by Odette Stone
“I mean, this conversation.”
“You said you feel safe. I’m telling you it’s not only a feeling, but you’re actually safe. You’re sleeping with a SEAL.”
“Are you sober yet?”
“Want to fuck?”
“Hell yeah.”
“You’re so tired, you can barely speak.”
“Give me a minute.”
“I’m going to give you a lot more than a minute, Beth. You just don’t realize it yet.”
I could barely form words, “I want to ask what that means, but I’m too tired.”
“You can ask me in the morning.”
My last thought before sleep claimed me was how much time would he give me?
Chapter 26
If we cross that line, everything changes.
I couldn’t get Porter’s words out of my head. Everything had changed, but not in any tangible, measurable way. I felt different. When Porter had said that things would change, he meant we’d no longer be just friends. But I hadn’t realized that I’d change.
And I couldn’t even process the fact that he’d accepted me as his responsibility. I considered myself a strong, independent feminist of my generation, so why did my heart race and my breath catch when he’d said being with him meant I belonged to him. It was so caveman, it was ridiculous… but also hot as fuck.
What was even crazier was that I didn’t think this was just in-the-moment dirty talk. He actually believed it. This was part of the ancient male code Porter lived by.
I liked the feeling. Way too much. But these were the kinds of feelings that led to dangerous thoughts and daydreams. And when you were faking an engagement to your parents and eight million other strangers, the last thing you wanted to do was start believing your own lie.
Which was why I was hiding out at the corner coffee shop, watching the rain pour onto the pavement on the other side of the window. My phone startled me. I groaned when Mom’s face showed up on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Darling, where are you?”
“What do you mean? Did we have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m at your place right now with your betrothed and our wedding planner, and the blushing bride is nowhere in sight.”
What the living fuck.
And “my betrothed”? Who spoke like that?
“Don’t move.” I stood up, grabbing my bag. “I’ll be home in five minutes.”
Her voice sounded satisfied. “We’ll wait.”
I burst into the apartment and gawked at the intimate scene. On the couch, Mom and a petite Asian guy, who wore a lime green vest and matching bowtie, sandwiched Porter. A five-inch binder rested on Porter’s lap, and Mom and Bowtie leaned over his big arms as they all read together.
“Beth!” Mom didn’t hide her shock. “You look like a drowned rat.”
I didn’t doubt that. In New York, flagging a cab on a rainy day, was about as probable as winning the lottery. In my panic, I’d opted to jog through the rain. Now, my soggy ponytail stuck to the side of my neck, and I didn’t even want to see what my makeup looked like.
Porter evaluated me with interest. I couldn’t meet his gaze.
“What are y’all doing?” I tossed my jacket over a chair and stalked to the kitchen. I grabbed a clean tea towel to blot my face.
The three of them remained sitting and watched as I returned and stood in front of the couch.
“Darling, this is Roo, our wedding planner.” Mom patted his arm.
Roo offered me the top of his hand as if he wanted me to bend down and kiss it.
“Hey, Roo.” I awkwardly shook his limp hand. My eyes skidded over to Porter.
He looked miserable. Despite myself, laughter threatened to bubble out of me. I worked to remain composed. I needed to get this situation under control.
“Your fiancé is divine.” Roo grabbed my hand and studied the ring. “So is that ring.”
“Thank you.” I raised my eyebrows at Mom. “Would you mind coming and talking to me while I change?”
In the bedroom, I whipped off my wet shirt and dug through my dresser for something dry. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think we’re doing?”
“Mom, a wedding planner?”
“Do you really think that either of us can plan a wedding of this scale by ourselves?”
“This scale?”
“Darling, I’ve thrown some magnificent parties in my day, but a wedding of this magnitude is beyond even my capabilities. Roo is the best. He was part of the team that helped with the royal wedding. We’re lucky to get him at such short notice.”
I pulled a dry t-shirt over my head. “Royal wedding? Mom, come on. Porter and I are trying to get used to the idea of getting married. We want to take our time with this.” A long time. The longer I could delay setting the wedding date, the better off we’d all be.
“Beth,” her scandalized voice following me as I stepped into the bathroom. I winced at the mascara that smeared down my cheeks like sad clown make-up. “We don’t have time. Even Roo said he’d be challenged to plan a wedding of this size in twelve weeks.”
I pulled the towel down from my freshly washed face and stuck my head out the bathroom door. “Twelve weeks?”
She had disappeared.
I stalked back to the living room. “Twelve weeks?” I put my hand on my hips. “Really?”
“It’s going to be perfect.” Mom looked at Roo, who nodded vigorously. “Plus that’s the only time we can book St. Basilla’s church. We lucked out due to a cancellation. That church is typically booked out two years.”
“Why do we need that particular church?”
“That’s the only traditional church that can accommodate eight hundred guests. Everything else is five hundred or less,” Roo explained.
“Eight hundred guests?” I turned to Mom. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve no idea how much stress Roo and I have had over the guest list. We were up all night. We culled over four hundred people from our original list, and it was agony.”
Eight hundred wedding guests.
“Porter and I want to have an extended engagement,” I said firmly.
“Porter already said we could proceed with that date, and Roo has already booked the church,” Mom pushed. “Now, sit down beside Porter. We have so many decisions we have to make.”
I cleared my throat and scorched my fake-betrothed with a look. “Sweetheart. Would you mind talking to me in the bedroom for a second?”
He unfolded himself from the couch quicker than I thought possible, handing Roo the binder. “Sure.”
The second the bedroom door shut, I turned to him and hissed, “Twelve weeks? Are you kidding?”
He put his hands on his hips and leaned towards me, equally emotional, “Have you met your mother? I’d rather negotiate with a Taliban terrorist than her. And don’t even get me started on Roo. The guy is like a dictator prince.”
“But twelve weeks?”
He ran both hands through his hair. “You can change the date.”
“I tried, but you already agreed. You heard them. Roo already booked the church.”
“They ambushed me. I was in the shower when they came in. Not into your apartment either. Roo burst into the bathroom and started talking. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to hold the front.”
We glowered at each other. Why did he have to look so hot with his big shoulders and that sexy mouth? I remember what that mouth had done to me last night.
Fuck it.
I launched myself at him. He spun me around, pinning me against the door. I groaned as his lips captured mine.
“Sorry,” I moaned into his mouth, arching my back as his hands pushed up the back of my t-shirt.
“God, you taste as good as you look.” His hot mouth trailed down my neck. “Like rain and sex.”
“What are we going to do?” My fingers twisted into hi
s thick, soft hair, and his hands reached under my butt, lifting me, so my legs were wrapped around his waist.
“We can fix this.” A big hand covered my breast, pinching my nipple through my bra.
“How?”
He ground me into the door. “I’ll tell your mom that we’re going to elope.”
I lifted my head. “You’d stand up to Mom for me?”
“Right now, you could get me to do pretty much anything.”
I laughed against his mouth. “Tell me you're sober.”
“Oh, I’m sober.”
Knock. Knock.
“Beth? Are you two finished talking in there? We have so much to get through,” Mom’s voice sounded on the other side of the door.
We froze
“Coming, Mom.” I slid out of his arms. “Are you ready?”
He winced and looked at the ceiling. “Give me a minute.”
I brushed my hair from my face. “Let’s go.”
He grabbed my hand and placed it on his monster hard-on that bulged in his jeans. “I don’t want to scare your mom.”
Chapter 27
Five minutes later, we reappeared in the living room. Judging by the disapproving sniff from Mom and the smirk on Roo’s face, they knew we’d been doing more than talking.
“Porter wants to say something,” I announced, completely throwing him under the bus.
Mom inspected him over her reading glasses. “Yes?”
“Beth and I are going to elope,” he said, his tone was one hundred percent don’t-fuck-with me and as edgy and intense as I’ve ever heard it.
She stared at him for a long moment, then waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Now, Beth, sit down. We absolutely must go over who’ll be in your bridal party.”
I implored him with a look.
He shrugged and mouthed, “I tried.”
“Try harder,” I mouthed back.
He focused on Mom for a long moment.
She raised her head and stared him down like a four-star general. “Anything else, Porter?”
He debated and then slowly shook his head. “Nope. I’m on my way out. Take care of my bride for me.”
I shot hate-daggers at him and mouthed, “Traitor.”
He laughed out loud, which caused Roo and Mom to look up from the binder.
“Sorry.” He reached for the door. “Leaving now.”
Five hours later, I laid exhausted on the couch. The front door open, and Porter stuck his head in.
“They’re gone,” my voice was tart.
He swung open the door and stepped in.
I sat up. “You bailed on me.”
“Sorry.”
“You fed me to the wolves. What happened to standing up to my mom for me?”
He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to pull out a beer. “I was taught that sometimes retreating is the best defense.”
“You’re a SEAL. It’s one socialite,” I chastised.
He pointed his beer at the door. “Your mom is not a job for a single SEAL. I’m not sure an entire army could stop her.”
Amused, I slumped back on the couch. “I know.”
“So, what did I miss?”
I exhaled. “We’re having six attendees each. You don’t know five of your best men, but after a near temper tantrum, I managed to secure the coveted roles of the matron of honor and best man for Emily and Jackson. Our engagement party is next Friday. And I fought a long and hard battle over not having smaragdine as our theme color.”
He looked interested. “What color did you pick?”
“I wanted pink. A soft, petal pink, like a dahlia.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I lost that battle.”
“What color is smaragdine?”
“Emerald green. I hate emerald green.”
Our eyes met. His regretful expression said, ‘I am sorry you feel like shit, but I’m way over my head on this chick stuff.’
“This is completely out of control,” I moaned into a pillow.
“I hear you.”
“We need a plan.” I reached one arm up to him, my tone dramatic. “Please help me.”
He laughed. “Come on. Get your shoes on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you out for dinner. We’ll talk strategy.”
We sat in a booth at a cute fresh food bistro.
“How are you holding up?”
I pushed my hair off my face. “I’ve had it wrong my entire life. I thought my dad was the bossy one, who needed to be in control, but I think he might be the puppet for my mother, the puppet master.”
Porter laughed. “Now I know where you get your spine of steel from.”
I snorted. “Hardly.”
“You’re tougher than you look.”
“I lost every battle I fought today. Which is stupid to even be fighting in the first place, since it’s over a wedding that’s never going to take place.”
He studied me with soft cashmere grey eyes. “How do you want to do this?”
“You mean our break up?”
“Yeah.”
“You could allegedly cheat on me.”
He winced. “Try again.”
“We could fight over money.”
“I don’t give a shit about money. You could be the one to cheat on me.”
I shuddered. “Never.”
“You could stand me up at the altar?”
“You mean a runaway bride?”
“Yeah.”
“My mom would never forgive me.”
We shared another look.
I slowly spoke, “You could leave me at the altar.”
He held my gaze. “Seriously?”
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“Any idea would be better than that one.”
“Like what?”
He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Maybe we can stage a break up right before the wedding.”
My brain went there - that plan would maximize our sex time.
It might have been the worst reason in the world to delay ending this charade, but I couldn’t be held responsible for my train of thought. “That could work.”
“And we would have some time to come up with a plan on how to do that.”
“I like it.”
We both shared a look, more heat that humor. I dropped my eyes and played with my fork. Who was Porter? What had his childhood been like? Did he have a family?
“What’s Montana like?”
“Not like New York.”
“Well, what’s your family like?”
Those grey eyes questioned my interest. “I’m the youngest of six boys.”
That surprised me. “Is your family still there?”
“Yup, they all live there. All of my brothers are ranchers.”
“And your parents?”
“Still ranching.” This man fascinated me.
“Did you ever want to stay in Montana and become a rancher?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted.”
“So how did you end up in the military?”
Something passed across those grey eyes. “I left home the day I turned 18 to join the military.”
His eyes shifted away, letting me know that he didn’t want to talk about this. The waitress interrupted us with the bill. Porter reached out and took the billfold.
“Let me help,” I tried.
“Got it covered.”
“Well, thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
I excused myself to wash my hands and put on fresh lip gloss. I stared at my blond reflection. I wanted this man. That kiss against the bedroom door had held so much promise.
We were both sober, which meant one thing. A ripple of excitement coursed through me. I tossed my lip gloss back into my purse and turned to leave. A thick masculine arm wrapped around my neck, pulling me into a choke hold from behind.
Oh my God!
I frantically clawed at the arm, as
my perpetrator half dragged, half propelled me to one of the stalls. The nauseating smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol burned my nose.
So much air cut off from my throat that my scream sounded like a wheeze. He pushed my face against the cold metal wall of the stall. His big, bulky body pressed against mine. Terror blinded me.
“Please,” I rasped. “Don’t hurt me.”
Something cold pressed against my throat. I felt a pinch and then something warm, oozed down my neck. My own blood. It took my brain a few seconds to process that the tip of a knife was pressed against the skin of my throat. Cutting me.
“Tell daddy dearest to drop out, or someone is going to get hurt,” he snarled.
I nodded frantically. Terrified. The metal of the knife dug deeper, and I immediately stopped nodding.
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t turn around.” He lowered the knife. “If you see my face, I’ll kill you.”
My eyes squeezed shut. A lone tear trickled down my cheek. “Okay.”
He stepped away from my body, and I heard the sound of the heavy bathroom door swing open, then gently bump shut. I staggered to the mirror above the sink.
In shock, I stared at my reflection. A lone rivulet of blood trickled down my throat and created a red stain on my white blouse. With trembling hands, I pumped out a paper towel and tried to blot it.
My face was a white mask with dark and prominent eyes. I must have walked back to the table, but I didn’t remember moving. Porter stood, grabbed my shoulders, and took in every detail.
“What the hell?”
“He’s gone,” I croaked. My throat closed so tight, I was surprised I could breathe.
Porter’s nostrils flared in rage. His high cheekbones colored with emotion. He appraised the restaurant, suddenly a soldier, assessing all threats. “What did he look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No.”
“Color of his hair?”
“No. Nothing. He approached me from behind.” I took a deep breath. “He’s gone, Porter.”
He turned like he was headed for the restroom.
Terrified of being left alone, I begged, “Please don’t leave me.”
