Married by Christmas (Sapphire Springs Book 2)

by Angie Campbell

  “So, prostitution is not even legal in Vegas?” he asked, going back to what the guy had just told him a few seconds earlier. “I thought it was legal for the whole state.”

  “No, not that people don’t try to get away with it,” the man said with a shake of his head. “Even if it were legal in Vegas, the owner of this hotel wouldn’t be licensed for it. He’ll call the police personally if he thinks that kind of activity is going on. This is a much classier hotel and the owner doesn’t want that kind of business going on here.”

  “I don’t blame him,” he said, crinkling up his nose again. “Sex should be taken far more seriously than that.”

  “While I agree with you, I have to say, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone say that in here,” the bartender chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I should move to Missouri. Any more single women like her where you come from?”

  “Maybe,” he answered with a smirk. He chuckled and gave the guy a questioning look. “I got the impression you were a little out of place here. You’re not originally from around here either, are you?”

  “No, I’m from a small town in Oklahoma.”

  He finally turned, giving the woman beside him a long and considering look. “I realized she had been drinking, but how many drinks has she had? She hasn’t eaten anything in several hours. She didn’t eat on the plane. And she’s not much of a drinker in the first place.”

  “Not much of a drinker?” the bartender asked, giving him a pained look. “Can you be more specific about that?”

  “At most, she drinks maybe two or three times a year. Sometimes she’ll drink around the Christmas and New Year’s Eve holidays and then on her birthday. But not always. Last year, I’m pretty sure, she didn’t drink at all.”

  “Great,” the man huffed, looking a little sick suddenly. “She was on her fourth Long Island Iced Tea when you walked in. That’s a lot of alcohol for a regular drinker in the amount of time she had to drink it. I had started to get the idea I probably shouldn’t give her anymore. Apparently, I didn’t get it soon enough.”

  “Four Long Island Iced Teas and little to no alcohol tolerance on an empty stomach,” he groaned. “She’s toast.”

  “Yep,” the bartender needlessly agreed. “I know I just told you, you needed to get her to bed before she fell asleep, but it would probably be better if you woke her up and tried to get some food and water in her.”

  “Yeah, I agree with you,” he grumbled, giving her a grouchy look. “Well, at least we’re already in the restaurant.”

  7:36pm

  “Let’s dance,” Mary Ellen hopped up from the table, leaving the last few bites of her chicken and rice on her plate and started tugging him from his chair.

  “Sweet Cheeks, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he answered, standing up with her, but only because he was trying to pull her back to the table. She might be more alert now, but he didn’t really think she was any more sober. She definitely wasn’t any steadier on her feet. He’d managed to get her to eat most of her dinner, but instead of drinking her water he had ordered for her, she’d kept stealing his beer. It was a wonder he even managed to get a buzz.

  Maybe this would be a good time to ask her to marry me, he thought to himself, right before she stepped on his toe with her high-heel. It didn’t do much damage to him through his cowboy boot, but he had to reach out and wrap his arms around her to keep her from falling on her face. “Careful. You’re going to end up falling on your nose. I’d hate to see you break it. It’s such a perfect, dainty little nose.”

  She looked up at him, a bright smile on her face. “Thanks for catching me,” she mumbled, just barely slurring her words. “I don’t think breaking my nose would be very fun.”

  She pulled away from him only far enough to grab his hand, once again trying to drag him out to the center of the dance floor. They were halfway there before he managed to shake himself enough to try and stop her. She had the long strap of her purse thrown over her head, so it hung from her left shoulder and the little purse bounced against her right butt cheek with each step she took. It had drawn his attention to the mesmerizing sway of her luscious hips. If he wasn’t careful, the woman could walk him right out into oncoming traffic and he wouldn’t have the good sense to notice. There was definitely something amazing to grab hold of while he got down to the delightful business of loving her into unconsciousness.

  “Dang it,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I have to marry her first. I can’t think about that stuff right now.”

  “Whatcha mumbling about?” she asked, trying to pull him a little farther on to the dance floor.

  “Sweet Cheeks, I don’t think we need to be dancing. I don’t think you’re steady enough on your feet right now,” he said, managing to pull her to a stop once again.

  “It’ll be okay,” she grinned up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, deciding they were far enough out. “It’s a slow song. I can lean on you.”

  He chuckled, giving into her. What else could he do? The woman had him wrapped tightly around her little finger. He wondered just how much trouble he would really be in, if she ever figured that out. Knowing her, probably not too much. She wasn’t the type to take advantage that way.

  They had been dancing for close to a minute, with her snuggled against his chest, when she decided to break the silence. Technically, they were doing more swaying than dancing, but he wasn’t going to split hairs. He was more focused on enjoying the luxury of her in his arms, like she was

  She slid her arms over his shoulders and down his chest, so she could lean back far enough to look him in the eyes, giving him a sour look. “You know, that was really cruel of you?”

  “What was cruel of me?” he asked, bringing them to a standstill in the middle of the dance floor, truly sounding confused. He had been so delightfully zoned out, enjoying the pleasure of being able to hold her so close, it was taking a few seconds to work through the fog in his head.

  She smacked him on the shoulder, giving him another dirty look. “Asking me to find you a wife.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he grumbled, the guilt staining his cheeks. “I was trying to make you jealous. Or something,” he added with a shrug, not sure if he really explained what he had been thinking, if she would be able to remember tomorrow morning.

  She shook her head and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “If you hadn’t gotten the grand idea to play your rotten game, we…” Not noticing the pained look on his face at her words, she paused, waving a hand between them, indicating she meant the two of them. “…would probably be getting married by now.”

  The only reason she was able to go on after that statement was, he was too stunned for several seconds to react. “We could have gotten married within a couple of weeks. I don’t need a big, fancy wedding. I just need you, our family and friends and Pastor Macy. But no. Instead of just asking me to marry you, you had to turn it into some kind of game.”

  She paused, a look crossing her face like she was trying to think. She took a deep breath, preparing to start in on him again. “I’ve been…”

  Not giving her a chance to really get rolling again, he cupped the back of her head in both of his hands and leaned down and kissed her with all the built-up passion of the last three years. When her arms came back up around his neck and she kissed him back, he slid his hands down her back and held her close.

  A few seconds later when she pushed back enough to get her hands between them and started trying to unbutton his shirt, he decided they were going to have to quit before things went too far. He had no desire to give the rest of the patrons of the restaurant more of a show than they already were. He was already feeling guilty enough after thinking, even for a few seconds, about asking her to marry him while she was drunk. He had decided he was definitely going to ask her to marry him tomorrow, after she was sober again. But he still didn’t need anything else to feel guilty about, like them making out on the dance floor in front of everyone.


  “Sweet Cheeks, I think we’d better stop. You need to sleep this off,” he mumbled, almost feeling the need to whimper. The last thing he really wanted to do, was stop kissing her. But there were somethings a person just didn’t do. Even if they had gone ahead and gotten married tonight, he would have waited till she was sober to consummate their wedding vows. He was desperate and crazy, not stupid. She would kill him if he let things go too far tonight. He was sure not even marriage vows would save him after that. He wasn’t even going to consider how she would react if she found out he’d let her get part of their clothing off on the dance floor. Nothing would save him then.

  Speaking of getting clothes off on the dance floor, he was going to have to start moving. Fast. He groaned, grabbing her hands to stop her from unbuttoning the second button on her lacey top. She had managed to get the first one undone before he noticed what she was doing. “No, Mary Ellen. Don’t do that. You need to keep you clothes on. We’re still in the restaurant.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, her cheeks glowing. He wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the alcohol though. She looked around, her eyes growing huge. “We should go to our room first.”

  The way she said it, like it was a big secret, made him chuckle, relieving only a little bit of his sexual tension. “I agree. Come on,” he said, taking her hand to lead her out to the elevators. When she stumbled, still a little wobbly on her heels, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close, to help steady her.

  They made it to the elevator and miraculously, with the number of people in the building, discovered it empty. She giggled, pushing him up against the wall, so she could lean against him. She wove her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth down to hers. When she started nibbling on his bottom lip, he groaned and wrapped his arms around her. “Sweet Cheeks, we really need to be married before we let this go any farther.”

  Just then the elevator came to a stop and dinged, the doors sliding open. She pushed back, giving him a big grin and stepped over to push the button to send it back down to the first floor.

  “Mary Ellen, what are you doing?” he asked, giving her a bug-eyed look.

  “The question, Baby, is ‘What are we doing?’” she answered, stepping back over to grab the front of his shirt and yank him in her direction, nearly knocking herself over.

  He wrapped his arms around her, steadying her and swallowed, not sure if he was ready to ask but knowing he was going to do it anyway. “What are we doing?”

  The elevator dinged again, and she stepped out of his arms, pulling him toward the door, her hand still wadded in the front of his shirt. “Getting married.”

  “Mary Ellen. Sweet Cheeks, your drunk. We need to talk about this tomorrow, while you’re sober.”

  She turned back, giving him a hurt look like she might cry. “Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?”

  “Of course, I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to marry you for three years now,” he stated like that should have been obvious. “But I think you need to be sober for this decision.”

  “We’re getting married. Now,” she growled. “I’m not going to let you get back to Missouri and come up with some other crazy scheme to drive me bonkers. So, march, Mister.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, grinning down at her. He knew he was probably going to be in trouble for this in the morning, but he was still buzzed enough not to care.

  8:15pm

  Brock punched the button for the third floor, then leaned back against the wall, rubbing his temples with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. The hand that now had a surprisingly well-crafted gold band on it. He had figured the bands the would be available would have been a lot cheaper in quality. He was happy to find he had been wrong.

  He sighed looking down at his new wife. His buzz had pretty much worn off by the time they had reached the door of the chapel for their turn with what had to have been a five-foot six inch, three-hundred-pound Elvis impersonator. None of it muscle. He had to admit, the man did have the hair for it. And his rendition of ‘Love Me Tender’ hadn’t been bad, either. That wasn’t going to stop the nightmares he was sure to have for the next year though. With that red, sparkly jump suit, he really had looked like Santa and Elvis had, had a child. He gave a slight shiver, wrapping his arm around his new wife, giving her a concerned look.

  It wasn’t that he regretted marrying her. That wasn’t even possible. But he was sober enough now to realize, even though she had dragged him across the building to the chapel, she wasn’t going to be happy about this in the morning. And it was going to be his fault.

  Getting married around Christmas time must be really popular. There had still been a small line and it had taken them ten or fifteen minutes of waiting. Maybe more. Thankfully, the chapel was equipped to perform up to five ceremonies at once, or they would still be standing in that line.

  This time, when they entered the elevator, they were followed by two more couples. Mary Ellen scrunched her face up in disappointment. She had obviously been hoping to get a chance to make out in the elevator again. He chuckled, shaking his head. He was kind of relieved for himself. This was looking like it was going to be a long enough night already. he didn’t need any more added pressure.

  She gave him an irritated look over his humor, then wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.

  Chapter 7

  Tuesday, December 23

  8:47am

  Mary Ellen snuggled deeper into the warmth of the male body wrapped around her and ran her hand up under his arm to reach his back. This is a nice dream, but it could be so much better, she mumbled under her breath.

  She rolled him to his back, slowly crawling up his body. She dragged her open mouth up his chest along the way, nipping at his left nipple before continuing up towards his neck. He groaned, grabbing both cheeks of her bottom in his big hands and shoved her up his solid body where their mouths could meet, then flipped them over, so he was now on top. She gasped, her eyes popping open, the realization she wasn’t dreaming hitting her just before his mouth came down on hers with a passionate insistence she couldn’t ignore.

  She quickly forgot her intentions to rail at him about being in bed with her and wove her fingers through his thick curly hair. He ran a hand down her thigh to grasp her knee and dragged her leg up around his waist, dragging a moan past her lips. When that same hand came up under the t-shirt she had on, one that was definitely not hers, and his rough callouses dragged across her soft skin, moving on to cup her breast, she screeched, finally coming back to herself.

  She shoved at his chest, shouting in his face. “Brock, get off of me, right this instance.”

  He groaned and tried to grab her hands in his. “Baby, please, just let me touch you.”

  “Brock Leland Silverman, get off of me this second, unless you want to start losing important body parts,” she threatened in a low growl. “You know, those ones men generally value more than any of the others.”

  He rolled off of her to his back, his arm thrown over his eyes to block the sunlight coming in through the window where he forgot to close the curtain the night before. “I forgot I asked for a room with east facing windows. Of course, I asked for the room before I got drunk.”

  “You were drunk last night?” she screeched again, giving him a look that made him fear for those sensitive body parts she had just been talking about.

  He scrunched up his face, feeling a bit concerned about how to answer her. He didn’t figure anything he said right now was going to be met with a smile. “Yeah, but not as drunk as you were,” he said, slowly scooting to the edge of the bed so he could stand up, the panic starting to show on his face.

  She jumped up moving around to the end of the bed, almost tripping over one of her high-heels from the night before. She bent over and grabbed it, an evil smile crossing her beautiful face. When she stood back up, tossing the shoe back and forth in front of her, he dropped his hands down in front of him, co
vering himself where he still hadn’t managed to calm down from their too short make-out session of a few seconds ago. “I’m going to ask you something, and I suggest you think very carefully before you answer.”

  He gulped, nodding his head. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Brock, do not ever call me ma’am,” she shouted, nearly giving into the urge to throw the shoe without asking her question first. “You know I hate that.”

  “Well, you call me Mr. Silverman at work,” he growled back, momentarily forgetting his precarious position. He rammed his hands on his hips and gave her a belligerent look. “You know I hate that.”

  “Don’t cross me right now, Mister. You’re in enough hot water as it is,” she growled, eyeing his sensitive area hard, reminding him to drop his hands back down.

  “Mary Ellen,” he screeched in a pitch usually very unnatural for him, his panic starting to show again. He shook his head and cleared his throat before speaking once again, this time in a much more masculine voice. “Can we just get this over with, please? I’d really like to get some clothes on soon.”

  “I’m not really all that concerned with your comfort at the moment, Brock,” she said, starting to look like a little she demon again.

  “I understand that,” he said, nodding his head. “Would you like to ask your question now?”

  She nodded her head, trying to regain a measure of calm. “Why were we in bed together?”

  “Because there is only one bed?” he said, with a shrug, making it sound more like a question.

  She growled, nearly giving into the need to throw something at him again. “Not a good enough answer. You could have slept on the couch,” she snapped. “And why am I in what is obviously your t-shirt?”

  “My t-shirt was the easiest to get over your head when you started stripping your clothes off. As for the other question, I was still a little buzzed,” he said, only slightly lying. When they had gotten back to the room, he had called room service to bring him up a couple of cold beers. He had needed the added alcohol to go to sleep. He knew without testing it, he wasn’t going to be able to with her in the room with him, much less the same bed. “I wasn’t thinking the clearest.”