by Robyn Thomas
She took a long look at the space where his knees met the carpet, rocked by a feeling of injustice. Men usually knelt before women this way when they had a profound declaration to share. Ethan didn’t feel that way about her. Nobody did. Gabe had done the things she’d expected of him, much as she’d done for Ethan today. She could see now that Gabe had been drawn to the picture-perfect life she’d planned. That’s what he’d wanted, not her.
A sick sense of dread whispered that maybe Ethan wanted that life, too. Sentimentality and tradition weren’t things she associated with him, but here in this moment he was embracing both. Panic ran through her veins as her past and future collided head on. She couldn’t handle Ethan slipping seamlessly into Gabe’s place. What if she’d made this happen? Last night was a giant blur, but it had been her last chance to bag a fiancé and remain on schedule. Had she grabbed that chance?
“Sara?” The sharpness of Ethan’s tone suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. “It’s time to dress for dinner.”
She tugged her hands free and escaped to the bathroom for a few blissful moments of seclusion. What greeted her was almost enough to make her turn around and leave. Crap. What were the odds of Ethan choosing a dress so freakin’ similar to her “going away” dress? Trying not to read too much into the coincidence, she quickly changed, and added a dash of lipstick and the dangly earrings Ethan had left on the counter. On a whim she redid her hair, neatening the topknot and securing it with dozens of bobby pins.
“It’s just dinner,” she told her reflection. “Stop looking for hidden meanings.”
When she walked into the dining room, Ethan’s eyes heated the same way they had that first night in the beauty salon.
“You look beautiful.”
She shrugged awkwardly. “Even though you had all my stuff sent up, I don’t have any shoes that match.”
He grinned and waved a bare foot toward her. “You match me.” He pointed at the table. “Grab a seat. You’d already decided on a menu for tonight, so I’ve tried to replicate it.”
Her gaze skated over a platter containing individual salmon and leek tartlets, miniature crab cakes, stuffed mushrooms, and drizzled figs draped in prosciutto. She gripped a chair back, knuckles whitening as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The dishes were all firm favorites. She’d planned to serve them at her wedding reception. How the hell did Ethan know that? And why was he torturing her with a connection that shouldn’t exist? A rush of tears blinded her as she was forced to acknowledge all of the things that today should have held, but hadn’t.
“Ethan, I—” She waved her hands, unsure what she’d say if her vocal chords were in working order, knowing only that she hurt in places that might never recover.
“I know your wedding day was supposed to be flawless from start to finish. I can’t give you that, but I made a few calls to ensure the food, at least, is perfect.” Ethan smiled and pulled her chair out for her. “Don’t worry about the cost of pulling this together at short notice. You’re welcome.”
She was welcome? When her brain finally decided on a course of action it was swift and decisive. She bolted for the door of the suite, grabbing her handbag along the way. In the hall she dashed for the elevator, slipping into it just as the doors slid closed.
…
Ethan didn’t make the elevator in time. Shit. He’d locked himself out of the room. He had no money or identification or shoes. And his barefoot bride was running amok on the Vegas Strip without him.
Anger, fear, and confusion slammed into him like combination punches from a world-class fighter. He’d promised her she’d be happy if she married any guy in the bar last night, and then he’d stepped up and nabbed the job for himself. Despite his good intentions, he’d gotten it so wrong on day one that she’d run away from him. Sara, who could hold her own in an argument against him better than any non-lawyer he’d ever met, had fled without a word.
Damn it all to hell, if she was upset enough to drive home to Utah, she’d discover what he’d found out earlier in the day when he’d called all the wedding venues in Sara’s hometown asking about her intended menu for the reception. Surprising her with the exact menu she’d chosen had seemed like the perfect way to ensure that her carefully laid plans weren’t all for naught. If this one thing turned out right, then she wouldn’t feel as if she’d missed the whole event. It was meant to be a positive for her to hold on to, instead he’d learned that her wedding had gone ahead as planned. Her bastard of an ex had hijacked it, substituting the bride for one more to his liking at the last minute. What a poor excuse for a human being that guy must be.
He slammed his fist against the elevator button before roaring out his frustration, startling a couple further down the hall as they exited their suite. Crap. Maybe he’d be wise to take one flight of stairs down then catch the elevator from there? Hell, he didn’t even know where Sara would go. The big ball they’d been invited to was on tonight at the Masquerade Hotel. When he’d first mentioned it, Sara had seemed fascinated by the idea of attending, but with no shoes, no partner, and no tickets, he was confident she’d give it a miss. She was hungry, though, so hopefully eating would be at the top of her to-do list.
He reached the stairwell and began to race downstairs, glad to be doing something constructive. Sara would probably look for a casual restaurant with a high turnover of customers, the kind of place where her bare feet and lack of company might go unnoticed. Eight floors later he burst out of the stairwell and headed for the elevator. Running was cathartic, but he couldn’t spare the time for another twenty flights of stairs.
He checked the most obvious places first, anywhere that might be familiar to her. When there was no sign of her, he checked at the reservations desk to see if she’d requested access to their suite or booked another one. She hadn’t. Drinking was out, he couldn’t imagine her gambling alone, and in her current state of mind she’d want to avoid interacting with people as much as possible.
He ignored the curious stares that his custom tailored suit and bare feet were garnering. Only one person in Vegas mattered. Finding her ranked above breathing. Would she leave Vegas without saying goodbye, without her suitcase or her car?
Her car.
Sara had chosen the hotel’s self-park option, which only made her car that much more appealing an escape route. She knew exactly where it was. She wouldn’t have to wait for someone to bring it to her, or have a plan for where to go once she had it. She could simply climb into a comfortable, familiar space and lock the world out. As he catalogued all the positives he started to run.
He was glad now that she’d shown him a photo of her car on her phone. When he finally located the blue Golf with Utah plates, Sara wasn’t in it. Unwilling to walk away without taking action, he scanned the surrounding area then let the air out of all four tires. Vandalism and a law degree didn’t make good bedfellows, but she was worth the risk.
Chapter Ten
Sara’s entire life plan had dwindled to one thing: a search for seclusion. She didn’t care if she had to sit in a toilet cubicle all night to get it. The look on Ethan’s face had promised retribution as the elevator door closed between them, but even that was a worry for another time.
While the elevator made its descent she dug through her bag for her cell phone. Finding her spa slippers stuffed in the side pocket she paused to put them on, and then resumed her search.
The one person who might understand how gutted she felt tonight was Gabe. They weren’t in love, she appreciated that distinction now, but this was the day that would have changed both their lives forever. Touching base with him would help to ground her. If he hadn’t dumped her, she wouldn’t be in Vegas, so ruining his night was her prerogative. She called his number as she left the elevator, silently willing him to pick up.
He wasn’t home. Disappointed, she headed for the street exit. The line for taxis was too long, so she started walking, searching for a restaurant that wouldn’t balk at her
slippers. She found one, sat in a quiet corner, and ordered soup and crusty bread. While waiting for it to arrive she called Gabe’s cell, followed by everyone in her address book. No one answered. Not one person. She tried not to think it, she really did, but what if the entire town had gathered to celebrate Gabe’s near miss?
She scowled into her soup bowl, mentally reviewing things Ethan had let slip over the past few days. He was the only child of feuding parents. By his own admission he’d never had a real relationship, and he’d come to Vegas alone. Crap, why did it suddenly feel as if she was the center of his world? She called the hotel, intending to leave a message for Ethan, then had a change of heart at the last second.
“Hi, if possible I’d like to book a room with two beds for immediate check-in. I’m almost at the hotel now. The deluxe queen has two queen size beds? That would be fabulous, thank you.” She gave her name and cringed when it was a match for both Ethan’s suite and the room she’d given up earlier. “It’s complicated. If you could just organize this one last room for me, I promise I won’t bother you again.” When the booking was confirmed she asked to be connected to Ethan’s suite. She wasn’t shocked to discover he was out.
She dragged her feet on the way back to the hotel, debating what to tell Ethan. A lot would depend on his attitude, but she wanted him to know she was safe. In the end she asked the reservation clerk to put a notation beside his name. If he contacted the desk for any reason they’d advise him of her new accommodations. In the meantime, she’d call his suite from her room and leave a careful apology for running out on him. She didn’t know him well enough to anticipate his state of mind, but she was willing to concede a few points to get negotiations underway.
…
Ethan replayed Sara’s message over and over. Returning to their suite alone, after his recent criminal actions, he’d hoped to grab a quick bite to eat. He’d planned to follow that up with an extended search of Vegas—while wearing shoes.
Adjusting his mindset to this new reality was going to take one hell of an effort. He needed to be damn sure of himself before he contacted Sara. If he wasn’t careful, she’d read too much into his concern for her and start thinking he cared.
He wanted Sara as his wife for the thirty days they’d discussed. Imagining her naked was a constant problem because his memory of last night was hazy, but sex was only part of the equation. He’d jam his hands in his pockets for the entire month if she’d let him do simple things like buy flowers and share meals. The benefits of having a pretty wife on his arm during his parents’ divorce were numerous, but cheap stunts weren’t his style. He’d prefer to keep their marriage between the two of them. His house was off limits to everyone, without exception, so no one would bother Sara if she stayed. It was also a rent-free option for her, and conveniently situated right on the beach. He could clear out his gym and conference room and give Sara the downstairs area to live and work in for a month.
Last night they’d made a drunken commitment. Now that they were sober, he could see its potential. Since meeting Sara he’d begun to feel dissatisfied with the solitary monotony of his life. He liked spending time with her. She was at a loose end, her calendar free for the entire month because of her cancelled wedding. She couldn’t go back to Utah. Her ex would either be there, or he’d be on her honeymoon with his new wife, and every one of her friends and neighbors would know. Living among them would be a nightmare before the truth surfaced. Afterward, she’d have to leave.
Despite LA’s drawbacks—his job, his parents, and his shallow friends—Sara would be better off relocating to LA for the thirty-day marriage they’d agreed upon. He’d have someone in his life for the first time ever, and she’d have a chance to mourn the death of her dreams without encountering her ex or his new wife. Hell, if he ensured her business flourished in LA, she might relocate permanently.
He rubbed his palms over his face, already contemplating who to call to set that in motion. LA thrived on blatantly sexy lingerie—black, skimpy, and daring. Was that the kind Sara designed? An image of the pale pink scraps of perfection he’d spied on the floor this morning flashed through his mind. Dear God, if LA women embraced Sara’s ultra-feminine designs, she could buy a mansion in Malibu with change to spare.
And forget all about Utah.
Aware that he was getting ahead of himself, he dialed Sara’s number. “I’ll be at your door in five minutes. And Sara? You might want to order a limited supply of tequila shots, because I bet you’re going to love LA.” He disconnected before she could reply.
Twenty minutes later he watched her smooth forehead settle into deep creases.
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s what you said first thing this morning.”
She snorted. “I understand we let alcohol cloud our judgment last night and made a silly mistake. What I’m having trouble with, specifically, is your desire to compound that mistake by moving in together. You’re as sober as I am.” She leaned close as if to confirm that he didn’t have alcohol on his breath. “What’s really going on, Ethan?”
He’d planned this conversation carefully on his way down to her room. “Marriage and I weren’t ever meant to be, yet here we are, married in Vegas. Walking away would be too easy. I prefer a challenge.” He raised one finger off the counter, subtly requesting silence while he finished. “Last night I dared you to marry someone from the bar.”
“I did!”
“I also said you’d be blissfully happy after thirty days.” He grinned as realization dawned on her face.
“And you want to be right?” She dragged her lower lip into her mouth and worried it with her teeth, making a startled squeak when he freed it. “Is this really worth all the effort to you? Marriage to me might not be what you expect. It won’t be like thirty dates strung together. Dressing up and going out is just a small part of it. It’s also looking out for each other and being prepared to drop everything when you’re needed. It’s home cooked meals, curling up together on the sofa after a long day, sharing a b—”
“Bathroom?”
“I was going to say bed.”
My wife is fearless. Most people would have taken the easy out.
“If we stay together for thirty days, sex won’t be part of the equation.”
“But you’ll cook for me?” he said teasingly. “In my home, late at night, wearing my ring and something you’ve made earlier in the day.”
She burst out laughing. “Anyone ever tell you—”
“Frequently.”
She tilted her head to one side and studied him. “You’re serious about this? Can I ask why?”
“I’ve never had a home life…” Embarrassment swamped him, but he sensed Sara waiting for him to open up more. He looked at her and said the only thing he could think of. “I want to. With you.”
Instead of answering, she got up from her perch on the end of one of the beds and came to stand behind him. Her gentle fingers stayed on his shoulder when he began to turn toward her. A moment later her arms encircled him, hugging fiercely, her soft breasts pillowed against his back.
“Hm.” She tipped her hands as if she was weighing choices. “Go back to Utah where it’s freezing cold and deal with the aftermath of a wedding that never happened, or spend a month in sunny Malibu cooking late night snacks for you.” She laughed. “There’s no contest. The month’s yours if you want it.”
Turning rapidly, he pulled her down to sit on his lap, sealing their deal with a heated kiss that was just getting interesting when she eased away. He couldn’t decide if thirty days were going to fly by, or if this would be the longest, horniest month of his life.
Chapter Eleven
Ethan promised a carefree month by the beach. He didn’t deliver.
Over the next few days he tried to control every aspect of their so-called marriage.
“Butt out, would you?” She almost laughed at his look of horror. “You’re being overbearing. Having my workspace in Utah packed up and shipp
ed here was your idea. I know it’s a lot to organize, but I can handle it. If you want to help, I’ll delegate something to you.”
He grinned. “We have an early dinner reservation in Newport Beach. It’s about an hour away.”
She shook her head, thrilled he’d booked it, yet annoyed at the same time. She’d have to drop what she was doing. Another romantic dinner was good though. If she didn’t think too hard about it, she could almost believe that Ethan’s caring husband charade was the real deal.
“Why do you keep working from home?” she asked as they drove to the restaurant. “You go to the office, but you never stay more than a couple of hours. Don’t they miss you?”
“Yeah.”
The single, heavily spoken word surprised her. “Um, stop slacking off then, and get back to your usual schedule. I can entertain myself.”
The words came easily, but as time passed by, the reality of long hours alone was harder to take. Ethan’s work hours grew longer and longer. She didn’t have any clients, any pending orders, any friends to catch up with, or more significantly, any wedding preparations to take care of.
She’d been wedding-obsessed most of her life, she saw that now, but her dreams had brought their whole community together. She missed that camaraderie. Being isolated in paradise with only Ethan for company was getting her down. The lights of the Santa Monica Pier were visible farther up the beach, but it, like her handsome husband, seemed unreachable. Since she’d given him permission to return to his regular hours, Ethan had practically lived at the office. When he was home he acted weirdly—pulling her chair out, topping up her wine glass, asking if she had everything she needed, if she was happy.
She had a spacious, light-filled place to work and a gorgeous guest room, but nothing to do all day. She’d assumed Ethan would introduce her to some potential clients. He hadn’t. When he took her out to eat, it was always just the two of them on a private balcony or deserted beach, or else he chose a restaurant a long way from home where they’d be unlikely to encounter anyone he knew. Why had he brought her here if he didn’t intend to introduce her to his friends and family? If he was ashamed of her, or embarrassed to admit he was married, she wished he’d say so.
