by Valerie Mann
As previously discussed, you have an appointment at the Marriage Bureau at three o’clock to obtain your license. Please take the enclosed paperwork. Your fiancé will meet you near the entrance.
Warmest regards and enjoy your journey.
Madame Evangeline.
“Enjoy your journey.” Beth snorted. “She hasn’t met my car.”
Unfolding the other paper tucked in the envelope, she flattened it on the desk. Up until that moment, she’d only known bits and pieces about the man she’d marry, including his first name, that he lived in North Carolina, and he needed to remain there after their marriage. Which meant she’d pulled the moving card as part of the arrangement. She worked from home and hadn’t bothered to put down roots since moving to Los Angeles from Dallas five years earlier. If she was going to marry a stranger, what did it matter where she lived?
With a pounding heart, she read the words printed on the marriage license application: Christian Anton Ramos. Never been married. Resides in Raleigh, North Carolina. Thirty-nine-years old.
The rest of the words blurred and her hand shook until the paper dropped to the desk.
I can’t do this.
You wanted this. In fact, you asked for this.
Well, I’m not going to do it.
You’re already doing it, genius.
What was I thinking? I must be crazy.
Well, duh.
Neither of the opinionated voices arguing in her head over the last few months had been good company or particularly useful. And neither had improved with practice.
Groping for the chair under the desk, she sank down, giving in to the inevitable tears while her fingers trembled and her knees clacked together. The weeks leading up to that day had created a sense of anticipation, but she’d refused to allow any thoughts about the future to penetrate beyond the details of getting out of her condo lease, selling everything she owned, and finding a home for Milo, the stray cat who’d refused to leave her porch. She’d been so successful at immersing herself in the forest, she didn’t have to examine the trees. Or rather, the tree.
Christian Anton Ramos.
The phone on the desk shrilled, shattering the quiet and her last nerve. With a yelp, she vaulted off the chair and stared at the chirping demon. Clutching her chest, she answered, recognizing Juan’s cultured voice from registration.
“Hello, Ms. Malone. I’ve been instructed to let you know a driver will be arriving in an hour to escort you to your appointment.”
Somehow she found the words to thank him, dropped the receiver back in its cradle, and wandered over to the window. Looking out over the Strip and desert beyond, she barely noticed any of the stark beauty of the landscape.
One hour.
Before her world changed.
***
Fifty-eight minutes later, she exited the hotel and stood on the red-carpeted landing.
The doorman who’d witnessed her glamorous arrival earlier stood nearby. She pretended not to notice him. He sidled closer and cleared his throat.
“Are you waiting for a ride?”
Her gaze landed on the doorman’s name tag before inching back up to meet his eyes. “Yes, Antonio, I am. And I’m pretty sure it won’t have a winch this time.”
He folded the spotless gloved hands behind his back and grinned.
A sleek black luxury sedan purred to a stop at the base of the steps. The uniformed driver got out and nodded over the roof. Without a word, Antonio stepped down to the curb to open the rear passenger door.
After Beth settled in, he smiled. “Enjoy your journey, Ms. Malone.”
Enjoy your journey.
Trying to ignore her jackhammering pulse, she watched out the window as famous Vegas attractions whizzed by…and not-so-famous, but just as interesting people. Young, old, trashy, glitzy, drunk, sober...business as usual for Sin City. And thankfully, a distraction.
She pressed a hand to her overactive heart and took one last look at herself. She’d spent more time picking out her current outfit than she had for the wedding ceremony, before settling on a white sleeveless silk blouse and pale pink linen pencil skirt. Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and picking at invisible lint balls, she prayed she’d dressed appropriately. Wondered if he’d sweated the wardrobe dilemma. Probably not.
Five minutes later, she stood on the sidewalk below the Marriage Bureau office. People bustled around her, climbing the steps, holding hands, exciting plans and bright futures painted on their faces.
Before bad cop/badder cop in her head started arguing again, she joined the revelers headed toward the front entrance. Your fiancé will meet you near the entrance.
She froze. “Oh, crap.”
A boisterous group clustered around the glass doors of the Bureau, holding balloons and speaking loudly. The 1Night Stand service hadn’t provided her with a picture of Christian, but with a last name like Ramos, she figured he’d have dark hair.
Every man there had dark hair.
Even in Vegas, those were long odds. She’d never find Christian in that mass of happy humanity. A sudden, visceral urge to bolt overwhelmed her.
Spinning away, she ran headlong into a solid, warm wall. “Oh! Excuse me.”
Strong hands gripped her elbows before she fell off her strappy heels, which would have put a final, embarrassing lid on a hellish day.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” a deep voice rumbled against her chest.
She tipped her head back and gasped. “Water Boy!” His familiar face filled her with giddy, if somewhat confused, relief. “What are you doing here?”
“Coming to your rescue again?” He continued to hold her arms.
And with a good look at him when he wasn’t sitting in the dark confines of his SUV, she had to admit her first impression had been oh-so-right. He was devilishly good-looking. Soot black hair shining in the desert sun brushed his shoulders. He had a teasing grin and eyes full of secrets most women would beg to know, secrets she wouldn’t mind knowing either.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t resist bringing him down a notch. “You did not rescue me.”
“I tried.” His voice dropped lower. “But you denied me that pleasure.”
How could one word, pleasure, conjure so many lusty visuals?
She tsked. “I had the situation under control.”
“Baking on the side of the road. Got it.” He dropped his hands. Hands she’d rather liked having on her. “So, my stranded friend, what are you doing here?”
A strange sensation skittered up her spine. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“Really.” He cleared his throat. Waited a beat. “Me, too.”
Holy crap. With all the grace of a silly cartoon character, her jaw dropped. “Tell me you’re not Christian.”
As though warding off evil spirits, he held his hands up and took a huge step back. “Hell no! I’m Alex. Chris is my brother.” With comic relief, he pointed behind her. “That’s Chris.”
Like the worst slow motion video in history, every second like an hour, she turned. Dread and anticipation weakened her knees. Blood pounded in her ears while her heart slammed behind her ribs. No amount of planning or imagination had prepared her for the split second of sheer terror and utter thrill of the moment she’d been waiting for.
A tall man halted a yard away, so close she heard his rushed breathing, as though he’d run a marathon. Heck, who could blame him—her pulse beat like she’d just run one, too. He glanced past her and without having to look, she knew Water Boy nodded, it’s her.
He could wave banners behind her for all she cared. What stood in front of her interested her far more. God had planted a masculine vision before her, and she took an immediate and complete, if indiscreet, inventory of the man who would be her mate.
He was easily a half foot above her five-foot-six. He wore running shoes, well-worn and not from a treadmill by the looks of them. Faded jeans, white at the seams, clung to long legs and other interesting places. A pale blue, butt
on down oxford shirt fit him like a tailored glove and contrasted against olive brown skin. Large hands, long-fingered and white knuckled, gripped a legal size envelope the same way she clutched her purse—like a lifeline. Perusing north, she bit back a sigh of pleasure. It wasn’t the high cheekbones, strong jaw, classic, straight nose or the way he kept his black hair cut short the way she liked it that made her want to sing the Hallelujah chorus like a bunch of castrated choir boys.
No. It was his eyes. They mesmerized her. Drowned her. A peridot gaze, crystal clear, framed by sooty lashes, held her captive and she forgot about breathing altogether.
Our children are going to be unbelievably beautiful.
“Beth?” He shifted the envelope to his left hand and extended his right. With more surreal slow motion and all the grace of a robot, she lifted her hand, and he shocked her by pulling her close until the gap between them all but disappeared. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Was he late? She had no clue since coherent thought had fled, with his rock-hard, big strong body so close to hers. Closing her eyes, she inhaled. He smelled wonderful, like clean laundry and soap and that unidentifiable male scent she’d always loved.
“I had business in France and my flight was delayed. I came straight from the airport.”
“I-it’s fine, I just got here myself.” She tipped her head back. His green gaze continued to captivate her while his body heat warmed her. Jesus, he was so utterly gorgeous—
“I kept her company,” Water Boy piped up behind her. “We sort of have this thing going.”
She glared over her shoulder at him. This thing?
He winked.
“You two know each other?” Christian frowned down at Beth. “How do you know Alex?”
Was that a wary note in his voice?
“I—”
“She was stranded on I-15 earlier. I stopped to help her.”
“I was not stranded. I had everything—”
“Under control.” Alex snorted. “Right.” Before she could retort, he rubbed his hands together and tipped his head toward the Marriage Bureau entrance. “So…what do you say we get this party started?”
“Great idea,” Christian agreed. “Too bad you’re not invited.”
***
“That was easy.” Christian held the door open for her, and they stepped out into the blinding sunlight. The desert heat slapped them.
Beth smiled, though she appeared anything but relaxed. Hell, he wasn’t relaxed either, hadn’t slept well for at least the past two weeks, trying to decide whether he should be relieved he’d put his marital future in the hands of a dating service—or whether he’d earned a place in the Loser Hall of Shame for putting his marital future in the hands of a dating service. Either way, he felt the way Beth looked—nervous but willing to proceed. The license in his breast pocket was proof positive they were both committed to making the marriage happen.
“They do make it pretty easy.” Clearing her throat, she looked everywhere but at him. “What time is the, uh….” She flushed, as though speaking the words marriage or ceremony were taboo.
“I put Alex in charge of the arrangements.” That got her attention. Her gaze swung to his, asking the unspoken, are you serious? He shrugged. “He lives here. He knows better than I do where the best place is to get—” Damn it, I can say the word, even if she can’t. “—married.”
“Just what I need; another reason for him to claim he came to my rescue.”
Chris chuckled. After weeks of worry, it felt good. “Knowing my brother, he’ll make you pay for that act of kindness for awhile.”
“Hmm. He can try.” She smiled and paused at the top of the stairs. With an uncertain expression, she stared at the busy street below them. Her profile was perfect, like the cameo pin his mother always wore on her dress for Sunday Mass. Long eyelashes, small nose, pouty lips….
God strike me dead for thinking what those lips could do. But damn it, she is going to be my wife, right?
And they really were amazing lips….
Her dark blue gaze met his, and he had a sudden, inexplicable urge to taste her, see if her lips were as delicious as he hoped. They parted, as though they knew his desires.
Taking a deep breath to clear the lust, he said, “Did you drive over?”
“No, someone from the hotel brought me.” She frowned. “I told him not to wait.”
Laying a hand on her waist, he guided her down the stone steps. “I rented a car at the airport. Come on.”
***
He handed his keys to the hotel valet at The Castillo. The doorman nearest them hurried over to help Beth from the car, holding her hand longer than Chris thought necessary. The uniformed man spoke and she laughed, nodding at whatever he’d said like they shared a private joke. Shoving the valet ticket in his pants pocket, Chris strode around the hood and shot the doorman a look, though he had no idea why he did, or what it meant. The other man backed away, folded his hands in a proper manner, and assumed a professional pose.
Chris put a hand under her elbow and led her into the lobby. “We need to get ready. Alex will be here in an hour to pick us up.”
Her smile faded. “So soon?” She blushed to the roots of her blonde hair and bit her lower lip. Her plump, pink lip. “Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Yes, you did.” He softened the words by adding, “But I get it.”
They stopped at the bank of elevators, and he tapped the up button. The doors swished open, and they entered the blessedly empty car. Still embarrassed, she worried her lower lip some more, and he forgot to speak, watching her tongue caress it.
The doors slid shut. The car didn’t move. She raised an eyebrow. Waiting. For something.
“Weren’t we going somewhere?” She pointed skyward.
Yeah, definitely headed for the Hall of Shame.
Focus, loser.
“What floor are you on?”
Chapter Three
Beth stared at her single self in the bathroom mirror for the last time. The next time she saw that reflection, she’d be married. No longer completely free to do as she chose. Almost every action answerable to another person, every decision jointly made.
Perspiration beaded her forehead. Fear shadowed her face.
“What were you thinking?”
She watched the woman in the mirror, the way her lips moved, how tight her hands were pressed against the bodice of the white silk dress, as though trying to calm the terrified butterflies swarming in her belly.
“You don’t even know this man,” the woman in the mirror whispered.
What if Madame Eve had been wrong? What if her security background check hadn’t turned up something vitally important, something freakish or dangerous about Christian? What was wrong with him that he needed a matchmaker to find him a wife? He had to be hiding something. What if he’d lied about his expectations?
And what if Eve hadn’t been wrong? What if everything Christian said on his own application was true, and he had nothing to hide?
What then, Beth?
She leaned forward until her forehead almost touched the glass. What did Christian Ramos see when he looked at her? Blue eyes, nice hair, full lips. Had he liked what he’d seen? What if he hadn’t been impressed? Was he having regrets?
Because if she was anything special, she wouldn’t have had to enlist Madame Eve’s services to find a husband.
Humiliation scored, fresh and raw.
Groping for a washcloth, Beth wet it and began to rub her eyes. She attacked her face with the soft cloth, smearing eyeliner and shadow. Swiping with vicious pleasure, she wiped the pink gloss from her lips until they burned, then her neck and cleavage, trying to erase the scent she’d carefully chosen, hoping to impress him.
“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters,” her image taunted.
Nobody wanted her. Her father hadn’t been more than a birthday and Christmas phone call every year. She had no siblings; her mother had passed on. Her ex-
husband, Justin, the only man she’d ever let close, had shown up at her office less than a year after their marriage, divorce papers in hand. Irreconcilable differences. Not even Justin had wanted her for very long.
And now here I am. Letting a stranger find her a mate because she couldn’t do it on her own. Or rather, she didn’t trust herself to find the right one. A dating service couldn’t do worse than she had, surely. She had the unenviable divorce decree to prove how inept she was at finding Mr. Right.
But how desperate can a girl get? Christian was obviously desperate as well, not that she understood why since he appeared to have his act together. On the surface, anyway. She dreaded what he might be hiding, because everyone had secrets.
But she was too chicken to stop the process already in motion. She pulled the pins out of her hair and yanked a brush through it, praying he’d have the common sense to realize how stupid the arrangement was after all, and cut the charade short before it went too far—
The knock on her door may as well been a death knell.
The brush fell from her numb fingers. She stared at the outer door. Her feet took root in the marble tile and she made no attempt to pull them free.
The knock, a bit louder and more insistent, echoed in the room.
“Miss Malone? It’s Juan, from the front desk.”
Uprooting her feet, Beth approached the door on rubbery legs and peeped through the security hole. The older man, dressed in a black hotel uniform, waved and gave her a disarming smile. She cautiously opened the door.
“Good afternoon.” He handed her a slender white jeweler’s box. “Mr. Ramos would like you to have this.”
Refusing to let the gift suffer the same fate as the hairbrush, she gripped it with both hands. “Thank you.”
She read the gold letters stamped on the top. Ramos & Sons.
“Have a wonderful journey, Miss Malone,” Juan replied and headed toward the elevator.
Frowning at the strange but familiar parting words for the second time that day, she murmured her thanks again and shut the door.