by Diana Downey
Shane combs his hair with those long, strong fingers of his that I’ve heard from the other sorority sisters is the reason why his jeans hold the Mormon Tabernacle pipe organ. I’ve only bumped up against it while my sisters have seen it firsthand. According to them, he’s quite the exhibitionist in the house shower.
“Honestly Shane, you’re broke,” Nikita says. “You can’t afford to go now.”
What? Please back up. I need to hear this. How could someone spend 500 million in a few short weeks? Even I’m not that good.
“We’ve had this planned for months,” he says. “It’s already paid for. I’ll make the money back when I start a new business. You told me you were coming.”
Don’t grovel, not for her. It’s not you, Shane.
He was a millionaire a week ago—a multimillionaire. What the hell happened? My curiosity spikes, and my ear leans toward them.
“I’m through with you.” Nikita stands and stalks off, her arms swinging and her nose bunched up in a little hissy fit.
Nikita glances my way. Her scowl makes me grin back at her. I wave, get up, and slip on my shoes. She stomps inside, leaving without proper adieus, while poor Shane slumps into a chair and takes a long pull on his beer—unrefined to the core. He should be guzzling down the free champagne like the rest of my guests. Plenty of my sorority sisters would take him home. Gina’s been begging him for years.
Shane doesn’t even once look my way. Instead he peels the label from the beer bottle. I don’t wish him unhappiness. He came to my aid without blinking, but he’s not my worry. This is my day. Though I’d love to know what happened to all those millions, I wander back inside to meet and greet my guests.
The rest of the afternoon goes perfectly without any interruptions from Shane, and Nikita has left the wedding. Blake and I cut the cake. We have our first dance as bride and groom on the dance floor setup on the lawn where a live band plays. I also dance with Dad and Felipe Fuentes at his request. The drug lord dances with his mother and then Maria Fuentes titters away in his arms.
Blake unfurls my garter to throw to his men while I drink enough champagne to get up the nerve to ask Shane to dance and grill him for information on how he blew a half billion. Since his girlfriend dumped him, I’ll offer my sympathy or my congratulations, whichever he prefers.
I seek him out. He sits on a chair at an empty table and spins a bottle of bubbles—Fay’s idea of a wedding favor. He pulls out the wand and blows some. They float across the room, and Felipe dashes for them. Shane pokes a few and Felipe helps him.
Without any hesitation, the toddler crawls up onto Shane’s lap to help him blow bubbles. Shane laughs when Felipe stands on his wrinkled dress pants and leaps for the bubbles while Shane keeps him from falling. I need to have another talk with Maria, even though with Shane watching him, Felipe is perfectly safe.
This is good. Shane cannot leave with Felipe holding him down. Hitching up the skirt of my dress, I walk toward them, and Shane looks up at me, distaste puckering his chapped lips.
I extend my hand. “Would you care to dance with the bride?”
He snorts out a laugh. He fists his champagne glass like a caveman. “Not particularly.”
Felipe scrunches up his nose and punches Shane’s chest. “Not nice,” Felipe says.
Shane laughs again, lifting Felipe into the air.
The toddler lets out a whoop. “Again,” he cries, so Shane obliges.
“Are you going to deny me on my wedding day?” How else am I going to find out what happened between Nikita and him?
“Princess, don’t make me. The past few weeks have been pretty shitty, and I’ve had a lot to drink. I won’t make a very good dance partner.”
Felipe shoves Shane again. “Bad word. I’m telling.”
Shane cradles the boy in his arms. “Sorry, partner.”
“Go dance with mi tia,” Felipe orders, scrunching up his face while he folds his arms over his chest.
Shane gives me a wary look. “Do I have to?”
Felipe blows bubbles into Shane’s face, which only makes him smile. “Si.”
“Go find your mother,” I say to Felipe.
He dashes through the crowd and grabs hold of Maria while still clutching the bottle of bubbles. When she takes them away, he bawls. I shake my head at her lack of parenting skills.
“You are not my type, Princess,” Shane says, not moving from his chair. “Why don’t you run off to your husband?”
“Not your type,” I huff out, knuckling my hips.
He sets that rugged jaw dusted with stubble. “I came from nothing. A Yup’ik midwife and Wendell, the local vet/doctor delivered me and my siblings, and you came from all this.” Those long scarred fingers gesture grandly to Mom’s mansion.
Like a wild animal, my traitorous body would still lick O’Flannery off the dessert plate. “This comes from the man who patted me down and grabbed my junk.” And a kiss that lasted until I met Blake. “Any straight guy would find me appealing, and you dated Nikita. I’m definitely a step up from her.”
When his gaze wanders over me, I cross my arms over my chest, feeling suddenly naked under his scrutiny.
“She’s not a party girl like you,” he says.
I laugh. “Oh my goodness. You know how many times I’ve saved that girl from drowning in her own vomit.”
Doubt shadows his handsome face. “Cyn, quit bull-shitting me. Niki doesn’t drink.”
I laugh so hard, spittle flies from my mouth. I cover it while embarrassment heats my neck and face. “And to think, my dad thinks you’re smart. She’s been thrown out of the Cowboys Saloon. How could you not know this?”
Now disappointment flashes in his green eyes, and I know I’ve hurt him. I don’t want to do that.
“I’m sorry. I went too far.” I take a glass of champagne from the waiter and hand it to Shane. That should make his mistake of dating Nikita, instead of me, go down easier.
Shane downs it and gives me a wicked grin that forces me to take a step back. It’s the way he looked at me at the award ceremony, like he would rip all my clothes off. I fan myself, feeling suddenly hot and moist. I need to have an orgasm because anything is looking good to me now.
He slowly stands, like it’s killing him, snags my hand, and drags me onto the dance floor. The liquor oozing out of his pores stinks of beer and champagne. Though he’s drunk, I’m the one stumbling to keep up with him.
The band plays a tango. He won’t know it, so I expect him to cut me loose, but he grabs my arm to follow him.
Dad has some flamenco dancer entwined in his arms. They move like professionals. Mom loved to dance. For a brief moment, heartache flutters in my chest.
To my amazement, Shane expertly spins me into him, and my breath catches. He dips me and snaps me up, like popping a beer tab.
“Where did you learn to dance?” I ask, surprised.
“My sister took ballroom dancing and my mom volunteered me as her partner. It didn’t last long, but I'm a quick learner.”
He draws me in close, his body heat soaking me, before shoving me away. When I come up against him again, I lift my leg along his and let it slide down the length of his inner thigh. I tango—very well, I might add. My dad’s a great teacher.
Hah. I’ve given him a hard-on, not that it’s probably difficult to do. I smile triumphantly. He glares at me, and without hiding his erection, he twirls me out and then presses it against me.
“Why do we keep playing this game, Princess?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You should’ve gone out with me, and we’d both be better off.”
“I’m very happy, thank you.” I married Blake. Why wouldn’t I be? “And I like giving you a hard time.”
He frowns. “I can attest to that, and I like reciprocating.” He leans down to whisper, “Your panties are wet.”
Panicking, I turn to see if my dress is stained.
“Made you look, Princess.” The way his gaze gl
ides along my body starts a fire in my chest. “Is your gay husband not doing it for you?”
My crinkled lips give away the lie. “Don’t be silly. He’s perfect.”
“Why are you doing this, Princess?” Shane fills out his pants very well, and he smirks at me noticing his bulge. “You’re married now.”
“I’m not doing anything. You need to control your urges, and I thought I wasn’t your type.”
“You’re not.” He snorts. “So what’s this about? Why did you want to dance with me, other than to excite me?” he asks in a snarky tone he’s so famous for.
“What happened to you and Nikita? My sorority sisters will want to know.” I need to build up to ask him about his company and what he did with all that money. Did he buy another business and it went under?
He snaps my head back by dipping me low to the ground. “What’s it to you?”
The tulle of my dress swirls, and the drug lord watches us closely. Fay and Trevor dance cheek to cheek. I bet she can’t feel his spaghetti stick pressed against her right now. Blake talks to the lemony-haired waiter and his groomsmen, completely oblivious to Shane jerking me around the dance floor.
They laugh at Blake’s cleverness. I love that he’s so confident, not the slightest bit jealous, though I wish he’d have some reaction to Shane’s mistreatment of me.
Shane twirls me around, only to draw me close again. He must like poking me with his hard cock because it’s still plenty erect. Perspiration dampens my dress. Blake needs to rescue and satisfy me because this dance has roused my appetite when I didn’t mean for it to.
“Just curious,” I say.
“She dumped me. Happy?” The harshness in his tone cuts me to the bone.
“Not really, but you should be. You’re better off.”
“How so? She’s the nicest girl I’ve ever been with.”
Another laugh bursts out of me. It’s so unladylike that I clamp my hand over my mouth. “Nikita Harper, the girl famous for using the cactus as a stripper pole in Cowboys.” I have a lot of stories on her.
An infuriating glaze sparks in his pale green eyes. “I’ve never seen her drink.” He spins me into him again. He presses against me like he did while giving me a lap dance. His arousal has grown even larger, if that’s possible.
I blink at the intensity in his eyes. “I can’t count how many times she has hugged the toilet during a sorority party.”
Rage fires in his rugged face. He’s taller than my six-two husband, and somehow physically stronger, even though Blake works out every day.
“Why would you lie about your sorority sister, Princess?”
“Lie? They aren’t lies.” I always wondered why she put on a front for him because I know Shane drinks. Why would she hide that from him?
Confusion flashes in his eyes, and the scar on his chin is even more prominent up close. “I have never seen her drink or act like the rest of you girls.” He has me against his cheek.
Honestly, I am married, though it feels nice to be appreciated, but my needy desire needs to be satisfied. Damn Blake.
I want to say I’m sorry for Shane being stupid, but he keeps calling me Princess. “Shane, Come on. She’s not real.”
“And you are with your newly acquired blonde hair?” His hand grasps my golden locks. “You were beautiful with all that black hair, and then you did this to it.” He snorts his disapproval.
Why doesn’t he like my blonde hair? Most men prefer blondes. He dated a natural one for the past two years.
Hurt replaces his anger in those leaf green eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me, Cyn? I thought we were friends. Why tell me now?”
“It’s not my job to tell you who to date or trust. You’re a big boy. Weren’t you two going to Alaska?”
Shane’s jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow. I shudder at the ferocity emanating from his eyes. He spins me onto the grass away from my guests and dips me. The problem is he keeps lowering me to the ground until I’m lying on the lawn.
He’s leaving me here?
“Help me up,” I demand.
“Not today, Princess.” Shane marches away from me. “I’ve had enough from you girls today.”
Anger flares on my face, scorching it. “Shane O’Flannery, don’t you leave me like this.”
He doesn’t even turn around.
Fay walks toward me. “Bravo. I don’t know what Cynthia said, but that’s been a long time coming.”
“I think she told me the truth,” Shane says to her, “but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to hear it.”
So he does believe me. It is true after all.
Fay helps me up. Thank God, most of the guests are too drunk to have noticed, except the drug lord and Blake. He gives me a strange look that I cannot read.
I glance at the back of my Vera Wang. Damn. A green stain mars my beautiful dress.
I stare after Shane, his fists clenched at his side. How could he not know Nikita after being with her for so long? Gosh, she even cheated on him, but I certainly won’t tell him that. He threw a fit over her drinking. I’d hate to see what he’d do for her stepping out on him.
Nothing good came out of this. I feel completely unsatisfied, like I did after having sex with Blake earlier.
Chapter Seven
Cyn
Blake lounges in a seat, his long legs outstretched while I pace around the Seattle airport like a nervous terrorist, searching for our honeymoon escape. I half expect TSA to body slam me to the ground.
After the wedding we’d flown out of Austin to Seattle, which has me completely stumped.
We certainly aren’t in the international section, so our destination must be Hawaii. New York, Miami, Honolulu, and Fairbanks are the closest gates. Ours says Minneapolis. Yuck. I won’t go there. I’ll put my foot down to that.
Hawaii would work—not as good as Bora Bora but not too terrible. It’s beautiful all year round.
“Sit down, honey,” he says. “We’ll be at our destination before you know it.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” I whine, nervous as the Mad Hatter.
He grasps my hand and pulls me toward him. I sit down onto his lap where he smooches me, the heat of his lips branding me. When he touches me, my body leans into his. We’re going to have a great time, and I’ll have an orgasm—many of them—unless I’m broken.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll love it.”
Blake pushes me off his lap and onto the next seat, so he can beat the next level of Rio Angry Birds on his Kindle. Birds squawk and monkeys squeak when he reopens his game. This is a side of him I’ve never known. What happened to Mr. Sophistication? Mr. Charming? Mr. Godlike Sexy? I’ve never seen him play any video games. I hope I didn’t marry a gamer.
I slump in my chair, studying the gate signs and letting them drive me crazy until Shane O’Flannery plops down next to the Fairbanks departing gate. Unfortunately, his flight is delayed, so I hope he doesn’t see me, not after he humiliated me yet again.
He slaps what looks like a hundred pound backpack with skis and snowshoes strapped to it onto the seat beside him then digs out a box, a ring box. No wonder he’s so upset. He was going to ask Nikita to marry him during their Alaska adventure.
Nikita said she was going somewhere exciting with Shane. It doesn’t surprise me she backed out once Shane lost his fortune.
One by one, the gates for Miami, New York, and Honolulu board. At this late hour, the other gates close, and the only one left open is Fairbanks. This isn’t looking good. We wait another hour and the other gates remain dark.
No. This can’t be happening. I stick out my lower lip.
First class is called for Fairbanks, and I half expect Shane to get up and board his flight. What’s best for all of us is that he doesn’t see us.
Blake stands. “Let’s go.”
My mouth opens, and a stone plummets into the alcohol I drank on the first flight we took. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” Helplessness shado
ws his blue eyes, like he’s made a huge mistake, which he has. “You’ll love it there. We’re going fishing in this remote area, and we’ll view wildlife. Come on, babe.” His arm lovingly drapes around me.
“I don’t have the right clothes,” I say, stumbling backward. I packed for the beach.
“We’ll go to the outfitters store when we get there.” His face sags. “Your dad said you’d love it, and Fay agreed.”
I thought he said some friend helped him. My fists clench because I had Fiji on the brain. “What about Fiji?” It sounds so childish I want to crawl under a rock. My dream escape bubble I’d been floating around in has burst.
His brow crinkles with concern. “We can go there anytime. I’ve heard late autumn is stunning in the interior. I’m sorry, pumpkin. I thought you’d love this.”
“But I don’t like the cold,” I whimper. Given the commotion, Shane glances our way. I can’t let him see me this way. It’ll only give him ammunition to give me a hard time. “You better promise me Fiji or Tahiti right now.”
Shane gives me the look, like why the hell am I on the flight with him traveling to his home?
I glare right back. This isn’t my idea.
Blake plants one of his delectable kisses on my lips while squeezing my butt. “I’ll take you to Tahiti, and I promise you will love our honeymoon in Alaska.”
I blow a stray hair out of my face. I can barely wait.
Chapter Eight
Shane
While waiting for cattle coach to be called, I spot Cyn and her gay, serial killer husband arguing. She doesn’t look too happy. Why the hell would he take her to Fairbanks?
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I say to myself, cocking my head at Cyn like our old dog Buck used to do when he spotted a moose edging onto our property. She’s dressed for a night out in Austin—a short flouncy skirt, which shows off her luxuriously long legs and that sweet ass, heels, a top that doesn’t do her perky breasts justice, and a light cotton sweater. She’ll freeze in the current rainstorm pummeling Fairbanks. What the hell was Blake thinking? And why didn’t he tell her where they were going?