Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3

by Christina Hovland

  She was going to do it. Kiss him. Make sure she still had it.

  Step five, kiss Eli (and enjoy it).

  Before he could say anything, she stood on her tiptoes and lightly pressed her lips to his. Testing. Seeing if that’s what he wanted.

  He kissed her back.

  Oh boy, did he kiss her back.

  His tongue slid along the seam of her lips, his arms wrapped around her, and holy hell, her toes were actually curling. But this wasn’t that kind of kiss. Not for long, anyway. This was the kind of kiss she hadn’t had in years. The kind lit by pure desire and exploration. The kind that meant nothing and everything, because in that moment, it was both.

  She melted into his embrace and let him do what he wanted to her. Tonight was all about nothing. And it was about everything. It was about Eli.

  Mostly, though…it was about her.

  He ran his hand down her back to the base of her spine. She pressed against him, his very defined erection pressing against her belly.

  She smiled into his kiss.

  Yeah, she still had it.

  Had it at that very moment, as a matter of fact.

  Eli massaged her ass, pulling her against him, encouraging her to take whatever she wanted.

  She wanted it all.

  Pulling his shirt from his waistband, she helped him get it over his head. Then she did the same to hers, only breaking the kiss long enough to pull the fabric across her face, before going right back to devouring him.

  She unhooked her bra, and he tossed it over his shoulder.

  They were skin to skin. Her chest pressed against his pecs. His mouth against hers. The insanity of her life melted at her feet, melted because of him.

  It was him. Maybe it’d always been him. Maybe it should’ve always been him. But right now? The past didn’t count. It didn’t matter. The future didn’t matter, either. There was only now.

  She pulled him backward with her, falling onto the bed with his body on top of hers. And the dance then started again—mouth to mouth, hands everywhere. He shoved her skirt up around her waist, and her panties were gone.

  Neither of them spoke. The only sounds were that of two people who had had enough of the world and were taking solace in what their bodies could provide.

  A release.

  Two people who were, for the first time in forever, enjoying the act of sex for what it was. Not for what it should be. Or what it once was. But just letting it…be.

  His hand found her heat while his mouth never left her own.

  She dropped her head onto the pillow, her eyes rolling backward as he massaged circles with his thumb—bringing her to the edge and letting her feel everything he felt.

  His drunken gaze caught hers, his eyes dilated a tad too much, his breathing just a bit too shallow—just like hers. There was no henna tattoo. There was no broken engagement. There was no Las Vegas.

  There was him.

  There was her.

  There was no condom.

  Shit.

  She pushed at his shoulders. “Condom.”

  “I prefer to be called Eli.” He went back to kissing her.

  Gah, no, he didn’t get it. “We need a condom. It’s in my bra.”

  He pulled back, his lips swollen and red from kissing. Her lipstick was smeared across his mouth.

  She wiped at it with the pad of her thumb.

  “We need a condom,” she repeated.

  His expression turned confused, and then, like a rubber band snapping back into itself, some memory seemed to fall into place. He lifted off of her, standing from the bed.

  And that was that. Rejected twice in one day. She was just butter on a roll.

  She pinched her eyes closed. If he left now, she’d fall apart. Disintegrate on the spot. There was no twelve-step life plan that could help her recover from the rejection.

  But no. No, she wouldn’t fall apart. After everything life had thrown at her, she’d kept it together. She wouldn’t fall apart now.

  Peeling open her eyelids, she followed his movements across the cheap motel room to her bra. He held up the tuxedo condom like he’d bet on red and the roulette ball just fell into the crimson slot. He started back toward the bed, a silly grin she’d never expected pasted on his lips. He paused and grabbed his wallet, pulling another condom from inside.

  “Are we planning to have a big night tonight, Mr. Howard?” She giggled.

  He crawled back over her on the bed, depositing the two condoms on the pillow. “I am, Mrs. H.”

  Her heart seemed to get warm at the sort-of endearment.

  Then, Eli Howard did something she never would’ve expected. He chuckled and nuzzled her neck, right where her pulse kicked in the veins underneath her skin. His body was warm, they were both drunk, and his hands were exploring the skin along her ribcage up to her breasts.

  She pulled his lips to hers. “No time for slow.”

  “Aye, captain.” He shucked off his pants and she got a solid look at Eli naked.

  Eli was impressive with clothes on. Without them? She shivered, spreading her thighs in invitation.

  He handled the tuxedo condom and, dressed in his formal best, he drove home—hitting all the right spots and lighting her up like a firecracker.

  If this was being married, then she could get used to it.

  Married to Eli. She smiled to herself. Wasn’t that the best joke ever?

  Chapter Seven

  The Day After

  The problem with waking up married is that you’re married. Wedded bliss. Or in the case of Eli, the biggest clusterfuck of his life.

  He swallowed down an aspirin and glanced across the king-size hotel bed to where his new wife slept. Marlee was a helluva lot of Vegas fun, evidenced by the state of their motel room and his likely inability to walk.

  He was a Las Vegas idiot with spotty memory and a wife.

  A wife.

  Sonofabitch.

  A thin sheet covered him. She had the no-tell-motel-grade comforter burritoed around herself. Their clothes were… Well, they weren’t on their bodies, that was for certain. He lifted the sheet to be sure, and no, he hadn’t brought his pajamas to this sleepover.

  He glanced at Lothario curled up in his own love nest made of Eli’s shoes.

  Eli’s extremities went numb, and his lungs let out a breath seemingly on their own accord while he flipped through the mental film of the night before. There’d been a dare, there’d been a jilted bride, there’d been the caterer—that would be him—and there’d been twist-tie wedding rings and a ceremony.

  He got the heart tattoo. They went back to the penthouse and the other girls passed out. He and Marlee got to talking. They had drinks. They decided to take Sadie up on her dare and go through the motions of a wedding ceremony for the photos. Just for the photos. Because wouldn’t it be so funny?

  Then they’d signed the papers because they were both too drunk to think straight.

  Then there was the afterparty that was only between the two of them.

  He was screwed tighter than the cap on a bottle of Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s.

  A screwed man with two choices. One, figure out a way to rewind time and rethink his choices from the night before. Or two, wake up Marlee so they could get to work on the annulment that needed to happen. Preferably before anyone else found out what they’d done.

  The bridal suite—and he used that term ever so loosely—had come with the discount just-off-the-Vegas-Strip wedding package they’d purchased in a fit of drunken dare. In their mutual alcohol-induced stupors, he and Marlee had opted for the palm paradise room after they’d been married by a man in a Liberace costume. Eli hadn’t known who Liberace was before the wedding. Why they’d chosen to stay at this place instead of in Marlee’s suite at the Bellagio, only drunk Eli could say. And he wasn’t around anymore.

  Responsible Eli was now in control.

  And he was married. The green twist tie Marlee had stuck on his left finger said so. He grabbed
the stack of papers from the nightstand where he’d tossed them at some point the night before, searching out the marriage license. He said a prayer that they hadn’t both signed it and his rusty memory was wrong.

  Nope. The God of Vegas Marriages hadn’t come through for him. Two signatures graced the dotted lines. Two signatures that looked remarkably sober given their state the night before.

  He groaned. They’d both signed it. They weren’t supposed to sign it. They were supposed to pretend to sign it. Under no circumstances were they supposed to use their real names.

  Then again, they weren’t supposed to have had marital relations, either. His reflection in the gold-framed mirror on the ceiling over the mattress taunted him, so he turned away. That wasn’t much better. The walls were painted with an overgrowth of palm leaves. A one-dimensional toucan gave him the side-eye from over the dresser and a stuffed monkey swung from a vine over the television. Marlee’s bra was draped beside him, where he had tossed it the night before.

  The Marlee he’d known from their teenage years was not the same woman who turned out to be a wildcat in paradise. That Marlee was reserved and polite. His wife? Well, she wasn’t reserved, that was for sure.

  “Eli?” Marlee asked with a just-woke-up confused twinge in her voice.

  He turned to her, adjusting the sheet to cover his lower half. “Hey.”

  She peeled open her eyelids and stared at him. “Tell me this is a dream.”

  They’d gotten a license. They’d hit up some chapel off the Strip. This was not a joke. This was not a drill. This sucker was the real deal.

  “Not a dream, Mar.” Running a hand over his face, he was about eighteen hours past a five o’clock shadow. About six hours into his marriage with Marlee. And a solid thirty minutes before the aspirin kicked in.

  “Shit.” She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids.

  Yep. He agreed with that sentiment. Never, he’d sworn he would never get married.

  “My parents are going to kill me.” Marlee rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a thunk.

  He leaned over the edge of the bed. She was fine. Dazed, but fine. He shook the bottle of aspirin and handed it to her. Drunk Eli was a bastard, but at least he remembered to get the aspirin.

  Even in a mess of blankets on a motel floor, Marlee looked amazing. She might’ve had the same hangover as he did, but she didn’t look it. Just the same Marlee he’d always known. The blanket slipped, exposing the edge of her breast. Marlee didn’t have the fake breasts that one might expect on a socialite with her kind of money. Nope. They were all hers. Heavy in his palm, her brown nipples pert and ready for his mouth.

  He knew this from firsthand experience.

  “Your parents won’t find out,” he said, pretty certain they could tuck this away and no one would ever know.

  The night before, he and Marlee had stumbled down the sidewalk to this room, laughing hysterically about what they’d done. They laughed about how pissed her ex-fiancé would be when he found out she’d gotten married without him and how funny her parents would find it.

  Last night? Drunk last night? It was funny.

  Today? Sober today? It was not funny.

  “Mom and Dad are going to find out.” Marlee shuffled to the sink, poured a glass of water, and took two aspirin. “They find out everything.”

  “Please don’t tell your parents,” Eli said. Marlee’s parents were more than slightly overbearing. They were also wealthy beyond belief. And they were not going to be happy that Marlee had gotten married to the caterer in charge of the food for the wedding that never happened.

  “I have to tell my parents.” The comforter stayed wrapped around her body while Marlee rounded up her clothes. “They’ll figure it out when we show up together married.”

  Every time she said the m-word, he swore a vein in his head erupted in a small aneurysm. “We’re not going to stay…the way we are.”

  “We can’t just not be married. Divorce takes time.” The comforter slipped and she quickly pulled it up.

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Divorce?”

  “The m-word.” Did he have to spell it out?

  She pulled her bra from the vine over the television. “Married?”

  For fuck’s sake. “Stop.”

  She blinked hard at him. “What do you want to call it?”

  “Let’s just call it the mistake.”

  “Okay, we can’t just not be mistaked. Divorce takes time.”

  There would be no divorce. There was no need for a divorce in a…mistake…that should have never happened.

  “We are going to call Sadie and we’re going to get this thing annulled.” Not that he knew much, but he was pretty sure getting married while drunk in Vegas counted toward the qualifications for annulment. His attorney sister would be able to say for sure.

  “Say it, Eli.” Marlee leveled her gaze at him. “Marriage.”

  “No.”

  “Marriage,” she said again.

  If she kept at it, he’d be dead. Dead from multiple aneurysms. “I’m not saying it.”

  “Marriage.” That time she drew it out, letting it melt on her tongue like the lemon drop martinis she’d drunk the night before.

  He threw his arm over his eyes.

  “Your sister was right. You do have an issue with marriage.”

  “Seriously, stop.”

  She stopped. They stayed silent for a moment, the only sound the ticking of his watch on the… Where the hell was it?

  He pinched his lips together. He wasn’t against the institution of marriage. He was against putting himself in a position to put everyone else’s needs before his own. He’d been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, and lost the scholarship to study with culinary geniuses in Europe and the chance to open his own restaurant. He’d ended up at the local culinary academy and opened a catering company instead—cheaper tuition and overhead he could handle.

  But he did still have dreams of his restaurant, and nothing was going to get in the way this time. According to his buddy Dean, the financial planner, he was about a year away from having the funds to open Eats Grille in LoDo—Denver’s trendy neighborhood and the place for up-and-coming chefs.

  “You okay?” He moved his arm from his eyes so he could see her.

  She rubbed at her eyelids with the pads of her fingertips. “I’m fine. You?”

  Eli finally answered her question. “I’m mistaked.”

  “Yeah.” Marlee pulled her thin white dress over her head, letting it fall down her body like a waterfall of cotton. “Me, too.”

  And she was now mistaked to the wrong man. “Marlee…”

  “You realize this is going to hit the paper in Denver? There’s no way they’re not going to cover it.” Marlee sat beside him on the bed, scooting closer to examine the marriage license in his hand.

  “We’ll fix this.” No one had to know. Just him, and Marlee, and Sadie.

  He’d never had anything but brotherly feelings toward Marlee. She was his kid sister’s best friend. But with her hand pressed against his and her perfume in the air, he was feeling things for her he’d never expected. Wires were getting crossed between his heart and his groin, and that was unacceptable. She slipped her hand onto his thigh and left it there like it wasn’t heating his blood and making him question the benefit of an immediate annulment before they could take advantage of the only good part of being husband and wife.

  He lifted Marlee’s hand and held it in his own, giving it a squeeze. It was meant to be comforting and not show how he’d moved it because he’d been worried that if she drifted just a few inches to the right…well…they might have a repeat of their three a.m. acrobatics.

  Marlee snuggled deeper into the pillows. “Eli?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you’re not being a dick about this.”

  “Why would I be a dick about this?”

  She gave him a look. “You know why.”

  “You me
an ’cause you’re loaded?” he asked.

  “I mean because for a guy who has sworn off marriage, you’re handling this”—she held up her own twist-tied finger—“remarkably well.”

  “And I’ll continue handling it well if you’ll stop saying that word.” He reached for his cell phone. “Where’s Sadie?”

  “Where did we leave her?”

  He racked his brain. That must’ve been right around the blackout portion of his evening. “The penthouse with Becca and Kellie.” He snagged his cell phone and pulled up his sister’s number, putting her on speaker.

  After three rings, she answered, “Please tell me Marlee is with you.”

  Marlee and Sadie were tighter than the twist tie on his ring finger. Of course, she was worried.

  “She’s with me.” No doubt. After last night? She was definitely with him.

  “You guys didn’t have sex, did you?” Sadie always did have that sixth sense about things. And she didn’t sound happy about what had gone down.

  Marlee didn’t answer, she just side-eyed Eli with a what-the-hell-do-I-say expression.

  “I’ll take my fifth amendment privilege on that question,” Eli finally said.

  “I’m fine,” Marlee said from beside him. “Your brother is very attentive.”

  “Seriously? Things I never needed to know. Ever.” Sadie made a gagging noise in the back of her throat.

  Eli leaned closer to the phone. “We need legal help today.”

  That got Sadie’s attention. “Where are you?” She switched from little sister to attorney Sadie in an instant. “Are you in jail?”

  “Chill. We’re in a hotel room.” Eli slid his glance to Marlee.

  “We took you up on that dare,” Marlee said into the phone.

  The line went silent.

  “So we’re going to need some help getting an annulment pushed through,” Eli finished for Marlee.

  More silence.

  “Sadie?”

  She coughed. “Marlee?”

  He handed his cell phone to Marlee.

  “Hey.” Her arm brushed Eli’s.

  “Take me off speaker,” Sadie demanded.

  Marlee did as directed and held his phone to her ear.

  “No,” she replied to whatever his sister had asked. “Yes.” Now, she bit at her lip. “No prenup.” She glanced at Eli in apology. “It wasn’t like we planned it.”