"Kathleen?" His voice echoed through the empty chapel. Rustling sounded from overhead, birds flapping past the opening in the ceiling.

She must have gone outside, likely downing a coyote for their breakfast through just the power of her iron will. He shoved to his feet and dusted off his shirt and jeans.

The creosote bush now perched in clearer sight beside the altar, Kathleen's fence post resting at its base.>Athena. Kathleen's eyes misted, and it had nothing to do with the smoke puffing from the burning brush.

He lifted a slate shingle with cactus cuttings on it. "This'll have to do for a celebration toast for now, but the keg's waiting at the O'Club when we get out of here."

She nodded, unable to speak without risking a very undignified crying jag.

He ducked into her line of sight. "Hey, if the goddess thing is too un-PC for you, I can come up with something else. We can pitch this one into the tire and work our way down that fence until we come up with a name you like. Your choice."

A tear squeezed free, and she knuckled it away. "No! It's great. Perfect." She sketched a finger along the letters and whispered. "Thank you."

Forget resolutions.

She cupped the back of his neck and leaned forward. Her lips met his for what was supposed to be a brief, thank-you kind of kiss.

Who was she kidding?

It had been one helluva day, and she deserved to have something she wanted even more than her own nickname.

She let her mouth soften under his, cling, just a leisurely sort of kiss, the kind given with ease as if it were her right. For a moment she wanted to pretend. Pretend there would be more kisses given without the need to devour every moment because the pleasure carried a promise of being repeated. Just kiss, enjoy, savor the feel of his mouth against hers.

His fingers tunneled into her hair as he…

Pulled away? She almost groaned in frustration.

Forehead to forehead, he stared back at her. "Kathleen, honey, we shouldn't start this."

Temptation proved too much, and her fingers circled his mouth. "Why?"

"Because you're hurt." He kissed her fingers once, twice, his words and mouth apparently at odds with each other.

"Make me forget about it." She scratched lightly along his bottom lip. "This beats a bottle of Motrin any day of the week."

He nipped her fingertip. "Wow, lady. You sure know how to stroke a guy's ego."

"It's not your ego I want to—"

He clapped a hand over her mouth. "Call me old-fashioned, but we're in a church."

She ducked his hand and cupped his face with hers. "There you go, being sweet again."

"I can guarantee you I'm feeling anything but sweet."

"Okay." She clasped his hand and stood, tugging as she walked backward. "So we go outside."

Their arms extended to full reach and still he didn't budge, instead tugged her back down to kneel with him. "Kathleen, think. Do you really want to do this? Now, when who knows how rattled your thinking might be?"

"Yes, I—"

"We don't have birth control."

She closed her mouth. Opened it, closed it again before saying, "Birth control."

"Our suitcases blew up in the car."

What kind of twenty-first-century woman was she to have forgotten that? And a doctor, no less. Maybe they could…

Tags: Catherine Mann Wingmen Warriors Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net