Dreadlock holiday chapter 5
AN: I know, I know, I let life take over again. New job and such. Too little time, too much to do, faulty computer, etc…but, FINALLY, for those with a lot of patience, here's the new chapter. With lots of love for my readers (who're hopefully still there) and lots and lots of apologies.
Disclaimer: I love them, steal them, play with them and deliver them back to Dick Wolf. What more does he want? Oh well…on with it.
Alesha's pov again…
It's the last thing you expected to happen, but it really is. Here, in this romantic setting, Matt has come back to see you, saying the second best words you wanted to hear. Not knowing what to say, you try anyway, hoping the right words will come to you as you go.
"Matt, I..."
However, he cuts you off with a finger against your lips. A jolt shoots through your body at his touch, so gentle, so warm. So welcome.
"Please, Alesha, let me explain, before I lose my nerve altogether. I eh...when things went so badly for me in the courtroom, I was gutted. I never thought the people I trusted, my friends, would stoop this low, ruining everything I've worked so hard for. And I was especially stricken by your silence. To me, at that point, it was clear that you agreed with how James was handling things and I was blind with anger and disappointment that you hadn't done anything to help me, warn me, prepare me."
You want to interrupt, desperate to tell him he's got it all wrong, but he gives you a look so full of regret that you know he's figured that part out for himself.
"I don't know why, but it never occurred to me that James might have gone behind your back, had not told you what he was planning until he caught me off guard. I should have known though. You're not a cruel person, you would never have agreed. I've done you a terrible wrong by putting even a smidgeon of blame upon your shoulders and I sincerely hope you can forgive me. Can you?"
Honestly, you're not sure. Even if you're willing and able to forgive him for blaming you, there's still the hurt of him leaving without saying goodbye, and the anxiety and despair it brought with it. Yet, he's taken this first step and at least you're talking. Keeping up this stubborn, scorned woman's attitude won't get you anywhere.
"I do forgive you Matt. It's just that..."
Unbidden, your eyes start leaking again. Jeez, how much fluid can two small organs produce? You must look a fright by now, going on two drinks, and no sleep or solid food for hours. Matt reaches out his hand and tentatively, as though not to scare you, wipes away your tears. It's an infinitely intimate moment and you momentarily indulge yourself by leaning into his touch.
"It's what, love?"
"I thought I'd lost you."
You sigh, hoping he'll grasp the deeper meaning.
You know he does when his hand, still caressing your cheekbone, now gently cups it to draw you nearer. Looking you straight in the eyes with his own wide open and honest blue orbs, he softly whispers the oh so sweet, oh so welcome words.
"My sweet Alesha. You could never lose me. I could never have stayed away from you for long. I love you too much for that."
He seals the lovely declaration with a brush of his lips against your own. A heat you feared was lost forever flares up in your body at the first hint of contact and you almost forcefully yank his head closer to deepen the connection. With a small groan, he complies, wrapping you close in his embrace, kissing you with all the love he has inside of him, leaving you breathless and utterly content.
A lack of oxygen finally forces you to part, but he does not let go of you. He only draws you in closer and, with a sigh of pure pleasure, you lean back against his chest.
After a while, you get your breathing under control, at least enough to comment on his chosen hideout.
"Well, I can't say I disapprove of your chosen getaway location."
He chuckles, kisses the top of your head.
"No, it's beautiful here. And it has just gotten even better."
Then, after another moment of peaceful silence: "Where are you staying?"
"For tonight and tomorrow night I have a cabin at the resort, after that...I guess I'm homeless."
"I don't mind sharing my cabin with you, love. You know that. How long can you stay?"
"I asked for two extra weeks off, so I can stay until the end of your leave...if you'd want me to."
"Of course I do. Why don't you just go ahead and cancel your reservations now? Get your things now and stay with me?"
"Well, as long as you take the sofa." You joke.
His facial expression is, again, priceless. It's an odd mixture of concern and disappointment. You know he had his hopes up for a romantic evening and truth is, you have no intention of actually banning him to the sofa. You're far too happy to be feeling the slight buzz of upcoming arousal in your body again, to carefully examine your state of mind and find absolutely no panic or disgust at the thought of making love to this man. Your body knows as well as your heart does that there's nothing to fear.
"Eh...yes, of course. By all means, you take the bed. Or just stay in your own cabin, whatever you prefer. So sorry, Lesh, I never meant to presume you would...we would..."
Laughing, you silence him with a soft kiss.
"Matt, stop worrying so much. I was just joking. You're not presuming anything. I will...we will. Gladly and wholeheartedly so."
A smile more beautiful than any example you've seen so far takes over his face. With a whoop of joy, he launches himself at you, kissing you passionately and thoroughly. You answer with a hunger of your own.
In the end, you barely make it to his cabin...and neither one of you even takes a second glance at the sofa...
One beam of intrusive, obnoxious sunshine wakes you the next morning. For a moment, you're completely disoriented, but as one by one, your bodily functions start coming to life, you can only describe every movement as achy. Your muscles are heavy and uncooperative, and your skin is sticky. Plus, there's a particular pleasant tingle in your private regions that tells its own story. All in all, you can only conclude that you feel absolutely, one hundred percent, bloody damn wonderful!
Whatever the rumours you heard about Matt Devlin's skills in the bedroom (and there have been quite a few of those, too many to ring true anyway), they were completely wrong. A gross insult, in a sense that they mostly didn't do him justice. Last night, Matt was sweet, attentive, chivalrous, passionate, inventive, imaginative, incredibly handsome and damn sexy. Not to mention, very careful, all movements stalled until your nod, your sigh, a moan or a soft mewl told him it was okay to proceed.
When he united your bodies for the first time, you started to cry and hastily he pulled back, his anxious eyes searching yours for any signs of pain, fear or discomfort. There were no words you could think of to tell him that there was nothing to worry about, that there were no ill feelings coursing through you whatsoever. In fact, you've never felt more beautiful or adored. It's the magnificence, the sheer brilliance of that moment that brings tears to your eyes. Tears of pure joy that you're here, he's here and you're sharing this experience with each other. Finally. So you just smiled through your tears, caressed his heated face and nodded, pushing up your hips ever so little to literally drive the point home. It worked like a charm and a moment later, he was buried deeply inside of you, completing you, healing you...loving you. As you loved him.
Oh, what a night, what a night!
Languidly, you stretch until your toes curl and then take a look around. Matt is not next to you in the bed and frankly, you miss the close contact between your naked bodies. A quick scan of the room with eyes and ears tells you he's sitting on the porch swing, gently swaying it with one bare foot as he speaks to someone on his mobile. Feeling a little curious, not to mention neglected, you find a clean pair of knickers in your suitcase and pull on his discarded shirt, smelling of the beach, his cologne, him and your lovemaking. You want to drown in the smell. Heck, if you could bottle it, it would sell like hot cakes as an aphrodisiac.
When you step out through the open French doors, he spots you and taps the place next to his to indicate you should join him. When you do, snuggling into his bare chest and breathing in even more of him (another tingling sensation being launched in your centre), he kisses the top of your head, before continuing his conversation with...whoever.
"...Thanks. No really, it means the world to me. And I'm sorry to have you go through this much trouble, I should have reported it, instead of fleeing. It was an error of judgement and I'm happy there won't be any repercussions."
"...oh haha, mate. Like that's anything new anyway. Hey, I have to go now, Alesha's awake and looking at me quite hungrily...for BREAKFAST, you pervert! Yeah...I'll tell her you both say hi! Thanks again, Ronnie, gov. And I'm glad all's forgiven. Bye."
He ends the call and puts the phone on the side table, before turning to you and kissing you greedily and hungrily, his own upcoming arousal again triggering yours. Looks like breakfast is going to have to wait for a while.
Indeed, it's almost an hour later and breakfast is closer to brunch, but neither one of you cares. He's phoned in for room service and you eat at the table on the porch. In between bites of fresh exotic fruit and cornflakes, he tells you about his earlier conversation with the home front. Looks like Natalie Chandler really pulled through for him and has signed off his disappearance as a vacation, never telling the big brass that he never took the time to ask for permission. She just signed a consent form off of the bet. What the bosses higher up the food chain don't know, won't kill them. And so DS Matt Devlin is still a DS when the two of you return in two weeks.
He's also talked to Ronnie and he's quite happy that he's breached the gap between himself and his mate.
Which leaves only James to deal with, but you're not pushing the subject. Much as you respect your senior in the prosecutor's office, you're not too fond of him either at this very moment and though you're not one to hold grudges (and neither is Matt), this time you do feel that James needs to meet Matt and yourself halfway. Where Ronnie is most ready to admit he fouled up, James is not easily inclined to be the first to right a wrong. This time, you'll force his hand.
As your brand new boyfriend holds a slice of grapefruit to your mouth and you take it, licking the sweet juice from his fingers (his eyes glaze over immediately), all thoughts of bosses, work and cold, dreary London vanish into thin air.
There are two more weeks of vacation to enjoy.
Two days later, it's a clear and sunny Sunday morning and, on a whim, Matt asks you to attend mass at the small white chapel he's noticed upon arrival. Though most of the islanders are Protestant, a fait bunch hold on to the Catholic faith and Matt has found a warm welcome in their midst. And when he explains, it sounds pretty nice indeed.
"It's the sweetest place you've ever seen, Lesh and here, they attend mass like it's a big party. So refreshing from the stifling traditions we're used to. Would you join me, please?"
You have, of course, always know he's born and raised in the Catholic tradition and to be honest, you sometimes envy him for his unwavering faith, despite of what has happened in his childhood and despite the many times your jobs tell a different story. But you won't think twice about following Matt in this if it's important to him. Perhaps you'll even find your own faith back. You kind of hope you will.
And indeed, he's right. With the swinging gospel music, the little white building is shaking with joyous celebration. Surely this is the way to express yourself. Assuming there really is a God, He too had to be enjoying this feast in His name. As you leave the chapel, you give Matt a beaming smile to indicate you have no regrets coming along.
The priest, a small elderly man with a mop of curly white hair, a parchment looking crumpled face and a lot of genuine warmth in his brown eyes, greets all his parishioners at the door as they pass, locals and wandering tourists alike.
Recognizing Matt from his earlier visits, he greets your boyfriend like he's the lost sheep in his colourful flock. When he in turn gets introduced to you, his smile widens.
"Ah...you never told me young man that you were here on your honeymoon. And what a pretty wife you have."
Matt is hasty to deny the man's assumption, but he won't be deterred. Instead, his smile suddenly turns quite mischievous.
"There's still time, my son. There's still time."
With those words, he strides off, back in the direction of the open church doors.
Grinning, Matt takes your hand and together, you wander off to find a place to have lunch. At a quaint little fish restaurant with a splendid view of the bay area, you enjoy a wonderful light meal, fully at ease with your company, your surroundings and life in general. Matt too looks tan and healthy, all worries and their causes forgotten, deemed unimportant and trivial.
Still, he's been a bit quiet since you've left church and you can tell his mind is spinning a hundred miles a minute. Something's got him preoccupied, but since it's clear it's nothing troublesome, you don't pry. Just because you're a couple now, it shouldn't mean you need to know his innermost thoughts and feelings every single second of every single day. You don't like being smothered and you're not about to do the same to him. You're sure he'll tell you when he thinks he needs to.
And indeed, halfway through his crab cakes, he suddenly leans in and grabs your hand. The look on his face is so peculiar, you stop eating with your fork dangling halfway between your plate and your mouth.
"Let's do it!"
You snort at the image popping into your mind. Very R-rated.
"What, right here on the table? Quite a spectacle that would make!"
"No, yuk, Lesh! That's gross! And not what I meant either."
You grin at him innocently.
"Than what do you mean?"
"I mean...let's make this our honeymoon. For real."
"You're serious!"
To be honest, you're caught completely off guard. Your mind already had some trouble adjusting from being anxious and desperate on Wednesday to determined and victorious on Thursday and to deliriously happy after that. Now, Matt wants to up the ante again by suggesting you get married? And not just in a year, but in a few days?
You wait for your heart to accelerate, for alarm bells to go off in your brain, for any sign of your body that tells you it's time to run!
It's not coming.
Yes, your heart rate is increasing, your pulse throbbing like mad, your head is swimming, but there's no panic. The only way to describe it is the same feeling you had when you made love to him for the first time, three nights ago and all the nights (and mornings, afternoons...) since.
It's euphoria. Joy. Bliss.
So what's keeping you really?
You grin back at him.
"Yes! Let's do it!"
Now it's his turn to look surprised. As your consent sinks in, he leaps from the table to gather you in his arms, kissing you passionately.
"Come on, let's get this in motion before one of us comes to our senses."
"Excuse me! I've never lost mine. I truly want this. I genuinely want to marry you."
He concedes, pulling you close to him as he leaves some Jamaican Dollars on the table.
"I know, love. So do I. I want us to be husband and wife and what other surroundings could be more perfect?"
Hand in hand you walk back to the chapel, where the same priest is leisurely strolling through the annex ancient graveyard, tending to each headstone with care. He exudes so much inner peace, you're almost reluctant to disturb him, but as he spots you, he's quick to approach you.
"Good afternoon, dear people."
"Good afternoon, Father. Sorry to disturb you."
"Nonsense, the dead have already arrived with our Heavenly Father, they're in safe hands. It's the living who should come first. What may I do for you, children?"
As soon as you inform him about your plans, he's eager to agree.
"Marvellous! Truly a blessed occasion, one I have not had the blessing to be a part of in quite a while. It would be my honour to join you in the most sacred of bonds as established by our Lord. Please come in and we'll discuss details."
There's not much to discuss. You'll need witnesses, but Father Lawrence is quick to assure you that within his community, his family, there should be no problem. People, he claims, are always in for a celebration and what could be more appropriate than the union of two kindred spirits?
And you'll need legal documents too, but that's no problem either. The British Embassy in Kingston opens early in the morning and since you're both legal officers of The Commonwealth, it should be fairly easy to get copies of birth certificates and other legal paraphernalia. And since Jamaica is still part of said Commonwealth, there's no need to get the wedding documents legalized either. Your marriage will be as legal in the UK as it is over here.
That's settled. Next Friday morning you're getting joined in Holy matrimony. That'll leave you with another week of real honeymoon. And for now, it leaves you with enough time to prepare.
And buy a white dress.
