Married by Mistake (Alphalicious Billionaires #1)

by Lindsey Hart

  Maybe he’d get lucky and the shower wouldn’t be all glass. Maybe it would be one of those things with a pull across cheesy five-dollar curtain. In this suite? Not likely. He tried to push his foggy mind to remember, but just like the details of the night before, memories of the shower eluded him. He’d only been in the bathroom for five minutes before he left. Yesterday was the first day of his week-long holiday.

  Of course, he had to ruin it right off the get go. What better way to get himself accidentally married?

  Brock rummaged through the discarded clothing on the floor and picked up his black boxers from the night before. He shrugged and slipped them on. The black sparkly dress that he’d apparently torn off his wife the night before in a frantic burst of honeymoon zeal, sat puddled at the foot of the bed. He barely resisted the urge to pick it up. He imagined bringing it to his nose and inhaling.

  What. The. Hell?

  Maybe his mother would be happy. She was always asking him if he was seeing someone, if it was serious, and when he was going to give her a grandkid. For the last couple of years, the answer to her questions had been ‘no, no, and I sure as hell don’t know’. Jaded? That wasn’t exactly the right word. Exhausted? That was probably closer to the truth.

  If he phoned his parents and told them he was married, his dad would probably be pissed. Owen would have a heart attack trying to do PR damage control. His mom though… she’d probably shit bars of straight gold, she’d be so happy.

  Brock sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face. His fingers rasped over a fresh growth of stubble. God, he needed a shave. And a shower. And a piss.

  He winced at the pain going on in his lower abdomen. Definitely a piss.

  The shower hissed off and he let out a long exhale. Thank god. The dull thud of the glass door echoed through the bathroom, which solved that question. A wispy sound of a towel being drawn over his wife’s body, a stranger’s body, took his mind off of thoughts of how badly he needed to use the bathroom. It made him want to be in there for a whole different reason.

  Maybe I am a pervert.

  A strange zing of a zipper echoed through the bathroom and then there was a tearing of cardboard and plastic. He frowned. When the tap turned on and the unmistakable sound of teeth brushing started up, he couldn’t sit idly by.

  Oh hell no. She’s brushing her teeth with my toothbrush. The new one he’d bought after landing and checking in when he realized he’d forgotten to pack his.

  Wife or not, that shit just wasn’t going to fly.

  CHAPTER 3

  June

  Who packed a brand-new toothbrush?

  There was a time in her life when she had some shame. Or a sense of decency. Whatever it should be called. The whole giving a shit thing had flown out of the window right along with her status of single. She didn’t mind at all that she’d just taken a shower in a bathroom that wasn’t her own and followed it up by rummaging around in an expensive, buttery soft leather, shaving kit that certainly didn’t belong to her.

  She found all the usual. Tweezers, razor, a small tube of toothpaste, a tiny bottle of cologne, which smelled heavenly, a tiny travel sized bottle of aftershave, also divinely scented, deodorant, all the usual.

  What she didn’t find was condoms.

  Please, please, please let him have used one last night. A walk of shame in Vegas was bad enough. Unfortunately, what happened in Vegas didn’t always stay in Vegas. A walk of shame at a gynecologist’s office was on a level of evil June didn’t even want to contemplate. She was still on the pill, but god… that only prevented pregnancy.

  She did find, in her rude perusal of items that weren’t hers, a toothbrush new in the package. Normally she wouldn’t have opened it and helped herself, but the sour taste in her mouth hadn’t been banished by the water dribbling down her face in the shower. Her mouth felt like there was a layer of fungus growing on her teeth.

  Not a pretty picture at all.

  Especially with an already rocky stomach.

  June ripped open the toothbrush. After all, it did belong to her husband and what was a marriage about if not sharing? Her thoughts couldn’t be more sarcastic. She loaded the toothbrush with far too much toothpaste and stuffed it into her mouth.

  She didn’t know heaven came in the form of bristles and mint, but that morning, it did. It was even better than the shower, which had been ruined by the uh- love bite she found. Right at the top of her left thigh. Compliments of the old ball and chain.

  What the hell have I got myself into?

  For that matter, where were Jasmine and Mandy? Apparently, they couldn’t be bothered with playing a wingman and keeping her from making life altering horrible decisions. She remembered, in her piece of crap broken memory bank, going out with them the night before. They’d been all giggle sand girlish excitement at a weekend away.

  To forget Rob. Get over Rob. Fuck Rob. She’d show Rob.

  Yeah, she sure showed him alright. Nothing like getting over your cheating scumbag of an ex and the embarrassment of a lifetime like plunging headlong into another.

  A loud furious pounding at the bathroom door pulled June out of her morose thoughts and her sorry attempts at trying to recall what the hell happened the night before. A deep angry voice drifted through the heavy steel.

  “You’re using my toothbrush in there! I know you are! Stop that! That was mine!”

  She rolled her eyes and kept scrubbing her pearly whites. She made a big production of making sure she did an excellent job before she spat into the sink and rinsed the toothbrush. Just to piss off the bastard a little more, because weren’t all wives good for it, she pushed the soaking wet toothbrush back into the package and tucked it back into his shaving kit.

  June swiped a hand through the fog on the mirror, which was sure to leave a print. She gave herself a once over. God, she looked awful. She had black circles smudged under eyes that looked far too exhausted. She tried to smile at herself in an attempt to look better, but it fell flat. Even her skin was far too pale. She looked how she felt. Tired and hungover. And in one hell of a screwed-up mess.

  With a long exhale, June secured the white fluffy towel across her body, making sure all the bits were covered, bits that unnervingly enough, had already been seen and likely tasted by the Neanderthal out there, and unlocked the door.

  She stared down a rather angry, full on cave man who had thankfully donned a pair of boxers. Not that it did anything to hide the best parts of him. He was well over six feet and all muscle. Screw the car, he could easily bench press her. He was all muscle. Layers and layers of muscle. She even liked the way his veins stood out against his bronzed skin. All that ashy blonde hair, hair she wanted to brush her hands through, didn’t hurt either. And those eyes… eyes that smouldered with a fury that only made them hellabeautiful- yeah, certainly didn’t hurt his cause at all.

  Why couldn’t the guy just look like the troll he was right? Right. Because evil comes in many guises.

  “You used my toothbrush!” The caveman stalked into the bathroom and picked up the plastic package. His mouth fell open in angry amazement.

  “Yeah? I wouldn’t have if it was used. Sorry. And by sorry, I mean not sorry.” She shrugged. “I think we have more pressing matters than who used what toothbrush. I only did it once. I think it’s still salvageable. Being that you probably had your tongue down my throat I don’t see what the problem is anyway.”

  The beast growled at her. “You don’t see what the problem is? You came in here, had a shower, dug in my things and used my toothbrush and you don’t see what the problem is?”

  Yup. Full on caveman. “I also used your deodorant,” she admitted. His face turned an angry shade of red. “Holy cow, possessive of the products much?”

  “Stop!” He slammed the toothbrush back into his shaving kit. “I- I have to take a piss. Then I’m going to have a cold fucking shower and hopefully by the time I’m out I’ll remember what happened last night and I
’ll have come up with a solution to our current situation.”

  “Hmm. No need to get so angry,” she goaded. “Or do you also have those issues? Should I add it to your list of flaws? Pervert, judgmental asshole, rage machine?” For some reason, it was way too much fun. And he’s epically sexy when he’s angry. She shouldn’t have wanted to be turned on. She told herself she didn’t want to be turned on. That the peaking of her nipples and the burn between her legs was just… wrong. She just couldn’t help it. She’d never been so close to a man who looked like him and damn. Part of her wanted to savor the sexiness while she could. Part of her liked goading him because it was just fun and part of her, the evil, sinful part, acknowledged that it had been fourteen million years since she last felt sexy herself.

  The beast ground his teeth so hard his jaw flexed. A very sexy vein stood out in his forehead. Oh, she was pushing his buttons alright. “Anger issues?” he grated. “I’ve had enough. Out of all the people that I wind up accidentally married to, it just had to be someone like you.” He stalked forward and slammed the door shut. The lock clicked in place.

  June resisted the urge to smack her hand against it in a four-year-old version of a temper tantrum. A few seconds later, she heard the clank of the toilet seat and what actually sounded like a sigh of relief as he relieved himself. The piss went on for like eighteen minutes. She stood there the whole time, aware that she was being a strange pervert herself at the moment. It was just- funny. Funny in a way it shouldn’t have been. Listening to a sexy stranger who just happened to be married to you taking the world’s longest piss and sighing in relief about it shouldn’t have been funny.

  If you couldn’t laugh about your misfortune, what could you do?

  She clamped a hand over her mouth and stalked over to the suitcase which was resting on that nice leather couch at the far side of the room. She unzipped it slowly, quietly, so that he wouldn’t hear her in the bathroom.

  She shouldn’t have done it, but she rifled through the clothes, which all looked expensive, until she found a T-shirt. It was soft cotton, black, and of course brand name with a logo on the front. She slid into it and it was practically a dress. She figured it would work for her walk of shame.

  When it actually happened.

  More like, her taxi ride of shame. She cast a dubious glance at the sky-high heels strewn by the bed. No way she was getting into those.

  She was in the middle of zipping the suitcase back up when it came to her, snippets of memory like a parade of photographs.

  Cards. They’d been playing cards. Poker. Sitting next to each other at a table.

  She remembered how giddy she felt when the handsome man slid in next to her. Later, much later, far too many drinks in, she leaned in and he whispered under his breath, fueled by alcohol, desire, and the want of a good, hard fucking- which she hadn’t had in years, that they should make a bet. A bet that had nothing to do with money.

  Of course, he meant sex. She thought he’d meant sex.

  Instead she heard his voice like he was right beside her, whispering in her ear. Her neck heated and a rush of wetness that was certainly not an aftermath from the shower, trickled down her thigh. It was just them. The two of them left in the hand, betting against each other.

  The memory of his gravelly words rang through her head, echoing with the finality of a gunshot. If I win, you agree to be my wife.

  CHAPTER 4

  Brock

  Karma was a bitch. God, it was true.

  This time he was the one interrupted by a furious pounding on the door.

  Brock wasn’t nearly done with the shower, which he’d changed from ice cold to a warmer temperature when he couldn’t handle it anymore, but he killed the water anyway. He wrapped a towel around his waist, though he thought it would be funny to alarm his annoying companion by opening the door stark naked.

  “Is the place burning down?” he snarled as he threw the door open.

  His wife stood there, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, shoulders and her far too nice, well rounded, glorious breasts heaving with rapid breaths underneath a t-shirt. “I remembered something. About last night.”

  Okay, so maybe that trumps the hotel being on fire.

  “Hang on.” He slammed the door shut, toweled his hair so that it was no longer leaking all over him. He dried himself off, resisted putting his old boxers back on, and instead opted for a dryer towel. He slung it around his waist. It barely wrapped all the way, but he made do. Hopefully he wouldn’t flash a nut and alarm his wife further. It was tempting, though.

  He ran a comb through his hair, applied deodorant that he hoped that woman had been lying about using. He opted not to stick the toothbrush in his mouth and instead scrubbed his teeth with his finger and a bit of toothpaste.

  When he was done, he felt half human again. He strode out of the bathroom with far more confidence than he felt.

  “Just wait.” He held up a hand when the woman stood up eagerly from the edge of the bed. His mouth opened and closed in shock. “Are you wearing My t-shirt?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “You went through my suitcase too?” He gaped.

  “Yup.” She nodded emphatically. “Sorry, what did you expect? That I should just hang out in the shreds of my dress from last night? Or maybe you thought I was just going to wear a towel back to my hotel. This is Vegas and all, but I’m pretty sure that would raise a few brows.”

  He rolled his eyes and ground his teeth to dust. It hurt, since he’d been doing it the entire time he was in the shower. “Turn around. I have to get some clothes on. I’m not going to have this discussion in a towel.”

  Surprisingly, she actually complied. When she was facing the wall, she opened her mouth again. “I think we should order some room service. I might as well get something out of this deal. Maybe we’ll both feel better with something in our stomach.”

  “Right. So you can run up my credit card.”

  “Of course. What’s a wife for?”

  Despite his shitty past with a few women he’d thought actually loved him doing just that, Brock had to smile. She didn’t know. She might assume that he had some money, based on the room, but she didn’t know.

  He pulled open his suitcase and a sickening thought hit him in the gut. Fuck. He was legally married to her. What did that mean? Could he just apply for an annulment? Even after they’d obviously consummated the marriage? He had no doubt they’d had sex last night. He’d definitely seen two used condoms in the bathroom garbage. Two.

  He had a company to think about and protect. Assets. The money was the last of his worries. It was all the people who depended on him for jobs. What the hell have I done?

  He was a hundred percent sure their drunken marriage didn’t involve a pre-nup.

  “Go ahead and order whatever you want. I- yeah. Just do that.” Maybe if he was nice, gave her what she wanted and was agreeable, she’d sign the annulment without a hitch. Something in his gut tightened.

  Or maybe not. Maybe he could actually kill two birds with one stone, as cliché as that was. He knew his parents wanted him to settle down and get married. He wasn’t young anymore, not that thirty-five was old, but to his mother, he might as well have been ancient. She wanted grandkids. She wanted him to be happy. People always said money couldn’t bring that, and it was true. In his experience, it brought the exact opposite when it came to love.

  If he was already married, he didn’t have to worry about that anymore. This woman, whoever she was, maybe she wasn’t that bad when he got to know her. Maybe she’d agree to stay married to him. It might not be a conventional marriage, but he could make her comfortable. He could get on with his business and she could- well- start a new life that involved nicer things, compliments of whatever agreement they came to. He wouldn’t have to worry about love and heartbreak and all that bullshit. She wouldn’t have to worry about lack of money.

  All the women from his past would
have jumped at a chance for an agreement like that.

  The thing that made it different, was that this one married him and slept with him without knowing who he was and that she’d get anything out of the deal other than him.

  Drunk or not, it meant something.

  Brock slipped on a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He heard the woman’s- he really had to get her name- voice on the phone, ordering what sounded like a banquet of food. She knew there was only two of them, right?

  His resolve grew by the minute. What was wrong with a good old-fashioned marriage of convenience? His own parents had separate rooms and had since he was born. Once he was conceived, that was it. They stayed together because they were friendly and tolerated each other and for his sake, and for the sake of appearances. They stayed together because it would have been harder not to. They weren’t exactly unhappy. They got along better than most married couples.

  He never wanted that for himself, but heck, a lot of marriages were worse. Who knew, it could even turn into something else eventually. He was jaded as hell about love, but he wasn’t going to rule it out entirely.

  Maybe, just maybe, he’d convince this woman that the horrible decision they’d made last night wasn’t so horrible after all.

  It didn’t hurt that she was stunningly beautiful. Or that in her zest for ordering breakfast, she’d leaned toward the phone, pulling his loose-fitting t-shirt taut across the swells of her breasts, revealing the hard peaks of her straining nipples.

  Brock’s cock jumped to life so hard that the head probably bore the imprint of his zipper.

  Maybe she’d just agree to stay married. There was probably more than one way to convince her. A secondary plan formed in his man brain, the part that was ruled by his dick and not normal nerves and blood vessels and all that. He decided to pull out all the stops and go with Plan A. Plan B could wait. It didn’t hurt to see who she really was.