by Kate Tilney
Before I can stop it, a giggle bubbles out of me. James turns toward me confusion plainly written on his face. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep another laugh from coming out.
I snort instead.
James gives a short laugh of his own. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just this place,” I say in a whisper, in case the owner is lurking nearby. “I can’t believe this was my wedding venue.”
“Not what you dreamed about when you were a little girl, hmm?”
“I wasn’t one of those girls who had my whole wedding planned out.” Though, I did flip through the occasional bridal magazine when my best friend in college got engaged. “I just always figured when the time came, I would get married somewhere less . . .”
“Pink?”
I snort again, and cover my mouth with both hands, eyes wide in horror.
Chuckling at me, James takes me by the elbow and guides me toward the counter. The man seated behind it brightens.
“You came back!” He steps around the counter to take both of our hands. “You’ll be happy to know your photos turned out perfectly.”
James and I exchange a worried glance. “Photos?”
“Yes, your photos. You did spring for the commemorative package.” The man motions us over to a pair of chairs. “You wait right here, and I’ll be back with your things.”
Once we’re alone, I lean toward James. “You’re going to want to watch him delete the originals before we get out of here.”
“One step ahead of you.” He fishes into his pocket for his wallet. I try not to gape at the wad of cash he pulls out.
It would seem the royal house of Rhodon is serious about keeping a lid on this.
I feel a twinge of guilt thinking about the story my editor will expect from me when I get back to New York. I am well aware of what he’ll want. But given the situation, I don’t feel entirely ethical handing James over.
The clerk returns with an oversized box. James’s eyes go wide as he removes the lid and pulls out a gold-framed photograph. He tilts it my way.
“At least we look happy.”
And completely blitzed. Really, you should have to take a Breathalyzer before you say I do. That said, in the picture we have our arms wrapped around each other and wide smiles on our faces. I am also looking at James like he is the most wonderful and fascinating person I have ever laid eyes on.
I really wish I could remember more of last night.
Handing me the box, James rises to his feet. “Sir, would you mind if we spoke in private?”
Surprise registers on the man’s face, but he guides James to his office. While they’re away, I look through the rest of the box. I paid for it, after all. I might as well look my fill before we toss it in the incinerator.
Mostly they’re variations of the framed photo. Our faces on a coffee mug. On a decorative pillow case. On a phone cover that won’t fit either of our devices.
In one of the pictures I’m slipping a ring on his finger. In another his arms are around me. One hand cupping my ass, pulling me against him. My fingers are laced in his hair. And we’re kissing with more tongue than should be allowed at a wedding ceremony.
Still, despite the sloppiness of it all, it looks fun. And, I have to admit, kind of hot.
By the time James and the manager return, I’ve made my way through the whole box. While it’s tempting to keep one picture as a personal keepsake, I know it would be wrong. I may owe Ned and the magazine a royal story, but they are not getting this one.
I rise and follow James out the door. “Were you successful?”
He pats the pocket of his suit jacket. “I watched him delete the digital copies, and I have his signature swearing he won’t sell us out.”
I am curious how much that set him back. It is on the tip of my tongue to pry for details when I spot a photographer out of the corner of my eyes. A couple of the even sleazier publications always keep a couple of photogs in Vegas. They’re in place to capture any celebrities making walks of shame—or walks down the aisle.
This one has his lens focused on us.
“Photographer at two o’clock,” I say.
James follows my direction and his eyes go wide before he holds up his hand to cover his face. “Shit.”
“Come on.” Shoving the box at him and grabbing him by the other hand, I lead him down an alleyway to a busy intersection.
Channeling my inner New Yorker, I flag down a cab and pull James into the backseat of it. In our hurry, he falls on top of me as we slam the door shut.
Our chests rise up and down, our faces inches from each other. I can’t help but let my gaze wander to his lips. With his hard body pressed against me, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
Though I can’t remember what it felt like last night, I have no doubt it would be un-freaking-believable.
I know it is a mistake, but I can’t resist leaning forward. His mouth lowers toward mine. My eyes flutter shut, my heart pounding in anticipation.
Until the cab driver asks where we’re headed.
Eyes open, I shove myself upright before my imagination and libido can get the better of me.
“Do you have that address for a lawyer?”
It takes him a moment to react, but at last he nods and tells the driver where to go.
“Sorry about that.” He leans back in his seat. “Reporters can be vultures.”
James
Getting an annulment is surprisingly easy. The lawyer already had the necessary paperwork drawn up. We signed our names, and he shook our hands saying he would notify us as soon as the judge signed off on it.
They do everything fast here in Vegas. Breakfasts. Weddings. Break-ups.
As we step out of the lawyer’s office, I cannot help but feel like I owe Alyssa some sort of explanation for our earlier run-in with the paparazzo. Taking her by the arm, I pull her into an alcove.
“You are probably curious about the photographer. And the money.” I glance down at myself. “And the suit.”
She shakes her head. “We agreed no history. No reality. I’m still good with that.”
I eye her closely. “You are not the least bit curious?”
“Oh, sure, I am.” Her full lips curve up and my breath catches. What I wouldn’t give to taste that sassy mouth of hers right now. “But we made a promise to each other.”
That we did. Swallowing hard, I release my hold on her arm and take a step back. I shove my hands in my pocket.
“So what now?”
Alyssa leans against the building and stares at the ground. “I should probably get back to New York.”
She does not sound entirely excited about that prospect. And neither do I, come to think of it. While I understand we will have to part ways at some point, the thought of saying our good-byes right now makes my stomach drop. Like I am behind the wheel of a car and there are no brakes.
But I can certainly put the brakes on facing reality for another day.
“What if you go back tomorrow.”
Alyssa glances up at me. “How’s that?”
“What if we stay here for the day? Have a little fun. Get to know each other.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I thought we were planning on staying strangers.”
“What if we amend the rules? No talk about our pasts. No talk about the future. We just live in the moment. Take each second as it comes.”
Alyssa purses her lips in contemplation. I suddenly grow hard imagining those lips pressed against various parts of my body.
She has not said no yet. Which means there is still a chance at her saying yes. I sincerely hope she will say yes.
“I have never been to Las Vegas and after this, I doubt I will be back any time soon.” I nudge her gently. “What do you say to spending one day having fun?”
“And when it is all over?”
I grin at her. “This only works if we promise not to talk about or think of the future.”
Shaking her head, a g
rin spreads across those full, distracting lips of hers.
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but what the hell. Let’s do it.”
Alyssa
“Okay,” I say, nearly out of breath from laughing while running the last block. “I can’t keep going.”
“Come on.” James is nearly as out of breath as I am. “I thought this was the city that doesn’t sleep.”
“That’s New York.”
His brows knit together. “What is Vegas then?”
“Sin City.” I lean against a building and take a deep breath. “What happens here stays here.”
“I like the sounds of that.” He wiggles those thick eyebrows at me. “You cannot quit now. I still have one more turn to go.”
After the whirlwind of an afternoon and evening we’ve had, I can barely stand upright on my two feet. Especially because those two feet are wearing a pair of heels so high, they should be illegal. Normally, I wouldn’t wear anything like that. Then again, nothing about today has been normal.
And I’m not just talking about waking up in bed married to an honest-to-God prince, annulling an impulsive marriage, and dodging a photographer.
When James proposed we spend the day together, I had no idea where it would lead. We took turns picking out activities. Like last night, everything escalated quickly. Only this time, we said no to tequila and champagne.
A gentleman through and through, James insisted I go first in picking an activity. I started small by taking him to one of those wax museums filled with replicas of celebrities. Next, he showed off by taking me on a helicopter tour of the city and Hoover Dam. We followed that with my choice of indoor skydiving. Once our stomachs were settled, he took me out for sushi at a restaurant I could never afford on my own. So I maxed out my personal credit card and bought tickets to a show.
James was a good sport about it—even though most of the show included well-formed men stripping.
Through it all we laughed and somehow managed to swap stories about our lives without giving details about our true identities. I almost feel guilty about knowing his. Though, the more time I spend with him, the less he seems like a playboy prince with a reputation that could make you blush. He’s just James. And James is a lot of fun.
And unbelievably sexy in that suit of his.
We were so giddy from laughing after the show, we practically raced back to our hotel. Now I am wiped. But, as James pointed out, it is his turn to pick an activity. I can’t be a spoilsport now.
“Okay.” I push away from the building, accepting the offer of his arm to lean on. “One more shenanigan. Then it’s time for bed.”
“Shenanigan,” he repeats. The word sounds ridiculous coming from that posh mouth of his. A posh mouth that I imagine is fully capable of doing not-so-posh things to a woman’s body.
Guiding me through the doors of our hotel, James leans forward and whispers something to one of the concierges. A moment later, a man in an impeccably tailored black suit steps forward.
“If you will follow me, Mr. and Mrs. James.”
I arch an eyebrow, and James covers my hand on his arm. “Just go with it.”
Taking small steps forward on my aching feet, we’re led through the doors into the casino. My heart sinks for a moment. Gambling. It really isn’t my thing. I went to Atlantic City once with some friends. I spent the whole time mentally calculating all of the money we lost at the tables. After twenty bucks, I couldn’t take it any more and spent the rest of the weekend reading by the pool.
Still, this is James’s turn. If he wants to throw away Rhodon’s treasury on cards. It would make a great story for the magazine. Of course, I could never bring myself to write it.
The more time I spend with James, the more I realize I won’t be able to report anything back to my boss. I know it’s my job, but I just can’t. I can’t betray James and the crazy, exhilarating twenty-four hours we’ve shared.
And I’ll just have to face the consequences. Even if that means moving back home to live with my parents.
We move past the tables and through a curtained area. Behind it, we pass a row of doors. The suit-wearing man knocks three times, and it swings open.
The man gives a bow of sorts and steps away.
I glance up at James. “What’s this?”
“For the next hour, it’s our private gambling room. We can set our own stakes and play whatever we want.”
Okay, I have to admit, that sounds kind of fun.
“What if I say I want to play Go Fish?”
James lifts his shoulder. “Then I can dismiss the dealer, and we can play Go Fish until they kick us out.”
I can’t help but giggle at the thought of playing Go Fish in a private room at a casino. It’s too ridiculous to pass up.
“What do you say?” James asks.
“I say go fish.”
James
Barely ten minutes into our game of Go Fish, Alyssa tosses her cards down on the table.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head in frustration. “This isn’t very fun, is it.”
“I am having a good time.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Be honest. This game loses its intrigue when you’re an adult.”
I pull a face and she points a finger at me. “Ha! I knew it. You were just being a gentleman. You are bored out of your mind.”
“Fine.” I throw up my hands. “I was being polite. But you are correct. The game does not have the same thrill as Texas hold-em.”
“You’re missing the thrill of the bet?”
“Something like that.”
Alyssa opens her mouth to say something than shakes her head. My curiosity is piqued.
“What?” I ask when she shows no signs of speaking.
“No, it’s ridiculous.”
“I like ridiculous things.”
“You would.” She grins. “Fine. It’s totally something high school or college kids would do, but . . . we could play strip Go Fish.”
I am most definitely interested in seeing where this goes.
I feign an interest in something on my tie. “I would be up for giving it a shot.”
“Of course you would.” Alyssa rolls her eyes, which oddly enough makes me want to kiss her. “You’re a man and you’re wearing at least twice as much clothing as I am right now.”
“I would be willing to level the playing field.” To show her my sincerity, I remove my coat, belt, and shoes. “Now we each have six pieces to go.”
Laughing, Alyssa leans forward. “Deal me in.”
The first few turns, each of us has one of the cards the other needs. I am about to suggest we switch to poker, when Alyssa asks if I have in threes.
“I do not.” I arch an eyebrow at her. “Go fish.”
Grinning good-naturedly, Alyssa kicks off one of her high-heeled shoes and reaches for a card in the middle of the table. “Your turn.”
“Got any deuces?”
She shakes her head. “Go fish.”
Eyebrows raised, I remove my tie and toss it to her.
Her other shoe goes next. Then both of my socks. Then my shirt. I will admit to taking a little extra care as I undo one button after the other.
And, if I am not mistaken, the glisten of interest in her eye belongs entirely to me.
I am rewarded a minute later when she stands up and slowly wriggles out of her pants. My eyes hungrily feast on the smooth skin below her T-shirt, and the hint of black lace panties beneath it.
“Got any deuces?”
She grins. “You know I don’t.”
I tug off my own pants before she can say “go fish.”
Biting down on her lips. She asks if I have threes, again.
I shake my head. As she reaches for the bottom of her shirt, I reach across the table.
“Allow me.”
She freezes, watching me carefully as I rise and step around the table. I pull her to her feet, easing the top up her waist, my thumbs stroking her skin, as I
toss it over her head.
Now it is just the two of us. Her in a black bra and panty set. Me in my boxer briefs, harder then I’ve ever been before. I cannot resist the temptation any longer.
“Alyssa?”
“Hmm?”
I stroke a finger over her lips. They part and her tongue dips out to stroke it.
My control breaks. My mouth crashes onto hers, hungry like a man who hasn’t had food or water in days. Her hands slide up my bare back, gripping onto the muscles of my shoulders, pulling me even closer.
Our tongues clash and our breaths gasp. One of my hands travels down her waist and slides into her panties.
Dear, God. She is so wet.
Swiping the cards and chips to the floor with one swift motion, I lift Alyssa to the table. My fingers dive into her hair, tugging her head back, exposing her neck. My mouth explores as she gasps.
Gliding up over her, my hard cock presses against her, only the thin barrier of fabric between us.
If I ripped them off, I could make her mine right now.
As I think about driving into her, I am aware of the busy Vegas casino just outside the door. While I would love nothing more than to make her come over and over—to bury myself deep inside of her—I do not want to risk the chance of someone walking in on us.
I want to be the only one who sees her fall over the edge of pleasure.
Pulling back, I gaze down at her, unable to resist caressing her cheek with my knuckles.
“Let me have you?”
She nods.
“But not here. I want you loud when I take you.”
Alyssa
We’re in our room and naked again in under five minutes. Which has to be a world record.
But right now I am not interested in world records. Not when I want to get my hands all over James’s well-formed body.
Not when I need him to touch every inch of my own.
Eyeing me hungrily, James pulls me to the bed. Once I’m seated, he pushes me down so I am flat on my back. I push up on my elbows in time to watch him kneel between my legs.
His dark eyes meet my gaze as he scrapes the stubble of his day-old beard along my inner thigh. My fingers dig into the bedspread.