THE WRONG WEDDING
by
Magnolia “Maggie” Rivers
Published by
Freeman Group, L.L.C.
Des Moines, IA
The Wrong Wedding
by Magnolia “Maggie” Rivers
Published by Freeman Group, L.L.C.
Des Moines, IA
Copyright © August 1, 2015
by Freeman Group, L.L.C.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this book in whole or in part in any form, electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the authors.
First Printing: August 1, 2015
ISBN-10: 194379300X
ISBN-13/EAN-13: 978-1943793006
Cover design: Sterling Design Studios
www.sterlingdesignstudios.com
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To: You.
Yes, you. You picked up my book and hopefully bought it and are right now sitting in your favorite place about to begin reading a story I created for your reading pleasure. So, yes, this book is dedicated to you.
It is my hope, once you start reading this story, you absolutely cannot put it down until you reach “The End.” You can hate me for that while you head off to work with no sleep (as I do when I write).
But really, I just appreciate the fact you’ve spent your hard earned dollars purchasing one of my books. I appreciate you, my reader, whether this is your first book of mine you’ve purchased or your fourth or fifth.
So, yes, this book is dedicated to you. I hope you enjoy it!
Love,
Maggie
P.S. I hope to meet you all in person someday!
THE WRONG WEDDING
By
Magnolia “Maggie” Rivers
CHAPTER ONE
There was a naked man in her bed.
At least the part of him she could see was naked. Claire Jones lay perfectly still. The scent of musky male aftershave wafted subtly through the air. Frantic thoughts darted around inside her brain playing dodge ball with the mind-numbing pounding that was already going on there. Still, Claire sensed a subtle familiarity when she looked at the man lying beside her. Then the thought hit her like a horse’s hoof right between her eyes. He was the groom from the bachelor party. She’d seen them celebrating at the bar.
Damn it, one of the girls must’ve slipped some alcohol in my drink last night.
Her eyes quickly searched the room for something familiar. Where were her pink window curtains? For that matter, why was there a brown coverlet on the bed?
Her groggy brain finally grasped the idea she was not in her bed at all.
Panic set in. Instinctively, she clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. It felt as though her heart would leap from her chest with each beat. Her stomach clenched and a dread swept over her. She could feel a sheen of sweat pop out over her temples.
Claire Marie Jones was in a strange man’s bed. And even worse, she could not remember how she had gotten there. This just couldn’t be happening. Not now.
Get out of here!
The thought punched her brain fully awake and then another thought struck.
Oh geez, oh crap, please don’t let me be naked underneath this sheet.
Slowly, holding her breath, Claire moved her trembling hands to the top of the sheet covering her breasts and lifted the edge ever so slightly. Her eyes swept downward catching a glimpse of what lay beneath. She clutched the covers tight against her chest.
Oh crap! Not a single, solitary stitch! What have I done? Get out, Claire, get out now. Oh geez, what if Ralph finds out … oh, crap! Think Claire, think. What the hell have you done?
Slowly, so as not to disturb the still sleeping man, Claire rolled to her side, facing away from him.
Clothes, where’s my clothes, oh, geez! I’ve got to get out of here. What the hell am I doing here? Think, Claire, think.
She felt the panic as it escalated to a boiling point.
At that moment, a heavy, hairy arm slung itself over her side. Her thoughts stopped. The big hand attached to the hairy arm cupped one breast while the lower portion of his body spooned against her bottom. Claire’s eyes bulged as a certain part of his anatomy pressed against her butt cheeks. She stifled a scream.
Dear God, if you let me get out of this I’ll never set foot in another bar, I promise! And I’ll go to church regularly. I’ll help the homeless. I’ll feed the poor and I’ll …
The hand cupping her breast squeezed slightly. She felt something stir within her, something warm and exquisite. Her breath caught in her throat as an instant need surged through her blood and rushed straight to her center. She felt her muscles tighten and a flush crawl up her face.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. Think, think, think.
His warm breath caught against her ear as he nuzzled closer, his scent filling her nostrils. She could smell just a trace of his sweet tangy aftershave from the night before but it was the musky, male scent of him that spoke to her insides, promising things she’d only dreamed about. This feeling was something new to her. She felt a little naughty, but it was rather nice. She might even be able to enjoy it if the situation were different and if it weren’t for Ralph.
Geez, Ralph. What the hell am I thinking? This is wrong. This is so not good. Get out of here. Get out of here Claire Marie, get out of here now!
There was no further movement and the man’s breathing resumed its steady rhythm.
With the speed of a turtle, Claire grasped the big hand engulfing her breast and began to lower it back toward its sleeping owner. She carefully snaked her way from underneath the covers, holding her breath for fear the simple act would awaken him. The cold air hit her toes and for just a fleeting moment she thought of staying all warm and cozy tucked away in the man’s arms.
Realizing he could awaken at any moment, she carefully laid the covers aside and crawled the rest of the way out of bed. Coldness assaulted her skin as goose bumps formed on top of goose bumps.
Quietly she grabbed her underthings and jeans she spotted lying on the floor and clutched them to her naked body. She turned and took one last glance at the man. He looked so tempting, so inviting, so sexy. She could crawl back into the warm bed and spend just a few more minutes.
No, she had to get out of there and get out quickly. Regretfully, she tiptoed toward an open doorway.
The house was quiet. Nothing seemed to stir inside or out.
What the hell did I drink? My mouth tastes like melted tires with a little iron for flavor.
Standing in the center of the living room, she quickly slid into her panties. She fastened her bra and stuck her foot into the leg of her jeans. The denim felt cold to her legs and thighs as she pulled them up over her butt and fastened the snap. Her teeth chattered. She wasn’t sure it was from the cold.
Geez, it’s freezing in here. My sweater, what’d I do with my sweater?
As she glanced around for the missing sweater, her eyes took in a quick survey of her surroundings. Rounded logs for walls, a deer head over the door screamed a man’s cabin. She noticed two empty champagne glasses lying on their sides on the rug, along with her sweater.
Okay, only two champagne glasses. Means we’re the only two here, right? Right.
Picking up her sweater,
she pulled it on over her head.
This thing is freezing. What on earth did I do last night?
For a brief moment, Claire stood, her mind frantically grasping at fleeting bits of thought, trying desperately to recall the events of the night before.
Get out of here Claire. Get out now.
Shivers crept down her spine.
Bear skin rug, humph, typical male.
Claire hastily continued to look around the room for her clothing.
Shoes, where’s my shoes?
Spotting them lying upside down by the sofa she hurried over and slipped them on her cold feet. She’d put her socks on later. A flash of memory hit – something about some guy slowly pulling off her socks as he kept her mesmerized with steel blue eyes. And toe sucking. Yes, there was definitely some toe sucking going on.
Awwwwhhhhhh, geez what did I do last night?
Her eyes began to water as they filled with unshed tears.
What the hell did I do with my purse?
She caught a glimpse of the missing purse lying on the breakfast bar, hurried over and lifted it from its resting place. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a piece of paper as it fluttered to the floor. Bending over, she picked up the official looking document. If only she could remember the events of the night before.
“Oh my God! He’s married. I may have just lost my virginity to a married man,” she whispered, as she caught sight of the line that read marriage license. As her eyes skimmed further down the document, all air left her lungs and her hand grabbed hold of the bar. “He’s married to me!” The words came out in a strangled whisper.
“Who the hell are you?” asked a husky bass voice from behind.
Startled, she quickly twirled and faced the direction it was coming from, gasping in the air she had just exhaled.
Instantly she recognized the tall muscular body, the black wavy hair and those piercing steel blue eyes. Oh those eyes.
Long black lashes that covered the hidden depths of what those eyes spoke about. Sex, pure sex – they practically screamed it.
She’d seen pictures of him on the arms of various young eye candy in several magazines and newspapers.
“Oh my God, you’re Jack Wakefield, III,” she said, a flush heating up her face at his lack of clothing, of which he was obviously not aware. And the biggest playboy this side of the Rockies.
Not that she minded looking at that rock hard body with a six pack that just wouldn’t quit. He was Mr. July in the construction workers’ calendar she had bought. They bared their “souls” in an effort to raise money for the animal rescue league.
She told herself that was the reason she bought the darn thing but from the moment she picked up the calendar and flipped through it, her eyes stopped on Mr. July. Tool belt hung low on narrowed hips with a tool pouch hanging in just the appropriate spot to cover his pertinent parts.
She’d wanted to feel those rock hard thighs, which looked the size of her waist, wrapped around her.
Arrogance, he looked like all male arrogance in that pose but she kept the small calendar in her purse just so she could pull it out at her convenience and take a peek.
And now here he was, in flesh and blood and the best part of all being he was naked from head to toe. Yep, this was much better than the calendar.
And minus the tool pouch, it was a much better view.
“And according to this,” she continued as she held up the paper for him to see, “I’m Claire Marie Jones Wakefield, III.”
She paused a moment for the effect of what she had just told him to begin to sink in. She watched as the realization began to dawn across his face. If she hadn’t already been in a panic over it herself, it would have been funny.
“We’re married,” she said.
“Bloody hell!”
Claire’s eyes followed the huge biceps as Jack lifted his arm and ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair scratching as he went.
“How the hell did you get in here?” he continued.
“What do you mean, how the hell did I get in here? You obviously brought me here. And against my wishes I might add!” She fidgeted nervously with the paper in her hand.
“I didn’t bring you here. I just got up and found you rummaging around in my house.” Jack’s voice boomed louder and louder.
“You most certainly did bring me here. There’s two champagne glasses lying on the floor there,” she yelled slinging her hand in the general direction of the glasses, “and when I woke up, I was in your bed. Now what do you say to that, buster?”
“Well, I hope you had a good time.” A cocky grin spread across his arrogant mouth.
“What, what, how dare you insinuate I did anything! You’re at fault here, bucko.”
“Bloody hell!”
“You can say that again!” And, oh Geez, you’re naked. You’re standing there, arguing with me, buck-ass naked as the day you were born. In front of me, naked. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. What the hell do I do? Don’t look. Keep your eyes above his naked chest. Ralph’s going to kill me. No, no, no, don’t you dare look at his … his … oh crap, oh crap!
“Well, just bloody hell then.”
“You’re naked,” Claire blurted out. Lifting one eyebrow, she watched the man look down at his own body. “And it would appear obviously happy to see me.” She immediately clapped her hand over her mouth.
Oh Geez, I didn’t say that. Please, please, please strike me dead now! Holy Mother of God, I looked! And he knows I looked! Strike me dead please! Oh, please!
“Glad you noticed, sweetheart. Care to make use of it?”
Claire watched his wickedly sexy grin play at one corner of his mouth showing off the cutest dimple she’d ever seen. Her fingers itched to trace that dimple and her tongue longed to follow suit.
She knew if he decided to bed her at that precise moment in time, her willpower would be nonexistent. She would probably remove her clothes herself in her haste to feel him inside her body. He had that effect on her and probably countless other women, too.
“Well?” he asked.
Startled from her reverie, Claire realized she’d been standing there staring at him. She probably had a stupid look on her face, too.
“Absolutely not,” she replied, as she felt her face turning yet another shade of red, “and I am most certainly not your sweetheart!”
Oh, please stop with that sexy grin.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath as he turned and strode back into the bedroom. What the hell was this woman doing in his home anyway? Dag blasted, if he could only remember the events of the night before.
This one was cute at least. She wasn’t one of those model types that was always way too skinny for his taste. The most gorgeous hazel eyes he’d seen in a long time, hair the color of chestnuts, cute nose, delicately sensuous mouth and apparently a real spit-fire when riled.
He liked that. He could get used to that. He ran his fingers through his hair.
What was he thinking? Get used to that. Not hardly. He had no intentions of getting used to her at all.
“Nice butt though.” She yelled after him.
Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of her just as she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth again.
Yep, I could get real used to that. Jack grinned.
Claire watched the door close.
Geez, what am I saying? What the hell am I thinking?
She stared at the paper as she paced in front of the breakfast bar, biting at the nail on her little finger, while she waited for his return. What was she going to do now?
Jack Wakefield, III had the biggest love ‘em and leave ‘em reputation she could ever remember reading about. Tongues would never stop flapping if anyone found out she’d spent the night with him. In a cabin. Alone. And Ralph. What was Ralph going to think?
A few moments later, he returned with his lower half dressed in sweatpants. As he walked back into the room, he bega
n pulling his sweatshirt on over his head. Claire’s eyes rested on the patch of dark curly chest hair. An urge to taste his skin ran unguarded through her mind and she ran her tongue across her lips.
“Let me see that damn piece of paper.” Jack said snatching it from her hand. He quickly scanned the document. “Bloody hell. This can’t be,” he said, dragging his hand down his face.
“Is that all you can say? Bloody hell this and bloody hell that.” Claire stomped her foot. “Well, what the bloody hell are we gonna do now? We’ve got to get this thing annulled. I’ve got to get married in three days!”
“Hey, sister, I want this thing annulled just as bad as you do. Can’t have something like this getting out and ruining my reputation.”
“Typical male. Trying to save your own reputation. Don’t worry about mine at all. Here I am, through no damn fault of my own, mind you, in a cabin with some so called stud muffin who obviously enjoys a variety, shall we say, in the opposite sex. People will just think I’m another one of your tarts.”
Jack slammed the paper down on the counter.
“Tell you what. If I’m such an uncaring love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of fellow, we’ve got all day. So, if you’re getting married in three days, let’s get back in bed and finish what we started. Time’s a wasting!” He motioned for her to lead the way.
Claire could feel the steam rising off her face in exasperation.
“What? What? You jackass! We’ve got to get this thing fixed. I’ve got to get married in three days! Ralph’s gonna be furious.” Claire’s voice rose with each word.
“Yeah, I imagine he might be. I can see the headlines now. Wakefield Beds Fiancée – But Not His!” Jack grinned.
“You wouldn’t dare! Ralph and I are getting married in three days and nobody better find out about this, this,” Claire snatched the paper back out of Jack’s hand and stood shaking it in his face, “this marriage thing, or whatever the bloody hell it is.”
The Wrong Wedding Page 1