

He thinks it’s another line to get him to go to the apartment with me. Lately, we’ve been coming up with the dumbest excuses to lure each other back there.
I lost a contact, can you help me find it? I heard a noise back there; it could be a burglar. Can you help me move the sofa?
There isn’t a single mechanic on the floor that buys it, I’m sure of it.

He looks over his shoulder toward the work area, where the rest of his mechanics are busy servicing all kinds of cars. It’s surprising and overwhelming, in a good way, how well the new business kicked off. We thought we would have time to adjust to the new business and work out the kinks. By the time we got back from our honeymoon, we already had a waiting list, which has only grown. I guess you can say it went from zero to eighty, super-fast. “Can you spare a couple seconds, at least?”

He waggles his eyebrows and tosses the apple core in the trash. “So you can
show
me your thing? Yeah, baby, I’d love to see
your thing.
Come on.”

He takes my hand and leads me over to the hallway that leads to the apartment. His brother, Eric, punches another mechanic as we pass, and they both snicker and mouth something about newlyweds.

Then Eric rushes to the door, pulls it open, and shouts after us, “Have a good quickie.”

Dax shoots him the look of death as he pulls open the door and ushers me through it. When he closes it, he’s on me in seconds, pressing me against the door, kissing me, his hands roving under my sweater. He pulls off his t-shirt, glorious abs front-and-center, and starts to fumble with his belt buckle. “Hurry. I got to get the Chevy looked at before Havens gets off work,” he breathes out, his open mouth roving over the skin of my jaw.

“Wait,” I say, nudging him back.

He’s running his tongue down the side of my neck, sending jolts of sensation everywhere, almost but not quite making me forget why I brought him here. “Can’t wait,” he murmurs into my skin. “I want you.”

I press two hands solidly on his muscled chest and say his name gently until he pulls back and stares into my eyes.

“What?” he asks, breathless, confused by my inaction.

“I didn’t come back here for a quickie,” I tell him, smoothing down my shirt “Well, it would be nice, but—“

“Are you okay, Katydid?” he asks, voice rising in alarm.

I nod. “Better than okay,” I tell him. “I came to show you this.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the white wand with the double lines. I’d taken it this morning. I’d wanted to tell him the second I suspected, but I also wanted to make sure. I hold it out to him, and understanding slowly dawns on his face.

He looks from it, to me, back to it again. “That what I think it is?”

“It’s not a magic wand,” I say with a grin. “It’s positive.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. He runs both hands through his hair, letting it tumble back into his eyes. Then he rubs his jaw. “What? You saying we’re having a little Katydid?”

For once, I’ve definitely surprised him. I grin smugly. “Or a little Dax.”

He blinks. “A little Dax might drive you crazier than I do already.”

I shake my head. “I beg to differ.”

He’s still standing there, half-undressed, frozen. I think a stiff wind would blow him over.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. He doesn’t bother getting his clothes back on. Suddenly, he tears open the door, preparing to race through it, and then remembers me, standing there. He puts his hands on either side of my face and kisses me hard. “I love you, you know that?”

I nod, laughing, and reach over and zip up his fly, since I know there’s no stopping Dax Harding when he gets something in his head, and I don’t want him running out there with all his stuff hanging out. The second I do, he’s off like white lightning.

He rushes out into the crowded floor, and I grin after him. I can hear his shouts, even from here. Soon, everyone in the place knows that we’re expecting. In seconds, the clanking of machinery is replaced by whooping and hollering, with Dax yelling the loudest of them all.

A second later, he comes rushing back to me and takes me in his arms. “Hell, girl, why didn’t you say something in the first place? The Chevy can wait.”

Then he closes the door and locks it.

And our happily ever afters just keep on coming.