Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
SCARLETT
Ihear the truck before I see it. I’m holding the gun again. The weight of it sits heavy in my lap, grounding and unreal all at once.
The low rumble cuts through the quiet, pulling me out of the haze I’ve been drifting through since the sirens left.
Outside birds sing. The sun shines. A beautiful morning in Rough & Ready Country, pines still glimmering with last night’s dew.
Minutes have passed. Maybe hours. I stopped tracking time.
But then, time hasn’t made sense since Donovan left earlier on the call.
I’m already moving before I realize it. I set the gun on the mantle above the fireplace, close enough to grab if I need it. Then, I look through the peephole, turning the lock with a low sigh of relief.
My hand hesitates for one moment before I open it, still replaying earlier events.
But then he’s there, stepping out of the truck, gear still on, soot streaked across his jaw, shirt dark with sweat.
Something in my chest breaks loose. Relief hits too fast. Too sharp.
“Hey,” he says like nothing happened.
I don’t answer. My vision blurs, throat tightening. I cross the distance between us. My hands find him—his chest, his arms, his shoulders. Checking for injuries, making sure he’s not a dream.
“You’re okay,” I breathe.
“I’m fine.”
My grip tightens. I can’t let go. “You smell like smoke,” I say.
“You should see the other guy.”
A laugh slips out of me—thin, frayed at the edges.
He studies my face and his jaw tightens. “What happened?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I nod toward the gun on the mantle.
Understanding flashes, sharp and immediate.
“Someone came,” I say.
His entire body goes still. “Where is he?”
“Gone,” I answer. “Sheriff McLeod took him in.”
His face clouds, eyes storming. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, and I can hear the strain in his voice, like he’s about to break.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I fought back,” I say quietly. “Had him on his knees when the deputies came.”
I rub one shoulder, knowing I’ll be sore tomorrow. But I’m still standing—standing next to Donovan. That’s all that matters.
“If he laid one finger on you. Hurt you in any—”
“I protected myself. I used your weapon. We’re good now. I promise.”
Something shifts in his expression, still torn, but working to suppress rage. “You did good,” he says, eyes reddening, voice raw. The words hit deeper than they should.
“I didn’t freeze,” I add. I don’t know why I need him to know that. But I do.
His hand comes up, closing over mine—the one that held the gun.
“You didn’t,” he says.
My breath stutters. Because I didn’t. And this time, I didn’t run or beg, either.
The adrenaline hasn’t left yet. It’s still there. Buzzing under my skin. And now it’s mixing with something else. Something that’s been building since Vegas.
Since the auction floor at the high school.
“You stayed,” he says.
“I said I would.”
“People say a lot of things.”
“Not me.” My voice comes out rougher now. More honest.
His gaze sharpens, then softens. “Good.”
Quiet creeps in between us. The kind that hums with everything we haven’t said yet. Things I don’t know if I can yet express in words.
My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him into me.
“You should shower,” I say. The words come out dark and dangerous. Like everything about last night.
“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The space between us is gone. Has been. But now? There’s nothing holding it back.
“I thought about leaving,” I admit.
His jaw tightens.
“But I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I stood there with a gun in my hand and realized running never saved me. And now… I don’t want to leave you.”
His hand slides up to my jaw, into my hair, firm and careful.
“Good,” he says.
“I was scared,” I say. “For you.”
He stops, eyes narrowing. “For me?”
I nod. “Not for myself. I’ve had plenty of time over the past year to be scared for me.” My voice drops. “But you…”
I don’t finish because I don’t need to. He understands. I can see it in his eyes. “I told you I’d come back,” he says.
“I know.”
“And I always will,” he adds, voice dropping. “If that’s what you want.”
My chest tightens, something already breaking loose. We can never go back from this. Maybe I never want to. “That’s a dangerous promise.”
“Only if I don’t keep it.” His hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me closer. This time, there’s nothing tentative about it.
My hands flatten against his chest, savoring the heat of him, the strength, the steady beat of his heart.
“You should shower,” I say again. But it’s not a suggestion anymore.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Come with me.”
My pulse spikes.
“Wife,” he adds with a teasing smile. Then, he turns, sliding his hand down my arm and tangling his fingers with mine.
He pauses for one moment, looking back over his shoulder, eyes fiery and passion-filled. “If this is what you want. If I’m what you want.”
“Yes, Donovan, you’re what I want. So is this.” It comes out like a sob because I finally let myself feel it—hope in something greater than the present moment or mere survival.
A smile crests his lips as he wheels back around, wrapping me in his arms. He tips me back for a deep, penetrating kiss.
And I remember it… “Love Me Tender” blaring. Elvis saying, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
“That’s how you did it last night,” I laugh, fighting for air when we finally part.
His face darkens, pupils blowing wide.
The tattoo on my finger no longer burns and aches. Now it feels right—just like being in Donovan’s arms.
The quiet guy. My guy.
The bathroom fills with steam fast. Hot water pounds against tile, the mirror fogging over. The world narrows down to heat and breath and proximity.
Quiet maybe, but he’s still not shy.
He reaches for his shirt, pauses, then looks at me. “You won’t be able to forget it this time,” the hunky firefighter says gruffly, cheeks warming.
“I could say the same to you,” I remind, devouring his sculpted torso and angular abs. His pants are slung low, a naughty V pointing down to a tease of dark blond hair that disappears beneath the fly of his pants.
My reason disappears with it, pulse quickening as I step closer.
“Already told you,” he says in rich, velvety tones. “I remember everything… and I want more.”
His shirt hits the floor.
My breath follows it.
This isn’t unfamiliar… somehow an echo of last night. But it feels different, too. My hands find the waist of his pants. I can’t unbutton or unzip them fast enough. Until I hit the tattoo.
“Ow,” I exclaim, shaking my hand.
“Haven’t done much to let those properly heal yet,” he says, eyeing his own, dirt-covered and slightly swollen.
“Nope, we haven’t taken care of what we should have. But I plan on changing that now,” I say, with a wicked smile.
“Sounds like a good choice,” he growls, leaning in to nip at my lips. “Not used to those with you yet. Think they’ll be just as fun.”
My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into me. My tongue slides into his mouth, desperate, needy, until we both have to break, panting hard.
“This is even better sober,” I tease.
“You sure?” he asks, arching an eyebrow, relief washing over his face.
“Certain. One hundred percent, though I will miss not having fat Elvis around.”
“Then you do remember?” His voice strains, like that admission means something to him.
I stop, locking eyes with him. “I remember saying yes, too… multiple times last night. Just like I’m saying yes now.”
That’s all that matters. That’s all he needs.
Gear and clothes fall to the old tile floor, piece by piece. Each undressing is intentional and slow, infused with longing and appreciation.
Until we stand naked, just taking each other in.
His hand settles at my waist. “You’re beautiful,” he says.
I scrunch my nose. “Round and plump… not like you.”
“Don’t want me,” he says, leaning in and claiming my mouth all over again. “I want you, Marielle. I want whatever this is between us to keep going and going.”
The air thickens, no space left for doubt. I slide my hands up his chest, feel his heat, his strength, the reality of him.
Mine.
The thought lands clean and strong. And I don’t fear it at all.
“Still think this is a bad idea?” he asks.
“The best ones usually are.”
Neither of us moves away. The water runs, steam curls around us, and whatever line was left between us vanishes.
“Where’d Scarlett come from?” he asks, pulling back. “Did the Marshals assign that to you?”
I shake my head, smiling. There’s so much we still don’t know about each other. “It’s my middle name—Marielle Scarlett Ocasta.”
“Beautiful,” he says, lips dropping to my neck. “Which one are you now?”
I think about it for a second. “Both.”
“Scarlett and Phoenix. Our alter-egos,” he chuckles, feathering along my jawline. “The ones who make the best bad decisions.”
“Scarlett was supposed to be the lie,” I say, finally realizing something. “Turns out she was the part of me that told the truth.”
“Even last night in Vegas?” Donovan asks, meeting my gaze. Emotion swirls behind his eyes.
“Especially in Vegas.”
He pulls me into the shower stall with him, warm water beating down on my back. I let out a contented little sigh as he grabs a bar of soap, lathering me up slowly and painstakingly. Like it matters that he gets this right.
“You do realize you’re still covered in ash and soot?” I gasp as his thick fingers, dip again, sliding soft and sudsy between my legs.
“That okay?” he asks, jaw tightening.
“God, yes, don’t stop.”
“Just getting started, Burgundy,” the big cowboy says, sinking to his knees in front of me. “Because before we can get clean, we need to get very, very dirty.” His thick length is already rock hard and threaded with angry veins.
I squeeze my legs together, thinking about him sliding between them. His hand answers, fingers calloused, rough and longer than I remember, parting me.
“Yes,” I pant, as he guides my thighs wider, sliding one leg over his shoulder.
“Want you to watch,” he says with a wink. “Make sure this is burned into your memory.”
His hand comes up, fingers splaying my lips wide. The stretch is perfect. My breath hitches as his tongue covers me for the first time. My body jumps, hips tilting toward him, hungry, desperate.
He circles me slowly, unraveling my self-control with each twist, each unexpected change in pressure and speed. Lapping and sucking, taking me to the edge, before dropping back again, touch feather-light.
He teases and plays with me, takes me to the edge until I throb and ache, hand buried in his hair, pressing him to me. “Please, Donovan, let me come.”
“Not until you say it,” he grumbles, pulling back and tilting his head up toward me. There’s a wicked smile on his lips.
“Say what?” I pant so tied in knots I’m surprised I can string two words together.
“Call me husband.”
Three words that shatter my world.
His eyes are warm and tender, speaking everything his mouth doesn’t. This isn’t just letting off steam after a night of crazy antics. It means something to him, like we do and that will never change.
“Husband,” I whisper, tasting the word for the first time. I like the flavor. No more loneliness—just safety, pleasure… ridiculous amounts of pleasure.
His eyes crinkle, an ear-to-ear grin capturing his face. His complexion darkens. “Could get used to that.”
Before I can say another word, he’s on me again. His mouth follows. Then his fingers. Rhythm. Pressure. No mercy.
My body floats free, and I see stars. Everything tightens until I’m one throb.
When I fracture around him, my hands are tangled in his hair, pressing him hard against me. He takes me through it, still licking and sucking, praising and stroking until I’m spent, leaning against the wall.
I pant hard, warning, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand if you let go of me.”
“All you need to do is hang on,” he chuckles, springing to his feet and sweeping me off mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and my ankles lock above his ass as he sinks into me, slowly, incrementally, taking his time.
He’s too big. I can’t possibly.
His hands still. “Breathe,” he whispers, and it unlocks a whole new set of memories from last night. Of shared kisses and long strokes, and the first time he pushed me over the edge so completely, I’m pretty sure I woke up half the hotel.
Donovan pauses, eyes searching my face. “What’s wrong?”
“I was loud last night.” Heat crawls up my neck.
“Yes, you were,” he says with relish. “And I’m counting on it again, Marielle Scarlett.”
His hands squeeze my hips, adjusting the angle to that every time he thrusts into me, he hits the spot where I need him most. He doesn’t know everything about me.
But he knows enough.
“The quiet guy and the loudmouth,” I manage between pants.
“Perfection,” he says mouth covering mine, smothering my moan. His hips move, driving deeper with each thrust, wet flesh slapping, until he takes me there all over again.
We come together, pressed against the shower stall, waves of ecstasy rushing between us. I rest my head on his shoulder, still breathing hard.
And then it hits me all at once.
“Oh, God.”
“What?” he grunts.
“I’m clean, and I’m not on birth control,” I say with a grimace. “Could I be any more irresponsible when it comes to you?”
Water slides over his face as he leans in, taking my mouth again. “I’m clean, too,” he says. “And we’re married. This all seems pretty damn responsible to me.”
“But—”
“You like kids, right?” he asks.
I nod once.
“And you like me?”
The question makes me giggle. He’s still buried to the hilt inside of me. “Of course.”
“Then, what are you worrying about? Seems like the rightest decision we’ve made since meeting. We’ll figure it out.” He nuzzles my neck as he speaks, hot breath and warm lips feathering over me. Setting me ablaze all over again.
“Guess we will, cowboy,” I say, leaning forward. I can’t stay away from his wicked mouth for long.
Our tongues tangle, all reason lost. There’s nothing but him and me and this feeling of being something greater and stronger than we could ever be alone.
His hands caress and play with me. My lips cover his stubbled cheeks and trace his sharp jawline until he goes hard again, and I grip his neck, taking what I need from him.
“Damn,” he groans, eyes rolling back.
Control unraveling as we both float free now.
Lost in the same dizzy rhythm.
The same need.