A Convenient Texas Wedding

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Allison nuzzled closer to him. “It’s a branch from a heather plant. Since we incorporated some Irish themes into the wedding, I thought a Celtic engraving on your ring would jazz it up. Heather stands for dreams, romance and attraction.” She pressed her lips to his ear. “I know none of this is real, but it’s going to make my dream of staying in the States come true. And with the book-hero crush I have on you, the romance and attraction part seemed fitting, too.”

  Her explanation deepened his desire for her, making him wish that he could consummate their marriage tonight. But they weren’t even going to be sharing a bed. He would be sleeping on the sofa in their honeymoon suite.

  He whispered to her. “Have I told you how wholesome I think you look in your dress? So soft and pure.”

  “You make me sound like a virgin.” She spoke in a hushed tone, too, keeping their conversation private. “I suppose it is a virginal dress. But the designer nightgown Megan gave me isn’t. It’s sleek and sexy. Of course, there’s no way I’ll be slipping that on.”

  “She gave you a sexy nightgown?” Damn, now that was all he was going to think about. “Will you at least bring it to the hotel and show it to me?”

  She nodded. “I’ll toss it in my suitcase and let you see it.”

  “Can I touch it, too? Maybe press it against myself or something?” He glanced down, making her aware of the part of himself he was referring to.

  “Rand.” She gasped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Neither could he, but if getting off on her nightgown was the extent of his pleasure, he just might do it. “What color is it?”

  “It’s a bright shade of emerald. She got it to match the wedding colors.”

  “Remind me to thank her later.” Rand spun Allison around on the dance floor and kissed her one more time, long and slow, with forbidden thoughts encased in his mind. Even if nothing was going to happen, he could at least pretend that he was going to make love with his wife tonight.

  Six

  The Bellamy was inspired by George Vanderbilt’s iconic French Renaissance chateau, and the luxurious decor in Allison and Rand’s suite reflected that theme, but on a newer, trendier scale. The custom-made furniture, constructed from deep rich woods, shimmered with metallic accents and contemporary engravings. All of the latest gadgets and high-speed technology was provided, as well.

  This was definitely a modern honeymoon, Allison thought. Soon after they arrived, they started taking pictures for Rand’s social media pages. He orchestrated the selfies, and she followed his lead. He suggested they wear hotel-monogrammed robes with their swimsuits underneath. Hers was a classic one-piece. She had too much breast and hip and butt for those little stringy things. But thankfully she was covered in the photos, her robe securely fastened. Being in her bathing suit in front of Rand was difficult enough. She didn’t want strangers seeing her, too.

  At the moment, she sat next to him on the sofa in the living room area, going through the images.

  “This is a great shot,” he said, holding his phone closer to her. “It’s my favorite.”

  She leaned over to check it out. “It is nice.” They definitely looked like romantic honeymooners, bundled in their thick white robes, with a bottle of Dom Pérignon between them.

  He tapped on another picture, opening it to its full frame. “I like this one, too.” A close-up he’d taken of their hands, their rings beautifully showcased.

  She agreed it was effective. “How many are you going to post?”

  “Just these two. That should be enough to get the ball rolling. I’ll keep the hashtags simple. I’ll write something uplifting, too, about how incredibly special my new bride is and how she turned me into a one-woman man.”

  “I’ll post something tomorrow.” Allison’s social media pages were private. Only close friends and family would be able to see whatever she chose to put out there. “But you can post whatever you want tonight.”

  “I’ll take care of it right now. Why don’t you relax in the hot tub and I’ll join you when I’m done?”

  “Okay.” The hot tub was located on a private deck attached to their room. Their accommodations were exceptional, but Rand obviously had his choice of suites. He knew the billionaire owners of the hotel. His world was so different from Allison’s.

  She grabbed a couple of towels, proceeded to the deck, fired up the jets, removed her robe and sank into the water.

  She closed her eyes and lost track of time, unsure of how many minutes had passed or how much longer it would be before Rand came outside.

  Allison just hoped the internet trolls didn’t pick her apart. She feared that Rand’s followers wouldn’t think she was glamorous enough for him. While she understood that he thought of her as innocent and was promoting her as his hopelessly romantic, Irish-country-girl wife, she wished she was comparable to his other women. Just once, she wanted to turn heads.

  “I brought the Dom.”

  She opened her eyes. There stood Rand holding a tray that contained two long-stemmed flutes and the champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket.

  He placed the tray beside the hot tub and said, “I figured we should partake in this instead of just using it as a prop.”

  She nodded and asked, “How did the posts go?”

  “They’re already starting to get reactions, especially the picture of the two of us. In any event, we’ll probably be trending in the top posts by morning. It should get picked up by the gossip blogs following me, too.” He sat on the deck. “Ready for some bubbly?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” She’d only had a few sips of champagne at the wedding. Besides, she wanted to relax and stop worrying about how Rand’s followers were going to react to her.

  He popped the cork with a heart-thumping bang, filled both flutes and handed her one.

  She tasted it and moaned. He smiled and ditched his robe, exposing his godlike body, his swim trunks as stylish as everything else he wore. He settled into the water, right next to her, and she nearly squeezed her thighs together. He was so close she could smell the lingering cologne on his moonlit skin.

  “I should have brought you a snack,” he said. “I put the chocolate-covered strawberries the hotel sent up in the fridge, but I can go get them.”

  “I’m fine.” The only thing she was hungry for was her wild-spirited husband. But he wasn’t on the menu.

  “Oh, wow.” He teased her. “You’re turning down food?”

  “Not just food, but chocolate.”

  “You must be losing your mind.”

  She most definitely was, with how badly she wanted him. But sleeping with him wasn’t a prudent thing to do. She’d known it when she’d first agreed to marry him, and she knew it now, as rationally as before.

  Using the champagne as her consolation prize, she drained her flute and grabbed the bottle for a refill.

  About fifteen minutes later, she was on her fourth glass and appreciating the giddy sensation.

  “You better slow down,” Rand warned.

  “I’m just a tad tipsy.” Enough to act like an eejit and crawl onto his lap.

  He looped his arms around her waist. “I shouldn’t be letting you do this.”

  She ignored his concern and kissed him, snaring his tongue, giving him the kind of shift good girls shouldn’t give.

  Was she grinding his crotch? Was she making him hard? Yes, indeed, and it felt damned good. Water swirled around them, the jets shooting extra heat in their direction.

  So much heat, so much lust. He got harder and harder, devouring her mouth and treating her like his guilty pleasure. But it didn’t last.

  After a slew of scrumptious kisses, he pulled back. “We need to stop.”

  “And I think we should keep going.” She grinded against him some more and thought about the expletive he favored. “You can whisper your favorite wo
rd in my ear, all hot and dirty, before you do it to me.”

  He groaned in agony and nuzzled the damp ends of her hair. “I’m not doing anything to you that you’re going to regret later.”

  In what was left of the rational side of her brain, she knew he was right to refuse her advances. She was in no condition to make sound decisions. But with the fantasies she’d been having about him, she could hardly blame herself for her behavior. Of course that just might be the champagne talking.

  She said, “Fizzy alcohol makes a person drunk faster. I read a scientific study about it.”

  Rand kept his hands wrapped around her waist. Whether he was trying to stop her from moving around on his lap or savoring the bump-and-grind before he let her go, she couldn’t be sure.

  “I heard that, too,” he replied. “But there’s an old saying that the bubbles go straight to your head.”

  “I think it has more to do with the stomach than the head. But my brain does feel fuzzy.” Allison kissed him one last daring time and felt him shudder, his aroused state making her smile.

  She climbed off his lap and settled back down in her seat. When she reached for the champagne, he snatched the bottle away from her.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He poured it out, right onto the deck, where it pooled. She thought it looked like a puddle of pee.

  She giggled at her goofy little metaphor. “That’s a waste.”

  “The only thing wasted is you. Come on, sweet girl, let me get you up and ready for bed.”

  “I’m not even slurring my speech.” Even if she was light-headed, she wasn’t sloshing her words. Soon she might be. But for now, she was holding her sentences together.

  “I’ll give you credit for that.” He eased her out of the water, and they stood on the deck.

  She frowned; she swayed on her feet. Steadying herself, she reached out and traced a tingling hand down his abs, following the muscular ripple.

  “It’s not fair that you’re so hot,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m your hottie book hero. Now let’s get you dry.” He cloaked her with a towel, using it to pat her down.

  He was still wet. She watched watery rivulets run down his gorgeous body and drip into the spilled champagne. He was standing in the puddle. So was she.

  After he finished drying her, he hastily toweled himself off. Next, he helped her into her robe, the way an old-fashioned suitor might aid a lady with her coat. He even knotted the belt for her. He left his robe on the deck and she was secretly glad he was still bare. She didn’t want him to cover up.

  They entered the suite, and he led her to the bedroom. “Where are your pajamas?”

  “Still in my suitcase. I’ll go get them.” She dug through her luggage, flinging items to and fro. He shadowed her like a watchdog.

  She found the nightgown Megan had given her and tossed it to him. “This is for you.”

  “Cripes.” He caught the long, silky, see-through garment. “This isn’t a good time for sexy lingerie.”

  She glanced up and grinned. Rand clutched the fabric as if it might scorch him. She imagined it setting his big, hard body on fire. “It’s okay if you press it against yourself like you said you were going to do.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Just get your PJs, Allison.”

  “Maybe I’ll wear that.” She tried to tug the nightgown away from him, but he held tight, banning her from having it.

  “Spoilsport.” She searched for the conservative pajamas she’d brought, plucking them from the pile of clothes she’d dumped on the floor. “I hardly ever drink, but I have to admit I’m enjoying myself.” She motioned to the lingerie in his hands. “And don’t forget, you’re free to enjoy that.”

  The nightgown fluttered from his fingertips as he dropped it back into her suitcase. “I’m going to strangle you when you’re sober.”

  She shrugged, and he guided her toward the bathroom.

  “I’ll wait here for you,” he said, letting her know he would remain outside the door.

  Before he nudged her inside, she glanced back and sent him a starry-eyed look. “You’re a protective husband.”

  “I ought to be, with all the pledges I made.”

  She smiled and closed the door. She liked how protective he was. It made her feel warm and melty inside. She removed her robe, fighting the knot Rand had tied, and peeled off her swimsuit. She didn’t feel steady enough to shower, so she climbed into her pajamas just the way she was and left her bathing suit and robe balled up together on the floor. However, she managed to brush her teeth. She never went to bed without proper oral hygiene.

  She returned to Rand and said, “I forgot to get my underwear out of my suitcase. I don’t have anything on under these.” She flapped her baggy pin-striped bottoms. “Normally I wear knickers. Sometimes I even wear a sleeping bra. I don’t want my breasts dangling to my knees by the time I’m an old lady.”

  He dropped his gaze. “They look plenty perky to me.”

  “They’re too big.” She straightened her spine, jutting out her chest, letting him take his fill. “I always hated being busty.” But not tonight, she didn’t. Tonight, she appreciated what God had given her. And much to her drunk-and-flirty satisfaction, her nipples had come out to play, creating noticeable peaks under her top.

  He continued to stare.

  She went delightfully smug. “My eyes are up here, mister.” She pointed for effect.

  He lifted his gaze, his voice going warm and soft. “I know where those green eyes of yours are.”

  Now she really felt as if she were floating. He sounded beautifully romantic. When he tucked her into bed, she decided that he was the best husband a bride could have. He kissed her forehead and turned out the light, leaving her alone, steeped in bubbly dreams on their wedding night.

  * * *

  In the morning, Rand cursed himself for being a gentleman, especially when Allison stumbled out to the breakfast table. He could have made love with his wife last night. He could have done wild, wicked things to her. Yeah, he told himself. He could have taken advantage of her while she was drunk, and that would have made him the worst kind of jerk.

  She was no longer in her pajamas. She’d changed into a plain T-shirt and lightweight sweatpants. He could tell that she was wearing a bra, her breasts curvaceously bound. He assumed she had panties on, too. But her cautious attire only heightened his desire for her.

  “I took a chance and ordered for you,” he said. “Eggs, pancakes, the works, in case you’re the type who eats her way out of a hangover.” With her appetite, he assumed she might be. He gestured to the aspirin he’d left on her napkin. “That’s for you, too.”

  “The food looks fab. I do have a bit of a headache, but I’m not feeling as bad as I thought I would be. I think breakfast will help.” With a sheepish smile, she ducked her head. “I feel stupid about the way I acted last night. I’m embarrassed about it now. I should have known better than to drink like that.”

  “It was fun seeing you so uninhibited.” Of course the raging hard-on she’d given him hadn’t been particularly fun, not when he’d restricted himself from doing anything about it.

  “You’re not going to strangle me now that I’m sober?”

  He winced. “You remember me saying that?”

  “I remember everything.”

  So did Rand. Every pelvis-grinding rub, every tongue-tangling kiss, every loopy, sexy thing she’d said to him. The nightgown Megan had given her was burned into his brain, too.

  Allison swallowed the aspirin with her juice and placed the napkin on her lap, settling in to eat. “How did you know when to order?”

  “I heard the bath running.” He’d showered earlier when she was still crashed out. He’d stood under the spray and let the water pummel him.

  She glanced at the individual-size teapot in front of her. “
Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

  “No problem.” He watched her fix her tea, pouring milk into her cup before she added the steeping brew.

  “How are the Instagram posts doing? Is the photo of us trending today like you thought it would be?”

  “Yep.” He drank his coffee while she sipped her tea. “The gossip blogs grabbed hold of it, too. They featured it with headings like ‘Instafamous American playboy takes proper Irish bride.’ One site is calling us AliRan.”

  She smothered her pancakes in syrup. “Oh, my goodness. They gave us a celebrity-couple nickname?”

  “It was paired with a question asking people how long they thought it was going to take for you to realize you’d made a mistake and run for the hills. Get it? AliRan. They even made a meme of it. But I expected stuff like that to happen.” He’d been in the public eye long enough to know how the media worked. “I shared the meme on my page with a caption that says AliRan represents you running toward me, not away from me.”

  “That was a good way to twist it in our favor.” She seemed impressed with his marketing savvy. “What types of comments are people making?”

  “Overall, my followers are being kind and congratulatory. I blocked a few of them who posted snide things. Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about the comments on the gossip sites.”

  She made a troubled face. “What are they saying?”

  “Some people think that you’re going to get your heart broken by a womanizer like me. That a seemingly nice girl like you deserves better. And others think I should have married someone who was—”

  “Prettier? More glamorous?” she asked.

  “Yes, but that’s a bunch of bull. You’re perfect the way you are.” With her dazzling green eyes and shiny red hair, killer body and quirky sense of humor, she was absolutely radiant. “I like everything about you. Besides, no one knows the real us.”

  She frowned at her tea. “The real us is a lie.”