by Kendall Ryan
She swallows, and I wonder if there’s a lump stuck in her throat like there is in mine. That thought eases some of my guilt the smallest bit.
“Thank you for that. I know you’ll be there for me when it matters,” she says, her tone soft.
“Damn straight, I will.”
“Thanks, Noah.” She smiles at me.
I pull the creased contract from the inside pocket of my jacket. “I went ahead and signed this. So, whenever you’re ready.” I hand her the contract, and she sets it down on her vanity table.
“Thank you.”
I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “See you out there.”
She nods. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll send Camryn back in.”
As I head out into the hall, I’m struck by the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Sterling is wrong, and all of this will unfold naturally between me and Olivia.
Call me crazy, but hell, it may just work.
Chapter Twenty
Olivia
I’m at my family’s summer cottage on Nantucket Island, motionless while Camryn puts the finishing touches on my eye makeup. This bedroom is still decorated according to my tastes in my high school days—which apparently involved a lot of tie-dye, mandala posters, and framed rain forest photos. Heh . . . I’d forgotten I had a hippie phase. At its small whitewashed desk, where I sit now, I did my summer homework and wrote in my diary.
Thank God for Camryn. She drove over early to lend a hand before the ceremony. As far as primping goes, I didn’t really need her help. I’m not doing anything special with my hair or makeup. My only concession to the special occasion is a cream-colored dress, and even that is pretty plain: just a knee-length wrap with a little lace at the bust. I look more like the mother of a bride than the bride herself. What I did need—desperately—was my best friend’s moral support. Her calm, matter-of-fact presence soothes my frazzled nerves.
I don’t even know why I’m wound so tight. Our “wedding” is just Noah and me meeting with a justice of the peace to sign the paperwork, while Dad and a few other family members and close friends stand by. No tuxedo and gown, no vows, no reception party. As short and simple as humanly possible. This marriage isn’t even real . . . and yet I have a textbook case of cold feet.
“And boom,” Camryn announces proudly. “Eyes are all done. Take a look.”
I open my eyes and blink at myself in the mirror. Wow, I look . . . hot. My usual makeup style is pretty minimalistic, since I rarely go anywhere besides the office, but Camryn has given me a subtle smokiness that’s sensual while still being demure enough for a daytime event.
“This looks great. Thank you.”
“Am I good or what?” Camryn grins. “Do you want anything to eat? Now’s your last chance before I do your lips.”
The kitchen counters and breakfast bar are piled with casseroles and salads and finger sandwiches from the catering company Dad hired. I told him I didn’t want a reception with a fancy meal afterward. But he insisted that our guests, as few as they are, still need to eat before heading back home. So this was our compromise, self-serve casual fare on paper plates.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. My stomach is flip-flopping like crazy.”
“That bad?” Camryn asks, her tone rising in sympathy.
I let out a deep sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel.”
I really do believe that Noah and I can work as a couple. But I’m still on the verge of panic. Marriage is such a huge commitment. Thinking about taking that step—oh God, and in less than an hour too—makes me break out in a cold sweat.
If Camryn hadn’t been here to steady my nerves, I might have seriously considered bolting. Especially when Dad handed over a copy of the contract at breakfast—all looming and official with its sixteen numbered pages. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. But I already know what it says, anyway. What’s the point of stressing myself out even more? I’ll just sign it when the time comes, quick and easy, like ripping off a bandage.
“Poor thing.” Camryn sighs. “Let me get you a drink. You need a little something to take the edge off.”
She bustles out of the bedroom to visit the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of merlot. My best friend knows me well enough to forgo the bottle of chilled champagne nestled in its ice bucket on the kitchen counter. Champagne is much too celebratory for the mood I’m in.
I accept the pleasantly chilled glass and take a deep swig. The small dose of alcohol subtly warms and loosens my muscles, and I let out a quiet sigh. She was right; I did need this.
“I really think this will be okay,” Camryn says. “From what I’ve seen, it seems like Noah’s been pretty sweet and attentive toward you.”
“Yeah, I do think he’s really trying.” I take another sip of my wine. “Even if his ultimate goal is just to get into my pants.”
“And that would be the worst thing in the world, why?” She raises her eyebrows at me with a devilish grin. She’s continuously griping about the state of my nonexistent love life.
I snort, smiling back despite myself. “I have about as much interest in riding his knob as I do in jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
Except when the jerk does something sexy and all the blood in my brain suddenly flies south for the winter. Which seems to be happening more and more often lately.
“Ladies . . .” Sterling pokes his head around the door frame, smirking like he heard every word. “Knob riding will commence after dinner.” Then he tips his chin toward us and leaves.
Fuck. The last thing I need is Noah thinking that tonight will feature any wedding-night hanky-panky. Frustrated, I growl and slam my eyes closed.
“We need something stronger than wine.” Camryn charges back into the kitchen before I can stop her. I can hear clattering as she searches through cabinets. Soon she returns, holding out a bottle of vodka. “Here we go.”
“No, that’s okay.” I wave her off. “I don’t really want to get too tipsy right now.”
She sets down the vodka on the desk. “Good point. We should wait until after the ceremony.”
“Actually . . .” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to socialize tonight. I need some time alone to figure stuff out.” Or bury my head in work like an ostrich and avoid my situation entirely. “Thank you for coming all the way out here.”
She nods. “Of course I came, Olivia. I can head back to the city early, no problem. It’s a long trip back anyway.” Her gaze wanders over toward the deck where Noah and Sterling sit with their backs to us, looking out over the beach. “Then again, Sterling’s pretty fucking hot. I could probably busy myself with him tonight.” She grins wickedly.
“Knock yourself out,” I say with a shrug. Someone around here should have fun, after all. “In fact, go ahead and get him now. I can do my lipstick by myself.”
We share one last reassuring hug before she leaves me alone in my childhood bedroom, taking her drink with her.
I push up the window and inhale the saltiness of the humid ocean breeze. The afternoon is warm, and mist rises from the blue harbor. For a minute, I watch a handful of distant sailboats, dim white dots bobbing on the horizon. I try not to obsess about the ceremony that will be starting in just half an hour. Letting the peaceful view fill my mind, I feel my tension start to melt away.
But the blessed silence shatters when my phone rings. Grumbling, wondering who the hell would call me right now, I dig it out of my purse.
I frown at the screen. Since I don’t know this number off the top of my head, I answer with a brisk, “Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Olivia.”
My stomach contracts into a tight, painful ball. That voice . . . For a moment I can’t speak.
“You really should check your e-mail more often,” Brad says.
Chapter Twenty-One
Noah
I’ve been standing on the beach for fifty minutes. Beads of sweat dot
my forehead, but they’re not from the sun. That set ten minutes ago.
“Where is she?” Sterling hisses under his breath.
“She’ll be here,” I say through gritted teeth, checking my watch yet again.
After everything we’ve built . . . living together, working together . . . it all feels so fragile and pointless if Olivia doesn’t follow through today.
Guests are starting to look at each other, and hushed whispers rustle through the small crowd.
The officiant shifts her weight, looking as uncomfortable as I feel. Then she leans in toward me. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have an appointment in twenty minutes. I can’t wait much longer.”
I nod and look to Fred. His features are twisted with worry. When he tips his chin toward Camryn, she scurries off toward the house. I take off after her, stepping into the footprints she leaves in the sand.
We head straight for the bedroom. The house is dim, and the feeling that something fundamental has changed rips through me. The door is still shut, and I’m afraid of what we’ll find when she opens it. Afraid of what it will mean.
Finally, Camryn opens the door. Everything is quiet for a minute.
“She’s gone,” she says, her voice shaky.
I swallow down a wave of emotion and look around the room. Olivia’s makeup and toiletries are still scattered on the vanity, but she’s not in the room.
I stare out the window at the sun setting over the ocean, and let out a heavy sigh. “She’s gone.”
What in the hell could have possibly happened since I last saw her? She was ready. Everything seemed fine. I notice the contract is no longer sitting on the vanity table. She’s taken it with her. I’m not sure what that means.
I turn to face Camryn. “What happened? You were the last person to see her. Was it nerves?”
Camryn shakes her head. “She seemed fine.”
I push my hands into my hair. I don’t fucking like surprises, and I’ve never been stood up before. But getting left at the altar? This is beyond any anger and panic I’ve ever felt.
I want to go out drinking and find some random girl so I can fuck out my aggression. And I know Sterling would be game. But then I think of Olivia’s shy smile and her sweet honeysuckle scent and the way her lips part when I kiss her . . . silently begging me for more.
“Fuck this,” Sterling says from behind me. “We’re leaving. Come on, Noah.”
His hand closes around my arm and starts tugging me down the hall. I know he has the exact same thought I did about thirty seconds ago. Booze. Girls. Massive hangover tomorrow to mask the pain of today. But I know nothing could blot out this memory.
If it weren’t for this ache in my chest—this empty spot she’d begun to fill—I’d leave and never look back. But part of me needs to know the next chapter in our story.
I’ve fantasized about Olivia for the last twenty years. She’s the girl I squirted with the water hose when I was young, the woman who gave me butterflies in my stomach when I was older.
And now, just as I’ve started to think of her as mine . . . she’s gone.
Hitched, Volume Two
Arranged marriage? Check.
Cocky new husband? Check.
It's a marriage of convenience—one I’m determined to keep strictly professional. I can't be stupid enough to fall for this sexy playboy's charm or advances. I have to be strong, even if he is my husband.
Except he has a huge cock with an even bigger ego, and his main goal in life seems to be getting me to stroke both. The arrogant bastard is like sweet, sugary candy for my libido. I know he’s bad for me.
But I want to devour every wicked inch of him.
With his sexual prowess and experience, I know he’ll be explosive in the bedroom. And since we’re stuck together for the foreseeable future—keeping up this marriage charade long enough to turn the company profitable again—I deserve something to look forward to at the end of a long workday, right?
What could one little taste hurt?
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following ladies who played an important role in helping me bring Hitched into the world: Alexandra Fresch, Hang Le, Natasha Gentile, Rachel Brookes, Danielle Sanchez, and Pam Berehulke. I’m so grateful to have each of you on my team.
A big thank you to Crystal Patriarche and the BookSparks Team.
And to John. Always John.
About the Author
A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than twenty titles, Kendall Ryan has sold more than 1.5 million e-books, and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She’s a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author.
Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she’s appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller list more than two dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA TODAY, Newsweek, and In Touch Weekly.
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Other Books by Kendall Ryan
Unravel Me Series:
Unravel Me
Make Me Yours
Love by Design Series:
Working It
Craving Him
All or Nothing
When I Break Series:
When I Break
When I Surrender
When We Fall
When I Break (complete series)
Filthy Beautiful Lies Series:
Filthy Beautiful Lies
Filthy Beautiful Love
Filthy Beautiful Lust
Filthy Beautiful Forever
Lessons with the Dom Series:
The Gentleman Mentor
Sinfully Mine
Alphas Undone Series:
Bait & Switch
Slow & Steady
Stand-alone Novels:
Hard to Love
Reckless Love
Resisting Her
The Impact of You
Screwed
Monster Prick
