“Actually, meeting you here is like a dream come true.”
For the life of him, Logan couldn’t remember the last time anyone compared him to a dream. Almost ten years of being a living nightmare tended to erase the good memories he used to have, erased everything until he was barely more than a shell of the man he used to be.
But all that was going to change now. His head doc said things could change with one simple positive step in the right direction. Getting rid of Corinne had been positive.
Meeting Willow here was another positive.
So was kissing her, putting his hands on her curvy little body, and taking her out on a date. Basically, Willow was a huge, tiny ball of positivity.
“What’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to do in Vegas?” he asked.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Go to a magic show.”
“Our next stop.” He pulled out his phone and scored some tickets to the next Penn & Teller show. “Front row, baby. What do you think of that?”
“That you’re the one who’s magical.” The look on her face stole his breath away.
And his good sense to stop drinking.
He held up his glass. “Here’s to letting your hair down.”
“Here’s to forgetting about the past.” She clinked her glass against his. “And keeping our eye on the future, whatever it brings.”
Chapter Five
They stopped in front of the fountains of the Bellagio, a huge smile on Willow’s face. Logan couldn’t stop looking at her.
Not through dinner, not through Penn & Teller’s show either. Didn’t matter he was one of their biggest fans. All that mattered was his date having the time of her life.
He felt like she had. She’d laughed and gasped right along with the crowd. Her eyes had danced, her cheeks turned pink—and not with embarrassment either—and when it was over, she jumped to her feet to clap and whistle.
“Have I told you how much fun I had at Penn & Teller’s?” she asked.
He canted his head from side to side, slightly amazed at how relaxed he’d become. “Only about a dozen times, but who’s counting?”
She lightly tapped him on the shoulder. “Stop. I only wanted you to know how much I enjoyed myself and to say thank you.”
“Got anything else on your bucket list?” he asked, not ready to take Willow back to her room and spend the rest of the evening without her.
Pressing her lips together, she wrinkled her nose. “I’m afraid of heights, so no to the roller coaster or helicopter rides. It’s too late to drive to the dam...” She shrugged. “The only thing’s that left to do is either go to a club or get married.”
His heart sped up at the thought. “I vote club.”
“Good choice.” She slipped her hand in his and they started walking again, studiously avoiding the guys rubbing small slips of paper together that had the numbers of escort services. “What about you?”
“My Vegas bucket list?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Already done everything there is to do here.”
She let out a mock gasp, placing her free hand against her chest. “You got married by Elvis? I’m so hurt you didn’t let me plan your wedding.”
“Yeah, no. That wasn’t on my bucket list.”
“So you’re more of a big-church-wedding type?”
He wasn’t any type when it came to weddings. “When I get married, I’ll leave it up to my future wife.”
She laughed, the sound like bells. “Smart man.”
“What about you?”
“Oh... I don’t know.” She was stalling. No woman who planned weddings for a living couldn’t not already have their own planned down to the tiniest detail.
“Sure you do. Every woman does.” He pulled her over to a bench and sat down, indicating she should do the same. When she joined him, he wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders.
Sitting next to her, Logan felt like a giant, a hulk... He was at least twice her size. His entire hand could fit around her upper arm. She shivered a little and scooted closer to him, bringing out his protective instincts.
It was simple, really. Willow was cold, so it was his duty to get her warm.
“Let’s get you inside.”
“I’m not cold,” she said. “Just thinking.”
“About your dream wedding?”
“You won’t believe me when I tell you.”
“Hit me.”
“My dream wedding is one where I just get married—just my husband and me, our closest friends, and a simple ceremony. Making a big fuss isn’t my style.”
Her words rang true, but there was something off about her explanation. Before he could dig deeper, one of those traveling bars stopped in front of them.
“We have two seats with your names on them,” the bartender called out.
Logan glanced at Willow. “Want to hop on?”
She hesitated, taking in the high seats and rowdy customers already a few drinks in.
“I won’t let you fall.”
“Promise?”
“Oh yeah.” He winked at her.
By the time all was said and done, he and Willow were plopped down on side-by-side barstools. He was drinking beer while she drank a huge pina colada.
“You going to be able to handle that?” he asked, more out of concern than anything else. She needed someone to look out for her.
The straw slipped from her mouth, making her tongue dart out to lick her bottom lip. It was all he could do not to kiss her at that moment, but he could wait. He could and would be patient until he had another opportunity. Maybe when they were back at the hotel, he could invite her to his room and—
“So good. You can’t taste the rum at all!”
“Watch out for those. They’re the ones that knock you on your ass when you least expect it,” he warned, then signaled the bartender for another drink. This time, he ordered two shots of the night’s special.
“Cheers,” he said, holding one up.
Willow clinked her glass against his. “I like making toasts with you. So much fun and you don’t write jokes that aren’t funny. Gosh, the worst toast I’ve ever heard was when the best man compared the bride to the groom’s favorite hunting dog.”
Logan winced. “Ouch.”
She lifted a shoulder. “The bride didn’t mind. She actually cried happy tears.”
“Do most brides cry?” he asked, then took the first shot. The liquor burned a path down his throat. “Shit.”
“Yes. More and more guys cry now too.”
“Pussies,” he muttered, then sliced his gaze to her. “I’m not going to apologize.”
“I didn’t say you had to, but you could be kinder about informing me of what you are and aren’t going to do,” she pointed out, making him feel about two feet tall. Deservedly, too.
“You’re right. Still I don’t think men should cry at weddings. Or at all.”
“That’s because you’re in the military.”
He barked out a laugh. “No it’s because I’m a man. Men don’t cry over shit. I mean, take your last couple. According to Haven and Lily, no one cried and they were dudes.”
“Derek and Joe are an exception to the rule.”
“Bullshit. They’re men, and unless men think crying will get them a piece of something, men don’t cry.”
“What about when the Cubs won the World Series?”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s baseball,” he said firmly. “And you’re allowed to cry over your dog, too.”
“The list is suddenly growing. Any others?”
“First kid—that’s a reason to cry.”
“Drank the last beer in the fridge and the grocery store is closed?” she asked with a sly smile.
He nodded gravely. “Damn straight I’d cry over that.”
She burst out laughing, and so did he. She was so fucking easy to be around. Easy to talk to without guarding his thoughts. Hell, she could school him on poli
te conversation without calling him names, or the two of them arguing.
“My sister got married in Vegas.”
“Did you cry over that?” she teased.
“Nah, but our mom did.” His mother had thrown a hissy fit, and he’d been so lucky to have been on extended leave at the time. “She got over it though.”
“I remember Evangeline talking about it for weeks. It sounded so romantic.” She hiccupped, then pushed out her bottom lip. A full lip that he wanted to bite. Man, would this ride ever be over? “I never get the romance.”
“I’ll give you romance.” She deserved that. Hell, every woman deserved romance, but women like Willow deserved a little more than that. “I’ll give you my last name.”
Her pretty blue eyes widened. “Are you saying you want to—?”
“Get married, yeah. Let’s do that.”
“But not by Elvis,” he added, taking another shot and slamming it down. “We should do it right and get... a real preacher to do it.”
“What about preacher Elvis?” She grabbed a cherry and fed it to him. He nipped at her fingers.
“Whatever you want.” He’d give her the stars and the moon if she asked for it. “You’ll be Mrs. Logan Ambrose.”
“You’ll be Mr. Willow Vaughn.” She snorted adorably.
Man, everything about her was adorable.
*
“I can’t believe we had to promise to not leave each other’s blue suede shoes out in the rain,” Willow said as she waited for her husband to unlock his hotel room door.
Her husband.
Her husband.
Logan Ambrose was her freaking husband.
Haven would die if she knew. Actually, Haven was going to be pissed because Willow hadn’t told her yet. She could always blame a bad reception.
She didn’t even have a reception—unless she counted drinking spiked punch and eating cake with a RuPaul impersonator.
Logan opened the door with the flourish. “After you, Mrs. Ambrose.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Vaughn.” Another fit of giggles left her, but as soon as Logan’s arms slid around her waist, she stopped.
He buried his face into the side of her neck. “You smell so good.”
“You feel good,” she said, all breathless now. She reached back and up, turning her head so she could kiss him. And just like every other kiss with him, it was just as toe curling, just as knee wobbling, and wonderful.
“How about we take this to the bedroom?” he asked, kicking the door shut.
“Race you to it.” For some reason, she felt freer than she had in years. Maybe it was because Logan took care of everything and all she had to do was relax. Usually, she was the fixer of everything and catered to everyone’s needs but her own.
“I’ll give you a head start.”
She rolled her eyes. “The room isn’t that big, and I’m not that slow.”
He cocked a brow, letting go of her. “Prove it.”
She dashed toward the bed, but then he grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Hey! No fair.”
“All’s fair in love and sex,” he said, kissing her again.
Well, she supposed he could say what he wanted when he kissed her. She kept walking backward and he kept walking forward, until the back of her knees hit the mattress.
She fell backward into the bed, and Logan followed her down. His weight made her bounce almost all the way off the mattress. Desperate not to fall, she reached for him, one hand colliding with his ear and the other with his nose.
“Ouch,” he groaned.
“Sorry. I meant to arm your grab.”
“You meant to what?” he asked, turning her toward him.
The room spun. There were six Logans, then four, then two, until his image finally merged into one solid form.
“I have no idea,” she admitted as that warm feeling spread and grew hotter from where Logan was touching her. It was like he was everywhere. She buried her face into his chest. “You’re like the ultimate teddy bear. Only with muscles and a penis.”
“Thanks... I think. My muscles and penis belong to you now.” He rolled to his back and brought her with him. “Have your way with me.”
She lifted up slightly on his chest, her legs naturally sliding to straddle him. “Shouldn’t I say that?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. That dimple of his was just begging to be kissed. “Oh, I plan to have my way with you—just thought I’d throw it out there that you can do the same.”
Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “Are you sure I wouldn’t be taking advantage of you? Obviously, you’re drunk.”
“Everyone in this room is drunk,” he corrected, then exhaled. “You sure do feel good.”
She wriggled around. “So do you.” Her eyes began to close, so she laid her head down. “Rub my back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And just like that, his big hands started traveling down her spine over and over. Her body melted into his like chocolate left out in the sun. “Don’t go to sleep on me, Blue Eyes.”
“But I’m sooo comfy.” Wait. She was in bed with Logan Ambrose on their wedding night and she was trying to go to sleep? Oh heck, no. Lifting her head, she forced her eyes open. “I’m awake. Let’s have sex.”
One of his hands cupped the back of her neck. “Thought you’d never suggest it.”
His mouth claimed hers in the slowest of kisses, but her heart beat faster than it ever had in its life. White-hot desire flowed through her as his other hand grabbed a butt cheek and squeezed.
Expertly rolling her to the bed, he rose above her, his hands everywhere as he stripped away her little black dress. Rather than lying there passively, she began to unbutton his shirt and push it over his shoulders.
A dreamy sigh left her as soon as his bare skin made contact with her.
“You are so pretty,” Logan said as he unfastened the front clasp of her pink, lacy bra. He let out a low whistle. “I stand corrected, ma’am, you are fucking gorgeous.”
She giggled, the combination of desire, need, and a good buzz making her feel as though she were floating on a warm cloud.
He licked her nipples until they were hard and aching, and as soon as he took one deep into his mouth, she let out a strangled moan.
Oh, he was good. So good. “Very good,” she whispered as his mouth moved to her neglected nipple.
“I want in,” he said, his erection butting up against her thigh. “Put me in you.”
Immediately, she grabbed him. He winced, hissing, “Not so hard.”
“Sorry.” She loosened her grip and began to stroke him. “This better?”
“Oh yeah.” His eyes closed, pure pleasure appearing on his face. “Perfect.” His voice was a deep rasp in her ear.
She couldn’t stop stroking him. His fingers sifted through her curls, parting her, and she almost came off the bed when he began to rub her clitoris. Never in her life had she felt anything so good.
“Mmmm.” She turned her head and kissed his shoulder. “This is good.” But it could be great. Mind blowing, even. Once again, she attempted to put his hard length inside of her, but ended up squeezing too hard.
He let out rough laugh. “Baby, while you’ve got me all twisted up inside, I can’t let you break my dick off.” Gently pushing her hand away, he guided his cock inside, the broad head stretching her the deeper it went.
Her toes curled in anticipation for that first thrust. In all the novels she read, the first thrust was the one that claimed the heroine for the hero.
With a little growl, he thrust his hips forward.
Hard.
She let out a yelp of pain.
Why didn’t they mention that it hurt like hell the first time? She knew it did, but dang it... this was supposed to be romantic and—
“Sorry.” Logan eased out, his forehead scrunching a little, as if he were confused by her reaction. “Don’t think you’re ready for me.”
“I am,” she insisted, but he was moving down her body, dro
pping kisses along the way. His wide shoulders pushed her thighs apart and his dark head bent. “Are you going—?“
He grinned wickedly. “I am.”
Then his head dipped even lower, his tongue and lips doing things to her that should be declared illegal—except when it came to her. He could use those moves on her any time he wanted.
His name became a chant as he licked her. As he brought her ever closer to the orgasm she knew she’d always wanted with a man. Sure, she could give herself one and had, but this was no comparison. Her fingers were no comparison to what he could do.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her body shook. Her nipples hardened and goose bumps dotted the landscape of her skin.
Finally, her orgasm washed over her, making her body simultaneously hot and cold.
It was the Best. Feeling. Ever.
“You taste so damn good,” Logan said, kissing his way up her thigh. He brushed a kiss against her stomach, licked the underside of one breast, and planted one arm beside her while his hand went to his cock again. “Ready?”
She nodded, spreading her thighs a bit wider to accommodate him. He was so much bigger than her, but she trusted him to take care of her. She trusted him to finish making this the most romantic night of her—
He thrust all the way in, and a stinging pain made her eyes water. Digging her fingernails into his shoulders, she clung to him while he moved.
His mouth sought hers and she gave it to him, desperate for the distraction from the pain. One hand slid under her bottom, fitting her tightly to him.
“I’m going to ride you like this all night, Blue Eyes,” he said, nipping at her bottom lip.
“Can you ride me a little slower?” she asked, her voice thin.
“Of course,” he murmured.
True to his word, he eased up on his pace, gliding in and out of her like he had all the time in the world. Then he started talking to her, starting telling her how good she felt, how this was the best night of his life, how he was so damn glad he’d found her in Vegas.
His words were slurred together slightly, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hear those exact words. Wanted to hear about how he’d take care of her, that he knew she was the kind of woman who would never be unfaithful... and she had the tightest pussy he’d ever been in.
The Christmas Bride (Brides of Holland Springs Book 4) Page 5