Laura opened one eye and tried to focus on the bedside clock. It was a little after noon. Movement in the background caught her attention. Bill, fully dressed but for his suit's jacket, sat on a stool, polishing his shoes.
He noticed she was awake and grinned at her. "You can keep sleeping. I'm used to catching a few winks and returning to duty."
She pushed her hair back. "No, no," she grumbled. "I'm up." She snuggled further down in the bedding.
She would have reveled in actually falling asleep in this man's strong arms if she hadn't been so exhausted. So tired, she hadn't felt him leave the bed or hear the shower running.
His bright eyes watched her, just like Jake's after she'd fed him. "I thought I'd see about rustling up some grub for us. Maybe there's oatmeal in the larder?"
She managed to sit up, congratulating herself on the feat. Looking around, she remembered her negligee was in the dressing room.
As though reading her mind, Bill darted to the separate room and found her a robe.
After thanking him, she pulled it on and got to her feet. "I'm sure Bagot came in while we slept and stocked the pantry and fridge." Another reason she was glad they'd decided to retire to the bedroom.
She gathered Bill's face in her hands and gave him a kiss suitable for not yet having brushed her teeth. Then she turned him around and shoved him toward the door. "So go make me something to eat while I get ready."
A spring in his step, Bill headed downstairs. Shaking her head, Laura made her way into the dressing room to find something suitable for a...Wedding. She had to stop gulping with panic every time she thought of the word.
Following the scent of coffee, she found Bill on the sunny patio, smoking a cigarette beside the table laid for two.
"Wonder where that damn dog go to," he said at the sound of her footfall.
"I'm sure he just found some good squirrels," she said. "The property is fully fenced."
He turned, and saw her choice of frock for the day, a light chiffon white gown, scattered with yellow flowers. She'd chosen one with a demure high collar not just to befit the occasion, but to cover the love bites and stubble burn.
"Now, aren't you pretty," he said approvingly.
She could only smile. She could get used to this adoration.
"Let's eat and get this show on the road," she said with determination.
After dining, Laura called Bagot to bring the car up. When she hung up the phone, she told Bill, "Mystery solved. He said Jake's been with him."
"Fickle beast," grumbled Bill, helping her on with her coat.
"Perhaps he knows his master has a new mistress," she said, tweaking his tie. Then her hand stilled on the strip of silk.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"It was in that big closet," he said. "Do you mind?"
She smoothed the star-studded gold tie down. "Not at all. It's just...It was my father's favorite tie." She smiled at him, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm glad you chose it. It's as though he's with us today."
He nuzzled her cheek, saying nothing.
Under the portico, Bagot hopped out of the wood-paneled station wagon to open the back door for Laura. "Good afternoon, Miss Laura. Mr Adams."
Bill got to the door first, giving the caretaker a tight smile as he held it open for Laura.
Laura returned his greeting and slid into the back seat. Bill joined her. Bagot took his seat at the wheel.
Jake, behind the back seat, stuck his nose over to greet them. His coat was shiny black and white and he had a garland of narcissus tied to his collar.
As Bagot pulled away, he explained, "That dog found something to roll in, so I gave him a bath."
"Thanks, Bagot," said Bill, patting Jake's head.
"I picked a bouquet for you as well, Miss Laura." Bagot looked at her in the rear view mirror. "The last of the daffs. They'll look swell with your pretty dress. That one's always been my favorite."
Bill met the caretaker's gaze in the mirror, his face impassive. Bagot's eyes returned to the road.
"Bagot, while we're getting married, could you stop at the store and pick up some more food?" Laura glanced at Bill with a smile. "Steaks, potatoes? Some fruits and vegetables?"
"I'd be happy to come up and cook for you, Miss Laura-"
Bill's hard gaze returned to the mirror. "Don't worry, Bagot. I've got it covered."
"Yes, sir."
Oblivious, Laura twined her fingers with his and gave him a vague smile. Bill draped his arm around her shoulders.
Bagot drove down dusty Virginia Street, under the metal arch proclaiming Reno was the biggest little city in the world. The many neon marquees couldn't compete with the bright blue sky on this sunny day.
"Perfect day for a wedding," said Bagot, smiling at them in the mirror. Laura forced herself to return the smile. She quickly looked at Bill to see if he noticed. He was grinning at her, his eyes sparkling. Crinkling her nose to him only made him chuckle and kiss her.
"Which should it be?" asked Bagot, "The Little Chapel in the Nell? The Wedding Bells and Buffet? The Chapel of Love?"
"Which is closer?" Bill asked practically.
"Chapel of Love it is." Bagot pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a normal house painted a glaring shade of white and the name in glittering gold paint on the side.
The caretaker agreed to meet them after shopping, and left the three members of the wedding party.
The entrance was through a rose-covered pergola. Bill opened the door and they entered the empty chapel.
He called out, "Hello?"
"Coming!" rang out a reply from behind a lace curtained doorway at the back of the chapel. Laura clutched her bouquet, the flowers' heads quivering.
The tall, white-haired Justice of the Peace came out of the living quarters tucked behind the chapel. He'd been having lunch. He pulled his napkin from his shirt collar and straightened his bolero tie, a large piece of fool's gold.
His prominent Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke. "Howdy, folks!" He bellowed over his shoulder, "Mother, git out here!"
He shook Bill's hand with his greasy fingers. After shaking his hand as well, Laura, grateful for her gloves, felt the first fatal welling of giggles rising as she watched Bill allowing Jake to lick his dirty fingers discreetly before quickly filling out the necessary form and slipping the man payment.
She took a deep breath. Oh no, not that. It had always been her downfall. Her mother's disapproving glare at her tea parties, when the admonishment to sit still was just too much and Laura couldn't stand it another moment. Her college professor's rolling eyes as Laura found herself dissolving into laughter during debates. The stricken faces of her aunts and uncles at the wake for her father and sisters, when giggles became her response to their offers of condolence.
"Mother!" bellowed the Justice of the Peace.
"I'm coming, Poppy!" scolded his wife as she bustled out of the living quarters.
Regaining control, Laura shook hands with Mother, a tiny rotund woman, who removed her apron before sitting down at a white, upright piano. When she hit a ringing, out of tune chord, the first guffaw escaped Laura's lips.
Poppy looked at her disapprovingly.
She dared to glance up at Bill. Instead of frowning, she saw his lips twitching in amusement too. This did not help. Desperately, she glanced around the chapel, but everything, from the portrait of Jesus that made Him resemble Shirley Temple with rosy-cheeks and curly blond locks, to the dusty crepe paper wedding bells hanging from the ceiling next to the insect-covered strip of fly paper made her only want to laugh more.
"Dearly beloved," Poppy started, his high, nasal voice dragging out every syllable.
Her laughter erupted. She sagged against Bill. He remained tall, meeting the Justice of the Peace's glare with his own. "Go on," he rumbled.
"We are gathered together-"
Laura realized he also had a lisp. She sighed, trying to keep from laughing, but collapsed against Bill again as Poppy's spittle landed on his tome when he said, "To join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
Bill supported her elbow and nodded to the Justice of the Peace. "Keep goin', Padre. We're almost there."
Poppy raised his bushy white brows, but kept going as ordered. "Do you Laura Roslin, take this man, William Adams, to marry you?"
That sobered Laura up. She straightened, lifted her chin and said, "I do."
"The rings?" asked Poppy.
Laura looked at Bill in panic. She hadn't thought of that. And there was the matter of his ring! She glanced at his hand, but it was thankfully gone. She didn't want Poppy and Mother to assume Bill was a bigamist. She hiccuped another giggle.
Mother leapt up from her bench, spry for someone of her age, and hurried forward with a cardboard box. She flipped the lid open to reveal rows of cheap tin rings.
"No thanks," Bill said. He fished something out of his pocket, and dropped it onto Poppy's open book. Laura saw the glint of gold and a green stone.
"Repeat after me," said Poppy. He lifted the ring and looked at its unusual design suspiciously before giving it back to Bill "With this ring, I thee wed-"
Bill slipped it on her finger; it was a bit loose. Laura closed her fist to both keep it in place and see the ring. It was an unusual piece. The stone was a milky green opal, a swirl of silver and green colors that changed with every movement of her hand. The gold band was wide and heavy, with intricate, primitive designs. Whatever its origin, it seemed very Bill.
Suddenly Poppy was saying, "I declare you man and wife," but she didn't have time to panic before Bill was kissing her. She melted into his kiss, not caring about the older couple watching askance.
True to his word, after they returned to the 'cabin,' changed out of their wedding clothes, and took a long stroll along the lakeside, stopping often to kiss and simply hold each other under the fragrant pines, Bill cooked them a hearty dinner of steaks and baked potatoes. Laura selected a bottle of strong red from the wine cellar and moved a small table and two chairs into the great room, placing them before the hearth.
While dinner cooked, Bill fetched large logs from the woodpile, and built a roaring fire to ward off the cooling evening air. Laura smiled to herself watching his pleasure in these simple tasks. Making fire, preparing food-he was her provider in his own way.
Having finished her meal, Laura pushed back her plate and examined her ring by candlelight, which brought out the silver fire in the opal. "This is such a lovely ring, Bill, but so unusual. Where did you get it?"
"When I was in Mexico once." He took her hand and turned the ring to show her the gold band. "These are Aztec designs, but it's not that origin. Probably just the designer's fancy. It's Spanish made, from the time of the Conquest."
His features, in strong contrast from the flickering firelight, very much looked like an Aztec warrior's to her.
"It cost me my money roll, Saul's, and my watch," he said with a grin, "but I had to have it."
His smile faded. "My great-grandmother Inocencia is wearing a ring much like it in an old family portrait. Like so much, it was sold along the way." His fingertips traced the green stone. "I have no way of knowing if this is her ring, but if it were-"
"It means a great deal to you," Laura murmured.
His eyes twinkled at her. "You bet. It's been my own little saving account for years. Paper money is bulky and changes from country to country. I've pawned this ring a dozen times around the world."
She was outraged and closed her fist as if protecting her ring. "Bill!"
"Don't worry. It's been turned over to its final pawnbroker. I won't be redeeming it anytime in the future."
She patted his hand, deciding that was a compliment.
"It needs to be resized though. It's a bit loose," he said. "Should I keep it until we can get that done?"
She slipped it off and gave it to him. "Yes, I wouldn't want to lose it. It's my most precious possession."
"After me," he murmured, putting the ring in his pocket.
"I don't own you," she insisted.
"You own my heart," he said, taking a sip of wine and gazing over the top of his glass lovingly.
Fighting that tremor of discomfort at his open emotional display, Laura stood and held her hand out toward Bill. "Will you dance with me?" she asked, her smile quavering.
Bill enveloped her small hand in his as he rose from his chair. "Do you want me to put some music on?" he asked as he smoothly gathered her into his arms.
Laura rested her head against Bill's chest as they began to slowly sway together.
"Not really," she murmured.
"We can make our own music," he whispered near her ear, pressing a small kiss to the soft skin below her lobe.
Laura hummed in agreement. Then, she leaned back to untuck Bill's sweater and the undershirt beneath, pulling them both up and over his head in one swift, efficient action.
"You're very eager, Mrs Adams," Bill said, savoring the name.
Laura took a step back, uncertainly. She looked up at Bill's face. His eyes were twinkling in their now-familiar way.
She stepped closer again, allowing herself to relax . "And you like eager, Mr Adams?" she asked, raising her chin. She could still hear those old rebukes, even after his gratitude at her response this morning.
"No," Bill instantly denied. He grasped her by the shoulders and swung her around. His bare chest pressed against her back. His hands stroked up the sides of her body, from her hips to her underarms, and back down.
"I don't like it." He spoke directly into her ear again, sending a shiver down her spine. "I love it."
He eased off her cashmere sweater, then nimbly popped the pearl buttons of her silk blouse before slipping the top from her slack arms. He found the side zipper to her tweed skirt and it dropped to pool around her brogues.
He grumbled in the back of his throat as he struggled a bit to undo her bra's hooks.
"Let me," she said huskily, reaching back to snap it easily.
"How can you gals do that?"
"More practice," she said, shimmying out of her panties and kicking off her shoes and socks, grateful for the fire's warmth. "Very eager," she said, shivering nonetheless as she turned to enter her husband's embrace again.
Laura tilted her head, fascinated by the way his olive complexion shone in the firelight. Her hand wandered across his skin, entranced by the stark contrast of her soft pale hand against his dark hard muscles.
She let her hand drift lower - to the waistband of his pants.
Bill suppressed a sharp groan as her fingers lightly teased just above the belt of his trousers. He concentrated on keeping still, allowing her to set the pace with her new found confidence and experience.
Laura lifted her hands away and instead circled around Bill's body until she stood behind him. She explored the broadness of his back, pushing her thumbs over each vertebra, then scratching her nails up and down the flesh either side, just hard enough to leave small marks that glowed first white, then red. Dipping her head, she soothed the scars with her mouth and tongue.
As Bill moaned her name, she nuzzled his back and locked her arms around him, unbuckling his belt and lowering his fly.
She kept pressing hot hard kisses onto his back as she considered the feel of the wiry hairs she had exposed to her touch. There he was, hard and hot in her hand, ready again. She sagged against his broad back, warm like a sun-heated stone.
Bill fought for control as her hand stroked him as he'd shown her this morning. The possibilities of love-making with this woman-with his wife-tumbled through his mind. In his life, he'd had good-natured, generous woman who'd taught him many carnal delights. Giselle, in Marseilles, who'd be waiting on the docks when his ship docked, waving her bright pick scarf. But he'd find blond stubble in the shaving mug she gave him in the morning. Or Anna, in Naples, whose green sloe eyes were looking at other men even when they were out together. He knew these were not women to marry, but women to enjoy for what they offered.
Instead, he married a good woman, with her teasing laugh and fluttering downcast eyelashes. He'd learned on their honeymoon, it was not an act. She had no interest in enjoyment between their two bodies. Only a comfortable home, his steady paycheck, and two sons she could love with a possessive ardor.
Laura's hand stole below his shaft to tentatively explore the tightening flesh beneath it. He groaned in encouragement, his head lolling back to expose his neck to her seeking mouth and nipping teeth.
But this woman... This wife...
"Laura...I'd like to..."
"What do you want me to do?" she asked quickly, her voice filled with excitement.
"I want you to lie down for me." He gently helped her recline on the couch. "All day, I've been thinking about this," he said, lifting her foot to kiss the arch before beginning to nuzzle his way up her leg.
She stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the feel of his lips tracing along her limbs. "I've been thinking about this all day too-" She gulped when he crouched on the floor before her and draped her legs over his shoulders. Was he going to do what she thought he was going to do?
Only one man had tried this with her. The evening had been ill-fated in so many ways. She'd gone to a party at the home of her old college chum, Marcie. It had been too soon after the deaths of her father and sisters, but she'd wanted to get out, try to block out her pain. She'd drank too much champagne; that's why she couldn't stand a drop now. Marcie had tipped her head toward the handsome young man in the corner.
Too young. But the champagne made her feel young and foolish.
Until he'd said, "Miss Roslin?"
"Sean?" He'd been a student at one of her schools for the poor.
She should have told him how grown up he was or asked him about his plans now that he was out of college, but instead, she'd invited him back to her home.
And he'd accepted. The big house, dark and quiet, the servants all in bed. His sloppy kisses, ardent and frenzied, between telling her how he'd always wanted her, always dreamed of doing this to her... This specifically, as he'd pushed up her skirt and pulled down her panties, his mouth settling there.
It had felt invasive and wrong, lips and teeth where they did not belong. Fortunately, he still remembered the patroness' sharp tone meant to stop being a bad boy. She'd managed to get him to leave with a minimum of embarrassment for both; mention of a champagne headache, a vague promise to call, no need to give her his number, he was in the book surely. And then she told Emily to take no messages from a Sean Ellison.
Now Bill's mouth was there, bringing back those unpleasant memories.
But he wasn't aggressive. His warm breath wafted across her flesh, his now familiar fingers brushing lightly through her folds, retracing the paths he'd discovered this morning. He found that special spot, rolling it lightly between his thumb and forefinger until she couldn't hold in the moan.
She arched off the couch, meeting his mouth unintentionally. The flat of his tongue licked up, meeting his fingers to suckle on the nub, swelling already. His finger slid inside, caressing her walls until her moan turned to a deep, heartfelt groan.
He suckled at her more strongly, tugging and pulling with his lips. His first finger was joined by another, surging into her body.
Her fingers buried in his hair as her hips thrust against his face unabashedly. She babbled incoherent encouragement and her limbs began to quake. It wasn't just her body shattering; it was her past fragmenting, and falling to dust.
Bill stood, grinning down at her. The fire's dying light flickered orange over his skin. His pants still hung open, his need obvious.
Laura opened her arms. "Where are you?" she scolded softly.
He slid into her embrace; into her body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, tightening, holding him deep within her, pushing his pants down with her heels.
"I'm right here. Right here, darling."
