A Convenient Texas Wedding

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He went after his eggs, eating a forkful before he replied, “We’re still real people with real feelings.”

  “If the public knew that I married you for my green card, they wouldn’t think I was so nice. And if they knew about my affair with Rich, they’d probably think I was a bitch for sleeping with a married man.”

  “As far as you knew, he was getting divorced. And after what that bastard did to you and everyone else, you’d still come off as nice.” He didn’t have an answer about the green card situation. They would both be crucified for that. But no one was going to find out. They would protect that lie to their dying days.

  She heaved a heavy sigh. “Were there any positive comments on the gossip sites? Or did everyone trash us?”

  “Lots of people jumped in to defend us, saying that we make a fascinating couple. They’re anxious to see our wedding photos. I’m going to post one later today, so it’ll start circulating. The photographer emailed the images to me this morning. We can go through them after breakfast.”

  “Are you still going to do a formal announcement in the newspaper?”

  “Definitely.” He intended to make a splash in the Royal and Dallas society pages. “We have to strike while the iron is hot. Our honeymoon picture is only going to be trending for a day or so. I’m not the kind of ‘celebrity’ who stays at the top.” He wasn’t an entertainer or reality star or athlete. And hadn’t acquired a following for being an entrepreneur or visionary or business trendsetter, either. He’d gotten noticed for being a Texas millionaire who took flashy selfies and played around. “AliRan isn’t going to become a household name.”

  She flashed a grin. “You mean we’re not going to turn into Kimye or Brangelina?”

  “Nope.” He laughed a little. “But we can milk AliRan for what’s it worth and show everyone what a loyal husband I am while it still matters.” His first step to becoming a respected CEO was to clean up his image, and by God he was trying.

  “When are we going to fill out the green card marriage application?” she asked.

  “If you’re up for it, we could do it online today.”

  “Sure. The sooner the better.” She dipped her eggs into the leftover pancake syrup pooling on her plate and took a bite. Damn, he thought. Last night she was kissing and rubbing and making him hard, and this morning he was getting turned on by watching her eat. She glanced up, and they stared at each other, caught in a sexually charged moment. Their marriage was a business arrangement, where temptation wasn’t supposed to apply, so he’d better get ahold of himself.

  And fast.

  Rand had no idea what he was going to do after the divorce or how soon he would start dating other women again. But for now, he wished that he didn’t crave his wife as badly as he did.

  His only comfort was that she appeared to be trapped in the same dilemma, wanting him as much as he wanted her.

  * * *

  After Allison and Rand came home from The Bellamy, they were inundated with cards, boxes of candy and gift baskets, mostly from Rand’s coworkers and business associates, congratulating them on their nuptials.

  Although Allison helped him sort through them, her mind was elsewhere. She was nervous about an upcoming fund-raiser at the Texas Cattleman’s Club, especially since the club catered to such an elite crowd. Rand was a well-known TCC member, and this would be her first public appearance with him. She didn’t want people at the fund-raiser to judge her the way she’d been judged online. She wanted to look pretty, as glamorous as any other woman there.

  Maybe she should call Megan and talk to her about it. She could ask her friend to help her shop for a dress and to get ready that night. It was certainly worth a try and better than fretting about it on her own.

  Rand checked the card on an elegantly arranged fruit-and-gourmet-cheese basket and said, “Oh, wow. This is from Brisbane Enterprises.”

  She didn’t know who that was, but she took an educated guess. “Is that the company the board of directors wants you to bring in as a new client?”

  He nodded. “The CEO’s name is Ted Marks. He’s the guy who hasn’t been returning my calls.” He waved the card. “And now he’s saying that he and his wife will be attending the Stars and Stripes fund-raiser at the club and are hoping to see us there.”

  The black-tie event she was so nervous about. “That sounds like a good sign.”

  “Definitely. I used to run across them at other functions in the past, and they never gave me more than a passing nod. Of course it hadn’t mattered to me then. I’ll bet his wife is curious about you. From what I heard, she has a strong influence over him.”

  The thought of Ted Marks’s wife taking a curious interest in Allison only intensified her pressure. “What are Ted and his wife like?”

  “They’re both older, midfifties, proper, the conservative-society types.”

  She studied the fruit basket. “I’ll do my best to make a good impression on them.” Which meant looking and feeling her best that night. She was definitely going to call Megan for help. “What’s the wife’s name?”

  He rechecked the card. “Sharon.”

  “Ted and Sharon Marks. I’ll look them up online so I’ll recognize them when I see them.”

  “That’s a good idea. There are probably pictures of them together at other fund-raisers.” He sent her an appreciative smile. “Thanks for offering to do what you can to make a good impression.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” She understood how important the Brisbane account was to him. It factored significantly into why he’d married her. “But I could really use a bit of unwinding now.”

  “With what?” His smile morphed into a wicked grin. “A bottle of champagne?”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.” She was never going to live that down. Nor would she ever forget the desperate heat of straddling his lap. “I was thinking more along the lines of our one-on-one football-rugby match.”

  “You want to play right now? Sure. Let’s do it. But with me being so much bigger and stronger than you, I think I should give you a lead.”

  “No way. We’re playing fair and square. I don’t want you going easy on me.” She stood tough. “No gender bias.”

  He roamed his gaze over her. “You’ll probably knock me out with those boobs.”

  She rolled her eyes. Along with her champagne fiasco, she was never going to live down her complaint about her breasts being too big. “You better be prepared to get your arse kicked.”

  “By a girl?” He looked her over again, teasingly, brutishly. “You’re dreaming, sweetheart.”

  “Did you seriously just call me sweetheart?” Now he’d gone and done it. “For your information, I played in one of the most successful leagues in Ireland.”

  “One of the most successful women’s leagues. Look at me, Allison.” He made a badass gesture to himself. “There’s no way you’re going to beat me.”

  “Oh, really? Well, how about this? If you win, I’ll be your maid tonight. I’ll do whatever chores you require. And the same applies if I win. I’ll get to use you as my houseboy.”

  “Your houseboy?” He laughed, ridiculing her suggestion. “As in me doing domestic chores for you? Good luck with that.”

  His chauvinistic confidence was going to be his downfall, of that she was certain. “Shake on it?”

  “Hell, yes.” He gripped her outstretched hand. “But we’re going to have to use an American football. I don’t have a rugby ball.”

  “That’s fine.” She took her hand back. “There’s not enough of a difference to matter. You can set the rules, too.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a lead?”

  “I’m positive.” She wasn’t taking charity for a sport she’d triumphed in since childhood. “We both need to change. Then we can meet in the backyard.”

  “It’s your funeral. But don�
�t say that I didn’t warn you.”

  “Likewise.” She tore off up the stairs before him.

  In no time, he shot up behind her with his heavy male footsteps pounding the wood. He was already breathing down her neck, behaving as if he wanted to tackle her right then and there. Allison only smiled, eager for the match to begin. She wanted nothing more than to knock her big, strong, arrogant husband down to size.

  Seven

  Whoop! Whoop!

  Allison did the happy dance. She jumped and gyrated and wiggled her hips. She clapped and rejoiced in her victory. She’d won the match!

  It hadn’t been easy; she would probably have bruises on her bottom, given how many times she’d hit the ground. She’d never played a more challenging game. But she’d scored more points than Rand. She’d managed to tackle him, too, to knock him tail over teakettle.

  In fact, he sat on the grass at this very instant, glaring up at her as she danced.

  “Don’t be such a sore loser,” she said, still whirling about.

  He grabbed her ankle, sending her off-kilter. She stumbled and fell, landing next to him with a thud. He laughed and rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath his linebacker’s body.

  “Who’s in charge now?” he asked.

  “This doesn’t count. I already won.” But by goodness, he was heavy. She couldn’t get away if she tried.

  He stared down at her. “You won because I let you.”

  “That’s hogwash.” She was certain that he’d played his best game. “I’m faster than you, and you know it.” She’d outrun him when it mattered. “You underestimated me, and it cost you the game.”

  “All right, so you took me by surprise. But now I’ve got you, and you can’t escape.”

  “You’re still going to be my houseboy.” She frowned. “Unless I gave you a concussion. You have a cut on your forehead.” She gently touched the area around the wound. “It’s bleeding.”

  “That’s no big deal. I’m totally clearheaded. I’m even aware of how damn sexy you look right now.”

  “You’re flirting with me, after I just kicked your arse? Now I know you’re concussed.” She tried not to swoon. Being called sexy by him was making her heart pound. She skimmed his hair away from his eyes. “Let’s go inside and I’ll clean that cut and put a bandage on it.”

  “Okay. But I’m only agreeing because I like it when you touch me.” He lifted his body from hers, like a panther releasing its prey.

  Allison stood and dusted herself off. “I’ve got first-aid supplies in my bathroom.” She gestured for him to follow her.

  They went upstairs together, and Rand sat on the closed lid of the commode while Allison dampened a washcloth at the sink.

  She wiped away the blood on his forehead. “The cut’s not as deep as I thought it was.”

  “I knew it wasn’t anything to be concerned about.” He watched as she doctored him. “But it feels nice to be cared for.”

  After dabbing an antiseptic ointment on the cut, she fumbled with the paper wrapping on the bandage.

  “I don’t think I need that,” he said.

  “And I say you do.” She fitted the flexible material to his skin. “You’re all set now.”

  His gaze locked on to hers. “I like it here.”

  Did he mean here in her bathroom with her standing between his legs? If that was his implication, she liked it, too. His primal scent mingled with hers. They were both sticky with sweat and had grass stains on their clothes, too.

  “You’re supposed to be fulfilling your duty as my houseboy,” she reminded him.

  “So give me a chore, and I’ll do it.”

  A crazy, wonderful, dangerously erotic task came to mind. Full-on lovemaking, she thought.

  Allison couldn’t deny how desperately she wanted her husband. He was all she thought about, dreamed about, fantasized about. But if she went through with it, she would have to be prepared for the consequences. But not all consequences resulted in adverse effects. Feel-good rewards were possible, too.

  So was she going to do it? Was she going to give up the fight and have an affair with her husband?

  Yes, by God, she was. If she didn’t, she would never quit lusting after him. Yet it wasn’t just the thrill of sex that drove her. Little by little, she’d begun to trust Rand and stop comparing him to Rich. Rand hadn’t done anything to hurt her. He’d been kind and honorable all along. Just thinking about how gently he’d tucked her into bed on their wedding night made her want him even more. He could’ve taken advantage of her inebriated state, but he’d protected her instead. And now, on this post-honeymoon day, she craved every gorgeous part of him. But she wasn’t going to regret her actions later. No remorse, she told herself, no self-condemnation.

  Only heat. Only pleasure.

  Instead of telling him what she had in mind, she said, “You can draw my bath.”

  “That’s my chore?” His voice turned sandpapery. He even cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting it to be something so personal. But if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

  She wanted a whole lot more. But for now, she was taking it slow. “You can pour some of my body gel into the water, too. To make it foamy.” She walked over to a freestanding caddy. “It’s this one.” She lifted the blue-and-white bottle from the top shelf.

  He approached the claw-foot tub. “How warm do you like the water?”

  “However warm you think it should be.” She stepped back, giving him carte blanche.

  He turned on the faucet and let the water run. He tested the temperature a few times, adjusting it to a level that seemed to satisfy him. Then he asked, “Do you want to check to make sure?”

  “I trust you.” But trusting herself was another story. She was breaking all of her own rules.

  He took the body gel from her, removed the cap and sniffed the contents. “It’s nice. It smells like coconut.”

  “It’s a Polynesian blend.” Or that was how the product was advertised.

  “How much of it should I add?”

  “As much as you think it needs.”

  “You’re making this hard on me.”

  He had no idea how hard she intended for things to get. But soon he would. “You lost the game. This isn’t supposed to be easy.”

  He poured a capful of the gel into the water. When it didn’t foam to his liking, he added more. “How’s that?”

  “It’s perfect. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  After the tub was full, he turned off the faucet. “There you go. Your bath is ready.” He made a gentlemanly bow, exaggerating his duty to her. “I’ll leave you alone now.” He turned to leave. “I need to get cleaned up, too.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  He spun around, stopping in midstride. “What?”

  She removed a fresh washcloth from a nearby towel rack and tossed it into the water. “You’re going to scrub my back.”

  He shook his head, backing himself against the sink. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “It’s part of your chore.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, the minute you take off your clothes and climb into that tub, I’m going to want to do a lot more than scrub your back.”

  She shot him her best naughty-girl smile. She wasn’t skilled at seduction, but she was giving it a heart-hammering try. “So who’s stopping you?”

  The ruggedness in his voice returned. “You’re giving me permission to take what I want?”

  “Yes.” She most definitely was. But before she lost her nerve, she lifted her top over her head and tossed it aside. She removed her shoes and sweatpants, too. All that was left was her undergarments: plain white knickers and a shock-absorbing sports bra. Not exactly the type of lingerie designed for foreplay. But they’d served her well during the match.

  Rand watche
d every move she made, his gaze darting from her ponytailed head to the wedding-white polish on her toenails.

  He said, “This is pretty damned amazing, because after the hot tub incident on our honeymoon night, I’ve been having water fantasies about you.”

  “At least I’m sober this time.” She was in control of her faculties. Or she was supposed to be, anyway. Her pulse roared in her ears.

  He gestured for her to finish. “Go on.”

  Allison shed her bra, releasing her breasts. Her nipples peaked the second they hit the air. Her knickers came next. She peeled them all the way down, with her husband as her audience.

  She sank into the bath. Surrounded by suds, she swished the water and said, “It’s your turn.”

  He didn’t waste a coconut-infused second. He got undressed and joined her, facing her, with his legs parted and his knees slightly bent. The tub was big enough for both of them, and she suspected that some of his other lovers had invited him to share it with them, too. She doubted this was new to him. But no one else could claim to be his wife. That was her title, at least for now, and it felt wonderful.

  Beautiful.

  Erotic.

  Exciting.

  Rand leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth hot and thrilling against hers. She wrapped her arms around him, dissolving into his fervid touch.

  Once they separated, he bathed her. He ran the cloth over her naked body, washing her everywhere, spending extra time on her breasts and between her thighs. Her eyes drifted closed. She was so enraptured she could’ve been floating out to sea.

  “Stand up, Allison.”

  She started and opened her eyes. “What? Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  He smiled suggestively, deliberately, and his intention became clear. Oral sex: his mouth between her legs. She’d never allowed anyone to do that to her. She always thought it was too intimate, too private, too embarrassing. But she wasn’t going to refuse him. This was her awakening, her chance to be free. Being repressed wasn’t part of the plan.

  Still, she hesitated, taking a moment to grasp her newfound abandonment.

  “Do you need help?” he asked. “Is the tub too slippery?”