To have it back, to look into her eyes, and see she meant it, had him reaching for her. He needed to feel her, touch her, and he took her hand. “Yes, I absolutely want you to be my wife. God, I thought I couldn’t feel any worse than when you called things off this afternoon. I want to be with you, to love you, to build a life and a family with you and the kids.”
“Really?” she said, climbing up onto the bed so she could slide in next to him.
“Really.” Elec kissed her, ignoring the way his ribs screamed in protest. Tamara was going to be his wife and he wanted to kiss her, injury or not.
He poured all of his love, all of his happiness, into that kiss, and she responded in kind, sighing against him.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
“And I’m glad you said yes because I was going to have a hard time explaining this to the world if you said no.” Tamara held up her wrist and turned it so he could see the inside of it.
It was a tattoo, just like his: 56. Elec lightly touched the brand-new, red, and raw tattoo.
“You got my car number?” He was amazed she would do that. Thrilled. It screamed permanency and commitment to him and he loved the sound of that.
“Yes. I have to keep Briggs as a last name because of the kids, so I’ll be Tamara Briggs-Monroe. But I wanted a way to show you I love you and back you one hundred percent.
That I’m Elec Monroe’s wife.” She crossed her wrist over his. “And I got the left hand so that when we hold hands, the numbers align.”
He could honestly say that having his car number tattooed on Tamara was the sexiest thing he had ever seen in his life. “My number looks damn good on you.”
She laughed and snuggled against him carefully, obviously trying not to jar his ribs. “I never saw myself as one to get a tattoo, but it seemed right. And I want you to know that we’ll resolve all this business with Crystal. It won’t be a big deal.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her temple. “So about that ring shopping? You busy tomorrow?”
Now that she was on board, he was slapping a ring on her finger, pronto.
“Not busy at all. Though you should rest.”
“The hell I should.” Elec took her hand and put it on his erection. “I was sitting here thinking how we can do it with the least movement possible.”
Tamara laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“No. Turned on and in love.” He grinned at her.
She smiled back. “Me, too. And I like it.”
EPILOGUE
IMOGEN Wilson could honestly say she’d never been to a wedding in Manhattan where the groom arrived in a decaled race car. But she was in Charlotte now, and no one had seemed to blink when Elec Monroe had slid out of the window of his car in his tux at the church.
Nor did anyone seem to think it was strange that the car had been driven to the outdoor reception location and the entire wedding party was having pictures taken in the car, on the car, and around the car. Tamara’s daughter Hunter was standing on the hood in her satin and chiffon red flower girl dress, posing first demurely, then using her floral bouquet like it was a guitar. Elec jumped up on the hood with her and picked her up and held her over his head like she was a trophy while she shrieked with laughter.
Imogen thought it was great to attend a wedding where everyone was having fun, no one was stressed out, and the bride and groom were beaming with pleasure. Most weddings in her opinion tended to be uptight and overplanned. Tamara and Elec’s wedding was more like a big party.
Not that Imogen was partying. She was standing next to the tent pole watching the picture taking and sipping from a glass of champagne. She didn’t know a lot of people at the wedding and she was relegated to either chatting up strangers or just watching, and for the moment she was content to just watch. Tamara’s son Petey was standing in his tux holding an empty glass under the stream of the flowing chocolate fountain, and Imogen grinned when he looked up, spotted her, and put his fingers to his lips to indicate he didn’t want her to tell anyone. She gave him the thumbs-up to let him know she wouldn’t rat him out.
Though she suspected no one would care. It was a go-with-the-flow day, a celebration of Tamara and Elec’s love and marriage.
The photographer was taking shots of the newlyweds’ matching tattoos when Imogen realized someone was standing directly behind her. She turned and saw it was Ty McCordle. Her heart immediately started to race, and she was annoyed by the reaction.
There was truly no reason for her sizzling sexual attraction to him. Granted, he was good-
looking, but beyond that, they couldn’t possibly have anything in common. Yet she was decidedly aware of the desire to see him naked.
“Hey, Emma Jean,” he said with a grin.
“Hi,” she said, not sure if he was calling her that to tease her or if he really couldn’t remember her name. “Shouldn’t you be in the pictures?”
Ty was pulling his tie off. “I’ve been released. They’re doing solo and family shots now, thank God. Now I can grab a beer and some food. I’m starving.”
She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that, or if he really required a response, so she just said, “Elec and Tamara seem really happy.”
He nodded. “Some people are the marrying kind, others aren’t. Those two will have a good long run, no doubt.” Then he glanced over at her and grinned. “What about you, Emma Jean? You the marrying kind?”
Like he was actually interested in her response. But she answered truthfully. “I don’t know.
As of right now, I haven’t met anyone I’d be interested in being married to, but that doesn’t mean I’m opposed to it.”
“I should have known you’d give a careful answer.”
Imogen frowned. What was that supposed to mean?
Ty added, “Me, I’m not ever getting married.”
“For which your future ex-wife is grateful,” she said before she could stop herself.
He laughed loudly. “No doubt.”
Imogen spotted a thin, surgically enhanced blonde waving and pouting when she couldn’t get Ty’s attention. “I think your girlfriend wants you.”
Ty flicked a casual wave in the girl’s direction. “Girlfriend is too strong of a word for Nikki.”
Imogen thought the term was actually booty call, but she wouldn’t swear to it. It seemed like a strictly booty-call relationship wouldn’t have you taking the woman to a friend’s wedding, but she could be wrong. Having never had anything even remotely close to a booty call or a fling, she couldn’t be sure of the parameters.