“You okay?” he asked.
“I feel great.” Her hair spilled back as she tipped her chin to look up at him. When she gave him a bright, slightly crooked smile, Dexter felt it in his chest, stomach, everywhere.
They made their way outside to ground transportation. “The car should be waiting by baggage claim,” he said, holding the door open for her. It was pouring outside and Jules stopped walking and folded her arms across her chest like she was cold. He immediately took off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders. As he held it while she slid her arms through the sleeves, he let his hand linger on her shoulder. For nearly two hours when they’d been at the bar, he’d become obsessed with what it felt like.
Smooth and warm like the rest of her.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, green eyes locked on his. He was three damn seconds from wrapping his arms around her, tilting her head, and satisfying another obsession about what her lips felt like.
Instead, he sort of patted her on the back and hated himself. Maybe being women-free for two months had taken away his game.
“Thanks.” Had he just imagined her gaze dipping to his mouth?
“For what?”
“For this.” She lifted an arm, displaying the sleeve of his jacket that was so huge on her that it swallowed her hand.
“Welcome. Uh, anytime.” He pulled at his collar. Why was it so damn hot in Vegas, even at midnight? “Here’s the car.” He pointed to a black sedan with his last name on a white card showing through the windshield.
Her eyes widened. “It’s a limo.”
“I asked for the first thing available.”
“I’ve never been in a limo,” she said, grinning like a little kid, making him grin, too.
“Well then.” Before the driver could get out from behind the wheel, Dexter opened the car door. “After you.” He waved to the driver over the hood. It was Carl; he’d known him for years.
“Woo-hoo, thanks!” On her way into the backseat, she picked up the bottom on her mile-long skirt to keep it from getting wet, displaying one leg. One long and toned and smooth leg. Getting a look at the other became his new obsession.
Once Dexter was inside, Carl peeled away from the curb. Jules was in the middle of a laugh when thunder crashed so loudly it made the car shake, causing her to squeal and jump.
“Don’t you just love electrical storms?” she said, staring out the window wide-eyed. A bolt of lightning made her jump again—practically onto his lap.
“S-sorry,” she whispered, squeezing his arm, tilting her chin to look at him.
He took in a slow breath and inhaled the scent of her. Fruity and sweet. “Don’t be,” he replied, sliding a hand up to her shoulder.
Was it the electricity of the storm, the pounding rain on the car, or the lightning illuminating her face that made it absolutely necessary to follow his next impulse?
Right as she flinched at another crash of thunder, he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her to him, and kissed her.
For a moment, his heart stopped. The rain stopped. Time stopped.
Before he could regret the action, or even repeat it, Jules hitched up her skirt, fisted his lapels, and pulled herself onto his lap, legs straddling him. He ran his hands over the silky skin of her knees, their lips connecting again.
A different electrical storm raged through his body and mind, then completely took over.
…
Dexter blinked at the light. It made his head throb. And what was that damn beeping? When he tried to move, his head pounded harder. More beeping. His cell. Okay. He groaned, and his hand followed the sound across the bed. He was in a bed. A pile of pillows that he must’ve kicked away during the night lay on the other side. His cell was buried down by his stomach.
Squinting, he rolled over and tapped the face. Fifteen new texts. Hell. What was so important? He clicked on the most recent. It was from Luke, three hours ago.
Daaaamn bro. And you thought I was fast.
As always, Luke made no sense. Dexter clicked on the next most recent, from Roxy, a line of smiley faces and heart icons. His sister was insane. Finally, he scrolled to the top. Huh. All the texts were from his siblings in reply to a text he’d sent just after one o’clock. Besides Vince to tell him about the flight cancelation, he had no recollection of texting anyone last night.
It must’ve been a butt dial, but then he clicked the text and a photo popped up. Him and a woman, blurry, like a selfie taken with a shaky hand. Or maybe he was blurry—his eyes were sandpaper dry and could barely focus. A caption was sent with the picture.
Suck it. I won the bet!
Bet? The only current bet Dexter could think of was…
More alert now, he scrolled to the photo again. Yes, it was him and a woman. They were cheek to cheek, beaming at the camera like insanely happy idiots, and were each holding up one hand, showing off a pair of wedding rings.
Suck it. He reread the caption, slowly. I won the bet.
Suddenly, the pile of pillows on the bed beside him yawned and moved.
Chapter Two
Jules’s mouth tasked like death, and why were her eyes superglued shut? She tried to move, but when she got as far as flexing her back, it felt like she was riding the Tilt-A-Whirl. Suddenly, it was as if someone turned the lights on. A second later, it was dark. But the return of darkness was accompanied by a curse word that sounded like it came from the other side of a tunnel.
What was going on?
At least now she was awake enough to realize she was lying stomach-down in bed. Out of habit, she yawned and stretched her arms to touch the carved roses on her headboard. Instead, her hands met something cold and metallic. Come to think of it, where was her memory foam mattress?
Slowly and with held breath, she let her foot wander toward the middle of the bed. When it brushed something solid—something that recoiled from her as quickly as she’d recoiled from it—she threw off the covers and sat up.
“Who the hell are you?” she shouted, glaring at the owner of the other foot. A man with messed-up dark hair, lying on his back, bare-chested, one arm thrown over his face. “I said, who are you? And why are you in my bed?”
“This isn’t your bed,” the man muttered.
“Of course it—” She cut herself off. It wasn’t her bed or her bedroom. “Where am I?”
“Please stop yelling. I have a headache.”
Well. Who did this guy—this creepy stranger—think he was? She was ready to reach for the pepper spray in her bedside drawer, but then remembered.
Her head pounded. Had she been drugged and kidnapped? Was she in a cult?
Sucking in a deep breath, she was about to scream for help at the top of her lungs when the guy moved his arm and she saw his face. “What the…? Dexter?”
He moved his arm all the way off and stared up at the ceiling. “You were expecting someone else?”
“I wasn’t expecting…” She stopped, and for a moment, just held her head. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Flight was canceled. We went to a bar. I think there was rain. I know there was rum.”
“That’s as far as my memory goes, too.”
“How did I get here?” she demanded.
“I told you.” He rolled his head on the pillow to look at her. “I can’t rememb—” His eyes bugged out of his skull. “Do you know you’re…?” His bug-eyed stare slid from her face and traveled south.
Only then did Jules realize she was sitting up in bed, covers thrown off, stark naked. After she yelped in holy bloody horror, grabbed a fistful of sheets, and yanked them to her chin, she checked under the covers and…yep, stark naked down there, too.
Dexter laughed. He actually laughed at her.
“Shut up!” she insisted. “Get out of this bed.”
“Fine.” He pushed into a sitting position, his bare chest all…there and bare…and moved to the edge of the bed.
“Wait. Are you…um?”
“Desnudo?” he asked, way too calm. “Completely.”
“Stay covered, and…keep on your side of the bed.”
His mouth quirked into a smile. How dare he smile?
“This isn’t funny—at all. I’ve never done anything like this.” She pressed fingers to her forehead and massaged. “Never ever.”
“You think I have?”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows you wake up with a different woman every other night. Your reputation’s no secret.”
“Not what I meant when I said I’ve never done this.”
Ugh. The guy was getting all Dexter-analytically annoying. Her brain was too fuzzy to deal with that. She needed strong tea, extra peppermint, a scalding shower, and then three hours of hot yoga until she detoxed whatever poison she’d ingested last night.
“What did you mean, then?”
“Look at your left hand.”
Jules was way too hungover to play guessing games. But she sighed and pulled her hand free from the sheets. Everything went into slow motion as she blinked and stared at the ring on her third finger. “What’s…?”
“I believe it’s a—”
“I know what it is. What’s it doing on my finger?”
Wordlessly, Dexter lifted his left hand and displayed a matching ring.
The room tipped and spun, whirred and whirred. “Are we…?”
“Yeah,” he said, and pulled out his phone, displaying a picture of them together, goofy-grinning and showing off the rings.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“There’s more.” He flipped to his camera app. The most recent photo was the one of them and the rings, but the first one gave Jules a shiver. It was them, all smiley, but on her head was a…a frickin’ bridal veil. In the next photo they were facing each other while holding hands, standing before a mystery guy with tacky Elvis muttonchops and slicked-back hair. The three of them stood under a white arch.
“Wait a minute—”
“Look at the rest.”
Before she did anything, she took a breath—in through the nose, hold, out through the nose—and flipped to the next photo. They were kissing and she was holding flowers. The next was just Dexter, holding a piece of paper. Jules touched the screen to stretch the photo, even though her sinking, intuitive gut already knew what it was.
“This doesn’t just happen like on TV. There are laws, even in Vegas. A couple can’t be issued a license while under the influence!”
“Tell that to our marriage license,” Dexter said, pulling out a piece of wrinkled paper from under his pillow. “It’s dated today, both of our names. Signed. And lower your voice. Are you always this loud?”
The license looked legit. And legal. Holy Hare Krishna. “This can’t be.”
“Oh, it be.” He leaned against the headboard, looking way too chill and relaxed, and way too much like a naked man with an incredible body in her bed.
It was too late to stop herself from flushing all over.
“I already emailed my lawyer. The most recent applications for Nevada marriage licenses are online. We’re on there. This is real.”
“Then why aren’t you freaking out?” Jules said, trying to look him in the eyes and not elsewhere. “This is epically horrible.”
“I realize that,” he replied so serenely she wanted to punch him. “And I did freak out. I was awake for fifteen minutes before you—freaking the hell out.”
“At least we’re on the same page about that.”
What a mess, a drunken mistake that should never have happened. Of all people to wake up married to, Dexter Elliott was so far down the list she’d run out of ink. Last night, through alcohol goggles, she might’ve been irrationally attracted to him. And maybe something inside thought about that absurd clause in Grams’s will, and how even a tawdry midnight Vegas wedding would fix it.
Jules was always up for fun adventures, but the thought of even her drunken subconscious wanting womanizing, workaholic Dexter as a husband for any reason was insane.
Obviously her cocktail-soaked self had been on hormone autopilot. Sure, fine, Dexter was hot and she’d been slightly attracted to him at the bar, but not nearly enough to want to peel off her clothes and…
“Um, so I have a question,” she said. “I know we’re undressed in a bed and whatever, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we…you know.”
Dexter furrowed his brow. “I assumed we did.”
“Well, I assume we didn’t. I know we didn’t. Even plastered out of my head, there’s no way I’d randomly have sex with you.”
“One way to find out.” Dexter slid to the edge of the bed. Jules was ready to tell him to stop before he showed the rest of his three-piece-suit-less body, but she looked away instead. And waited.
“Oh. Ohhh. No more assuming.”
“Why?” She hesitantly glanced his way. Thankfully, he’d pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs. Now if she could find her own clothes. When Dexter turned around, he was holding an empty condom wrapper. “At least we were safe.”
“No. Oh, no no no.” She felt her whole face go hot with embarrassment; even her ears were burning. “Fine, it happened once—”
“Twice.” He held up another empty wrapper. “No, wait—three times. And they were definitely used, um, properly.”
“Three?” she shrieked. “Since one a.m.? How are you not broken in half?”
“You’re confident three times with you in one night would break me?”
Jules couldn’t help shrugging coyly. “I take vitamins.”
Dexter laughed. He stood there—in black boxer briefs with flat abs and what some women who weren’t in touch with their spiritual selves might call a perfect body—and laughed like they were friends sharing a joke.
“Come to think of it, I am exhausted. Starving, too, like I just finished an extra-rigorous workout at the gym.”
“Dexter—stop.” But she couldn’t help laughing under her breath in helpless horror. “This isn’t funny. It’s not like we can stay married. We have to undo this right now.”
“Yeah, about that…”
The way he rubbed his square jaw messed with her mental balance, but also made her keenly aware that they were both pretty much naked. Which made her a different kind of unbalanced.
“After I finished freaking out,” Dexter continued, “I started thinking.” He sat on the foot of the bed. “Jules, we have to stay married.”
…
Dexter didn’t expect her to throw her arms in the air and exclaim that she absolutely agreed. But he didn’t expect the explosion.
“What?” Jules’s eyes were huge and bloodshot, making them appear even greener. “What the hell are you saying? What are you even talking about? What…”
Jeez, she’s loud. Her mouth never stops.
“Hear me out.”
“No! Don’t!” When she held up a hand, the sheet covering her slipped, and Dexter caught sight of a good amount of skin. After using three condoms last night, he was a little surprised when his chest felt hot at seeing so much of her now. Jules obviously noticed his stare because she quickly covered up.
“Listen for one minute.” He waited for her to stop yelling and calm down. “We’re married—that’s a fact, and there’s nothing we can do to change that right now. My lawyer’s looking into an annulment, though I don’t know if that’s, um, possible.” He glanced at the pile of wrappers. “I don’t know the laws; we’ll just have to wait.”
“I guess we have no choice, but it doesn’t mean we’re married. We’re not a couple. It was a mistake.”
“A big one.”
She crossed her arms and pushed her full red lips into a pout.
Dexter looked away. Now was a very bad time to study her lips. “My family already knows.” He held up his phone. “And they seem really, sincerely happy about it—happy for us. They know you. They like you. Doesn’t appear they know we were wasted, though.”
“Clearly.”
/> “This is my brother’s big weekend. All the attention should be focused on Vince and Maddie. The last thing I want is to cause a bunch of drama at his wedding.”
No reason for the family to think I’m more of a screwed-up relationship-phobe than they already do. Plus, the damage is done, no reason to lose a bet I don’t have to…
“You’re going to the wedding anyway. You’ll be in Hershey all weekend, right?”
She shifted on the bed, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not actually thinking we should pretend to be a happily married couple.”
“Just for the weekend. Just until we can get a quickie divorce. I’ll take care of everything, and it’ll only affect your life while you’re here. Just because I’m not into marriage doesn’t mean I want to ruin my brother’s wedding.”
Jules was nibbling a thumbnail. What he was suggesting—as crazy-ass as it seemed—was starting to make sense to her.
“You’re saying we fake it for the weekend?”
He held his breath and nodded, knowing how insane the whole thing was. “Just through Sunday. Three days.”
“Well… Hey, wait!” Those pouty lips were suddenly frowning. “You got married, which means you won the bet.”
“So?”
Her frown deepened as she closed her eyes, her shoulders dropping as she exhaled a slow breath. “Just tell me,” she said, eyes still shut. “Did you do this on purpose? To win?”
The accusation didn’t surprise him. After all, five seconds ago he’d wondered the same thing. “Absolutely not,” he said, hoping it was the truth.
She opened her eyes and fixed her scrutinizing gaze on him. “I guess I have to believe you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Internally, though, he had to admit that, as completely warped as it sounded, something about winning a huge bet made him want to give himself a fist bump.
“What were the stakes?” she asked.
“Five grand.”
“Seems pretty steep for a friendly—”
“Five each, which makes it twenty.”
“What?” she blurted, staring at him unblinking. “You just won twenty thousand dollars?” Her expression puzzled him. It wasn’t envy, exactly, but close.
Wife for the Weekend Page 3