by Emily March
“That works out great because I want to wait until we’re married to make love.”
“No, you don’t. You want to sleep with me tonight!”
“Damn straight. Right after we get back to our room from the wedding chapel.”
He had to be kidding. Gillian started to laugh. “Okay, good joke, McBride. You had me going, but you took it one step too far with the no sex before marriage thing.”
“Glory, I am as serious as a heart attack. I’ve known I was going to propose to you ever since I heard you and Arnie P. broke up. The only surprise about this is the timing. When an opportunity presents itself, I’ve learned to take it.”
“Well, I haven’t,” she snapped. Her heart was pounding. Her mouth was dry. Her head spun from all of the alcohol she’d consumed. Not because she was considering his harebrained idea. She wasn’t doing that.
Married to Tucker McBride.
He rose and pulled her to her feet and spoke in a soft, seductive voice. “You said you were feeling lucky tonight. Roll the dice, Gillian. Bet on us.”
Then in front of the fountain with naked nymphs spouting water from their mouths and surrounded by people and brides and bachelorettes, he kissed her, sweet as a summer peach.
Gillian kissed him back. She wanted. Wanted! She wanted to throw caution to the wind and roll the dice and act without thinking. She wanted to marry this man. Tonight.
When Tucker ended the kiss and stared down into her eyes, waiting for her decision, tears welled inside her once again.
“I can’t. It’s not me. It’s not how I roll. I’m a planner. I need time to think.”
She expected him to argue. She half hoped he would. He gave her a crooked, bittersweet smile and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “All right. I can work with that.”
He stepped back, took hold of her hand, and said, “Let’s go play some craps. I’m feeling lucky, myself.”
“You are?” she said, lengthening her strides to keep up with him. “Because I said no?”
“Now, Glory, what did I teach you just last weekend? You’ve never really failed at something until you’re dead.”
She walked the rest of the way to the casino with a smile on her face.
Tucker taught her to play craps. He’d offered to stake her gambling, but Gillian insisted on using her own funds. She enjoyed beginner’s luck at the craps table, winning time and time again, drawing a supportive crowd to the table. When she’d turned her one-hundred-dollar beginning bet into four thousand dollars, she’d decided to pick up her chips. The crowd pleaded and cajoled for her to continue, but Gillian’s instinctive caution ruled her hot streak.
“That was fun,” she told Tucker, excitement and probably a tad too much alcohol humming through her veins.
“It was,” he agreed. “You were—are—hot hot hot.”
She gave her hair a toss and grinned. “Lucky. I’m lucky.”
Then her gaze fell on a roulette wheel. S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L. Size up the situation. Use all your senses. Remember where you are. Vanquish your fears. Improvise. Value living. Act like the natives. Live by your wits.
Red and black. Red.
Red is the color of fire and blood, of strength and power and passion. Red suits you.
“Tucker?”
“Hmm?” he said. He was checking the time on his pocket watch.
“Can I have my chips back?”
“You’re not cashing out?”
“No, not quite yet.”
She bet everything on red and on one spin of the wheel, doubled her money.
The excitement humming through her was now a 130-decibel song played by a 200-man marching band. She barely spared Tucker a glance as she cashed out.
“Gillian?” he asked as she led him out of the casino with a particular destination in mind. “Where are we going?”
“I’m still feeling lucky,” she replied.
A few minutes later, she glided into the Judith Leiber shop and used her winnings to buy the castle. Only then did she turn to Tucker and ask, “Do you think we could find a wedding chapel that has a Fat Elvis?”
Chapter Fifteen
The door to their hotel suite crashed open as Mr. and Mrs. Tucker McBride spun into the room, locked in a wild, passionate embrace. Tucker had made a strategic mistake when he’d begun kissing her in the limo, but he’d never expected to lose control so quickly. It had never happened to him before. But then, Gillian had never happened to him, had she? Ten months of suppressed desire had coalesced into one raging hard-on.
His fingers scratched for her zipper pull. Hers shoved at the shoulders of his coat. He yanked the zipper. She wrenched her mouth away from his. “Don’t rip it!”
“Then get out of it. Now. But leave the shoes on.”
She shoved him away and shimmied out of her dress as Tucker shed his coat and vest. His gaze locked on her, and all he saw was red. Red bra. Red panties. The red haze of desire clouding his vision. He reached for his tie to yank it off, and she snapped, “No! Let me!”
Damned if she didn’t grab his tie and tug him into his bedroom.
They rolled and wrestled and finally, blessedly, lay naked. Neither one of them had the patience or desire to slow things down, and they consummated their marriage in a red-hot blaze of passion that didn’t burn out until the first rays of sunrise burst upon the eastern sky. Finally, sated, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Tucker awoke four hours later when the soft, supple warmth snuggled up next to him suddenly transformed to stiff and prickly.
“Oh, God.” His naked bride sat up and said, “What have I done?”
He pried open one eye, identified the expression on her face as horror, and quickly shut it again before she noticed. He considered pulling his pillow over his head and going back to sleep.
“My mother will kill me!”
Tucker stifled a sigh. It would have been nice to avoid this, but he couldn’t pretend to be surprised. She’d been humming on adrenaline when she’d agreed to his proposal last night.
She grabbed hold of his shoulder and shook him. “Tucker, wake up. We have to fix this. We have to undo this. Tucker!”
He opened his eyes. Hers looked a little wild as she stared down at him. He went up on his elbow. “C’mon, Gillian. That’s just mean. I know you enjoyed yourself. No way you faked all those orgasms.”
“What? No. I don’t fake it! Well, sometimes, maybe, but not with you. Not last night. I didn’t fake with you.”
“There you go.”
He started to pull her back down to him, but her full breast was dangling inches away from his mouth, so he reached up and took it.
A moment later, she shuddered a breath, moaned low in her throat, and surrendered. It was well over an hour later, after they’d rolled in the sheets some more, then dawdled together in the shower, and Tucker had confirmed that no, she did not fake it, that she brought the subject up again. She was wrapped in one of the hotel’s bathrobes and standing at the window, staring out at the Las Vegas Strip when she softly said, “It’s not about the sex, Tucker. It’s about the wedding. What we did was insane.”
“Why?”
She turned to face him. “You don’t just get married on a … purse high. You have to think it through, you have to plan, you have to tell your mother and buy a dress!”
Tucker tried somewhat hard not to be annoyed. “So, what’s most important really is the wedding, not being married.”
She winced and closed her eyes. “Ouch. I guess that when it comes to my mother, it is about the wedding and the dress. I’m her only daughter. If I eloped to Las Vegas without her there to see me get married, it would break her heart.”
“You did elope in Las Vegas, and she wasn’t there to see you.”
“That’s why we have to fix this, Tucker. We had a quickie wedding. Now we need to get a quickie divorce. Or an annulment. I’m sure they do that here.”
Now, it was Tucker’s turn to stare out of the window and thin
k. Gillian and her wedding gowns and her mother. He shouldn’t be surprised or take it personally. This was how they made their livings. This wasn’t Jeremy’s “all about the wedding” accusation. She’d brought up two aspects of it, two critical pieces that were intertwined with the woman who she loved above all others. This wasn’t wedding obsession. It was maternal love. Had he made a poor battlefield decision last night? Was it time to retreat and regroup?
Maybe, but damn. He’d gained ground, and it went against his grain to give it up.
Gillian’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What’s so horrible about this is that given time, I think you and I could have something special. I don’t want to screw that up.”
Given time. Tucker turned around. His gaze sought his suit vest still lying on the floor where she’d tossed it in the early hours of the morning. He envisioned the watch tucked away in its pocket.
“I do too, Glory. I think you and I can have something outstanding.”
“Do you think we could fall in love?” The yearning in her voice broke his heart.
“I think we’re definitely approaching the tipping point toward that, yes. I am, for sure. You turned to me for comfort and support. You came to me when you needed arms to hold you. You made love with me last night like you meant it. It wasn’t just sex, Gillian. We are more than friends. Aren’t we?”
She nodded. Tucker crossed the room to her, reached out and tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear. “I’ll be honest with you, Glory. I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not one hundred percent certain what it’s supposed to feel like. What I can tell you is that I’ve never felt this way about any other woman.”
She hugged herself and rubbed her arms as if she were cold. “Hearing that makes me feel both fabulous and afraid. It’s too soon for me, Tucker. A short time ago, I was ready to marry Jeremy. I thought I was in love with him. I couldn’t have been more wrong, so now I don’t trust my own emotions.”
“Understandable.”
“I am certain about one thing, though. I absolutely positively can’t go home and tell my mother I got married last night by Skinny Elvis!”
“I’m really sorry it was Fat Elvis’s night off.”
She closed her eyes and groaned a laugh.
“Maybe this thing between us is backwards from what you had before.”
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t ready to marry me, and you’re not sure you are in love with me, so that means we’re perfect. This wedding was meant to be.”
“You’re crazy. Tucker, this is no way to begin a marriage. You need to be thoughtful and deliberate and certain. You need to plan.”
“Or maybe you need to turn the rules upside down. One thing the military taught me is the power of disruption.”
“This certainly was that. Backwards, upside down, disruptive? That’s not the way I roll, Tucker. No, this … impulse … can’t stand. We have to get a divorce. Like the saying goes, what happened in Vegas needs to stay in Vegas.”
“But—”
She implored him with a look. “Maybe if we take care with one another, we can navigate these waters without anyone being hurt. I want us to stay friends. More than friends. Who knows what will happen in time?”
Tucker bit back a sigh. Time. Strategy. Battlefield adjustments. Sometimes a strategic retreat ensured an eventual victory. Keep your eye on the prize, McBride. He gave their situation a few moments’ thought, then said, “Okay. We’ll do things your way. You oohed and aahed over the bathtub at one point last night. Why don’t you go soak and relax while I make some calls? I’ll order up breakfast and see what we need to do to comply with Nevada law.”
“That sounds great.” She went to him and went up on her toes and kissed him quickly. “Thank you, Tucker.”
When she would have retreated to the bathroom, he grabbed her arm and tugged her back to him and gave her a long, thorough kiss. “You’re welcome.”
His calls yielded some surprises that led to more calls. By the time breakfast arrived and he tapped on the bathroom door to let her know, he had a plan that worked for him and one that he hoped would appeal to her.
Over omelets, he outlined their options, beginning with the most complicated and ending with what he preferred. “In order to divorce here in Nevada, one of us needs to establish residency for six weeks prior to filing for divorce. I have a buddy who conducts intense, advanced survivalist training in the Nevada desert in the summer. He’s willing to switch places with me and take over my classes, so following Jackson’s wedding in June, I could move out here for the duration. After we file, I understand that we can get the deed done in a couple of weeks to a month.”
“Oh,” she said, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip. “Wow. You’re offering to spend the summer in Death Valley so that I don’t have to tell my mother about Elvis? I don’t know if that makes you my hero or an idiot.”
Tucker grinned at her and stole a slice of banana from the fruit cup she’d ordered with his fork. “Actually, what it makes me is determined to win.”
“Win what?”
“Your heart.” She fumbled her fork at that. Tucker held her gaze and declared himself. “I don’t want any misunderstanding. I’m being completely honest and transparent here. I will cooperate with this divorce because I don’t want you to feel manipulated or forced into a marriage you don’t want. However, I don’t want a divorce. I want marriage and babies and Christmas with your family and Thanksgiving with mine. The whole tamale.”
“But, Tucker, how can you be so certain that I am—”
“Dammit, Gillian, the only thing I’m certain about is that nothing in life is certain. I was certain I would spend my entire career in the military. I was certain when I met you that you were beyond my reach. But here I am and here you are, and fate and Elvis have dropped you into my lap. I’m going to do my best to keep you. Consider this fair warning. I’m showing you my battle plan. I intend to spend the weeks between now and Jackson’s wedding wooing you. I don’t really want to spend July in Nevada. A honeymoon in Alaska sounds much nicer.”
“Alaska!”
“Remote. Beautiful days. Nights made for snuggling.”
She lifted her chin and gave her hair a toss. “I will not spend my honeymoon in a tent around grizzly bears, Tucker McBride.”
Ah-ha! He had a nibble at the hook. He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m open to negotiation on honeymoon destinations.”
She took a sip of orange juice before saying, “Tucker, last night was … was…”
“Fabulous?” he suggested. “Beyond compare? The best you’ve ever had?”
She gave a little laugh. “Yes, yes, yes. But, we’re talking about marriage here, not sex. We got married on impulse. I’m a planner. I don’t do impulsive.”
“I’d argue the point, but let’s not get sidetracked. I laid out our options. This is the cleanest option we have if we want to keep the process all American. If we do this, we go home. We see what happens. If I can’t convince you to stay with me, I deserve to spend the summer with the kangaroo rats.”
She grimaced and shuddered, and in that instant, she reminded him of Haley, the girliest girl in second grade. What he wouldn’t give to have a daughter with this woman. Tucker held his breath, waiting for her decision, sensing he’d pushed as hard as he should right now. Damn, but he wanted her to say yes.
“How would we do it? Would we, well, date? Out in the open?”
“Why not?”
Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she considered. “We’d face nonstop questions. It’s life in the small town fishbowl. I know I’m already on top of the gossip charts, but I’m not accustomed to lying. I’m not very good at it. I’ll screw it up.”
“So, we don’t go public. We keep our relationship secret, have a clandestine affair. Although, does it count as an affair if we’re already married?”
“You mean have a real affair? Tucker, we can’t have a secret affair in Redemption. Small town
fishbowl, remember?”
“You forget I am an expert at clandestine infiltration and exfiltration. No one will know, I promise. It might be fun, add a little spice.” When she looked like she was going to protest, he said, “Honey, I don’t think we can go back to being lunch buddies. Not after last night. We are going to want to share marital relations.”
She rolled her eyes at the term, but confessed, “We are good together in bed.”
“Dynamite. In the shower too.” Tucker reached across the table and took her hand. “Give it a try, Glory. Give me a chance.”
“Oh, Tucker. I want to be clear. I don’t want to lead you on. It’s just too soon for me to know—”
He interrupted. “I’m not asking for promises now, only time. Give us time. Let’s take what happened in Vegas home with us. It’ll be our little secret. And when June rolls around if you still want this divorce, you’ll get no pushback from me. You have my word.”
“And you don’t lie.”
“Neither do I cheat. Not at golf or any other aspect of life.”
Her lips twitched, she looked down at their clasped hands, and eventually, she nodded. “Okay.”
Tucker wanted to shoot his fist into the sky and holler, “Yes.” Instead, he gave her hand a squeeze. “Come back to bed with me, Glory. Let’s celebrate.”
And so commenced Operation Horny Toad, Part Two.
* * *
Back in Redemption, Gillian felt more than a little wicked. Twice during those first few days following the Las Vegas weekend, she came close to telling Maisy about what happened there. Once, she almost told Caroline. Each time, she stopped herself. What happened in Vegas absolutely had to stay in Vegas.
No way could she ever tell her mother she got married on a purse whim. Barbara Thacker would be crushed.
Luckily, Gillian didn’t face too much of a grilling upon her return. She’d summarized the exchange with Erica in a note she’d left for her mom when she’d fled Bliss, so Barbara had understood her sudden need to get away for a few days. When she’d pressed Gillian for information, her questions concentrated on Gillian’s emotional well-being, not where she’d gone or what she’d done. Luckily, Coco hadn’t spread word around town about how Gillian had departed. Caroline had known more details, of course, and when Gillian picked up Peaches from Caroline and Jackson’s house, Caroline had offered to listen if she needed to talk. Gillian had appreciated her restraint. Maisy had been more focused on discussing Jeremy’s perfidy and Gillian’s mental health than where she’d spent her weekend.
