Marry Me, Major

by Merline Lovelace

  The familiar landscape rolled by outside the limo’s window as the driver took I-15 toward downtown and the Clark County courthouse. To the right were the improbable castles and pyramids and glass towers of the Strip. To the left, the Spring Mountains rose in majestic splendor. Alex had lived here almost four years and still thought of it as home.

  “By the way,” she told Ben, “I called the woman I used to room with here in Vegas. She’s a dancer at the Flamingo and has a matinee show but said she could slip away long enough to meet us at the Bellagio and act as a witness.”

  “I called a pal, too. He’s stationed at Nellis and agreed to do the same.”

  Alex took another sip of the champagne, hoping that the presence of two friends instead of strangers would make the quickie wedding seem a little more real.

  As smooth as the champagne was, she confined herself to those two sips during the drive downtown. Once they’d obtained the marriage license, though, her nerves revved up and she gulped down what was left in her glass.

  Ben’s choice of the wedding venue had surprised her. Given the short notice, she’d expected a no-frills, hurry-up-and-say-I-do ceremony at one of Vegas’s tacky little wedding chapels. She certainly hadn’t expected the Bellagio, but given a choice it would’ve been among her top three or four picks.

  The Bellagio’s famed dancing fountains were delighting crowds of tourists when they pulled up at the main entrance, where an event planner in an Armani pantsuit was waiting with clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face.

  “We’re ready for you, Ms. Scott, Major Kincaid. This way, please.”

  The planner led them through a lobby festooned with fabulous glass chandeliers to a private terrace overlooking the lagoon. The fountains were just finishing a lavishly choreographed sequence to “Time To Say Goodbye” sung by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli.

  “Lex!”

  The high-pitched squeal that pierced the music and splash of cascading water came from Alex’s former roommate. A statuesque five foot ten, brimming with energy and surgically enhanced everywhere it counted, Chelsea had tossed a light wrap over a costume that consisted of spangled flesh-colored stockings, a rhinestone-studded G-string and a pearl-encrusted bra. A sparkly cap concealed her glossy black hair and buckled under her chin. The ostrich feathers topping the cap bobbed as she rushed across the terrace to engulf Alex in a rib-cracking hug.

  “I still can’t believe you talked someone into agreeing to your crazy scheme,” she exclaimed when they disengaged.

  “I can hardly believe it, either.”

  “You sure you want to go through with it?”

  “I’ve run out of options.”

  “Mmm. How’s Maria?”

  “Fine. She sends her love. And her congratulations on moving up to second lead. You deserve it.”

  “I think so, too. I’ve got the best strut in town, even if I do say so myself.” Her inch-long fake eyelashes fluttered as she aimed them at Ben. “So this is the sex machine you spent that wild weekend with?”

  As best Alex could recall, she hadn’t used quite that term to describe Ben. She had to admit it wasn’t too far off the mark, though.

  “Chels, this is Major Ben Kincaid. Ben, Chelsea Howard.”

  Although Ben topped Alex by a good five or six inches, he stood eye to eye with the long-legged dancer. He held out his hand but, before Chelsea could take it, another arrival rushed out on the terrace.

  “Sorry, Cowboy. Damned traffic was backed up for a... Well, hel-lo.”

  The new arrival’s eyes locked instantly on Chelsea. His sand-colored flight suit dotted with subdued military patches told Alex this had to be Ben’s pal from Nellis Air Force Base. Ben confirmed it when he pried his friend’s attention away from the dancer long enough to make the introductions.

  “Brace yourself, Alex. This sorry excuse for a combat systems officer is Captain Jerry Floyd, call sign Pink...for obvious reasons.”

  “Pink Floyd. Got it.”

  “And you’re the woman who finally caused Cowboy to crash and burn.” He pumped Alex’s hand gleefully. “The news that he’s going down in flames flashed around the internet with the speed of light this morning. I had to promise to post a picture of the two of you as soon as the deed is done. No one’s gonna believe it otherwise.”

  “Speaking of doing the deed,” Chelsea said, “I hate to hurry you, but I have to get back to the Flamingo.”

  “No problem,” Ben replied easily. “We’re ready, aren’t we, Alex?”

  As ready as she’d ever be. Still, her throat went dry when the minister launched into the time-honored, “We’re gathered together to witness the joining of this man and this woman...”

  She had another uncomfortable moment when the minister asked for the rings. They hadn’t had time to pick them out but, thankfully, Ben had ordered plain gold bands as part of the wedding “package.”

  “You’ll have to have it sized,” he murmured as he slipped it over her knuckle.

  Mere seconds later the by-the-hour minister pronounced them husband and wife. Beaming, he gave the new groom the go-ahead. “You may kiss your bride.”

  Prepared for this part of the ritual, Alex tipped her face for Ben’s kiss. He was good at this, she remembered from their weekend together. What she hadn’t remembered was how good.

  His mouth brushed hers lightly. Then again. Slowly. Deliberately. She breathed in the warm scent of skin. Felt a sandpapery prickle where his chin scraped hers. Then he curled his arm around her waist, drew her in close and really got into it. When he raised his head and smiled down at her, her heart was jackhammering inside her chest.

  “Hello, wife.”

  She gulped. “Hello, husband.”

  He looked like he was about to say something else but the event planner intervened with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Major, but we’ve got another wedding scheduled on the terrace in fifteen minutes. Shall we move to the railing and take some pictures?”

  Chelsea threw off her wrap and struck her best showgirl pose. Pink went to parade rest beside Ben. And, as if on cue, the fountains spurted and began dancing to Elvis Presley’s rousing rendition of “Viva Las Vegas.” Alex had to grin at the tableau they presented as the photographer did his thing.

  The wedding planner was good. And quick! She accessed a nearby printer and slid copies of the best photo into silver-tinted souvenir frames, then gave one to Alex, Chelsea and Pink while the photographer texted the original JPEGs to their phones.

  “You sure you guys can’t stay over for a few days?” Chelsea asked Alex as she covered her showgirl splendor with her wrap again. “I could get you an employee discount on the bridal suite at the Flamingo.”

  Alex was tempted. So tempted. Her mouth still tingled from Ben’s kiss and memories of their nights together were crowding front and center in her mind.

  “We’d love to but...”

  “Yeah, you told me. Hubby’s unit is deploying early tomorrow morning. Not much of a honeymoon, kid. Guess you’ll have to make up for lost time when he gets home.”

  “Not likely,” Alex murmured, “seeing as we’ll probably be divorced by then.”

  “Ya never know,” the showgirl murmured with a sideways glance at Ben. “Ya just never know.”

  Chapter Three

  Ben had considered several options to kill the four hours between the wedding and the flight back to Albuquerque. His first choice was a room right there at the Bellagio. With a little luck and a few smooth moves, he might’ve been able to convince Alex to forget her no-sex condition.

  Although...

  His gut told him she was right to keep their pseudomarriage platonic. By this time tomorrow he’d be sprawled in the back end of a C-17 with ten other aircrews being ferried across the pond as replacements for a squadron that had flown more than twice its share of combat miss
ions. By the time he rotated stateside again, his brief stint as a married man would most likely be a distant memory. Going horizontal with his sexy bride might generate some happy memories to take with him. Unfortunately, a few hours between the sheets would also complicate an already weird situation.

  His second choice to fill the four hours was to take Alex out to Nellis and give her an up close glimpse of his world. But that would generate too many questions about his supposed marriage if Pink or any of his pals got wind of it. The news that Cowboy was playing tour guide to his new wife instead of heating up a honeymoon suite would hit every Special Ops news feed around the globe.

  His third and only viable option was to treat his bride to a lavish wedding feast before they headed to the airport. He pitched the idea when they were once again ensconced in the limo.

  “I don’t know about you but I need more than airline peanuts to sustain me until we get back to Albuquerque. What say we celebrate our nuptials with a late lunch–early dinner at one of Vegas’s many eateries?”

  “That sounds wonderful!”

  The barely disguised relief in her response told Ben she’d been worrying over ways to fill their postwedding hours, too.

  “Do you have a place in mind?”

  Nobly, he left the choice to her. “Your town, your call.”

  “Well...” she said with a quick grin.

  Damn! Why hadn’t he remembered how her eyes gleamed with flickers of gold when she smiled. Probably because they hadn’t had much to twinkle about since they’d reconnected.

  “There is one place,” she told him. “But it doesn’t exactly qualify as elegant.”

  “Your town,” he repeated, thoroughly intrigued by those bright eyes.

  * * *

  Okay, Ben thought some minutes later, he might have made a serious error in judgment by turning the choice of eating establishments over to his bride.

  He got his first clue when she leaned forward, tapped the window separating them from the chauffeur, and directed him to Pancho’s Cantina on East Hacienda Boulevard. The second was when they pulled in to a dirt parking lot and Ben surveyed a structure that looked like it had started life as a garage. Rusted sedans and a burned-out bus sat off to one side of the establishment. Dented pickups with gun racks decorating their rear windows crowded the front entrance.

  “This is your favorite place to eat in Vegas?” Ben asked. “A city with as many four-and five-star restaurants as Paris or London?”

  “Pancho’s green chili and sour cream enchiladas will melt your soul,” she asserted confidently before scooting forward to rap on the window divider again. “Have lunch with us, Ernie. You’ll be our special guest.”

  The chauffeur’s glance cut to the rearview mirror. Ben endorsed the invitation with a nod. Why not?

  Ten minutes later the three of them were seated in a booth and scarfing down what could only be described as fifty-megaton salsa. Ernie, they discovered, was actually Ernesto Constanza and a transplant to Vegas from south Philadelphia. Ben listened while he and Alex exchanged increasingly humorous tales of living and working in Sin City. Ernesto’s anecdotes edged closer to the mob than Alex’s, although Ben hiked a brow at the instances she sketched of strong-arm tactics by the unions.

  When Ernie excused himself to hit the men’s room, Ben had to ask, “Did Chelsea really fork over part of her paycheck for a year to get her first break in Vegas?”

  “It was either that or sleep with the slug who was doing the hiring.”

  “What about you? Did they lean on you, too?”

  She shook her head. “I was lucky enough to be hired right out of college by one of the really, really great guys in the costume business. Don kept our union steward in line. He was also openly, proudly gay. The only threat to my somewhat dubious virtue came from the aircrews who converged on Nellis for Red Flag.”

  No surprise there. Red Flag was a massive combat training exercise that brought a host of air, space and cyber forces of the US and its allies to the Nevada Test and Training Range. The range’s fifteen thousand square miles of desert provided a target-rich environment, realistic threat systems and an enemy force that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else in the world. Ben and his crews had dodged more simulated surface-to-air and air-to-air missiles in the skies above Nevada than he wanted to count.

  “I managed to resist the Red Flag crews.” With a rueful smile, Alex leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. “Can’t say the same for a certain Badger Basher.”

  God! Did she have any idea how seductive she looked right now? The sparkles on her heart-shaped neckline pulled Ben’s gaze like airfield approach lights. He tried, he honestly tried, not to stare at the swell of creamy flesh above those sparkles but he was sweating by the time the waitress dumped three platters the size of B-52s on the table.

  * * *

  Pancho’s house special didn’t do much to douse the heat in his belly but it did fill him up enough to pass on the airline’s peanuts during the short flight back to Albuquerque. The sun was just beginning to sink toward the volcanic peaks across the Rio Grande when they exited the terminal. Streaks of red and gold and flaming orange tinted the sky as they claimed Ben’s SUV and drove to Pat and Dinah’s house to pick up Maria.

  “So?” Pat asked when she answered the door and ushered Alex inside. “How was Vegas?”

  “Still bright and glitzy and completely unreal.”

  “Your friend Chelsea make it to the ceremony?”

  “She did. So did Ben’s best man. They were both in uniform. Mostly.”

  Keying her phone, she brought up the souvenir wedding photo that the wedding planner had texted to her and Ben’s phones.

  “Darn! No Elvis?”

  “No, thank goodness. Not that anyone would notice with Chelsea spilling out of her halter.”

  “True.”

  Alex tucked her phone back in her bag. “How were the girls?”

  “Fine. They wore themselves out and are both zonked out on the sofa.” She slanted Alex a quick glance. “Sure you don’t want to just leave her here tonight? This being your honeymoon and all?”

  “They have school tomorrow. It’s enough of a battle to get Maria up and out the door at our own house. You’d need a bulldozer to do it here.”

  “Your call. You get her, I’ll carry her backpack.”

  Alex had to stifle a grunt when she lifted the fifty-plus pounds of sleeping child. Maria woke only long enough to whine petulantly at being disturbed before wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck.

  When the two women appeared by the car, Ben popped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear door. Maria had outgrown her booster seat and five-point harness months ago but she was too sleepy to just buckle in and leave all slumped over.

  “I’ll ride in the back with her,” Alex told him.

  Unfortunately, she had Maria’s head pointed the wrong way and couldn’t slide her into the seat. She tried angling around. That didn’t work, either.

  “Here, let me.”

  He transferred the sleeping girl from Alex’s arms into his. Maria gave another bad-tempered whine, then rolled into his chest and burrowed in. Ben looked so startled at having the seven-year-old’s nose stuck in his chest that Pat laughed and Alex had to smother a smile.

  “She’s always cranky when she’s half-asleep,” she apologized. “I’ll slide in first and you can hand her to me.”

  * * *

  They reversed the process after the short drive to the casita. Ben cut the ignition, climbed out and opened the passenger door to gather the still-sleeping child in his arms. Maria didn’t whine this time. Just drew up her knees, mumbled something incoherent and cuddled up against him again.

  Alex slid out and refused to acknowledge the pain that lanced into her. Why couldn’t Maria’s father have cradled her like this? Held her just
once and showed some love?

  In Janet’s last, agonizing months she’d admitted that her absent husband had resented Maria’s claim on her time and attention. Eddie had never played with the girl. Never showed her any affection. And in one of his drug-induced highs, he’d claimed that his former girlfriend had slept with half the band before she dumped the kid on him and took off for parts unknown. Any of them might be the kid’s father. Alex had settled that with a court-mandated DNA test when she’d gone after the bastard for child support.

  Except, she acknowledged grimly as she unlocked the casita’s front door, her determination to get the deadbeat dad to own up to his responsibilities had totally backfired. The incontrovertible proof that Eddie was, in fact, Maria’s father had come less than a week before his arrest on drug charges. Now the asshat was in prison, still not contributing to his daughter’s welfare and getting back at Alex by blocking every one of her attempts to adopt his daughter.

  Her sham marriage to Kincaid had to tip the scales, she thought furiously. It had to.

  Her jaw tight, she led the way to Maria’s room and yanked down the bed comforter. Ben hooked a brow at the suppressed violence but eased the girl into bed and murmured that he’d wait in the kitchen while Alex got her undressed and settled for the night.

  * * *

  Alex had sternly banished all thoughts of her sister’s ex by the time she followed the scent of fresh brewed coffee to the kitchen. Ben was leaning a hip against the counter with a steaming mug in one hand.

  “Helped myself,” he said, hiking the mug. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not. I’ll have some, too.”

  Yikes! The first sip reminded her of their weekend together, when he took his coffee strong enough to grow hair on his chest.

  Not that Major Ben Kincaid would final in any of the hairy chest contests conducted with some frequency in Vegas’s less reputable lounges. Chelsea had dragged Alex to one but the fur-covered contestants had totally turned her off. Ben, she now remembered, sported a light scatter of silky black that dusted his pecs, arrowed down his chest to his belly and...