by Maisey Yates
And further down there was a text from his mother. He almost didn’t want to look. He knew it would be full of hysterics—since she often was. And he also knew that he would have to calm her. As he always did.
“Who did you text?” he asked.
Lydia fidgeted. “Sadie Garrett.”
“Dammit. Who else?” Sadie Garrett, owner of Copper Ridge’s most popular B and B, was like a small blond explosion. She did nothing quietly, and she tended to throw parties on a whim.
Lydia winced. “A few of the ladies at the Chamber. Who are probably already making...banners and things.”
Great. News would be spreading already. He wondered if it had gotten to his family yet.
His mother, who was likely apoplectic over the abandonment of Natalie and the utter destruction of the wedding she had spent months working on.
He let his thumb hover over the message from her, and then he touched it.
Colton, please tell me you know where Natalie is. Please tell me there will be a wedding.
Oh, shit. Finding out about his dad, the fact he’d fathered a child out of wedlock more than thirty years earlier, had shaken her already fragile foundation. This on top of it would be so difficult for her.
He wasn’t the one who broke things. He repaired them. That’s what he’d always done. And he would fix this, too.
Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.
He sent the message, then put his phone back down. He took a quick scan of the room and saw his T-shirt wadded up in a corner several feet from where he had found his jeans. He had changed before going to Ace’s, that much was obvious, though, he couldn’t exactly remember that. There were large gaps in all of his memories from yesterday, then suddenly something would hit, blindingly bright and clear.
He pulled his shirt on over his head, fighting against one such memory as he did. Standing at the head of the aisle, waiting for Natalie to appear in the flowered archway she had spent weeks worrying about, debating which blossoms would look the most effective, the most bridal. He’d stared at it, expecting her to appear any moment, even long after the bridal march had stopped playing. Because she had chosen each and every one of those flowers, so how could she fail to come and stand beneath that damn archway?
He sighed heavily and pulled up his email, taking a look at the receipt for the tickets he’d bought for Lydia and himself. Dammit to hell, they were booked to stay in Vegas through next weekend. What the hell?
Drunk Colton was an ass.
“Coffee,” he said, shoving that memory to the back of his mind.
“What?” She blinked rapidly.
“We’re going out for coffee. And then we’re going to get our tickets changed and get back to Copper Ridge.”
Lydia hesitated, her hands clasped in front of her, making her look vaguely mouse-like. “We’re going back already?”
“Unless you want to stay and play the slots.”
“Of course I don’t,” she said, smoothing her hair.
“I think your hair is a lost cause.” He reached out and brushed a strand from her face. Too late, he realized that was a damned mistake.
Lightning shot from where his fingertips brushed against her, straight down to his cock. His unrest around Lydia had always been a vague, unsettling thing. Like static just beneath his skin. But all at once it was like the veil had been torn away and he saw it for what it was.
Attraction. Desire.
Hell no.
He pulled his hand away.
She turned, looking into a mirror that hung on the far wall, her eyes round, her hand shaking as she brushed her hair away from her face. She was just as affected by this. By him. “I need...probably to be dipped in a vat of mousse.”
“No time for that.” He needed to get out of this hotel room. Away from her.
He was going to leave these strange feelings in Vegas and never look back. The marriage might not be something they could leave behind, but this insanity was staying in Nevada, where it belonged.
She looked around. “I’m wearing last night’s dress.”
“And that’s another thing we can take care of. Unless you want to wear it on the plane ride back.”
She cringed. “No thank you.”
“Then come on.”
She made a low whining sound, but ultimately followed him out of the room. “Please slow down. The room is spinning and I’m wearing high heels.”
He continued to stride down the hall, paying as little attention as possible to the tacky decor. Natalie would be appalled. She had planned for them to honeymoon in New York and spend some time in a posh hotel in Manhattan. He’d just been along for the ride, because he failed to see the appeal in the rush of a city that size.
But then, he’d ended up in Vegas when drunk and left to his own devices, so he supposed he had no room to judge.
“You’re so mean.” She stepped into the elevator with him.
“I’m efficient,” he said, hitting the button that would take them to the lobby.
“Is that the positive spin that assholes put on their inconsiderate behavior?”
“Yes,” he said, not really feeling the need to defend himself. What would be the point? Lydia didn’t like him anyway. He had never liked her. He didn’t have to explain himself to her.
She let out a long, slow sigh, no doubt designed to demonstrate just how deeply she disapproved of him. Finally, the doors to the elevator slid open and he walked out ahead of her. He could hear her clicking along behind him, her steps unsteady on the high-gloss marble in the lobby.
He paused, turning to face her. “First coffee. Then we’ll do something about that.”
“About what?”
“That,” he said, indicating her attire.
“You’re going to make me hobble to get coffee first?”
“We can fix your head or your feet first. Choose.”
She grumbled. “Coffee. Fix my head. Please fix my head.”
There was a coffee shop down at the other end of the lobby, and fortunately, since it was getting to be the middle of the day, it wasn’t all that crowded. He quickly procured them two very strong Americanos.
“Do you need sugar or anything?” he asked, pointing to the stand in the corner that held half-and-half, cinnamon and any other items you could possibly want to doctor up a coffee.
“I just need you to stop talking. And some sunglasses.” She squinted, looking a little bit like a pathetic rodent that had been prematurely rooted out of her burrow.
“One of those I can get you.”
“I can buy my own sunglasses, thank you, Colton.”
“It’s our honeymoon, dear. The least I can do is buy you a new outfit.”
Color washed over her face. “It is not our honeymoon.”
“Yes,” he said, “it is. Especially since you’re insisting that we stay married.”
“It’s the only thing we can do.”
“I guess I see your point,” he said, turning toward the gift shop that was located across from the café.
He didn’t want to see her point, but he did. His mother was already on the verge of a breakdown, and he was going to be the primary topic of town gossip for months. Adding to it all with this weird marriage and a quick divorce seemed...well, it seemed like the path of most resistance.
Lydia clicked after him. “You do?”
“I have a reputation in the community that I need to maintain.”
“I suppose drunkenly marrying your former fiancée’s bridesmaid doesn’t really jibe with that.”
“Less so quickly divorcing her. I’m not sure if Natalie told you about my father.”
Lydia blinked. “It may have escaped your notice that Natalie and I weren’t exactly on fantastic terms there in the en
d.”
“Oh, it did not escape my notice.” He began to rifle through the clothing racks. There wasn’t anything normal in this place. It all had dice and glitter on it. Lydia didn’t seem like the sort of woman who would wear either. “What size do you wear?” he asked. He was happy enough to change the subject away from his family.
“I can find my own clothes,” she said, grabbing hold of a large pair of sunglasses that had small glittery dice on the earpieces and putting them on quickly. She turned around, grabbing a fuzzy black zip-up hoodie off a rack, followed by a matching pair of pants. “These will do fine.”
He turned around, snagging a white T-shirt from a nearby rack and holding it out. It just so happened to say Bride across the chest in rhinestones. “You might want something short-sleeved,” he said.
She frowned. “That’s tacky.”
“But true,” he said.
Lydia scowled, taking a pair of black shoes with gold dice on them that looked an awful lot like men’s smoking slippers. Then she took everything over to the counter, where a young woman was waiting to check them out.
“So,” the girl said, taking the sunglasses from Lydia and scanning them. “You just got married?”
Lydia smiled, and it might have looked genuine if he was standing a little farther away. If it wasn’t so apparent to him how intensely she was grinding her teeth together. “Yes. I bet you don’t get a lot of newlyweds in here.”
Lydia’s dry tone completely went over the woman’s head. “Oh, we do. Getting married is a pretty popular pastime here.”
“What else are you going to do in a desert?” Colton asked.
“Pretty much nothing,” the girl responded, folding up the sweatshirt and then starting on the pants.
“Actually,” Lydia said, “I kind of want to change now.”
“Must have had some party after the wedding, huh?” the checker asked.
Lydia touched her hair again. “Or something.”
“She’s dressed a lot fancier than you,” the woman said, this time directing her comment at Colton.
“Yes, well she was standing outside a chapel waiting around for her groom. I just happened to show up.”
“I should have been waiting where you were waiting,” the checker said, winking at Lydia.
“If only you had been,” Lydia responded drily. “I’m just going to go change.”
Lydia disappeared for a few moments and Colton pretended to look at the merchandise in the store. Merchandise he would never in a million years consider buying. But it was better than attempting conversation with the woman at the counter. When Lydia reappeared her hair was still a disaster, and she looked a little like a Real Housewife of Somewhere. All she was missing was a small dog.
“Are you checking out?” the sales clerk asked.
“Yes,” Lydia said emphatically.
“In a hurry to start the honeymoon?” the woman asked with a grin.
“Something like that,” Colton said as they left the store.
While they waited in line to check out, Colton took his phone out of his pocket and dialed the airline. After giving all of the relevant information, he made a request for a change of flight.
“Mr. West, that is going to be an expensive fee,” the woman on the other end of the line—Julia, according to her initial introduction—said.
“I don’t care,” he responded.
“Four hundred dollars a ticket,” Julia continued.
He gritted his teeth. It didn’t really matter to him, in any way beyond principle, anyway. “I understand. But my new wife and I need to get back as quickly as possible.”
Lydia shot him a deadly glare. He shrugged.
“You’re on your honeymoon?” Julia asked, sounding surprised and delighted now.
“Yes. But regrettably we have to cut it short.”
“When you get to the airport, explain the situation,” she continued. “I can’t make any guarantees, but let’s see what they can do.”
He hung up after that, then smiled at the man behind the counter. This was an awful lot of human interaction for being this hungover. “Just checking out,” Colton said.
“Oh yes, Callie from the gift shop called over to let me know you would be over here. Newlyweds.”
He rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Yes.”
“Do you need transportation to the airport?”
“Yes,” Lydia supplied for him. “A taxi would be great.”
“I think,” the guy said, smiling as though he had just managed to procure them heaven and earth, “I can make that a little bit more special for you. The car will be waiting at the curb in a few moments.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Colton said.
“Of course it is, Mr. West,” he said. “We want to make sure you have the best possible service during this special time.”
Colton supplied his credit card and everything else, signing the bill before handing it back to the man.
“Thank you,” Colton said, keeping a tight leash on his temper.
Because that was what he did. Regardless of how he felt. Even when all was right with the world.
Then he walked toward the automatic doors that would lead them outside into the bright midafternoon sunlight. And when they arrived outside, they both stopped in their tracks.
CHAPTER THREE
“NO WAY,” LYDIA SAID, looking around the inside of the Hummer limousine they were currently taking to the airport. “There’s a stripper pole over there. In the limo.”
“Maybe it’s just so people have something to hold on to.”
“Well, that’s all I would be using it for.”
“This is our honeymoon,” he pointed out, probably just to rile her because there was no way in all the world Colton was sincerely suggesting she get up and dance.
“Does that mean you’re going to get up on the pole for me?” Lydia asked, leaning back in her seat and stretching her legs out in front of her. She was doing her very best to keep her tone casual, to keep from blushing. To keep from remembering anything that might have happened last night.
This entire morning—afternoon—had been a study in walking through the deepest darkest pit of hell as far as she was concerned.
A hangover like she hadn’t experienced in ever, a walk of shame in a ridiculously fluffy bridesmaid dress and rhinestone-encrusted high heels along with hair so large she would inspire envy in beauty pageant contestants everywhere.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Experiencing this with any guy would be traumatic. Experiencing it with Colton West was just too much. Her dignity was now a rare and endangered species. Like a spotted owl or snowy plover. She needed someone to come and protect it. Maybe if she had feathers people would be more concerned for her well-being.
Her dignity might have been damaged, but her sense of self-pity had never been healthier.
“You say that, Lydia, but I have a feeling you would actually pay me good money to stay off the pole.”
“True,” she said, gripping her purse tightly, as though it might shield her from yet more embarrassment. Plus, focusing on clinging to that specific item helped keep her brain busy so it didn’t do anything stupid like imagine how Colton might look if he were to engage in any sort of striptease.
Nope. No.
She might not be able to remember last night, but her memories of him shirtless in the hotel room were still way too vivid for comfort.
He was...he was everything a man should be. Broad-shouldered and lean. A chest and stomach so defined he looked like he belonged on the cover of a men’s magazine, making other men feel insecure about their lack of abs.
Except, in order to be on a men’s magazine he would have to be waxed bare. And Colton was not.
She swallo
wed hard, her throat dry. She did not need to be pondering his chest hair. Or his muscles. Or anything at all except the predicament they were in.
The drive to the airport seemed interminable. She could only hope they would be able to get seats far, far away from each other on the plane.
Of course, that turned out not to be the case. When they arrived at the airport check-in the very helpful, very friendly man at the counter offered them a free ticket exchange, and a bump up to first class. For the newlyweds, he’d said, overly cheerful.
Why was it that today of all days they were experiencing the height of customer service everywhere they went?
She was so accustomed to people not giving a damn, and in this situation she would have preferred it.
But no. Everyone was doing their best to make sure that Colton and Lydia got to spend as much time together as possible.
Still, she thought ruefully, as they sat on the small plane waiting to take off and the stewardess poured champagne into a real glass, it could be worse. She lifted the bubbly to her lips, needing a little bit of a crutch to boost her for the journey.
“Your attempt at a hangover cure?” Colton asked, nodding toward her glass.
“At this point there’s no making it worse, really.” Her head still hurt, in spite of the coffee.
“Don’t drink too much,” he said.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she muttered.
“No, but when you start drinking you find it difficult to keep your hands off me.”
She scrunched her face. “Colton, me being a little bit buzzed is the only way we’re going to make it through this flight without me doing you serious bodily harm.”
“So you’re saying there’s a happy alcohol medium you’re reaching for?”
“Yes. Totally sober I would like to strangle you. Completely trashed I apparently...” She let that sentence die as her face heated. “But a glass of champagne or two might just take the edge off.”
