One Night Bride by Marika Ray
7
Esme
I’d found the quickest way to douse the possibilities of future hot sex with the cowboy who wouldn’t leave my daydreams: tell me we got married somewhere between the bathroom incident and the hotel room the next morning. Shit, this was a mess.
The guest room located next to the master bedroom was already made up for someone to stay there, and yet I tugged at the comforter and fluffed a pillow just the same. Remington—not Remy as my alcohol-addled brain had latched on to—stood behind me, next to me, and in front of me, no matter where I turned. The man was everywhere, the scent of his cologne filling my house and distracting me from the catastrophe I’d gotten myself into.
“There are towels under the sink in the bathroom,” I said inanely, waving my hand out the door in the general direction of the bathroom.
“I showered before I got here.”
I jumped, Remington’s voice coming from behind me yet so close I felt his heat along my backside. Putting down the pillow I was fluffing for the second time, I turned to face him. Why did he have to look so damn good? Possibly even better than I remembered. Why couldn’t he be like most alcohol-induced decisions, an extremely poor choice in the light of the next day?
“How the hell did this happen?” I blurted out.
The side of Remington’s lips tilted up and his bright blue eyes glittered. “Pretty sure it started with a glass of wine and ended with us finishing that bottle of whiskey in the hotel room.”
My heart leaped into my throat and I thought I might just vomit. I ran from the room, with Remington’s question about my well-being echoing in my ears. I didn’t stop until I made it downstairs again and grabbed both our wineglasses off the coffee table. The crystal clattered together, somehow not breaking, even when I dumped their contents in the sink at the bar and laid them down haphazardly.
There. At least I’d diverted us from going down a similar path. New rule: no alcohol with Remington around. It led me to make poor decisions with the potential to ruin my life. It shouldn’t be a hard rule to follow. How long did he intend to stay here, anyway? An annulment surely wouldn’t take more than a day or two to file, right?
A throat clearing had me looking back upstairs to where Remington stood, arms crossed over his impressive chest. “Are you done freaking out yet or should I take a nap?”
Heat flooded the skin from my boobs upward. I hated being out of control. I hated anything disrupting my time line, my schedule, or my carefully laid-out plans. That’s why sex with Remington was supposed to stick to one night while on vacation. He wasn’t supposed to bleed over into my actual life.
I gaped at him, trying to come up with words to describe why his being here was putting me off-kilter, but all I could think about was how good he looked with that T-shirt struggling to span his muscles and the damn jeans that fit his thick tree-trunk legs like a well-worn glove.
It hit me like a scathing review read aloud in public. I could get addicted to this man in the span of a single orgasm, and I’d already had more than a few with him. I had to get rid of him. ASAP.
“We need an annulment,” I stated, never more certain of anything in my life.
Remington barreled down the stairs, his boots a louder sound than my house had heard since I bought it six months ago. He barely fit through the doorways. The furniture looked doll sized compared to him. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t fit in with my life. He had to go.
“Well, now. Let’s not be hasty,” he drawled, coming close enough to cup his hand on my arm.
I pulled my arm back, afraid a simple touch could lead to…well, hell. We’d already fucked in a public bathroom and gotten married, so what could a touch lead to that we hadn’t already done?
“Ugh!” I practically yelled, seething inside. “Don’t start that good-ol’-boy drawl with me, Remington Roth. My knees won’t buckle like the girls back home.”
He flat-out grinned, the asshole. “I really wish they would. I’d like to see you on your knees.”
A flutter like a hurricane and a fire of painful proportions took up residence between my legs. I sucked in a deep breath and tried to get my scrambled brain to respond.
“Annulment. Now. Today.”
Remington scanned my face, like he couldn’t believe I was upset by the news we were married. Or maybe it was shock I wasn’t responding to his flirting. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flicked his finger across the screen a few times. Then he held it out so I saw the screen.
It was a picture of us, outside a restaurant I only vaguely recalled seeing before. It wasn’t the background that held my attention, though. It was the two of us, our faces pressed together and smiling ear to ear that made my heart lurch.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen myself smile genuinely in a picture before. In my line of work, I’d perfected the camera angles that flattered my face, whether a still photo or in motion on video. Just the right amount of smiling to show teeth and convey trust, but not so much you looked too young and inexperienced. The head tilt was practiced and perfected to show confidence, yet still warm and connected. But to be caught in a picture where I was laughing and carefree? Unheard of.
Except with a stranger named Remington Roth.
His finger swiped at the screen and another photo of us burned into the back of my eyeballs. Again, our faces squished together like we couldn’t get close enough. This time though, my hand was held up to the camera by his tan hand, a twisty-tie on my ring finger.
Oh my God. Picture evidence of our hasty, disastrous marriage.
I gasped and made a grab for the phone. “Give me that!” I yelled.
Remington snatched the phone back and shoved it into his front pocket before I could grab it. We both stared down at his jeans in silence, the bulge of the phone right next to another bulge I could have sworn had grown since my sisters left. Fuck, it was hot in here.
“Go ahead, Esme. The phone is yours,” he said smoothly, clearly daring me.
My fingers itched to do it. Not because I wanted the phone that badly, but because I wanted an excuse to touch him. Which meant it was already happening. Hello, my name is Esme and my addiction is Remington.
“Ugh!” I yelled, twirling on my heel and marching to the couch to flop down, shoving my hands under my thighs. Bad hands.
“You do that a lot, I’ve noticed. Is this something I need to be aware of in our marriage? Lots of flouncing?” Remington sauntered over and I seriously wanted to maim him.
“Should I get used to this as well? You joking constantly when there’s a serious situation to be dealt with?”
He only grinned. “What’s done is done. The way I see it, we should use this marriage to our advantage.”
I sat up straight. “There is no advantage to us being married. I might lose my whole business if people find out about you.”
He frowned. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? People might be shocked, but I doubt your whole business would crumble.”
I shook my head, already gearing up for a fight. Typical. A man telling a woman to calm down. Talking out his ass about something he knew nothing about. “You don’t even know what I do for a living.”
He swiveled his head, looking around my house with an appreciative glance. “Looks to me like you’ve done quite well for yourself. Which means I can’t believe you’d build an entire empire so flimsy a single rumor about your personal life could topple it.”
Well, shit. That made me feel dumb. How did this stranger zero in on the one flaw of my business that even my sisters didn’t know about?
“You ever have something go viral, Remy?” I asked quietly, using my nickname just to poke back at him.
He shrugged his huge shoulders. “I don’t really do that social media stuff. Won’t help me sell cows.”
Jesus. It was like I was talking to someone who spoke a different language entirely. Maybe even someone from a different planet.
“Let me explain, then. My business went crazy after a video of mine went viral. In it, I was being interviewed about starting a business straight out of high school and having it take off. We’re a women-only business, meaning my assistants are female as well. I became known, not just as a business coach, but as a coach for women who didn’t want a man’s help to be successful.”
I quit talking to see if he connected the dots. He stared back at me with those eyes that made me want to ditch my business and run away to a deserted island with him, clothing optional.
“That’s badass, Esme.” He nodded thoughtfully, and I’d never felt so complimented before. “But I don’t see what that has to do with your personal life. I’m not joining your company, I’m just your husband.”
I started shaking my head before he’d finished. “No! Quit saying that. You’re not—”
“I am though.” He pulled the crumpled license out of his back pocket. What was with this guy and things stashed in his damn pockets?
I stood up and pressed my palms to my head. I was losing my damn mind. How could he stand there, listen to my explanation, and not see the problem with us being married?
My hands left my head to slap down on his rock-hard chest, my voice rising. “Listen to me! I don’t want to be married. To you or anyone else. I don’t want anyone to know about that damn license, so let’s file the annulment and you can be on your way as soon as possible, and my life will go back to normal.”
His pecs flexed, and I snatched my hands back. I really needed to think about putting them in time-out.
“All I’m asking is for you to sleep on it. One night. Let’s talk it through tomorrow after the idea has had time to simmer.” He stepped closer to me and all the oxygen got sucked out of the room.
“It’s not a pot of chili, Remy,” I muttered, unable to lift my gaze from the upper body that had pressed me up against the tile wall in Tahoe. A part of me was desperate to feel that again.
He leaned his head down to whisper in my ear. “I think you like my drawl, Ms. Waldo.”
A shiver ran up my back, and as much as I tried to hide it, he could see it. I could practically hear his smirk forming. A single finger ran up my arm and over my shoulder, tracing its way to my neck. He didn’t stop until he reached my chin, forcing my face up so I’d meet his hungry stare.
“I think you like me,” he said quietly.
His head bent further and suddenly his lips were on mine, soft and insistent. For a brief second, I melted, my body bowing into his, my hands grabbing him by the T-shirt.
My cell phone dinged, and I froze.
What the hell was I doing?
I wanted an annulment, not a re-do of my weekend in Tahoe.
I gasped and shoved away from Remington until I stood at least five feet away from him, the coffee table a welcome obstacle between us.
He held his hand out to me. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel that.”
I shook my head so hard my head hurt. He made me so angry. “It’s only because you’re stupid attractive!”
With that second-grade comeback, I ran out of the room, up the stairs, and into my bedroom, slamming the door and locking it for good measure. I kicked off my heels and flopped back on the bed, so done with the day. He could figure out something to do on his own until it was time for bed.
Even in my anger, I was aware I’d flounced again, just like he’d accused me of earlier.
“Ugh!” I said to my ceiling.