by Valerie Mann
“What changed your mind?”
“I was at a crossroad. I’m turning forty in a few months and knew I’d been lying to myself.” He met her eyes. “Time was running out. Family is everything to me, Beth. I was ready to consider Eve’s option. No other opportunities were presenting themselves.”
He feared she might be insulted by the blunt honesty, didn’t want her to think he considered her a last resort—because the same could be said about him—but her unwavering gaze told him more than her words that she truly did understand why he would take the risk of marrying a stranger.
“Everyone deserves a second chance at happiness, Chris.”
“Or a third chance, in my case.” He gave her a wry smile.
She turned her attention toward the action on the Strip below for a few moments, but without a doubt, she was digesting what he’d told her.
She looked back at him. “I think those woman were too stupid to deserve you. But why did they—” She gasped and held up one hand. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I don’t need details.”
Right then, he’d tell her anything she wanted to know. All of his years in business and boardrooms had taught him who to trust and how soon. He had no choice but to trust her.
“Those details are why I’m here. You deserve to know what they are.”
“Not tonight.” Shifting forward, she stretched her hand across the table and twined her fingers through his. “And for the record, I’m not sorry those women let you go.”
I’m not either. He stood, pulled her to her feet with him and held her. The buried emotion—contentment—broke free, surrounding him with calm for the first time in years. Cradling her head with one hand, he hugged her with the other. Contentment and hope weren’t what he’d expected. Companionship was all he’d dared to hope for with the mystery woman he agreed to marry. Anything beyond that was the stuff of fairytales. But his gut wanted him to believe they could have more.
Maybe one day, if they were lucky, they would have it all.
***
“Oh, my God.” Beth sat back in her chair, covering her stomach with both hands. “You were right—Gina is an amazing chef. But I think I hate her right now.”
“I did warn you.” Chris bent over and lifted a silver cardboard box from the bottom of their dinner basket. “But there’s one more thing.”
She groaned. Her waistband and her waistline had fought for equal space since the middle of the delicious bistec entrée. One more bite and they’d come to blows. “No, really, I can’t—”
He pulled a snow white wedding cake out of the box. Miniature red rosebuds and silver glitter bordered the small confection.
“Oh, how lovely!” A wedding cake—another tangible reminder of their union. The sudden realization struck her that she’d had no fear or apprehension about the situation, or Christian, or what their future together held, since they’d left their room. Relief flowed over her. Take that, bad cop/badder cop. I did make the right decision.
Chris handed her a small cake knife. “You can do the honors.”
She rose and cut through the flawless fondant icing. Aromatic coconut and rum scented the air as she slipped the slice onto a small plate. He hooked an arm around her waist and settled her on his lap.
“What…am I supposed to feed you?” she teased.
“Of course.”
Inches away, his face filled her vision, his startling green gaze fixed on hers, and she was struck anew by his dark beauty. And how fortunate to have been given a second opportunity to find happiness with a man who shared the same dreams for the future.
Her cautious heart kicked in protest—he could break it if she let him.
Ignoring it, she tore a small piece of cake. He opened his mouth and took the offering, grabbing her hand before she pulled it back. Licking cream filling from her one finger, he smiled.
“Very nice.” His voice was low, full of promise of more nice things to come.
She lowered her lips to his, the kiss having a slow, easy quality, but leaving them breathless nevertheless. Sitting upright, she gestured toward the plate. “Do you want more?”
Cupping her nape, he tugged her back down. “Please.”
***
Propping her chin on her arms, Beth leaned against the railing. Far below, the fountains at The Bellagio swayed in time to music. Lights flashed up and down the Strip, horns honked, and she swore she heard the jingle of slot machines, even at that distance.
I’m married. I’m sitting on a rooftop with a sexy, amazing man who I truly like…and I’m married!
A bubble of happiness and more than a little relief tickled her throat before she giggled and burst out laughing. Chris’s confused smile gave her more fits of laughter until she reached for a napkin and wiped her eyes.
“Sorry. But this morning I was single in L.A. and tonight I’m married and sitting on the roof of a hotel in Las Vegas.” With a sexy, amazing man. She laughed again at the incongruity of the day.
He relaxed, watching her. “No regrets yet?”
“I haven’t had time for regrets.” You made sure of that. “But, you should have seen your face when you saw that wedding chapel.”
His lips twisted in a grimace. “I’ll be apologizing to you for that for a long time.”
“Nonsense. We’re married, regardless of how it happened. And Alex was right about a couple of things, you know.”
Chris poured the last of the wine into their glasses and slid hers over. “Really. What would that be?”
“After the shock wore off, it was hilarious.”
“I believe the term was ‘freaking hilarious.’” He nodded. “And yes, we will tell our grandchildren about it. As in, ‘this is what happens when Tio Alex plans your wedding.’”
She nearly laughed again. “So, why did you?”
“Why did I what? Let him plan it?” He drained his wine, as though stalling while searching for an explanation. “I don’t know.” But it was apparent he did know. The way he shifted uneasily and looked anywhere but at her said as much. “Alex is about as complicated a man as you’ll ever meet. And make no mistake—he’s smart. Scary smart.”
Water Boy? She stifled a giggle. “You didn’t look like you thought so this afternoon.”
With a rueful smile, Chris said, “Without going into the details you don’t want to hear tonight, I will tell you Alex has always had my back, especially through two failed engagements.” He frowned. “He knows me better than anyone except Jackson. I think his intent was to make this ceremony as different as possible from the first two that didn’t happen.”
Mission accomplished. Big brother wasn’t likely to compare their ceremony—or ever forget it, for sure. “So, if you weren’t surprised, why were you so angry?”
“Because I didn’t expect to be married by a man wearing a Planet of the Apes knock off costume and have a raunchy parrot serenade us. Honestly, I was more concerned for you. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
Her heart held up another caution sign—Proceed with caution. Rabbit hole ahead.
Too late. Across the table sat a man who possessed every quality she’d ever wanted but never thought she’d find. Her chest hurt thinking what might have been if she hadn’t followed blind instinct and let the mysterious Madame Eve work her magic.
Intense desire shot through her. She wanted to fall down the hole, let the amazing man she’d married catch her at the bottom, then have her way with him. Her breasts tightened and her nipples hardened, the silk of her blouse like sandpaper against the sensitive peaks. Crossing her legs to ease her throbbing clit, she still couldn’t stop the image of Chris lying over her, thrusting, filling her. She flushed and re-crossed legs covered with goose bumps. Looking up, she found his knowing glance hadn’t missed the telltale signs of her arousal, nor could she miss the erection pressing the fly of his pants.
She licked her lips. “What are the chances security cameras are up here?”
“About one-hundred percent.�
� He rose slowly and held out a hand. “Let’s go.”
***
Heat arced between them on the elevator ride back to their room, despite sharing the car with an older couple intent on small talk. Why hadn’t she thought to suggest taking the stairs?
Cloying perfume, reminiscent of the cologne bottles that had sat on Beth’s mother’s dresser, wafted from the short, stout woman. Her beehive hairdo bobbed when she spoke. “My husband Marty here won a thousand dollars on the slots last night. Can you believe it?” The last words were delivered in a conspiratorial whisper as though she feared the casino boss, on second thought, would take every red cent back.
Marty hugged a plastic casino cup to his chest. “My lucky number is three, and I always play the third machine from the right in the third row.” He tapped his bald head with an index finger. “I keep telling Barbara here, you need a strategy.”
“He’s always thinking, that one,” Barbara agreed, patting his arm. She looked Chris and Beth up and down. “What about you? Have you been lucky?”
His eyes, intense and dark green, met Beth’s and he nodded. “Very lucky.” The car stopped at their floor, and he hustled her out before Barbara could respond.
“Not feeling chatty, Mr. Ramos?” Beth teased.
“Hardly.” He handed her the room key then swept her up in his arms. “Open the door.”
With shaky fingers, she obeyed.
He kneed it open, set her down, then closed it with his foot. Pushing her against the heavy wood, he lifted her arms over her head with one hand and anchored her.
Oh, yes, that’s exactly what she’d hoped for—hard, hot, take-no-prisoners sex. Later he could make love to his wife. Right then, she only wanted pleasure. Sliding the other hand around to her back, he lowered her skirt zipper and tugged the fabric over her hips until it fell.
Cool air fanned over her wet panties and she shivered. He pressed harder, grinding his cock against her engorged clit. When she moaned, he covered her mouth with his, absorbing the sound, continuing to rub. She tried to free her hands, but he gripped tighter, moving his hips without mercy.
She wanted to pleasure him, too. Twisting her face away, she said, “Let go, Chris. Please….”
“Come for me.” He tapped the inside of her foot with his and spread her legs. “Come for me and I’ll let you do anything you want.”
Oh, God. So close. She moaned again when he nipped her shoulder, working up the side of her neck until he reached her jaw line.
He slid his hand under the elastic of her panties and stroked. “Now, querida.”
Like a slap, the orgasm hit, hard and fast. With a shriek, she rose on her toes and arched into his hand. He kissed her, his mouth absorbing her cries, his fingers working her until her knees gave out. When he let go of her hands, she wound her arms around his neck and sagged against him.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, trying to catch her breath.
He chuckled and rubbed her back. “You’re welcome.”
When coherent thought returned, she tipped her head away and quirked an eyebrow. “Your turn.” She shoved him toward the bed, pushing until he hit the edge of the mattress. “Anything I want, right?”
He sprawled back with a bark of laughter. “I like where this is headed.” His legs dangled over the side.
She unbuckled his belt, and pulled it free. Doubling it, she slapped the leather against her palm a few times, teasing him long enough to watch his eyes flare with interest before dropping it on the floor. She unbuttoned his pants and eased the zipper down. The tip of his erection was visible over the top of black boxer briefs and she inched both briefs and pants down to free it.
“Take off your shirt,” she said.
Still grinning, he loosened the buttons then lifted off the mattress to shrug out of it. His long, thick sex lay hard on his belly, waiting for her, and her core pulsed, ready to be filled. Standing between his legs, she ran her hands up his inner thighs, then back again. Propped on his elbows, he watched her with hooded eyes. She journeyed higher again, cupped his balls, ran a nail along the sensitive skin, watching him back.
Stretching upward, she glided her fingers over his hard abdomen, and he tensed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She kissed his pecs, laved an erect nipple, then the other. Smelled the soap he’d used earlier, tasted his smooth skin, the slight saltiness of it. His breath hitched, but he remained still, letting her have her way as promised.
She had to get her blouse off, wanted to feel his hands on her skin. Standing upright, she undressed quickly then settled on him again, her hands on each side of his waist. Their eyes met. She licked her lips. And lowered her head, running her tongue over the tip of his cock. He hissed above her.
Gripping him gently, she began to stroke the shaft, circling with her tongue, teasing the slit, tasting his essence. He wound his fingers through her hair and lifted his hips. She took more of him, sucking the swollen head, pumping him with her hand. His fingertips dug into her scalp.
“Beth….”
His balls tightened in warning. She drew away until only the head of his cock remained between her lips, wrapped them tight around it, and sucked harder.
He jerked and fell back on the mattress, his low groan filling the room. Clutching her hair, he pulsed into her mouth. She lingered over him until he begged her to stop then folded his arms around her shoulders. He pulled her up and rested her on his chest. His heart thundered under her ear.
She smiled.
Chapter Eight
An annoying buzz disrupted a dreamless sleep. Beth rolled over in the thin, watery light of early morning, and stared at the ceiling. Her foggy brain groped for clarity until deep, even breathing a foot away brought it back. She turned her head.
Chris lay sprawled on his stomach, taking up his half in the middle.
A bed hog.
Why she found that endearing, she didn’t know.
The buzz sounded again—her voicemail alert. Pushing back the covers to turn it off before it woke him, she winced. She hurt. Everywhere. With stiff muscles protesting all the way, she tiptoed across the room, grabbed the phone, and went into the bathroom.
She glanced in the mirror. Her hair sprouted in a wild tangle around her head, a testament to the sex she’d had. He might be turning forty, but her husband had healthy endurance. A little spark of arousal flared until she leaned closer to the mirror and her sore body reminded her to forget about it.
Wetting the corner of a washcloth, she ran it under her eyes, gently wiping away smears of makeup. So different from the last time she’d stood before a mirror, terrified and near hysteria. Was that really only yesterday?
Married. Joy and relief flowed through her.
Picking up her phone, she listened to her messages then erased them. She found a brush on the vanity and pulled it through her snarled hair. There was an odd intimacy to using Chris’s brush, and many more intimacies to get used to.
She showered and dressed quickly. With one last look at her husband, who lay in a twist of sheets and still enjoying the blissful slumber of an exhausted lover, she left.
***
Juggling a cardboard coffee carrier, a shopping bag, and her purse, she grinned.
“Good morning, Antonio.” And it was a good morning, cool and clear. Perfect honeymoon weather. God, she’d make herself nauseous if she wasn’t careful with such Pollyanna thoughts. But it really is perfect.
He tipped his hat and opened the glass door for her. “Likewise, Ms. Malone.”
Not bothering to correct him about the name change, she thanked him and headed toward the bank of elevators across the lobby.
“Beth.”
In her hurry, she hadn’t noticed Jackson only feet away from the door. Pushing away from the concierge desk, he stepped in her path.
She smiled. “Hey, Jackson. You’re up early.”
“I don’t need much sleep.” He folded his arms. His penetrating gaze still disconcerted her. “Has your st
ay been satisfactory? The room? Your dinner last evening?”
“Yes, everything has been perfect.”
He nodded toward her belongings. “Would you like help with anything?”
Glancing over at the elevators, she shook her head. What she wanted was to get back to her husband. Alone. She clutched the articles tighter. “No thanks, I can manage.”
Saying a quick goodbye, she caught the next elevator headed up. Leaning against the wall, she watched the numbers rise while anticipation fluttered in her belly. Had Chris woken? Was he a morning person? So many things they still needed to learn about each other. Just about everything, actually.
Stopping outside their room, she shifted the precarious load to one arm and opened the door.
Chris stood in front of the window, talking on his cell phone, his large frame silhouetted against the bright morning light. He’d put on the pants he’d worn the night before, and the shirt hung unbuttoned. He turned around and apprehension fluttered in her belly.
“She just walked in.” Angry eyes regarded her as he ended the call. “Yeah, thanks, Jackson.”
He tossed the phone on the table under the window, ignoring it when it skidded across the polished surface and fell off.
Beth warily set the coffee tray on the table. “Hi.” Why did the greeting sound more like a question? She didn’t move, only watched him.
“Where were you?” He slid his hands into his pockets and waited.
The cool quality of his voice turned her apprehension to fear. Not fear for her safety but for their tenuous relationship. She didn’t know Christian well, but she’d never expected him to be so cold. By the end of her previous marriage, her ex-husband had perfected cold. Chris was not Justin.
“I went out.” Slipping her purse from her shoulder, she searched for a possible reason for his unexpected behavior.
“Obviously.” The muscles in his jaws clenched. “Do you usually leave without saying anything?”
The knot in her stomach eased. Of course. What did men usually do when facing fear? They translated it into anger, because that emotion could be dealt with head-on and forgotten. Fear had to be admitted, figured out, handled. How many times would Chris have to deal with women walking away from him? Twice.
