The Bad Boy's Bride

We continue through the traditional vows, and it might be my imagination, but it sounds like Clayton’s voice trips a bit over ‘to have and hold.’ I search his face, trying to gauge how he feels, wondering if despite his attachment to the ranch, maybe he realizes we are going too far, and he won’t go through with this. But then that hint of emotion is gone.

“Do you have rings?” the justice asks.

I start to say no, but I’m immediately cut off.

“Yes, right here,” Katie says, producing a small black box with two silver rings nestled inside. Both are simple bands, one more feminine and delicate with a pattern engraved, and one thicker, more masculine.

She really thought of everything. I wonder if the ring will fit, though knowing what little I do of Katie, I suspect she found a way to learn my ring size.

Katie hands me the larger ring and passes the smaller one to Clayton. It’s my turn first. “Repeat after me,” the justice says. “With this ring.”

“With this ring,” I murmur.

“I thee wed.”

“I thee wed.” I slide the ring onto Clayton’s finger, and it feels like a weight drops in my stomach. This is heavier than I thought it would be, even though I know that I am making the right decision.

Clayton takes my hand and traps my gaze with his. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

I don’t.

There is no other voice but his. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

When he slides the ring onto my finger, it fits perfectly. A blush warms my skin, and I find that I still can’t look away from him. There is a kind of curiosity and wonder in his eyes, and I want to know if he’s feeling as strange as I am.

“There it is,” the justice says. “All that’s left are the signatures. But first, your first kiss.”

“That’s not necessary,” Clayton says. His voice is rough, but he’s still looking at me.

“Of course it is. Your wedding might need to be fast, and that’s none of my business, but I’ve never married a couple without seeing their first kiss as a married couple, and I’m certainly not going to stop now.”

I swallow, and give Clayton a tiny nod. For the first time, I see him smile. Just a ghost of one, barely there as the corner of his mouth tips up. But it feels like a victory all the same.

“Here goes nothing,” he says softly enough so that only I can here. His hand curves around the back of my neck, and his lips brush across mine.

I’m not prepared for the fire. I have to hold myself back from wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning into him. The kiss is gentle, but it is pure heat. Unfathomable desire wakes in my gut and blooms through me. Overwhelming, unfiltered lust. He smells like mountain pine and the open sky. Like fresh air and aged cedar. I love it.

Clayton’s hand tightens on the back of my neck, and I know he feels the same pull, the same desperation. But to our two witnesses, nothing has changed.

The kiss goes on longer than it should. Longer than would be normal for two people who are only marrying each other for a contract and nothing more. But if Katie notices, she doesn’t say anything.

When we pull apart, my legs are shaking like I’ve run a mile. And Clayton…Clayton takes my breath away. The look in his eyes—raw hunger, stark and visible. He inhales, and I get the feeling he’s breathing me in. His fingers, lingering on my skin, make me shiver, goosebumps spreading across my shoulders and down my spine.

And then he’s not touching me at all. He turns and walks back to the table, signing the license with barely a glance at me. He moves so quickly I can barely blink, and when he’s finished, he walks straight out the door. Away from me.

I’ve barely caught my breath from the kiss, and I’m left wondering how the hell the man I just met—my husband—managed to leave me so breathless. And why my stomach feels hollow as I watch his retreating back down the hallway to the elevator bank.

The clear, fresh scent of him lingers in the air, and I don’t think that I’ll be able to forget it.4RachelI step into the alley and take a deep breath. The kitchen is insanely busy tonight, and Solomon is in rare form. I just need a break. Two minutes to breathe. No noise. Alone. A bit of fresh air.

The ring bumps against my chest, and just like every time I’ve come out into the alley for a break in the last week, I pull the chain over my head and slip the ring onto my finger. I turn my hand this way and that, looking at the strange jewelry on my finger catching the light. I’ve been married a week, and I only wear this ring when I’m guaranteed privacy, and even though this is all make-believe, it still sends a little thrill through me.