A Change of Plans

by Robyn Thomas

  “Stop saying that. I planned a wedding for two people. It’s not uncommon.”

  “Not the wedding,” he said gently. “You’re obviously great at planning events, but you thought well beyond your wedding day. You bought a house. You’re self-employed with a good income and a flexible work schedule. If necessary, you could probably relocate without any drama.”

  His logic was damned annoying.

  “You dreamed so big and in such detail that any man could step into your ex’s shoes and make it work with you. Look around. If you chose a partner here tonight at random—any single, eligible man—I guarantee the two of you would be blissfully happy in a month’s time.”

  “Any man?” She laughed to cover the hurt he’d inflicted. “The way you tell it I’ve spent my whole life constructing a cage to house some poor schmuck, and by month’s end he’ll know better than to say he’s not happy living in there.”

  Ethan was silent for a long time. Exasperation poured off him. “How many unattached men, in an acceptable age range for you, do you think there are in this bar?”

  “I don’t know. Ten or twelve?”

  He beckoned the bartender closer and ordered a dozen shots of tequila. He lined them up in two neat rows in front of Sara, glaring at her when she began to stand up. “I bet you’ll be happy in thirty days if you get married tonight. You don’t have to drink a single one of these. Just admit there’s an outside chance I’m right.”

  “I’ll take the bet if you will, too.” Her sugary tone made him growl softly. “What about her?” She pointed to a pretty redhead in a low-cut dress, already regretting the impulse that made her try to turn the tables. “The two of you would contrast nicely. I’m sure you could come to an understanding that would last thirty days.”

  His features resembled stone as he did the first shot. He nudged the second shot glass toward her then pointed to the guy in the sweater vest. “Tell me why you can’t even consider, hypothetically, marrying that guy.”

  Lost for words, feeling strangely pressured, she grabbed a shot and forced it down.

  “Him?” Ethan pointed at a sandy haired guy in jeans and a checked shirt. He had a ready smile, but the sheer number of empty beer glasses in front of him was a worry. She looked down at the shiny rows of tequila and grimaced. Pot meet kettle.

  She picked up another shot, tilted it to catch the light, and then drank it in one swallow. “I might as well drink all of these now.”

  “All I’m asking is that you admit there’s a possibility you’d be happy.”

  “With any man here?”

  He nodded.

  “And it’s a bet, right?”

  Another nod.

  “If I lose, I wake up in my own private tequila hell. What do I get if I win?”

  He frowned, rubbing his temple as if his head was as fuzzy and achy as hers. “You get the satisfaction of knowing you were right all along. Your plan was sound, you just chose the wrong co-pilot.”

  Whoa. It almost sounds as if you want the job. Her imagination went berserk as she thrust Ethan into the role he wanted filled. He’d said she could choose anyone here, so why not him? The look of horror on his face ought to make her suggestion worthwhile.

  She turned her barstool toward him and carefully slid off it, resting her hands on the smooth wool of his suit pants as she stepped between his knees. The position mirrored what he’d done earlier, except this time she had control. The temptation to slide her hands higher and press closer proved impossible to resist. She did a little of each, swaying despite the flat slippers on her feet. Her head pounded, clouding her vision. She smiled up at Ethan, captivated anew by his strong jawline and the dimple in his chin.

  “You’re probably right. If I knew the deal would expire in thirty days, I could be happy with anyone. Even you.” She savored his absolute bewilderment, thrilled that she’d thrown him for a loop. “I believe this is yours?”

  He swallowed heavily, regarding the shot glass in her hand as if it might morph into a mystical creature at any moment. Without a word he took it and drank it. When he reached for the next one, she stopped him.

  “You don’t have to drink any more. And don’t look so panicked at the reprieve. I won’t hold you to anything. I know the last thing you want is a wife.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” he said in a low voice. “A pretty wife by my side in court during my parents’ divorce wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

  Just how drunk was he? His speech wasn’t slurred, but his eyelids were heavy and his touch was uncharacteristically bold. She knew how that felt. Her hands seemed to be sliding over him with a familiarity they shouldn’t possess. If she were sober she’d exercise more restraint. Tequila gave her courage to enjoy the man and the moment. He felt so good beneath her hands, against her breasts, mmm, digging into her stomach. She squirmed, unable to get close enough. Kissing helped. She slid her arms around him, rising up on her tiptoes and sliding her body over his.

  He pulled the ponytail holder out and looped her hair around one wrist, controlling the angle of her head while he deepened their kiss. The other people in the bar seemed to fade away, but when a glass smashed nearby, Ethan pulled away. His look of apology told her the fun was over. Damn, it was a shame they weren’t closer to their hotel. She’d just begun to appreciate Ethan as a man and a potential lover, and now he was retreating behind his tour guide persona. She sighed. In a few hours these delicious moments would be nothing more than a dim memory.

  …

  Ethan awoke with a splitting headache and a vague memory of Sara coming on to him after doing a bunch of tequila shots. Sara. He tried to sit up, whimpering like a wounded animal as gravity and light assaulted his senses. With his eyes closed he took stock of his situation. He was in bed, naked, and couldn’t remember getting there. He lifted his hand and swiped his palm over his face, scraping it with the edge of something. What the hell was that on his finger?

  He cracked one eye open and regarded the simple gold band in horror.

  Surely not?

  He flipped onto his side, ignoring the rising nausea and the debilitating stab of pain through his head. They wouldn’t kill him, but Sara might.

  She stirred as if on cue, probably suffering from motion sickness after he’d bounced the mattress. Dear God, let her be fully dressed and playing a prank by putting a cheap band on his finger and sliding into bed beside him.

  Her eyelids fluttered, blinking slowly as she transitioned from slumber to wakefulness. “Ethan?”

  The alarm in her tone was genuine. She scrunched the covers up to her neck, a gold band winking at him from her left hand. Damn.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Me either.” He kept his tone gentle and forced himself to think rationally. Hell if he knew how they’d ended up here together, apparently married, but Sara needed him to be the voice of calm and reason. He could sense how close to the surface her emotions were. He wasn’t in any condition to deal with them. “Let’s take care of our hangovers first, okay?”

  Pain contorted her features when she tried to lift her head off the pillow.

  “Okay.”

  His conscience twisted, her quiet misery biting deep. Gritting his teeth, he sat up, careful to keep the covers in place. Rehydration was a must, so his first call was to a company he’d used before. They specialized in administering hydrating infusions via IV, and he was relatively sure they provided in-room treatments.

  When he hung up after arranging for immediate service, Sara groaned softly.

  “Now I’m really confused,” she said. “I didn’t know that instant hangover cures existed. They must be one of those ‘only in Vegas’ things.”

  He smiled, proud of the way she was holding it together.

  “They’re available elsewhere too, but I think there’s a bigger call for them here. How are you feeling? You’re welcome to use the bathroom.” He stared at her when she didn’t respond. “Sara?”

  “You’re stalling,” she
said quietly. “We need to talk.”

  “We need our damn heads screwed on straight before we talk.”

  She recoiled from his harsh tone, her eyes squinting as if the pain of moving was too much to bear. Protective instincts that only seemed to be triggered by her rushed to the fore, crippling him with helplessness. He couldn’t help her until the IV attendants arrived.

  “Try not to worry,” he said. “We’ll work this out.”

  A low moan of distress slipped through her lips, and she pushed her head deeper into the pillows. She dragged her knees up to her chest and hugged them, struggling to comfort herself.

  That’s my job. You’re my wife.

  He pushed his territorial thoughts aside and made another phone call to arrange for over the counter painkillers to be delivered to their suite. Easing Sara’s physical discomfort had to be his first play here. He tried to imagine what else she might want, his discarded suit pants supplying an obvious answer. He stepped into them, doing his best not to sway as he looked down at her.

  “I’ll get you some water then I’ll help you to the bathroom if you need me to. One step at a time, okay?”

  She didn’t speak until he’d turned away. “Ethan?” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I’m naked under here.”

  He willed his voice to hide most of what was going on inside his head. “No worries. There’s a robe in the bathroom.” He left before she could say another word.

  When he returned she was sitting up in bed with the covers clutched to her chest and her head tipped back against the padded bedhead. She didn’t move a muscle, not even when he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Water?”

  The confusion in her eyes made him feel lower than he had in a very long time.

  She gestured between them. “Is this real? Do you remember—anything?”

  “Shots.” He shrugged. “Making out in the bar. Maybe a taxi. Then I woke up here.”

  Unsteady hands reached for the glass and she gulped some water.

  “I’m married,” she said. “To you.” A range of diverse emotions flitted across her face, underscored by the nausea she couldn’t hide. “What time is it?”

  “Two fifteen.”

  “Oh.” For almost a minute she mulled that over. “I wasn’t supposed to get married until five.”

  The curses exploding through his head were scathing. This was meant to be Sara’s wedding day, the culmination of almost twenty years of planning, and an ultimate celebration of love and commitment. Instead, it was a farce. He should say something, but what good were words when your actions were unforgivable?

  Color flared on her pale cheeks and she pressed the cool water against them before taking a shaky breath. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Last night…” She laughed anxiously. “Did you use protection?”

  The bottom fell out of his world. Blood pounded through his veins, and time suspended as the pressure in his head built.

  Sara’s slender fingers curled around his bicep and squeezed, bringing his attention back to her. “It’s important, Ethan. Remember that big, fancy, pointless party I planned with my ex?” She waited for him to nod. “He and I wanted to start a family straightaway, on our honeymoon, so I’m not on the pill.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ethan’s stunned silence told Sara everything she needed to know: he hadn’t been careful, and the only thing he wanted from her was a quick and painless divorce.

  “Not your problem,” she said stiffly. “Don’t worry about it. You need to move so I can get up and shower.”

  In a flash he’d leaned across her and planted his hand beside her hip, trapping her in place.

  “If there’s a chance you’re pregnant, it’s definitely my—concern. At the moment I’m concentrating on basic necessities like breathing. What do you say we give each other a bit of leeway while we claw our way back to humanity?” His jaw tightened when she tried to interrupt. “We made some decisions last night that impact both of our lives. We’re going to have to pull together. Agreed?”

  A slight tilt of her head was all she could manage. Ethan’s lawyer mode was more than she could handle right now.

  “Bathroom.” Her voice was a mere squeak as she battled a fresh wave of nausea. “Please.”

  He picked her up, covers and all, and deposited her in the bathroom with most of her modesty intact. She cuddled his supportive arm, reluctant to let go, so damn grateful for his presence that her knees began to shake. No one had ever taken care of her when she was sick. She glanced up at Ethan, surprised by his level of concern for her when he was suffering from the same affliction. His skin had a grey tinge to it and his eyes were more bloodshot than blue.

  “How do you feel? You look awful. What I mean is…”

  “It’s safe to say I feel the way I look.” He steadied her and backed away. “Shut the door, but don’t lock it, okay? Call if you need me.”

  The spacious room felt empty without him. She wavered uncertainly before sliding the door closed and releasing her hold on the covers draped around her. Carefully avoiding her reflection, she splashed some cold water on her face and debated the wisdom of stepping away from the basin.

  Get it together, Greaves. Hurry up.

  Her gaze swung to the mirror, staring at the ghostly pale woman with tense features, wild hair, and no clothes. Man, she was in serious need of some TLC.

  Twenty minutes later she stared at the bathroom door wishing she had the guts to go through it. In a hotel robe, her hair twisted into a messy topknot, she looked okay, but how was she supposed to face Ethan after her earlier rudeness?

  A knock at their door gave her the courage to scoot out of the bathroom and past Ethan who was on his way to answer it. His hand slipped into hers, halting her progress. Feeling incredibly unsure of herself, she sent him a questioning look.

  “Wow.” He squeezed her fingers with slight pressure. “You’re a knockout.”

  Her pleasure faded when she realized he was feeding her a line. She’d elevated her look to ‘vaguely human’ but he’d chosen a pretty lie over a genuine compliment.

  “Thank you.” She bit the words out. “You should get the door.”

  “Sara?” He hesitated, cursing softly when the knock sounded again. “The morning after is a new experience for me because I don’t do sleepovers. Ever. I don’t share—”

  “Intimacies?” She wished the word back as soon as she’d said it. Sex was intimate and he clearly didn’t have a problem with that.

  He stepped toward her, until his face almost touched hers. “I don’t usually share a bathroom, a robe, my bed, or any kind of conversation before breakfast. You’re the exception to every rule. You might want to cut me some slack.”

  The next few hours were a blur of pleasantries and calming experiences. Ethan spent a good deal of his time talking quietly into his cell phone, making call after call, sneaking worried glances at her that seemed to intensify as the day wore on. She didn’t know who he was talking to, but she was content to let everything drift past her, accepting tepid water, headache tablets, and fresh clothing from her room without question.

  When Ethan told her she had to laze on the couch and watch sitcoms while the hydrating IV worked its magic, she simply nodded. Organizing everyone to within an inch of their lives was usually her role, but today it was easier to follow Ethan’s lead.

  She blinked at him after the nurse left, surprised to see him looking tense.

  “Oh, didn’t it work for you?”

  “It worked.”

  His tone wasn’t welcoming. She flicked her tongue across her lips and tried again.

  “Well, I feel amazing right now, except I’m crazy hungry. I’m going to order one of everything from room service. Wanna share?”

  A wide smile transformed his face.

  “Welcome back. You had me worried there for a while.” He chuckled softly. “If you don’t know why, don’t stress about it.” He chec
ked his watch and gave her a probing look. “I’ve got dinner covered. What you want isn’t available from room service, so I’ve arranged for a local restaurant to prepare it and deliver it at six.”

  She shuddered involuntarily. Something was a little off about his dinner plans, but she couldn’t decide what. Before she could question him, their order arrived. And it was big!

  Two uniformed men each set a multitude of items on the dining table, then stepped back to discreetly wait for a tip. She jumped up to take care of it, tossing her handbag on the floor near the door after they’d gone.

  Ethan padded over to her, barefoot, and slid to his knees. He held both of her hands, apparently unaware that her heart was tripping wildly and she was having trouble breathing.

  “We seem to have skipped every milestone prior to this, and believe me when I say I’m more surprised than you to find myself married. Getting an annulment isn’t our only choice.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “You could choose to spend a month in LA with me. I live in Malibu, right on the beach.” He held his hands up. “It’s an obligation-free offer. Separate everything except kitchen. Our marriage doesn’t have to be a mistake. We can decide how it will play out.”

  She shook her head.

  “Commitment isn’t my thing. I’ve already spent longer with you than any other woman, yet I’m not ready to walk away. I know you’re free. Would it be so bad to spend a month with me?”

  “Last night—”

  “Doesn’t have to set the tone. Will I try to seduce you? Hell yeah, but you’ll like what I have in mind.” A strangely vulnerable expression crossed his face. “Let me show you what I mean. I want our first meal together as husband and wife to be perfect.”

  That same feeling of trepidation assailed her again. Their marriage, while apparently legal, wasn’t real. So why was he acting like their future depended on him getting every detail right?

  “There’s a dress on a hanger in the bathroom. Why don’t you slip that on while I dish up?” Her stunned silence seemed to amuse him. He raised her left hand to his mouth and placed a kiss over her wedding ring. “Go.”