CHAPTER NINE: Call Me

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A little more smut; so so so very (not) sorry. Note re: * - if you haven't read my smut-LITE For Charity, that's where to find the below-mentioned Millicent Barnes.

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Everything was set.

The date, the place, the time off, the reservations for the flight for their honeymoon. Karen Vick and Millicent Barnes were going to be their witnesses. They were going to pick up their engraved rings in the afternoon before the wedding.

The only reason the marriage was taking place a (much-too-long) full month after Carlton proposed was that the rings weren't going to be ready before then.

They were counting down the days. Carlton was smiling a lot. People kept asking Juliet if he was okay.

Their plan was to announce to whomever was still in the station before they left on the last day that when they returned in two weeks, they'd be married—after all, if you're going to come out, come out big.

But then, the week before, Something Happened.

Karen Vick summoned them to her office on Thursday morning. "I twisted my knee yesterday chasing after Iris," she said without preamble.

Juliet peered over the desk; the Chief's knee was well-wrapped and there was a bottle of Aleve prominently placed on the blotter. "How awful. Is it just a sprain?"

"Yes, but that's not the problem." She hesitated. "Carlton, you have to go to the law enforcement conference in my place."

Juliet looked at Carlton, whose familiar frown was firmly in place. "But—"

"You have to leave this afternoon, and you won't be back until next Thursday night and I am so sorry but I don't have any other options. The mayor's office has made it clear they want a high-ranking member of our department at the conference to report on our stats and methodologies, and if it can't be me, it really has to be you."

They both stared at her. Carlton's eyes were blue beacons of rising anxiety, frustration and panic.

Juliet said, "But Chief…"

"I know. I'm sorry. The timing is terrible. But when we talked the other day you said everything was set up, right? Except for the rings, which you can't get until next Friday anyway?"

What could they say? She was right, and besides, it was an emergency, and he'd be home before the wedding by nearly a full day.

He'd be frazzled and tense and freaking out, Juliet thought, but he'd be home in time. She looked at him again; he was obviously struggling to keep quiet.

Karen seemed to know, and her repeated apology, which she really had no obligation to give for doing her job, was sincere. She asked Carlton to stay in the office to collect the data she'd been going to present, and Juliet went back to her desk feeling entirely blindsided.

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He called her from his hotel room late that night. "This sucks."

"Your hotel? St. Louis? Or—"

"Being away from you. Being away from you for a full week."

Her sigh was profound. "I thought the three-day conference where we couldn't share a room was bad, but this…"

"This sucks," he said again. They really hadn't had any time to talk before he left; he spent time with Vick prepping for the convention, and then at home they rushed around getting him packed and ready to go.

He'd made time for one (maybe more than one) really long and intense kiss in the car before they left the garage, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough, and the myGodIalreadymissyou look in her eyes—no doubt mirrored in his—had wrenched at his heart. At least during the three-day conference they'd seen each other every day and were able to engage in entirely inappropriate intimate shenanigans, but a week apart at this distance—before their wedding, no less—was going to be inordinately hard.

Juliet was quiet. "Everything's going to be fine. You'll come back Thursday night; we'll get the rings on Friday before we go to the courthouse. I'll have your suit from the drycleaners and if I get antsy enough I'll do some honeymoon packing for us."

"So we can spend more of Friday getting reacquainted," he suggested, keeping his tone light for her.

"Yes. That way we won't need to waste any time having sex on our trip," she teased.

"Absolutely not. Besides, you know what they say. If a couple puts a penny in a jar every time they have sex before they get married, and then takes a penny out of the jar every time they have sex after they get married, the jar will never go empty."

Juliet laughed. "Oh, Carlton. I would be very surprised if that applied to us."

He would be too. When they were alone, they gravitated toward each other with frequency—and usually urgency. It had been a full year now but the fire still roared and he was glad of it. As long as he could keep up with her (though, he thought with some satisfaction, sometimes it was the other way around), he didn't anticipate losing interest in the physical aspect to their relationship.

Plus, he was besotted with her. So.

They talked awhile and it was hard to end the call. Assuring each other they could do this, and it was really no big deal, they promised to bug each other with texts all day long and to use up all their cell minutes at night.

It seemed like it could work.

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Juliet lay in bed the next morning, listening to the empty condo.

Carlton wasn't there.

It was wrong.

She tried imagining he'd just gone out for an early run, but that didn't work. The place felt empty.

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Lassiter woke up in the hotel room and felt completely disoriented. Nothing familiar, and no Juliet.

He texted her from the bed. I miss you.

She answered right away. I miss you more.

We're not arguing about this.

Is it Thursday yet?

I wish, he thought. Damn do I wish.

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Saturday evening, still early. Juliet wandered the condo, restless. It had been a long day of nothing. Not that she had nothing to do; there was just nothing she wanted to do.

She missed her man. She missed his voice, his presence; she missed touching him and smelling him and soothing him and being irritated by him and being loved by him.

This was only the third day, and not even a full three days at that, but she was not… herself.

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Lassiter was stuck at dinner with some colleagues he presently didn't give a rat's ass about, because he missed Juliet and wanted to talk to her. He didn't have anything in particular to discuss: he just needed her voice in his ear.

He needed her touch and her scent and her smile, too, but he'd settle—lacking any alternative—for her voice.

He made his escape from the others and went back to his room, sprawling on the bed while punching up her number on his phone.

"Hey," she answered, obviously pleased. "I've been dying here."

"Me too, sweetheart." He kicked off his shoes. "Two sessions down, four to go. Two meals with strangers."

"Anyone interesting?"

"Nah. Well, I don't know. I'm too busy missing you. Even the coffee's not right without you."

He heard her sigh, and wished he could feel it against his chest.

"Ditto," she said. "I'm lying in our bed thinking naughty thoughts about you."

"Tell me," he said. "In loving detail." Then he felt stupid and embarrassed and slightly pervy.

Juliet, however, seemed intrigued. "I would love to." Yet she paused.

"But?"

"Are you… sure you… I mean, I never thought you'd… well, actually I never thought I would. You know?"

Lassiter blinked. She had a point. Despite a large number of flirtatious texts and conversations over the last year, they'd never gone beyond that into flat-out phone sex. Of course, there was no need to; they were together. "It's okay, honey. I'm just… hell, I miss you. I'm not thinking straight."

She agreed she wasn't either, and they went on talking, long rambling flirty banter mixed in with tales of the convention and tales of her lack of activity since he'd gone; she'd done paperwork at her desk all day Friday so there weren't even any new cases to tell him about.

But Lassiter could see her in their bed, her hair across the pillow, her legs crossed, or maybe one knee bent, maybe in shorts and a tee, and he wanted to ask her what she was wearing but he couldn't, not even as a joke, with the way he was feeling right now.

He undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt while they talked, and it didn't help, because he imagined her with him, kissing his chest, maybe trailing her fingers through his chest hair. He swallowed. "Damn, I want you."

Her intake of breath was sharp. "I want you too. You have no idea how much."

"Hell yeah I do," he said flatly.

"Tell me," she whispered, echoing his words. "In loving detail."

"Let me call you back in five minutes," he said roughly. "I'll be undressed by then."

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Juliet's heart was pounding, and her senses on fire, and she wanted this. She used the time to take off her clothes, sliding under the cool sheets, turning out the light. It was only eight p.m. her time but she had a feeling she wouldn't be getting out of bed any time soon.

When Carlton called her back, the timbre of his voice was all desire.

And it was so easy.

Things were said. Erotic, private, loving things.

Whispered suggestions which made her pulse race crazily.

Breathing was rapid. Sighs profound.

She told him what she imagined: straddling him, stroking his chest and shoulders, kissing and kissing and kissing him.

He told her what he saw: her, on the bed, nude and lovely and welcoming. He described the softness of her skin under his fingertips, and how it moved him to make her shudder with need.

It was his hands on her body, not her own; it was her hands on his flesh. His voice in her ear, his need so apparent in every quiet or rushed syllable… Juliet could almost taste him.

When he said he could almost taste her, she arched in the bed, gasping, and for a time there weren't many words between them at all.

It was intimate and real—and not nearly enough, but so close. So very close.

They went round more than once; three days apart was too much and there were always more needs to express, more love to vocalize.

His voice made her tremble, and her memories did the rest, and it was only the beeping of a dying cell phone which eventually stopped their mutual pleasures.

"My God," he whispered. "You're incredible."

She said it back, because he was, and when she slept later, as sated as she could be without her man at her side, she dreamed of him.

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Lassiter was going to be at loose ends most of Sunday, and wasn't in the mood for chatting up strangers—even fellow cops he actually liked (a little); he was too jazzed from last night's conversation with his Juliet.

That morning he'd had to keep the shower water a lot colder than usual to stay focused, but once he was back from breakfast, he gave in and called her.

Her voice was so warm and sexy in his ear; he wanted her all over again and told her so. "I even looked up flights to see if I could get back to Santa Barbara for tonight and then here again before my afternoon presentation tomorrow."

She laughed. "So did I. Actually, I thought about coming out there for a few days but I know it would be too distracting for you."

"Like I'm not distracted now."

"Well, I'd be clinging to your leg… or something… while you were trying to make the mayor proud."

"I wouldn't be making the presentation, O'Hara. I'd be here in the room with you. I wonder if I could call it in?"

"If only," she said. "What are you wearing?"

He couldn't help but laugh, confessing he'd wanted to ask her that last night before he knew what they would soon spend so many X-rated hours doing.

"Okay. So what are you wearing?"

Lassiter was in trouble. "What are you wearing?" As little as possible, he hoped.

"Is your phone recharged?"

"Yes, and so am I."

Juliet purred. "Well, I'm only wearing a towel, because I just got out of the shower."

"Crap," he said, his pulse already jack-hammering. "You're going to get me out of my clothes again from 1900 miles away, aren't you?"

"I sure as hell hope so."

And that's how the next few days went: when he was in the hotel room, and she was at home in the bedroom, they were… together.

Once, she admitted, she was on the loveseat. And once she talked to him from the bathtub, sudsing up while he said things so wickedly specific she confessed could hardly keep hold of the phone from trembling.

He was in the same situation, and he felt sixteen again. Maybe fifteen. Everything she said to him was so erotic, charged with desire and love and a lust-stoked imagination. He had a feeling that upon seeing her in person again, he'd simply go up in smoke.

The damned jar was going to shatter before they ever had to take a single penny out.

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Juliet found, as the week came to a close, that she'd hardly thought about getting married at all. She was too focused on being crazy in love with—okay, horny for—and missing her blue-eyed Irish cop. Getting him the hell home was more important than what they did when he got there (although she had definite plans for what they were going to do when he got there, oh yes indeedy).

Karen Vick, early on Thursday afternoon, came to her desk and said, "Would you just leave already?"

Carlton's flight was still three hours from getting in but Juliet had been a mass of nervous, impatient energy, and for this to become obvious to the Chief even in her office meant she had a problem.

"Don't ask me twice," she said, already logging off her PC. "I did tell you we changed our mind about coming to work tomorrow, right?"

Karen rolled her eyes. "Excellent statement of the obvious, Detective." More quietly, and with a warm smile, she added, "I'll see you both at the courthouse at four. What are you going to do about an announcement to the department?"

Their tell-'em-on-the-way out plan had been foiled, of course, and Juliet didn't intend to make the announcement without Carlton at her side. She blinked. "I really don't know."

"Here's an idea. Stop and tell Officer Allen in Booking before you leave. In fact, tell her it's a secret."

Juliet had to laugh at the Chief's slightly wicked expression. "That ought to do it. Thanks!"

Naturally, Officer Allen was all agog and swore not to tell a soul. Juliet patted her on the shoulder and assured her it was okay to tell a few people. (That way it'd get out from there to City Hall in the next fifteen minutes instead of taking a full hour.)

Since she had more time now, she finished up loose ends re: packing and being ready to go out of town for two weeks. If it was up to her, she and Carlton would spend most of the twenty-four hours after his arrival home in bed, get up in time to dress for the ceremony, throw the bags in the car, pick up the rings, oh yeah get married and then hit the road for the airport as Mr. & Mrs. Policeman... er... Lassiter.

It was a good plan. She would use her gun if necessary to be sure nothing screwed it up.

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At the airport, Juliet got out of the Fusion and circled around to the passenger side, leaning against it restlessly.

A burly security guard approached nearly at once. "You can't wait here, ma'am."

Juliet showed him her badge.

"Sorry," he said, unimpressed, "but you—"

She interrupted calmly. "I'm here to pick up Carlton Lassiter, the head detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department." Pausing to judge his expression, she continued, "I know that makes no difference to you, so let me add this. Detective Lassiter is my fiancé. We are getting married late tomorrow afternoon, and I. Have. Not. Seen. Him. In. A. Full. Week."

He blinked.

"So," she went on with silky authority, "it's going to take more than one of you to get me to move from this spot."

He blinked again. "Well. Okay. But if you're still here in fifteen minutes, I will ask you to move on."

"Listen, if I'm still here in fifteen minutes, I'll be a pile of ash, and you'll only need a DustBuster to get rid of me. In fact—" But she stopped, because her tall lean delicious beloved and temporarily scowling Carlton was coming out the door and she flat-out launched herself at him.

He dropped his bags (and the scowl) and wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her hard, and Juliet could feel herself melting from the sheer heat of his passion—their passion.

Burly was staring at them; she could sense it. So could Carlton, who turned his head and said icily, "It's been awhile. Deal with it."

The man shrugged and stepped away, and she drew Carlton down for another deeply lascivious kiss. "I guess you can tell I missed you."

"Not really, no." He squeezed her, his blue eyes the exact color of unending love. "But I missed you."

"Let's get out of here, okay?" She popped the trunk and he dumped the bags inside. "We have a stop to make and it needs to be fast."

Disappointment flashed across his face and she knew he had the same get-home-make-love-now idea in his head that she did. But this was going to work out.

In the car, she leaned over and kissed him one more time before starting the engine, tasting the curve of his smile as if it was all new, because it seemed that way; wonderfully new and exciting and not nearly enough. He put one warm hand much too high on her thigh, stroking meaningfully, and she had to force herself to concentrate on the driving.

Fortunately this test of her willpower didn't last long, because she turned into the driveway of the nearest hotel.

"What are we doing here?" His tone was half-suspicious, half-hopeful.

"I took the liberty of making a reservation for the night. Hope you don't mind." She got out of the car before he could respond, but he was quick about following her. "Even got the room key already," she added with a grin, her heart racing at the mere thought of the decadent reunion she had in mind. "There was no damn way I was going to make it all the way to the condo."

Carlton's eyebrows were high but his eyes said yes-yes-YES. He stopped her in the parking lot for one dangerously sexy kiss, and how they got from there to the room, she never knew.

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Lassiter watched Juliet swipe the card in the reader and it seemed to take for-freaking-ever. Why weren't they inside and naked already? What would be so bad about taking her right here in the hallway? Apart from being kicked out of the hotel, possibly arrested for indecent exposure, and having their careers blemished on the eve of their marriage?

She got the damned door open and started taking off her clothes before it even swung all the way shut again.

But then again, his jacket was already on the floor and his shirt half-way unbuttoned, so comparisons were moot.

The lights stayed off—too much trouble to find the lamp switch—and anyway they knew each others' bodies by heart already. The important thing was having Juliet, naked, in bed, under him, her legs hooked over his thighs, writhing, moaning, his.

Yes.

Only Juliet had other ideas. "You have made me crazy every day," she growled, straddling him, raking her fingers down his bare chest. "Every day, Carlton Lassiter. Your voice in my ear was the sweetest torture and you are going to pay as many times as possible in the next few hours. You hear me?"

"Do your worst, O'Hara," he shot back, and the game was on.

She felt so damned good: smooth skin, all warmth and fragrance; her hands on his body and her fingers on the most sensitive places, places she had touched with words alone all week long.

The words echoed in his ear as he let her ravish him, but he ravished her right back. He kissed everything he could reach. His mouth was everywhere on her, everywhere she moved close enough for him to get to her.

Her intent seemed clear: she wanted to mark him. She'd left hickeys on him before but this was a banner night indeed and he almost went totally berserk as she gave another one to his inner thigh high above the knee, since her golden hair was brushing his skin and her fingertips were brushing his hips and stomach and her breasts were brushing his knees and he had to have her or he'd die, and if Lassiter was going to die during sex, it was going to be while achieving the end result… not along the way.

"Juliet," he gasped. "Now, honey. Now."

Her dark blue eyes widened at the plea in his voice, yet she wasn't at all surprised when he grasped her shoulders and dragged her up his body into home position. She assisted, of course, and the feel of her wet warmth enveloping him was more fantastically good than it had ever been before, not that there was a mathematical equation to explain how to top past perfection.

She was speaking—he thought it was "oh my God" repeatedly—but he couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart. He anchored her to him by clamping his hands on her hips, and they moved in torturously sublime synchronicity: deeper, harder, faster. Always more. Always.

Juliet's gasps turned into near-shrieks; she threw her head back as her orgasm approached, and the sight of her—glowing with passion, totally lost in the feelings—drove him to push harder, further, until the explosion took them both out in one long series of rumbles amid crackling bursts of lightning.

Kind of a fancy-schmancy way to say they blew each other away, he reflected a little bit later, when she lay panting in his arms.

"Don't ever leave me again," she whispered raggedly.

"I won't. I swear." Even if it cost him his job: she'd be with him wherever he had to go.

"But keep your phone charged at all times just in case," she added, and kissed his collarbone to punctuate the warning.

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Juliet let Carlton wash her hair. The sensation of his long fingers gentle against her scalp and neck, slowly washing away the evidence of the last few hours' sexual exertion, was remarkable. Soothing and sensuous, he seemed to know just how to both relax and arouse her simultaneously.

She leaned back against him and his hands moved to cup her soapy breasts, caressing her nipples, then sliding down her stomach along with the warm water which rinsed her clean. His breath on her neck, his murmurs in her ear… his erection against her backside. All so good. All so very much missed this past week.

One of his divine hands slipped between her thighs, and Juliet couldn't help but undulate against him.

"I missed this," he said in a low voice which made her shiver beyond what he was doing with his fingers. "The phone was incredible but this… you… this is what I need. You with me."

"I always will be," she moaned, as those fingers delved ever deeper, robbing her of further speech.

He brought her to not one but two orgasms there in the shower, but he didn't take her again until they were out, when he pressed her still-dripping body to the bathroom door and drove himself home, deep and sure.

She could see—as if she could see!—their reflections in the steamy mirror: his lean body moving against her curves; so many ways they were opposite but fit perfectly, and never more so than when he was claiming her… exactly… like… this.

But her eyes closed as the feelings overtook her, until he growled out for her to keep them open, to look at him, and she did. His ever-astonishing blue eyes were intense with need and passion and love, locked to hers as he plundered her, like a treasure meant only for him, and she did feel like a jewel, something precious and personal and never again to even be aware that other men existed, because really, there was no damn point to that at all, was there?

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It was midnight, and they were both hungry. Sated for now, but still wrapped close together in bed, and food was rapidly becoming a necessity.

"We should go home," Juliet suggested. "Get some dinner, get some sleep."

"I'm happy here." He stroked her still-damp hair back from her forehead, smiling.

She laughed when his growling stomach indicated otherwise. "We have a big day tomorrow."

He glanced at the bedside clock. "It is tomorrow. In just over sixteen hours, you'll be my wife."

"In just over sixteen hours, you'll be my husband." She was beaming, and he loved her.

"Juliet," he whispered. "You can't possibly understand how much I love you."

"Oh, I think I do." She nuzzled his shoulder. "I'm just hoping we both survive the ceremony."

"I keep telling you I'm from sturdy Irish stock. I can survive anything if you're with me. But we are going to need a much bigger jar."

She laughed delightedly, then poked him in the side, making him oof even as he grinned. "And I am a strong and brave Scottish lass." She smiled tremulously. "Who belongs to you forever."

"Then okay," he whispered. "Let's go home and get married."

"With a stop for food first?"

He tickled her stomach, making her giggle most becomingly. "Yes. Where can we get whipped cream at this hour?"

Juliet purred with delight… and they were "forced" to stay in bed awhile longer, but neither one of them felt any hunger for food at all.

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[So still no honeymoon smut yet, Lawson227... but it'll get here eventually.]