Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

I swallow. His voice is still hot as hell, but there’s an edge to it that I find utterly dangerous…yet sexy. Like “my ovaries are ready to burst” dangerous yet sexy.

My emotions and hormones are just plain deranged when it comes to Edgar.

It’s tempting to simply walk away. Aaron’s late anyway. But I can’t have him hurt Papa. And Aaron would. He’s vicious, amoral, devious… He’d blame me for his tardiness and carry out Plan B.

I heave a sigh. “I appreciate your concern. Really. More than you know. But it isn’t necessary. It’s too late.”

Edgar’s expression grows harder. “It most certainly is necessary, and it isn’t too late. You’re carrying my baby.”

The officiant and witness gasp in unison.

“You cheated on your groom?” the witness says. “Whoa.”

“Shut up,” I snap.

At the same time, Edgar says, “Stay out of it.”

We continue to stare at each other, engaged in a contest of wills. Edgar should give up. I’m good at this.

“Forget it,” Edgar says finally.

Ha. I won. I knew it!

But instead of making me happy, it makes me slightly sad and unwanted. What’s wrong with me? Must be the pregnancy hormones. They make you crazy. Everyone I know says so, including my very single brothers and cousins.

Suddenly Edgar dips his body, then shoves me over one of his broad shoulders. The world tilts, and I slap his back as he straightens and carries me out like a sack of potatoes. So. Undignified.

“Hot damn,” the officiant mutters.

“Where’s my lunch?” the witness whines. “The groom said I was getting a roast beef sandwich with horseradish mayo!”

“Put me down!” I say. If I loved my shoes less, I might consider kicking Edgar a few times, risking scuffs.

His steps are firm and implacable. He’s moving like I weigh nothing. “I told you I wasn’t letting you do something you’ll end up regretting.”

“You don’t understand!”

“He doesn’t need to marry you,” Edgar says.

What does that mean? I need answers, but I refuse to have a conversation while folded over his shoulder, with two beach bums as our audience.

“I’m getting dizzy.” I fake retching noises. “I’m going to barf!”

The threat works. Edgar stops abruptly. “Pardon me. I should’ve been more thoughtful.”

“Exactly,” I say triumphantly as he puts me down. If I’m going to be dragged away, I’m certainly not going to be treated like a flour sack. I’m in Versace, for God’s sake!

I start to walk away, crooking a finger at Edgar. If he wants to talk, we’ll talk, away from the idiots Aaron got for the ceremony.

But before I can take even two steps, Edgar catches up and stops me. One strong arm goes under my knees and the other supports my back.

I blink up at him. Is he carrying me like a Disney princess?

Wait. I can’t even blame him one hundred percent for this. When did my arms wrap themselves around his neck?

“Better?” he asks.

My mind blank, I nod. He starts walking away. The officiant and the witness are demanding to know who’s going to pay them, but Edgar and I ignore them. They’re Aaron’s problem.