by Lacey Black
“Are you sure?” I hear him ask.
Before she can answer, I slip my arm around her waist and pull her into my embrace. Freedom moves willingly, her hand gripping the back of my dress shirt. “Hey, you,” she whispers, her voice sounding all breathy. It reminds me of sex.
Suddenly, I have a flashback.
Freedom pinning me with a look of pure rapture as I slide inside her body.
“Are you okay?” Her words pull me from the memory, the concern in her eyes binding me where I stand.
“Oh, yeah,” I reply, clearing my throat. Even though I know the gym guy is still standing there, I pay him no attention. I can’t. Freedom’s hands are now on my chest, her fingers fumbling with the knot of my tie.
“Sorry, I’m begin rude. Jason, this is my husband.”
Her husband.
My mind flashes back to the moment I slid the ring onto her finger and the smile in her eyes as she watched.
“Dance with me.” I don’t know who says those words, but they apparently slip from my own lips.
Freedom takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor, gym guy completely forgotten. She stands directly in front of me, her much shorter body still lining up perfectly with my own. We get lost in the crowd, bodies surrounding us in a sea of dancers.
I’m not a dancer. Far from it. It makes me uncomfortable, especially in a situation like this one with other bodies all packed together in a tight space. But as I watch Freedom start to move her hips and sway in time with the music, suddenly, dancing feels like the only thing to do. So, I place my hands on her hips and let her take the lead. Also, something else I’m not familiar with.
My family is near, but I pay them no attention. Even without the effects of alcohol in my system, I’m lost in the moment, in her. This woman. The only one who can drive me crazy with indignation and make me want to kiss her lips at the same time. I’ve fought it for years. Years. Family gatherings, holidays, randomly running into her at the grocery store. Years I’ve tried to appear indifferent, all while this bubble of yearning settles in my chest, alive and breathing.
I haven’t wanted to be attracted to her. Oh, no. I’ve fought it. I’ve told myself it can’t happen—won’t happen. Yet that didn’t stop my brain from conjuring up images of her wild hair and her bare feet. Those damn bracelets that annoy the crap out of me. That smile that beckons me closer, most likely to my doom.
Yet, here I am. Dancing. With my hands on her hips and my own body swaying to the seductive pulse. The scent of her shampoo and lotion permeating my senses and all I can feel, all I can smell is her. My wife.
Guilt is a powerful beast, and it chooses that moment to rear its ugly head. How can she be happy? This entire mess has been just that. A mess. No way is this how it’s supposed to go, how she’s supposed to spend the rest of her life. It can’t happen. I won’t let it happen. No one wants to get married while so intoxicated you can’t even remember it. No one should spend the rest of their life with someone just because of that mistake.
And that’s what we made.
A mistake.
One I can rectify.
I pull back, my eyes meeting hers for a few seconds. I almost say forget it and press my body against hers once more. But I can’t let it happen. For her and for me. Freedom seems to understand my hesitation. With the softest smile, she takes me hand and leads me off the dance floor. We make our way to the table where part of my family rests, no one seeming the least bit affected by our nearness, our hands linked, our borderline inappropriate dancing. Maybe they just couldn’t see it. Or maybe they’re choosing to ignore it. Either way, no one so much as bats an eye when we stop at the table.
I guzzle my water, wishing for the first time in a long damn time, it were something stronger. Freedom brings that out of me. That desire to drink. No, that’s not exactly a good thing either. She’s frustrating and vexatious and so damn outrageous she makes my brain bleed. She’s also smart and gorgeous and so damn sexy. I usually just try to ignore those qualities in favor of the ones that don’t give me hard-ons in public places.
After a few more songs, the bride and groom join us. “We’re heading out,” Harper says, a look in her eyes when she glances at her husband I don’t want to think about.
Freedom throws her arms around her best friend’s neck and squeezes tight. The both whisper-yell over the music, my sister’s face blushing. Yeah, I definitely don’t want to know what they’re saying.
Instead, I turn my attention to my new brother-in-law. I hold out my hand, which he takes easily, his smile full of everything I’d ever hope for my sister. You know, considering I wasn’t too sure about Latham Douglas in the beginning, I’m pretty pleased they’re together now. He adores her, makes her happier than I’ve ever seen her before. As long as he keeps treating her right, he’ll always have an ally in me.
“Be good to her,” I feel the need to say, even though I know he will. Call it that big brother instinct. Some things just need to be said, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve said almost the exact same words. In fact, Rhenn has heard them too.
He grips my hand firmly and keeps his eyes locked on mine. “I will.” He glances at his new wife, his eyes softening as he says, “She’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”
They hug the rest of the family before making their way toward the exit. Rhenn and Marissa aren’t too far behind them, the looks on their faces saying way more than I care to know too. I’m happy my sisters are so happy, but that doesn’t mean I ever want to think about the other part of their relationships.
Mom and the Douglases head out next, with Jensen and Kathryn hot on their heels. “We’re going to call it a night too,” my brother says, his hand wrapped around his fiancée’s. Their wedding will be next, followed quickly by Rhenn and Marissa. Then, I’ll be the last single man standing.
But, I’m not really single.
Though, I should be because I didn’t do it right.
Freedom looks up at me, her eyes shining with something bright. “Wanna get out of here?”
No.
Yes.
“Sure,” I finally reply. Clubs definitely aren’t my thing, and the longer I’m here, the more I want to pull her back onto the dance floor and wrap my body around hers. Plus, it won’t be long before I need to use the restroom, and there’s no way in hell I’ll be using a public club restroom. I’ll give myself hives just thinking about it.
As we head to the exit, Freedom slips her warm hand in mine. The contact sends zaps of electricity through my limbs and my feet stumble slightly. I’m able to right myself before falling just as the cooler air hits me. The sidewalks are packed, and soon we’re swallowed up by the masses. I don’t ask where we’re going, just keep her hand in my own and follow. That should be telling in itself, the fact I’m willingly going wherever she’s leading without so much as a glance back.
We’re both silent, walking for several blocks before we find ourselves in front of the famous Bellagio fountain. The water show is just starting and we push our way through the crowd to get closer. The whole time I try not to think about the number of individuals touching me. I keep my head down and my hand locked on hers so we don’t get separated.
She stops a few rows back from handrailing and we watch the show. Freedom is quite a bit shorter than I am, but there’s something about the way she seems to fit against me. Her head hits just below my chin, and her warmth presses against my body as she leans back against me. It’s under the guise of letting another couple pass by, but after they pass, she doesn’t move. She leans back against my chest and watches the show as “Luck Be A Lady” plays from the speakers.
While my heart pounds like a jackhammer in my chest.
I’m certain she can feel it. I’m sure everyone in the vicinity can hear it, but everyone keeps their eyes on the famous fountain, their phones poised up in the air to capture the show. Several couples turn and take selfies in front of the water, and for the first time in my entire adul
t life, I think I understand the fascination with them. Suddenly, I have a strong desire to take my own phone from my pocket and taking a photograph of Freedom and myself. I want to capture the look on her face as she gazes up at the lights and water in enthrallment and wonder.
When the song ends, the fountains return to their regular display and the crowd starts to disperse. Freedom and I stand there and continue to watch. We watch the people and how they interact with each other, the families buzzing off the bright lights and sugar, the couples stealing kisses and share private moments, even when surrounded by hundreds of people. We stand there and watch, feeling as calm and collected as I ever have, all things considered.
“I’ve always wanted to come to Vegas,” she finally says, breaking our silence.
“Really?” I ask, though it really doesn’t surprise me much. Freedom is more of a people person and can make friends about anywhere she goes. I’m the homebody who avoids crowds at all costs.
She nods her head against my chest. “I never left the compound when I was little, but one of the older girls told me she once went to Las Vegas with her dad. She talked about the lights and the people, and it sounded like a fairy tale. Like someplace I could get lost in the shuffle. I dreamed about coming here and doing just that. Getting lost.”
My throat is so thick, I can barely swallow. I knew Freedom spent a big part of her childhood in some weird compound with her parents, but she never talked about it. I overheard my mom and Harper talking when they were in high school about it, but neither of them knew too much. All Harper knew is she didn’t want to go back to live with her parents.
“There weren’t a lot of kids, so we tended to hang out together between classes. We were all homeschooled by a couple of the moms. I’ll never forget the first day I walked into a real classroom.” Even though I can’t see her face, I can hear her smile.
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to ask, but I’ve never been one to shy away from saying what’s on my mind. “What kind of compound was it?”
She sighs. “One with few rules. One where it was nothing to see naked individuals walking around or the occasional free love under the night sky. We didn’t eat meat, grew our own vegetables and herbs, some of them questionably legal, and made money by selling goods we made ourselves in a local town. The law didn’t bother us, as long as we kept to ourselves. The land belonged to the leader, an older guy with a potbelly and gray mustache, and I remember my mom frequenting his tent at night as part of the rent they paid to live there.”
My stomach churns as she speaks. I couldn’t imagine living in a place like that, where everyone lived in tents and apparently shared their spouses with others. Where kids were subjected to all of it, their young, impressionable minds soaking it up like little sponges. While I was watching cartoons and eating Cheerios, she was growing pot and selling it.
“He didn’t, you know…” I start, unable to even finish the question.
“No,” she confirms, completely oblivious to the sudden rage I feel on her behalf. “Master Leonard didn’t touch the girls until they were eighteen. It was a rule.”
“Christ,” I whisper, grateful he never got his hands on Freedom, yet still angry it was even a possibility. “When did you go live with your grandma?”
“When I was in seventh grade. I was miserable there. I stopped eating and participating in class. I had contracted a bad case of influenza B and pneumonia that required medical attention. Most of our medical attention was tended to by a resident nurse, but she told my parents I needed to be in the hospital with antibiotics and IV fluids. They took me to the nearest hospital and left. Civilization like that made them cagey and paranoid. My mom ended up calling her mom to come get me. Even though it was hard living with my grandma, it was the best thing my parents ever did for me.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders, holding her back to my chest. Freedom grabs my forearms and holds on tight, the bite of her nails causing a flashback.
Those nails.
Raking down my back.
As I push inside her body.
I feel myself getting hard. She’s too close. Her ass is too close to my dick. Her familiar scent is filling my body, stealing my sense of right and wrong. That’s the only reason I can think of as I continue to hold her against me. It’s wrong, I know it, but I can’t seem to stop myself. She’s like a drug I crave, a hit I need, even though I’ve never taken an illegal drug in my entire life.
“I’m sorry you went through that, Freedom.” My words are soft, yet meaningful.
She slowly turns in my arms, those dark eyes locked on mine. I mean to release my hold on her and step back, but somehow, I don’t have the ability. My breath halts in my throat as she reaches up and smooths down my necktie, her soft hands sliding along the silk. I catch a glimpse of her wedding ring. The one I put on her finger less than twenty-four hours ago.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m just glad I was able to go live with my grandma.” She smiles up at me. “I met Harper and your family, and I haven’t looked back since.”
I clear my throat. “You were horribly annoying at that age,” I tell her, looking for something lighter to talk about.
Freedom laughs, her long brown hair blowing against my arm. “Yeah, that was because I was thirteen and made it my life goal to annoy the crap out of you,” she replies, tapping me on the chest.
“Well, you’re very successful,” I tell her, which only draws out another giggle.
“I am,” she confirms, wrapping her arms around my waist and giving me a hug. I’m not the touchy feely kinda guy, but this is…nice. Really nice, actually. When she pulls back, her eyes seem to light up. “I have an idea.”
Groaning, I already know I’m not going to like this. “Does it involve going back to the hotel and sleeping?”
Sleeping. Together?
Yeah, I could get on board with that.
No, no you won’t.
“Hell no, Sammy! We’re in Vegas. Let’s have some fun!”
“Sleeping is fun,” I grumble, but know it’s no use.
“You can sleep when you’re dead,” she says, tapping me on the cheek. I should hate it, but I don’t. “Let’s go to a casino.”
I give her most horrified look. “A casino? Do you know how many germs are on those machines and those chips, Freedom?”
She rolls her eyes, probably because she knows it drives me crazy. “Come on, Sammy. Live a little. We’ll go play some slots tonight, and then tomorrow, we’ll take in the sights and sounds of the city. We’ll do all of the touristy things I dreamed about doing when I was younger.”
“That sounds horrible,” I state honestly.
“Nope, it’s going to be amazing,” she says, grabbing my hand and dragging me through the newly forming crowd waiting for the next fountain show.
“But…what if I’m getting ready to leave? We can’t just go out and have…fun tomorrow,” I mumble, as we push our way out of the pack and start heading toward the Bellagio.
“You’re not leaving until Monday, Sammy.”
I stop in my tracks, halting her forward progress. “How do you know that?”
She just turns and smiles. With a shrug, she says, “Do you think it was a coincidence we were on the same flight out?”
Then, she turns and pulls against my hand until I start walking again.
Son of a…
Of course, Freedom would have known my flight plan, probably courtesy of my sister. What I wasn’t prepared for is the fact she’s booked on my return flight home. Another flight, most likely seated directly beside Freedom Rayne. There’s no escaping her.
Chapter Ten
Freedom
I can feel his entire body tense up the moment we step inside the Bellagio. I mean, if we’re going to gamble, we might as well pick a big one, right? The sounds of bells and sirens fills the large entry and people mill about, drinks in hand.
“I’m not sure about this,” he huffs, trying to pull his hand from my own.
/> Unfortunately for him, my grasp is as tight as Kenna Johnson’s skirt in French class, and there’s no way he’s getting out of my grip without Vaseline. “It’s gonna be fun, Sammy. Come on!”
I continue to pull him along, while he continues to huff and puff behind me, which I ignore, of course. Samuel Grayson wouldn’t know fun if it threw on a brightly colored sombrero and started to do the Macarena in front of him. He’d just stand there in his tighty-whities (confirmed he wears them, by the way) and his starched white undershirt, wearing one of those neckties…
Okay, I kinda like the neckties.
A lot.
But you understand what I’m saying, right? It’s practically my solemn duty to show him what fun is. We’re in the land of sin, after all. Gambling. Showgirls. Liquor. It’s time to set those tighty-whities on fire.
We stop at the first machine that’s open, and I fish a handful of bills from my cleavage.
“Jesus, Freedom. Did you just take that from your…” he says, waving his hand in front of his chest.
“Where do you think I keep money in this dress, Sammy?”
He swallows hard, his eyes dropping to the V at my chest. “I… Well, I wasn’t… I didn’t really give it any thought.”
Unfolding the money, I slide my boob five dollar bill into the machine. “It’s no biggie, really. I mean, my keycard is on the other side,” I tell him, as I bet a series of pennies and press the button.
I can feel his presence beside me as I watch the numbers spin and eventually stop in a line. I didn’t win anything, so I up my ante and spin again. Samuel doesn’t say a word, just watches as I lose a few rounds of penny slots. Then, Lady Luck finally lands on my side and I hit a whopping fourteen dollars and eleven cents. “Woohoo!” I celebrate, as if I just won a million dollars, dancing around where I stand.
Glancing his way, his face looks tight. Annoyed. “What’s wrong? Why do you look constipated?”
Horrified, he says, “I do not. I can’t believe the number of men standing around watching you.”