Shotgun Wedding
Ainslie Paton
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or people, living or dead is purely co-incidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher. Copyright © 2016
Shotgun Wedding
Ainslie Paton
Marry in Haste. Hell, Yeah
Warning: Do not read this book if you dislike weddings.
Reid wants a ring on Zarley’s finger, but Zarley doesn’t need a wedding to feel married to Reid. Owen is ready to start a family, but Cara isn’t sure she wants kids. Sarina is pregnant and proposed to Dev, and he wants a wedding—by the weekend.
Venue, guest list, invitations, the dress, the suit, rings, vows, catering. It’s a lot to get done in a few days. What could possibly go wrong?
Only one thing is certain with this shotgun wedding, love is the trigger and hearts will take a direct hit of happiness.
For better, for worse, forever.
This is for readers who enjoy catching up with the HEAs of couples in the Sidelined series. All the stories in Sidelined can be read independently, in any order, except Shotgun Wedding, which is more fun if read after Offensive Behavior, Damaged Goods and Sold Short.
Shotgun Wedding includes a bonus Sidelined Origins story, Running Interference, about how Reid and Dev met Sarina and Owen.
Acknowledgements
Beta team said they wanted more of Dev and Sarina.
Rhian Cahill said this was a good idea. She was right.
Here’s how that went down:
Rhian: Everybody loves wedding and babies.
Ainslie: I’m such a non-girl I forgot about that.
Rhian: LOL. Yep. That’s why you have me :)
Chapters
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
RUNNING INTERFERENCE
INCONSOLABLE
About Ainslie Paton
ONE
Reid
Zarley looked up from her laptop when Reid walked into the dining room, but it was a brief flick of lashes and by the time they’d exchanged a greeting, he’d already lost her eyes.
And didn’t that suck balls.
One, because it made him feel like a needy fuck to want all her attention, when he knew she was stressed by the fact she had a nightclub to open. Two, because Sarina was pregnant and holy shit, that was a big deal. Three, because Dev finally wised up, and he and Sarina were getting hitched—shotgun style.
And four, because Reid was a needy fuck where Zarley was concerned and he missed her, and right now she didn’t have time for him.
Screw that.
“Have you eaten, Flygirl?” He was home at a decent hour, and she’d chosen to work here and not in her office at Lucky’s, least he could do was get something on a plate for her.
“No. I need to . . .” She waved a hand at the stuff piled on the table.
“Get whatever you’re doing done.”
“Ah-hah. Two weeks to the soft opening and I don’t know if we’re going to make it.”
He didn’t respond. He had no idea if she’d be ready to open the new Lucky’s. He was supposed to say something reassuring. He knew that, and it was reinforced when she looked up expectantly, but he had no idea what went into opening a nightclub and he never had been a man for empty small talk.
And she knew it. She rolled her eyes at him, a quick uptick of her lips and then she went back to whatever she was wrangling on her screen.
“Sarina is pregnant.”
That got her attention. “Oh wow.” She gave him one of her kneecap tightening smiles. “Since you chose her donor that makes you kind of like a godfather. Is she happy? Is she well?”
“I didn’t choose the donor.” Though he had helped Sarina shortlist sperm donors and select the one she intended to father her kid. But he’d missed a trick where Dev was concerned. “It’s Dev’s kid.”
“Dev was a donor. I thought he didn’t like the whole idea?”
“He got over it. Made a direct deposit.”
“A what?” She laughed. “Oh. Really? Dev and Sarina did the nasty.”
“Made a baby. Want a wedding.”
Zarley’s eyes widened. “Oh!” Then narrowed. “You don’t look happy about that.”
“I’m happy for them.”
“But?”
But it’d been nearly three years since he’d fucked up his professional life, turned full-time drunk and become obsessed with his little pole dancer. Three years since falling in love had helped him become a less defective person, less likely to be an outright offensive asshole; since he’d got his act together and gotten his company back. He’d proposed for fuck’s sake. At the end of their first year together, under a spotlight on the stage in the emptied-out shell of Lucky’s, and the concept hadn’t frightened Zarley away, but it hadn’t gotten a ring on her finger either.
That ring, specially made for her so it was flashy but wouldn’t get in her way, smooth edges and flat surfaces and enough sparkle to light a dark room, was still in its box.
“But you and me . . .” he rubbed his eyes. He was being a dick.
“Are happy, Reid. We’re happy.” She frowned at him. “Or is there something you’re not telling me?”
“We’re happy, but you know what I want.”
“And you know I don’t think we need a wedding to make us stronger together.” Her eyes went back to her screen.
“Empty ritual. I get it.” Not like they hadn’t had this conversation before. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it for practical reasons.”
“We’re already practically married. What real difference can a ceremony make?”
He’d go with that. “Last week, that day it rained like we’d never see sun again, I nearly came off the bike.” It’d been a very close call. Another inch or two and he’d have met the front grill of an SUV. Her spine straightened and she closed the lid of the laptop. He had her full attention. “Oil on the road, the back wheel kicked out.” As it was he’d felt the heat of the car’s engine on his face and his shoulders were still tight with the effort of wrenching the bike upright and out of the slide.
“You never told me that.”
“You’ve been busy and nothing happened.” But it could’ve been bad. Traffic came to a standstill, horns blared. Could’ve been real bad.
“Not too busy to know you almost got in an accident. Reid, come on.” Flash of anger in her eyes. “That’s not fair.”
What’s not fair is that Zarley didn’t see there were good legal reasons for them to marry. “If anything happened to me, it would be difficult for you.”
“If anything happened to you, Back Booth, it would be hell for me.” She shook her head and the pencil holding her hair piled on her head fell out, the glossy length of it falling over her neck and down her back. She picked up the pencil and wagged it at him. “Don’t talk like that.”
She hadn’t used that old nickname for a while. “I didn’t mean that.” But fucker that he was, the fact she was affected made him smile. “I meant legally.”
“I’m not with you for your money. I’m making my own way because that’s important to me. We agreed about that.” She’d left him to demonstrate it. He was never forgetting it.
“I know, but it’s not as simple as that. I have a complex estate and my will is tricky. I don’t want to have to think about it being hard for you.
”
“Reid, we can’t make us about your assets.”
“You won’t let me make it about loving you.” She certainly didn’t understand the almost primitive instinct he felt to make a mark on her so she was indisputably his. He didn’t understand it himself, but he felt it. A need to claim, brand, tie her so tightly to his own life he felt secure she wouldn’t ever go missing. “I almost came off the bike. I almost went under another car and all I was thinking about while I fought the ground for traction was you having to fight for what you should inherit because we’re not married and anything could happen if I’m not here to stop it, and fuck, that’s not what I want for you.”
He palmed his face. Shouting at her wasn’t going to get him what he wanted.
There was a blitzed-out moment of silence and then she said softly, “Come here.”
She was using the big glass dining table as a desk. He stood a little way in front of it and they were separated by piles of paper and tech, pieces of fabric and an architect’s photo board. And a gut-load of sexual tension.
He didn’t move. He was angry. Angry about how vulnerable a patch of oil on the road made him feel, about how an almost accident had left him gasping for breath, because all he could think about was Zarley having to fight with charities and other beneficiaries and God knows who else, no matter how careful his lawyers were, to be fairly treated as his girlfriend, when she’d share everything with his mom without challenge if she’d wear his fucking ring and be his wife.
It wasn’t romantic, but he’d tried that. He’d tried loving her into a complacent coma. He’d tried giving her the space she needed to make her own way and not be swamped by the overwhelming fact of him being fuck-off wealthy in a way that was seriously complicated.
Dev had loved Sarina for a long time. Reid never thought about that before Sarina announced she was going to have a baby with a donor and then it’d struck him how much time the two of them had wasted not being fully together.
Owen with Cara by his side was a rebooted version of what he’d been like when they’d first met at college. The guy was happy and it flowed through everything he did. He was an even better leader for all that living with and loving Cara did for him.
This with Zarley, this being in love, craving each other’s bodies, making a life together was almost enough, and it was almost an accident waiting to happen. He stood where he was, trying to get a hold of the rising heat of frustration in his chest. He didn’t want to fight about this. He wanted her to wear his fucking ring and be his goddamn wife; if not because it would make it harder for her to leave his ridiculous ass, for sensible, practical legal reasons.
“I see,” she said, standing. “It’s like that.”
She wore a skimpy white tank that didn’t meet her tiny cut-off shorts and she was braless and barefoot. She leaned on the table, hands wide. He’d lost count of the number of times they’d used that table to make a meal of each other. The accident waiting to happen now was that everything on the table would be on the floor in the next thirty seconds if she didn’t stop looking at him like she wanted trouble. She’d be naked in less time than it took him to mutter a curse, and he’d forget everything that was fucking him off when he had her mouth and her hands and her legs wrapped around him.
It was like that. She could give him that determined, going to mess you up look and he’d forget everything that wasn’t the burning need to be close to her, to be all over her, with her moans of pleasure in his ear and her incredible athlete’s body at his disposal.
“Don’t,” he warned. Unless she didn’t care about what was on the table; didn’t want to finish her work.
She arched her back, thrust her breasts out. “Don’t what?”
He rocked back on his heels, he was on unsteady ground here. He shouldn’t give in so easily. “Think you can fuck the idea of me wanting you wearing my ring out of my head.”
A grin, she wet her lips. “Think I can try.”
With one hand, she toyed with the end of her tank, flashing him her slender waist, those firm oblique muscles and the swell of her ribcage. Made his heart kick; excitement and raw desire. This is what it was like between them. This dance of lust, making it impossible not to want, not to put everything else going on aside to focus on each other. Three years and they’d been together every way possible and often enough for it to have become routine, and still from behind the table she was a threat to his health and wellbeing.
She didn’t have to try. She only had to be and he wanted her, but in three years that had changed. He’d stopped fearing it would end, that she’d wise up and leave his difficult to get along with ass, until a wet night and a sideways slide, a shrieking engine and blinding light, and he was right back to that treacherous place of fear where he had everything to lose. He fucking hated how out of control that made him feel.
He was on his knee before he recognized the movement for what it was.
She did. “Reid?”
“Marry me, Zarley.”
She gave a resigned sigh. “You had a scare and I’m mad with you for not telling me.”
“Marry me, Zarley.”
“It’s a formality and we don’t need it. And note to self. Don’t ask a woman to marry you when she’s mad with you.”
“You’re mad about me and I fucking need it.”
She came around the table and stood in front of him, hands jammed on her hips. “You already own me, body, heart and soul. I don’t need anything else from you but what we’ve got.” She took his chin in her hand. “What I know we’re going to have forever.”
“It’s not enough.” He intended that to come out with force, to match the way he jerked his face from her hands and got to his feet. They stood close, body-brushing distance.
Zarley was forced to tip her head back to look him in the eye. “If you die on me, last thing I’m going to care about is a fight over your money.”
“Since we agree on that, I don’t see what the problem with some paperwork is?”
She glanced away, a mischievous look on her face. “I guess I have to admit I want to keep my options open.”
Something inside him fishtailed and slid sideways. Merciless little witch. She was playing with him. He got in her face. It was a precursor to getting inside her shorts. “Your options closed out the moment you stood in the wings of that stage and let me see you. The moment you seduced me by being fearless on your pole. You sealed your fate when you punched out an asshole in the alley and called me on being a drunk.”
She pushed his face away. “I thought you were a drug dealer.”
“And still you picked me up when I was down and put me to bed when everyone else would’ve left me to rot.” He said that while trailing a finger up her arm, from wrist to elbow, into the divot of muscle in her bicep and up to her shoulder. They both watched his hand.
“I did more than put you to bed,” she said, as he flattened his palm over her chest, thumb to the pulse jumping in her neck.
“Your choice in the matter of us was made when you went to your knees in my shower. When you took me to bed and showed me what to do with my body to make your body feel good.”
She leaned into his hand. “I rocked your world.” She did it every time she smiled at him. Every time he went to bed with her in his arms. She’d tilted his world on a whole new axis, made it revolve around her.
“It was game over for you when you drew up that list of all the ways we could pleasure each other and when you took me places I’d never have gone alone, made me a voyeur and a man who agreed to share you.”
“You don’t share.” Said with a wicked pout, a practice kiss; the shape her lips made when they were waiting for his.
He’d shared her that once in the park in Paris. “Not unless you make me.” And she could. She could make him do anything, even give up on this need to tie her to him legally. She was right, it was a formality. It made his will a tidier document, less open to being fucked with if one of the charities he gave to decide
d they didn’t like a common law girlfriend taking the bulk of his assets.
“You scared I’ll leave you?”
“Nope.” Her one true failing was loving him stupid. And he knew what to look for. How to measure her touch and her kiss and her way of being with him against her own insecurity and ambition. He was never going to let those things come between them again.
She laughed, put her hand to his stomach where his temper still roiled. “Then what is this about?”
Dev and Sarina would marry. If Owen didn’t get a ring stuck on Cara’s finger before Sarina’s belly popped, Reid would be forced to concede he was wrong about the rightness of the two of them. He was never wrong.
“What’s the problem with a man wanting a woman to be his all the ways there are?”
“No problem.” Zarley edged closer so that all along their bodies, they grazed. “What’s the problem with a woman wanting to be a man’s partner without having that partnership defined in terms religions and lawyers find acceptable?”
Fuck, he wanted her. His spine was electric with it, his throat gone tight so his voice came out low when he said, “No problem,” in a way that made her shiver.
They stared at each other. If they touched, there’d be no more debate. If they touched there’d be instructions, hers; assurances, his. There’d be breathless grunts and inarticulate groans, a language all theirs when they came together in a clarifying rush of heat and tension and freedom.
“You win.” He put his hand to her face and sealed his lips over hers. She would always win, because she never asked anything of him he wouldn’t ultimately give.
Didn’t mean he’d stop wanting.
TWO
Cara
The thing about a man who’d learned how often he could make you come in a single night without taking anything for himself was that he got off on it. Hot hemming tape, Cara really shouldn’t complain. Multi-orgasmic, go me. But tonight, Owen was weaponizing her orgasms because he wanted something she wasn’t ready to give, because Dev and Sarina were pregnant and wanted a wedding and Owen wanted one too.
Shotgun Wedding (Sidelined #4) Page 1
