Soft Target

by Mia Kay

  “Last week. It made sense to let everyone celebrate. Besides, Nate doesn’t want to miss anything. The bar is closing, too.”

  The night surrounded them, and he moved her out of the shadows, closer to the building but out of sight from the windows or the ballroom balcony. Dancing was forgotten as he pushed her against the wall.

  “Maybe we could do something,” he offered before sweeping his lips up her neck to her ear.

  “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled as she turned into his kiss and slid her hands under his jacket and up his back.

  The kiss was greedy. He tried to break it, but not kissing her meant he saw the curve of her ear, the slope of her shoulder, the hollow in her neck. He couldn’t stop tasting her. When she pulled free to catch her breath, he chased her down. Their bodies pleaded with one another.

  Holding her steady, he leaned forward so she could feel the length of him and he could feel her warmth. His blood sang in his veins as she tugged him closer. Under her skirt, her silky skin covered sleek, trembling muscles. His thumb brushed the edge of her lacy underwear, and she gasped against his lips. He smiled and did it again.

  Maggie yanked his shirt from his waistband, and her fingers were warm and certain on his skin. After months of exhaustion and indifference, he’d begun to think the doctors had missed something—that he was still broken. With every touch, Maggie was proving he wasn’t.

  “More,” he demanded in a whisper.

  Her hands left his back to tug his belt. “You’re going to have to give me some room to work.”

  Instead he moved closer and continued stroking the lace he couldn’t see. Hot, wet, open.

  She gave up on the belt and grasped him through the fabric.

  The music grew louder, and high heels tapped on the veranda’s concrete floor. He fought to keep his ragged breathing quiet and muffled Maggie’s whimper against his jacket.

  “Maggie?!” Tiffany called into the darkness. “They’re getting ready to leave. Are you out here?”

  Once she gave up her search, Gray backed away. The stucco wall bit into his fingers as he dragged the night air into his lungs.

  After they’d straightened their hair and clothes, Maggie took his hand and led him around the building. They were wiping lipstick from each other’s faces as the crowd spilled from the doorway. The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Mathis dashed down the steps under a shower of flower petals and a chorus of cheers. From the limo, Nate stared as if he was getting a last look at his sister.

  Guilt coated Gray’s still-hot skin. It was his job to protect her, not to strip her naked in the rosebushes.

  Without touching her, he moved closer and nodded at his departing friend. He’d remember his job. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.

  “I hoped so,” she teased.

  “And see you in the morning.”

  * * *

  Maggie closed her bedroom drapes and slid from her dress and into a shower, easing the stress from her bones and Gray’s smell from her skin. God, the man kissed like the devil himself, but sex was out of the question. What the hell was up with that?

  It’s just as well.

  Once in her pajamas, she pulled a box from the closet and sat with it in the middle of her bed. One day she’d throw all this crap away. At least she’d stopped looking at it every year.

  Pulling the photos free, she looked at the twenty-five-year-old version of herself, half in shadow and all in white. The next pictures were of her friends, of Nate, of the lilies in her bouquet. She stuffed them into the envelope and slammed the lid on the box.

  Ten years ago she’d thought maybe, just maybe, she could be a normal girl. Meet a guy, date him, fall in love, get married, make a family, make her own life. And then fate had proved her wrong—again. Surrendering, she’d settled into the life that had been created for her.

  And now she’d met Gray. When she didn’t have time to fall in love.

  She couldn’t ask him to help her. He was settling here. She was ready to go. And while she didn’t want to fill her grandmother’s shoes anymore, she didn’t want to abandon her husband and have the whole town gossip. Just like her mother. Besides, this plan had everything to do with staying in control, and after tonight, she definitely wasn’t in control around him. A platonic marriage needed to be a job, or at least a favor. Reducing Gray to those things would insult him and devastate her.

  Not to mention that he wasn’t exactly volunteering.

  With a sigh, she threw a few last items in her bag and crawled into bed. She had an early flight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vegas.

  Swallowing more aspirin, Gray slumped in the backseat of a taxi and squinted against the bright lights, flashing colors and spectacles of the strip. Midnight, and it still made his head hurt. Hell, that wasn’t the only thing giving him a headache.

  This morning, he’d woke late, skipped church and ridden to Orrin’s only to find Maggie gone. Fighting panic, he’d called friend after friend, finally stopping with Abby. It had taken him almost an hour to convince the silent woman her betrayal was necessary.

  From there, he’d spent a long, slow plane ride alternately cursing Maggie’s stubborn streak and worrying about who she had chosen for this cockeyed plan. That devolved quickly too. All his suspects were from Fiddler. What if she picked the wrong guy?

  “Aria, sir,” the cabbie said as they came to a stop.

  After paying his fare, Gray trudged to the front desk on willpower alone and hoped his smile charmed the desk clerk. It occurred to him he hadn’t shaved or brushed his teeth.

  “I need to find Maggie Mathis, please.”

  “We don’t release guest information. I can ask her to come down.”

  He slid his wallet from his pocket. So much for charming. Pulling himself to his full height, he banished his smile and displayed his badge. “What’s her room number?”

  Wide-eyed, the girl wrote a number on a sticky note and surrendered it with shaking fingers.

  Gray found the elevator and pushed the button until the plastic creaked. On the correct floor, beige walls closed in on both sides as carpet muffled his approach. Stealth was destroyed as he pummeled the door.

  A slight man with muddy brown eyes answered. He was in sweats and a T-shirt, and his hair stuck out in different directions along the crown before dropping around his face in a shapeless pile. Even his eyebrows looked disheveled over his crooked glasses and astonished stare.

  “Who the hell are you?” His voice was stronger than his frame implied.

  He wasn’t from Fiddler. She’d come to Vegas and picked up some random guy.

  “Let’s start with who the fuck are you and where the hell is Maggie?” Gray snarled.

  “She’s asleep, like any sane person.”

  Asleep? In this twerp’s bed?

  Gray shouldered his way through the door, relieved to see a sitting room. At least it was a suite. He made a left toward the open bedroom door. “Margaret Mathis, get your ass out here right now,” he roared.

  A door flew open at the opposite end of the hallway, and Gray breathed easier until he turned. The Seahawks jersey hung to her knees and the slinky fabric clung to her curves. He didn’t need to touch her to know she’d be warm from bed. He imagined her in his bed, naked, while he made a bigger mess of her hair and she put her hands on him the way she’d done last night. Even now, his body throbbed and twitched.

  And she’d been planning this.

  She stalked toward him. “What in the hell—”

  He recognized the stubborn set to her jaw. Oh hell, no. She didn’t get to be angry with him. She’d been the one to run. “Who is this?”

  “Roger Baker,” she said as if it explained everything.

  The man extended his hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, um
mm...”

  “Roger, this is Gray Harper.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gray.”

  “Get lost, Roger.” Gray snapped. “Maggie and I need to talk.”

  He glowered into her murderous stare until she blinked and morphed into a poised hostess.

  “Roger, why don’t you go down to the bar and have a few drinks? Charge them to the room.”

  “You’ll be okay?”

  Gray had to give him points for that.

  “I’ll be fine. Gray’s just a little overwrought.”

  “Over...” The rest of the word died in a sputter.

  As if fleeing a disaster, Roger bolted for another room and Gray heard the hurried rustle of denim and the jingle of change. He stood sentry until the smaller man waved at Maggie and slid through the door.

  Once they were alone, her pleasant mask dissolved. “What the hell do you think—”

  He squared off, facing her. “Me? Did you even stop to consider—”

  “All I ever do is consider!”

  They weren’t getting anywhere this way, and he was too tired to keep up. He needed to keep his wits about him and argue on his terms. “Can we sit? I’ve been moving since noon when I realized you were gone.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Abby told me.” He followed her to the sofa. “Well, she texted me after I argued to dead air for an hour.” She perched on the edge, and he kept his outstretched legs in her path and tried to keep his question light. “Who’s Roger?”

  “We’ve been friends since college. He’s an actor.”

  “You can’t mean to marry this guy.” She couldn’t. Less than twenty-four hours earlier they’d practically been stripping each other naked.

  “I can. For six months. We’ll get divorced after my birthday. The businesses will be safe.”

  “I see.” He kept his voice even and his body poised to catch her. “Do you have a prenuptial agreement?”

  “I don’t need one. I trust Roger.”

  “Does he know about the money?”

  The stubborn tilt returned to her tight jaw. “I’ve been honest with him.”

  But not with me. Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you ask me? “He’s agreed to waive a fortune to do you a favor?” At her stiff nod, he continued, “And you shook hands on it?” He sighed at her second quick nod. “No court in Idaho or Nevada would uphold that in your favor. He might get half of everything.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask him to sign something. You can draw it up since you’re here.”

  “Can he protect you?” The question left him hollow. It was his job to protect her.

  “What?”

  “You have someone pursuing you at home.” He sighed. “I’m assuming Roger knows.”

  “No,” she muttered.

  “Maggie, how could you?”

  “I was honest about the money, but I didn’t want to scare him off.” He could have predicted the stubbornness she welded into her spine. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “What flowers are you carrying for your wedding?” He gulped against the sour word.

  “None,” she spat.

  “But it’s not a big deal?”

  “It will go away.” He listened to her convince herself. “He’ll see that I’m married and he’ll stop.”

  “Or he won’t.” And I won’t be able to stop it. “He’ll be pissed you didn’t pick him and he’ll come at you head-on, or at Roger. Assuming he isn’t your guy in the first place.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious?”

  “You don’t know who it is or isn’t.”

  “I sure as hell know it isn’t Roger.” Maggie jerked to her feet, frowning when he refused to move. Instead she fled the other direction. “I’m tired—”

  Gray stood and blocked her path while he repeated his question. “Can he protect you?”

  “Gray.”

  This wasn’t a negotiation. “Because if he can’t, he’ll get in the way. Come home. I’ll figure this out.”

  “I’m smart enough to know we’re down to a Hail Mary,” she reasoned. “I can’t depend on that.”

  “Then marry me.” His throat closed after the words. Shock riddled his brain, making his reactions slow.

  Maggie jerked away and reached for the door. “No way in hell.” She stood aside in a clear dismissal. “Go to your own room and come back tomorrow. I need a witness anyway.”

  He wasn’t going to stand next to her and watch her marry someone else. Gray loomed over her and pretended the earth wasn’t shifting beneath him. “You’ll marry me or you’ll marry no one.”

  “Absolutely not.” She shook her head as she gritted the words through her teeth.

  “I can protect you a helluva lot better than Roger, and I know the rules.” He rooted himself to the granite tile.

  Silence stretched between them while he waited. Unable to bear the coldness between them, he stepped closer and curled his fingers around her waist. When she didn’t back away, he rested his forehead on her hair.

  “Let me help you.”

  When she shook her head, her hair tickled his nose.

  Putting two fingers under her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. Her face was a mask of grim determination, but her tears were ready to spill over. Instead, her chin tilted higher on its own.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” he yawned his agreement. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “What?”

  “There weren’t any rooms available. Besides, you may jilt me.”

  Her eyes widened in her pale face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She slipped away. “You can shower in Roger’s bathroom.”

  He stopped at the other end of the suite and looked back. God, he was tired of fighting her, chasing her, wanting her. Lying. “Maggie—”

  “Are you going to put a chair under my doorknob?”

  If he told her now they’d have another fight, or she’d run while he was in the shower. Either way he didn’t have the energy. “Please Maggie, I’m exhausted.”

  “Take your shower. I’ll keep my word.”

  * * *

  Safe behind the door, Maggie slumped against it. The empty bed piled high with pillows and covered in slick, cool sheets pricked at her conscience. Retrieving extra linens, she dumped them on the sofa in a pile.

  Still guilty, she added an unused pillow to the heap. That didn’t help.

  “Son of a bitch.” She tossed the pillows against the opposing armrest and snapped the sheet open, letting it float to cover the cushions. The blanket was next.

  “Thank you.”

  The deep, sleepy voice jerked her into a spin. Gray was standing behind her with damp hair. His sweats hung on his hips and the worn fabric of his T-shirt made her fingers itch to touch it. Instead, she knotted them into a fist and retreated.

  Perched against the pillows, staring at the vast expanse of rumpled sheets and chewing on her thumbnail. An hour ago everything had been plotted and settled. Now it was all turned on its head.

  Roger had been her perfect alibi, her reason to get out of town, the husband no one would remember. Gray was none of those things. He was making a home in Fiddler. She’d be stuck there until they got divorced, and then she’d be his ex-wife. Regardless of their agreement, as far as everyone knew, he’d be just like her father, abandoned by his wife, always alone.

  Don’t be silly. He’ll be alone for five minutes, and then Amber Kendall will scoop him up. And you’ll have to watch.

  This wedding couldn’t happen. She knew that. She’d even tried to say no, but her tongue hadn’t listened to her brain. And now her fiancé was sleeping on the sofa for fear she’d make a run for it.
>
  She should tell him she’d changed her mind. That’s what she’d do. She’d offer to let him sleep in here—alone, of course—and then explain everything. How she couldn’t do this to him, and how she didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Nodding, she slipped from bed. This was a good plan.

  Cracking her door open, she listened carefully until she opened it wide enough to slip through. Darkness and quiet greeted her. The discarded sheets in Roger’s room were a glowing blob.

  She tiptoed toward the sofa, ignoring the sting of cold marble on her toes and the shivering air against her legs. The slick polyester of her sleep shirt cooled, making her wish she’d grabbed the robe warming the end of her bed. Maybe she should go get it.

  Don’t be such a ninny. If he’s awake, offer him the larger bed and then negotiate. It’s a business transaction. You do these all the time. Maggie steeled her resolve and tiptoed closer.

  The omnipresent lights from the surrounding revelry tinted his features in odd places. Here along one temple, there along the ridge of his nose, and finally dipping along the valley of a bicep. His breathing was hypnotic, like the metronome in music class. Two-four time.

  The air kicked on again, renewing her shiver. Stepping around his bag and keeping an eye on his shadowed face, she draped the blanket across his shoulder. He cuddled into the fleece as his hair formed a new Rorschach pattern on the pillow.

  She tugged the blanket over his feet. Rather than accept the warmth, he kicked one foot free. She covered it a second time, only to have him kick again, this time with a sleepy snarl. Maggie choked back a giggle as her gaze flew to his face. He was still slack-jawed, and his breath still waltzed through the room.

  Her breaths found the same rhythm and she relaxed, relieved that he was here to help her. Perching on the other sofa, she watched him sleep. She was marrying this man who kissed her like he was starving and made her hungry in return. Even now she watched his fingers twitch on the blanket and remembered them on her skin, saw the space in front of him and remembered what it was like to be in his arms.

  She didn’t want to offer him her bed. She wanted him in her bed. And she’d made herself his job.

  Walking back to her room, Maggie closed the door and cringed at the click echoing in the darkness. This was a nightmare. The first man she’d wanted in years, and she’d just roped him into doing her a favor to save his job. And when the time was up, he’d move on. Her breath caught when she thought of him with someone else. Rather than being her mother, she risked being her father. She wasn’t sure which was worse.