One Night Bride by Marika Ray
19
Esme
Over a week had passed since our first date at the horse ranch, and I’d never been happier. My business was running smoothly and nothing further had come up about us dating. I’d answered my client truthfully that I was dating someone, but left it at that. Casual. Definitely not something as serious as marriage.
I got off the last call with my client for the day, stretching my neck and looking out the window of my home office, seeing the wide expanse of ocean. I could hear Remington in the background, making calls from the office we’d set up for him in the guest room. At night, he stayed in my room, so it made sense to make that space an office.
I wondered if he ever got tired of me working so much. Men I’d tried to date in the past had always made complaints about my long work hours, always trying to convince me to ditch it to run off and play somewhere. And to be fair, they had a point. Here I was living right on the ocean, and yet I almost never got out there to enjoy it. The view was great, but being out there in the water, feet in the sand and sun on my face, was a hundred times more relaxing.
I glanced over to the sticky note Remington had slid on my desk this morning when I was on a call. The name and number for his web designer. I’d mentioned yesterday that I wanted to put together a new online course to slowly transfer my business model to a course-based system, rather than just one-on-one sessions with clients. Remington had listened and gotten me a contact. Just like that. It was like he was making himself indispensable. Like an actual partner in life.
And it made me nervous as hell.
I’d grown up watching my dad be a leader in this town as chief of police, my mom a constant shadow behind him. She supported him and made sure his clothes were washed and pressed, his meals always hot, and his mustache trimmed to perfection before town events where he’d speak. She loved her life being his wife, but I’d always wanted more for myself, or if not more, something different. I didn’t want to be the assistant; I wanted to be the leader.
If Remington and I stayed married for real, would I somehow slide into that assistant role just because I was someone’s wife?
There was only one way to find out, and that was to talk to him about it. Share my concerns and make sure he understood what I didn’t want to have happen. After he said he loved me at the horse ranch, I had to assume he was thinking about staying married for real. Right? Or was that just something a guy said in the heat of the moment? I hadn’t said it back, and he hadn’t said it again, so maybe it was just a slip of the tongue.
I pushed away from the desk and stood. There were too many thoughts and unanswered questions in my head to sit still. Kicking off my heels, I headed to the guest bedroom. When I poked my head in the doorway, Remington was just ending his call.
“Got a second?” I asked.
He put his phone down and glanced up at me, his jaw locked tight. “Sure. I’m done for the day.” He sighed, and I wondered what happened to make him look like he wanted to bale hay or whatever cowboys did to burn off steam.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “Want to talk about it?”
He ran a hand over his jaw. “Not really.”
“Okay.” I paused to figure out what to ask that wouldn’t upset him. This wasn’t how Remington normally acted. He’d usually smile, make a little joke, and then pull me onto his lap until I squirmed away or we ended up naked. Whatever was on his mind had certainly thrown him off. “Want to lift some weights downstairs? I think Izzy is still at work, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
I had a mini gym set up in the garage downstairs and we’d been either lifting weights or going for runs together since he’d been here. Maybe he could sweat his problems out.
He nodded curtly and stood. “Sounds good. Meet you down there?”
“Sure.” I stood too and walked out of the room to let him change, feeling like he was a million miles away. Something was definitely up with him. Once I’d changed into a sports bra and shorts, I headed down to the garage where Remington was already into a set of push-ups. I grabbed some bands and started warming up.
When he finished his set, I asked casually, “Are all your investors in place now?”
“Yep. Just have one more document that needs to be approved and we’ll officially be ready to start things up.”
I grinned. “That’s great news! Do you plan to work with those inner-city programs you researched?”
Remington picked up some dumbbells and began to do some bicep curls. “Yep.”
Why wasn’t he more happy about his business? One-word answers were not his style. Something was definitely wrong. If he’d just talk to me, maybe I could help.
“Did that guy get back to you about accepting the manager position?”
He clanked the weights down and huffed. “What’s with the twenty questions?” Then he grabbed the pull-up bar and grunted out some reps, essentially cutting off the conversation.
I stood and grabbed my own set of weights, annoyed at his whole attitude. He didn’t want to talk? Fine with me. I lay on the bench and did some chest presses, his shitty mood spreading to me.
“I don’t need you telling me what to do with my business, Esme. I’m not one of your clients.”
Okay, that was it. I finished my rep and dropped the weights, standing up and putting my hands on my hips. He stood there all sweaty, muscles pumping, and a scowl that only made him hotter. “What is your problem? I’m not giving you advice. I’m asking questions. Showing interest. Who beat you with the grumpy stick today?”
His scowl deepened, and he started to walk to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, turning in shock. He’d never walked away from me before in the middle of a conversation. Then again, we’d never had a fight before.
“I get enough shit from my parents. I don’t need you dumping on me too. I figured I’d just give us some space so we don’t fight about it.”
I took a step toward him. “Oh, we’re definitely fighting. Too late.”
His burning gaze took a trip down the length of my body before returning to my face. “Okay, fine. Can you please just back off and not ask questions? I’m trying to be my own man here and chart my own course. I don’t need input.”
I folded my arms across my chest, noticing his gaze dipping down to take in the boobs that squished up in this position. He may be mad, but the guy still wanted me.
“You ask me questions about my business all the time. Why can’t I ask about yours?”
“That’s different.”
I shook my head incredulously. “No, it’s really not.”
He just stared at me, a little vein on the side of his forehead counting out the seconds. He finally blew out a frustrated breath and ran his hands through his hair before reaching out and pulling on my hand. He tugged me over to the bench and we both sat.
“I’m sorry. Really. I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. I just got off the phone with my dad and he’s laying on the guilt for not being there at the ranch. He just can’t get it through his head that I have my own dreams to chase. He was there for all the stuff with Killam, and he still doesn’t understand why I want this nonprofit so badly. I don’t think anything will make him understand.”
I put my hand on his. Poor guy was getting shit from his parents for wanting to make a difference in this world. It wasn’t fair. They should have been encouraging him instead.
“I’m sorry too. I didn’t realize you’d had a tough phone call. But I promise I’m only asking questions because I care, not because I want to tell you what to do.”
He cringed and squeezed my hand. “I know that. I guess I was just a little too sensitive about the whole thing. I just—” He swung his leg over the bench and leaned in, his energy palpable. “I just want to help more kids like Killam, and I want my family to be supportive too. Is that really too much to ask? I can make such a difference, I know I can.”
I cupped his face and kissed him quick. “I believe in you. It might not hold the same weight as your parents, but I’m with you. You’re going to make such a difference in some kids’ lives.”
His eyes heated right before he pulled me into him, crushing his lips to mine and taking the kiss into a mad frenzy of lips and tongues and teeth. He flipped up the band on my sports bra, letting my breasts pop out and then quit kissing me long enough to tug it over my head and toss it to the ground. I pushed down my shorts and climbed back on the bench, pulling out his cock and straddling him. He was already hard for me. He ripped off his T-shirt and pulled me in tight.
“Esme,” he said against my breasts, where he was kissing and sucking like a starving man. “I don’t have a condom.”
“It’s okay. I’m on the pill and we are married.” I rubbed myself against his length and looked down to see him slick with my desire.
He hummed against my skin as I held him to my breasts. “Fuck yes, we are.” Then he reached down to notch himself at my opening. I slid down on him, both of us panting by the time I was fully seated on his lap.
His hands gripped my hips, holding me still. “Oh fuck, Esme. You feel so fucking good.”
I smiled, loving how much he cursed the second he was inside me. It was like a flip switched and he wasn’t that cowboy gentleman any longer. He was a man on the edge of losing control.
He surged up into me and I used my feet on the ground to lift back up, teasing him for a few moments before I slammed back down. The bench beneath us groaned. Pretty soon we were both groaning, the hard and fast coupling perfect for making up after our first argument.
“Come on, ’Me. I can’t hold off much longer.” Remington reached between us and strummed between my legs, instantly bringing that orgasm front and center that had previously lingered on the edges.
I slammed back down on him, feeling him hit so high up in my body my brain short-circuited and stars shot straight out of my skull. I moaned out my orgasm and Remy followed right behind, pulsing into me before finally stilling. His forehead was on mine, our panting breaths mingling as we tried to recover while on a tiny bench in the middle of the garage.
“Did you just call me ’Me?” I asked with a grin trying to make its way to my face. I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet.
He barked out a laugh and pulled his forehead away. “I think I did. It is short for Esme. And I kind of like it.” I opened my eyes to see his dancing with humor. Then he lost the smile, and he just stared at me, the air turning heavy the longer he stared. “I’m starting to love you just as much as me, so I might as well call you ’Me.”
It was a simple statement. So sweet and honest I knew in my heart I felt the same way. I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled him back to me for a kiss.
“I love you too, Remy,” I said against his lips. If he could be honest with me, I’d be honest with him.
His face lit up, and he took the kiss deeper. We made out there on the bench until we heard a car pull up the driveway, just outside the garage.
I broke off the kiss, my heart hammering. “Izzy,” I whispered.
It was a mad scramble to find clothes and get back up the stairs and to my bedroom before Izzy came in the house. We laughed like teenagers caught by their parents, trying to keep quiet and probably failing miserably. We’d just reached my room when Izzy hollered.
“I’m home! Hope you’re all decent!”
I burst into giggles again and nearly tripped over my own shoes getting to the shower. Remington held me steady and playfully smacked me on the ass, following me into the shower.
I loved him, but in all that conversation and great sex, I’d forgotten to tell him what I needed in a relationship. And that was what scared me. I was already pushing my own needs to the back burner.