Page 19 of First Date: Divorce (Wyoming Marriage Association #1)

“Kiss is next. Gotta have a shot of you-may-now-kiss-your-bride. Not quite yet. Wait… If I can get Daniel’s shoulder without any of his face…” Kendra adjusted two settings on the camera, then commanded, “Okay, go ahead.”

K.D. didn’t move. Neither did Eric.

K.D. didn’t breathe, either, however, and she was pretty sure Eric kept breathing.

“Go ahead,” Kendra repeated. She looked up from the viewfinder and said impatiently, “Face each other. Get closer. Pucker your lips. Kiss.”

As if in delayed motion, Eric followed each step, with K.D. half a beat behind. So he leaned forward when K.D. formed her mouth into the requisite pucker. He waited. She closed the gap and touched her lips to his.

Retreated.

Silence followed from their “guests,” though their minister might have snorted.

Kendra looked up again. “That sucked.”

“Kendra,” Ellyn scolded.

“It’s the truth. It’s not the first wedding kiss to suck. A lot of them do. Though—”

“Not ours,” Daniel said, raising an echoing murmur from the other marrieds.

“—some couples get so into it they—”

“Don’t say it, Kendra.” Despite a tremor in her voice, Ellyn’s tone was not to be ignored.

“I know, I know. At real weddings, I never let myself think about things like that, much less say them. Well, not think them at the time, anyway. But you’ve got to admit, that was one terrible kiss.”

More murmurs of agreements.

“Try again,” Daniel suggested.

Before K.D. could offer the rude response that came to mind, Eric muttered a syllable, put a hand to each side of her head, crinkling the veil, and brought her mouth to his.

Taser .

That was the only thing her befuddled brain came up with.

She’d been hit by a taser in training — they all were, so they knew the experience. She’d had the same instant knee-buckling, I-have-no-control-over-my-body reaction.

Except the taser completely missed another part of this experience. Warmth, firmness, friction. A sense that she could sink and sink and sink into those sensations, along with the warmth and firmness of his hold, and never reach bottom.

“Good, good. Yes, exactly like that.”

K.D. wasn’t entirely clear if the words came from Kendra or from inside her own head.

“Now hold it. Don’t move a muscle. I’m switching to the still camera. Stay right like that. Right like that.”

Not move a muscle? K.D. had no muscles left to move.

Yet not moving was impossible. She had to move.

Her hands came up to Eric’s, covering them as they still held her head.

Did she intend to remove his hands or hold them in place?

“Okay, good. Got it. Great,” Kendra said.

“Now, the end of the ceremony and turning to the crowd as a married couple. That’s the big one.

That’s the money shot. That’s when everybody sees if they’re both ecstatic.

Or if the seeds of doubt are there for one or both. Will this marriage survive? Or not?”

Kendra coughed.

“You can quit kissing now.”

*

After the last picture of the “reception,” Kendra left to start editing. The rest of them stayed to clean up and consume more of Ellyn’s feast.

The awkwardness from the enforced intimacy between strangers — because Eric and she were strangers and that’s why it had been so weird — dissipated in that relaxed atmosphere.

K.D. had never had more than a few friends. Her closest friend from college died unexpectedly two years ago of an undiagnosed heart ailment. With work and her irregular schedule, she didn’t have much opportunity to build new friendships. She was cordial with the guys at work, but not friends.

It would be … nice to be part of a group like this.

She and Eric didn’t start back to Bardville until the early morning hours.

With each mile farther away from Far Hills Ranch and that relaxed group, it felt as if the tension between her and Eric regained ground.

Abruptly, she asked, “Why are you really doing this? Do you believe in…?”

Without moving his head, his eyes came to her.

“Doesn’t matter whether I believe or not, taking advantage of people’s emotional vulnerability for financial gain is wrong.

Scum. And it pisses me off it’s somebody in my profession.

As if we didn’t have enough of an image problem.

” His expression shifted, hardened as he added, “People who are trying to work out their differences and stay married shouldn’t become crime victims.”

He clearly meant that. An element to file away for later examination. In regards to how it might affect her investigation.

“Or, more simply,” he continued, “people I like asked for my help.”

That was part of it, too. But not all.

Although, he did like people, and they liked him.

She was less sure about her own feelings.

About people.

Not about Eric Larkin.

She had no feelings about him. This was an assignment. Unorthodox, true, but an assignment.

That’s why she was interested in why he was doing this.

After a pause, he added, “You?”

“Same. It’s a crime. It’s wrong. It’s low, picking on people trying to be happy.”

“Always back to law enforcement, huh.”

“What does that mean?” When he didn’t respond, she didn’t drop it. “You’re always going back to being a lawyer. It’s no different. They’re our professions.”

“It’s different.” She heard a new sharpness in his voice. “You hide behind your badge as an excuse to close off, never let anybody in.”

“You don’t even have the excuse of a badge—”

“I don’t close other people out—”

“You do. Oh, sure, you’ll say something now and then that makes it sound like you’re being open, but you’re not. If you were, you couldn’t be part of this. Too many people would know the truth about your marriage and divorce.”

His jaw went rigid.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he said, with considerably less lightness than usual, “Well, I think we’ve got material to work with for Marriage-Save. As long as you don’t mention being part of this .”

K.D. also stared straight ahead. “Yeah, and as long as you don’t mention my badge.”