Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) Read online

  Harlan nodded at her. "You're losing something."

  She looked down and saw a black thread from her shorts was hanging partway out of her pocket. It had twirled around her bare finger like a ring... She froze, her heart starting to pound as she recalled Chloe's words about why she would never get selected to adopt Mattie. You're a single, unrelated woman—

  She couldn't change the fact she wasn't related to Mattie, but what if she had a family? A husband? A real home? Would that help?

  "Don't let the bastard win," Harlan said quietly, as he shifted into reverse. The engine hummed as the boat began to slide away from the dock. "Do more than survive, Emma. You deserve it."

  Emma looked up sharply as a strip of moonlight swept across his face. His features were dark and hooded, his mouth tight, his body tense. He was going back to hell, and they both knew it. He wasn't coming back. He would go on missions until he died, whether it was this one, or a later one. He would never come back to claim her... If she married him, he would never come back to destroy her as her husband. "Harlan!" She ran to the edge of the dock. "Wait!"

  He shifted into neutral, but the boat continued to drift away. "What?"

  Her heart started to pound, and fear swirled around her. "I—" She stopped, her breath tight in her chest.

  Harlan shifted the boat into forward gear. The boat jerked, and then switched direction, moving ever so slowly toward her. He put it back in neutral as he neared and caught the piling again. His gaze met hers, dark and foreboding. "Tell me."

  She stared at him. "Okay," she whispered.

  His brow furrowed. "Okay, what?"

  Oh, God. Could she really say it? She gripped the string, twisting it so tightly around her hand she knew it was cutting off the circulation. "You're really going to go on this mission?"

  Disappointment flared in his eyes. "That's what you wanted to ask? Yeah, I'm going." He shoved back from the dock—

  "Wait!" Emma ran forward and jumped onto the boat. Her foot slipped, and Harlan grabbed her arm, yanking her into the boat before she fell into the water. His strong grip was like a manacle around her wrist, but she didn't let herself stop to think, to realize what she was saying. "I'll do it, Harlan."

  His face darkened, and his grip tightened. "Do what?"

  "Marry you."

  ***

  "Hello! Ned! Wake up!"

  Emma shifted restlessly on the front porch, waiting nervously as Harlan pounded on the door. It was three in the morning now. Three in the morning! What were they doing? A light went on in the house, and Harlan stepped back, waiting for the door to open.

  His face was inscrutable, and it had been since the moment she'd said she would marry him. She couldn't tell if he was happy or mad or even insane. He had simply gotten serious about making it happen, which is why they were on the front steps of the town clerk at three in the morning.

  The door finally opened, and the front porch light illuminated the night, almost blinding her. Wearing a pair of faded red flannel pajamas, Ned Hartmann peered through the screen door, his gray hair askew and his eyeglasses not quite straight. "Harlan? Emma? What's going on here?"

  Harlan didn't waste time. "I'm in town for two days, and I don't know when I'll be back. I leave town at eight tomorrow morning. Emma and I want to get married."

  Emma's heart jumped at the words, and her hands started to tremble. Oh, God. Get married again? A cold chill seemed to settle on her skin, and she lost track of the conversation between Harlan and Ned as a weird buzzing started to fill her ears.

  A strong hand clasped her upper arm, and a low voice filled her. "Hey, sweetheart, it's okay. I've got you."

  Her heart seemed to stop when she saw Harlan looking down at her. He was unshaven, his hair too long, his tee shirt old. He was rough and dangerous, a man she should run screaming from. But instead, his roughness seemed to ease her fear. He wasn't trying to be perfect. He wasn't putting on a façade to hide who he was. He was just him, and he'd told her exactly what he was about and what drove him. No lies. No secrets. Just ugly truths, which actually made her feel better.

  He didn't smile, but his brow furrowed. "Ned has all the required paperwork here. He can certify our marriage license without even going into the office. He's already gone to get his wife up to witness it."

  She stared at him, her mouth suddenly dry. "We really can do this? Get married legally in the middle of the night?" But of course they could. This was Birch Crossing. Things like that could happen here.

  "Yeah." He grasped her other arm and gently turned her toward him, his grip firm but not threatening. His brows were knit, his expression unreadable, but not harsh. "Listen, Emma, you don't have to do this. It's fucked up, what we're doing, what I'm asking you to do. I know that, and I can't ask you to—"

  "No." She covered his mouth with her fingers. "I want to. I need to get married, too."

  Questions flared in his eyes. "You do? Why?"

  "Because—"

  "Come on in," Ned interrupted. "I woke Iris up. Even after fifty-two years of marriage, my dear wife still gets all emotional at the idea of two young people beginning a new life together." He was now wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that looked amazingly similar to his pajamas. He grinned, looking much more awake. "She thinks it's so romantic. It's been a long time since we've had young lovers show up at our door in the middle of the night." He smiled at Emma, a smile so kind that she wanted to cry. God, how vulnerable was she feeling? A smile from an old man could make her cry? "We've been worried about you, Emma. The whole town has. You'll be in good hands with Harlan. He's got good morals." He held the door open. "Let's get this done. I'm sure you kids want a little time alone as newlyweds before Harlan leaves in the morning."

  Emma stared at the front hall, with its bare wood floor and its charming little entry table, afraid to take that final step across the threshold. Could she really do this? Young lovers? They weren't young lovers. They were two messed up people who needed each other for reasons that no one else would ever understand. "I don't think I can do thi—"

  "Emma!" Iris Hartmann hurried down the stairs, wearing a slightly wrinkled sundress with pink tulips on it. Her hair was hastily put up in a bun on the top of her head, with a few strands still hanging down. "This is so exciting! I've told Ned for years that you and Harlan were sweet on each other, but he never believed me. It's so obvious from the way you two look at each other."

  Emma swallowed as Harlan glanced at her. A quiet smile seemed to be hovering at the corners of his mouth. "I don't—"

  "Here you go." Iris handed her a pale blue silk item. "It's actually a hair scrunchie, but I think if you stretch it, it will work as a garter. It's mine, so that takes care of borrowed and blue, right?'

  The silk was cool and soft in her hand, and Emma clenched it in her fingers. Sweat was trickling down her back, and she felt faint—

  Harlan slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her upper body, folding his forearms across her chest and pulling her against him, into the shield of his body. "It's perfect, Iris," he said, resting his chin on Emma's shoulder. "Thanks for being so thoughtful."

  He sounded so warm and kind, and his body was so strong the way it was wrapped around her, that suddenly Emma's tension faded. This was nothing like her wedding to Preston, which had been in a huge church, with a ten-thousand dollar gown, and five hundred strangers in attendance in the hot Florida sun. Tonight, she was wearing shorts and a tank top, and her feet were in flip flops instead of two-thousand dollar stilettos. A used hair scrunchie for a garter. Seriously. Wasn't there some humor here? It wasn't the same. Harlan wasn't the same. He was strong and protective, a man who spent his life rescuing others. What kind of man did that? A good man, right? And she wasn't even really getting married, not really, not in the way that would strangle her, right? It would be okay. It would be okay.

  Iris sighed and put her hand over her heart. "Oh, did you see that, Ned? Emma's whole body relaxed when Harlan took her in his arms. That
is love, my dear, such beautiful love." She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. "A marriage will never work until the man makes the woman feel safe. You guys will be perfect for each other."

  Emma looked back at Harlan. Across his left temple was a small scar, and his nose was crooked, as if it had been broken more than once. He exuded violence, and yet, Iris was right. The moment he'd wrapped his arms around her, her fear had seemed to fade. "Thanks," she whispered.

  Harlan winked at her.

  "And here is something new." Iris held up a box of Kleenex. "I'm afraid it's the only thing I had in the house that hadn't been opened yet." She handed it to Emma. "Just open it and tuck a few of them in your bra. That should do it."

  Emma couldn't help but laugh as she took the box. "Really?"

  "Of course really." Iris held up an ivory headband with a few bits of yellowed lace dangling from it. "This was my veil when I was married. I'm afraid that one of our dogs ate it a few years ago, but it will still work." She set it on Emma's head, tucking it behind her ears. "And there we have your 'old.' Now you can get married!"

  Harlan grinned at her. "You look beautiful, my darling." He flicked the dog-eaten veil out of her face, an amused and amazingly endearing smile on his face.

  "You think so?"

  "Absolutely." He squeezed her hand, and then led her down the hallway toward the back of the house.

  Emma's heart was still racing as she followed everyone into the living room. At Iris's urging, she tore open the tissue box and pulled out a couple. With the three of them watching with expressions ranging from Iris's delight, to Ned's well-humored tolerance, to a heated smolder in Harlan's eyes, she quickly shoved them past the neckline of her tank and into her bra. "Okay, ready."

  Ned walked them through the documents, winking as he signed the form stating that he'd seen both their birth certificates. "You both were surely born, so I'm okay with it." Both she and Harlan signed their own names, and then Ned was ready.

  Iris thrust a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers into Emma's hand, and then stood by her husband beaming as Ned married them. It happened too fast, and suddenly Ned and Iris were staring expectantly at them. "Where's your ring?" Ned asked.

  "We don't have any," Harlan said. "We didn't really plan ahead."

  Iris set her hands on her hips. "You can't not give her a ring—"

  "No, it's okay." Emma realized that not having a ring was perfect. A ring was like a trap, and she didn't want the symbol of it. "We'll get one. We have time for that. We want it to be perfect," she added, not wanting Iris to decide to rush off and pluck one from her own collection.

  Iris tsked her disapproval, but Ned seemed satisfied, and minutes later, he was commanding Harlan to kiss his bride.

  His bride.

  She was a bride again.

  Fear started to ripple through her, but Harlan's kiss was swift and cursory, not demanding and proprietary like Preston's had been at their wedding. She barely had time to register it before Iris was hugging her and offering cookies, chattering with delight. And then, before she knew it, they were back in his truck, two copies of the wedding certificate in her hand.

  Married.

  Again.

  ***

  He was married.

  To Emma.

  To the woman who had haunted him since the day he'd first seen her in Wright's.

  Harlan gripped the steering wheel as he drove them back toward her house, his truck bumping over the old roads. Her scent seemed to fill the car, that delicate fragrance of fresh soap and spring. He couldn't believe the surge of protectiveness and connection that had filled him the moment that Ned had pronounced them a couple. It had raged through him, a need to claim her for his own, to seal her as his so that even when he left her, even when he lay dying in some hellhole, a part of him would always be there with her. He'd barely brushed his lips over hers for the post-wedding kiss, knowing that if he got even one taste of her, he would have carted her off to the nearest closet and taken her right there.

  Which was totally fucked up, but at the same time, he couldn't shut the emotions off.

  She was fidgeting beside him, playing restlessly with their marriage certificate. She was pale, and her breathing was still shallow. Protectiveness pulsed at him. "You okay?"

  She looked up, her face shadowed by the dim light of his dash. "I'm a little freaked out."

  Her honesty made him relax. He liked that she didn't play games with him or try to be what she wasn't. "Second thoughts?" Weirdly, when he asked the question, he didn't want an answer. He was afraid she would say yes.

  She met his gaze. "No."

  Relief rushed through him as he turned the corner onto the dirt road that led to her house. "Good."

  He pulled up in front of her cabin too soon, not wanting to walk away from her yet. He felt like it was unfinished, like there were things he should say to her before he walked away to die. She didn't get out, as if caught in the same trap that had him.

  For a moment, they sat in silence, but it wasn't the same companionable silence that they'd had on the boat. This one was heavy with tension, with the stark reality of what they'd done, and what they were heading towards.

  "I never thought I'd get married," he said finally.

  She looked over at him. "Why not?"

  "Because my father destroyed my stepmother when he married her. I always swore I wouldn't do that to a woman." He looked at her. "I still won't. I promise not to stay around long enough to do that to you."

  Her face softened. "You wouldn't destroy anyone, Harlan."

  "Sure I would." He leaned forward, draping his arms over the steering wheel. He knew now why he had asked Emma to marry him when he had. It was because he wouldn't be around to strip the light from her. "I'm not a good guy, Emma. I only know violence. I protect. I kill. I rescue. That's what I am. I'm not the husband type." He looked over at her. "You know that, don't you? That I'm leaving tomorrow?"

  "Of course I do." She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, still making no move to get out of the truck. "That's why you're safe for me to marry. Because you'll be gone."

  He laughed softly as he reached out to trace his fingers over her hair. "We're a perfect match then, aren't we? You want a husband who will take off and never come back, and I want a wife who will take the call when I die, but not be around for me to destroy her."

  She turned her head to look at him. In those green depths, he saw something he didn't understand, something that had never been directed at him. An emotion that seemed to reach inside and grab him. "I hardly know you," she said, not pulling away from his touch. "I've spoken to you more in the last twenty-four hours than in the last two years combined. You're dangerous and a little scary. But I think," she said softly, "that I will cry for you if I ever get that phone call."

  Her words were starkly honest, and they went right to his heart, opening up a wound that had been festering inside him for decades. He had no words to reply, no sentences to express, no ability to articulate how her words had made him feel.

  So, he told her the only way he could.

  With a kiss.

  Chapter Six

  Harlan's kiss was tender beyond words, a kiss that a hardened man like him should never be able to deliver. It dove straight past Emma's fears and her worries, shredded her shields, and softened the razor-sharp edges that had protected her heart for so long.

  He paused in the kiss, as if offering the chance to end it and pull away, but she didn't want to. She wanted another moment with him, with the way he made her feel. It was safe with him because he was leaving. She could drop all her guards, tumble into his arms, and succumb to his magic. She would never have to fear that he would take advantage of her or use her need for him to chisel away at her foundation and tear her away from her life and who she was.

  Harlan's kiss was a breath of restoration in her life, a reassurance that she was still a woman. It showed her that fire could burn in her and
sustain her when she woke up in the morning with battles to fight. A one-night stand for a woman who had slept with only one man before her husband. Could she do it? Did he even want to? Or was she imagining it? What man would want her? She knew she was—

  "Let's go inside." Harlan's voice was a whisper against her mouth, a desperate wish swallowed up by a kiss that had turned deeper and more urgent. His hand went to the back of her hair, but he quickly moved it to her lower back before she could tense, pulling her against him as he deepened the kiss.

  Intense need and longing rushed through her, and she almost said yes. But how could she? Marrying him was one thing, but to surrender herself to him so completely, to make herself vulnerable to him—

  He unsnapped her seatbelt with a click, and with one swift move dragged her across the bench seat onto his lap. Excitement and desire rushed through her as she sank down onto him, the bulge of his jeans digging into her inner thigh. He wanted her? Just like that? In the front seat of a car? For no reason? Raw, untamed need built inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, taking over the kiss, unable to contain her own need for what he gave her.

  With a soft growl, he fisted her hair, only to let go with a muttered apology the moment he did it. "I keep forgetting," he said, breathing soft kisses across her forehead and her eyelids. "I will never let myself hurt you," he said, "but I know you don't know that."

  Then, before she could respond, she heard the click of the car door opening. Still kissing her, he stepped out. He took her with him, anchoring her thighs around his hips, one arm secured around her waist as he kicked the door shut.

  His body was hard and lean against hers as his boots thudded up the steps of her back porch. His kisses were a relentless assault that seemed to dizzy her senses as he opened the door that she never locked. He shoved it shut behind them, and the darkness of her sanctuary buzzed with electricity that had never been present before. "Where's your room?" he asked between kisses.

  "Lakeside," she whispered, the word coming out before she'd even made the decision to tell him. But when his arms tightened around her and his kiss grew fiercer, she knew that she'd made the decision several minutes ago, when she'd chosen not to leap out of his truck and run for safety when he'd pulled up in front of her house.