Rich Dirty Dangerous (Bad Billionaires 3)

We did all the steps. We stood in line for a license. We filled out the forms and paid a fee. We found a place that did quick civil ceremonies—no Elvis, no nothing. We waited in line there, too, behind a nervous black couple in their fifties and a couple of college kids.

I gave her the rings while we were sitting on our bench, waiting for the college kids to finish. I’d picked them up during my shopping spree, hoping hers was the right size. I hadn’t thought a lot about it at the time—I was in a hurry, but who gets married without rings? They were essential. Yet now, when I pulled them out and handed hers to her, I realized it was a big fucking deal.

Just like everything about this wedding, to me, was a big fucking deal. Dani just didn’t know it.

Her ring was a plain band of burnished gold. I’d kept it simple, no stones, but even in the flat light of the modest hall the ring suddenly looked significant, even to me.

Dani stared at it for a minute in silence.

“I didn’t know you bought this,” she said.

“Well, it’s part of the ceremony, right?” I said. At least I thought so, since I’d never been married before. “They’ll ask us to put the rings on. I figured we should have them.”

She ran her finger lightly over the gold, her head bent, not looking at me. “It’s lovely,” she said.

Shit, she was beautiful. She deserved better than this, better than me. But I reminded myself that there was more in this for her than even she knew. “You don’t have to wear it after the ceremony if you don’t want,” I said.

Her head lifted at that, and I saw to my surprise that there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “Not wear it? What the hell does that mean?”

“Because you’re not my woman,” I said. “That’s what you said. But it’s best if you wear it, at least for a while. It makes it clear you’re married, and that’s the point.”

She inhaled a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, obviously searching for patience. “Cavan,” she said on her exhale, “there are moments when I adore you. And then there are moments when you’re a jerk, and I want to shove this ring up your ass.”

“Yeah?” I said. “Because I’m not romantic? Well, I’m not, and that’s not where it goes.” I ignored the part about her adoring me, because I couldn’t think about what that meant right now. “Try this instead,” I said. I took the ring back from her, took her left hand in my right, and slid the ring on her wedding finger.

It fit. Hallelujah. I did something fucking right. Not only did it fit, it looked good on her hand. Perfect. I couldn’t think about what that meant either.

Dani moved to take it off again, but I stopped her. “Don’t.”

“But it goes on during the ceremony.”

“Screw the ceremony,” I said. “The ring is on. It stays on.”

Something crossed her expression, flitting behind her beautiful brown eyes, and then she lifted her chin. “Yours too,” she said.

So I handed her the ring that matched hers, and she took it out of the box and put it on my hand. It fit, too. It looked good. I’d never thought that I’d get married, but right now nothing was more important. And we hadn’t even done the ceremony yet, but the ring did something to me. I felt fucking married. It was time to face facts: For me, there wasn’t any other woman. Not since the second she walked into my shop. I wouldn’t have done what I did for any other woman in the club, or any other woman on earth. Only Dani.

And I wouldn’t do what I was about to do for any other woman. Only Dani.

It was going to hurt, but I had to do it. It was too fucking important.

I realized we’d been sitting there in silence, on the bench knee to knee, our hands intertwined. Her thumb was lightly stroking the knuckle where my ring was. I was going to take this woman to bed later, and I was going to fuck her properly, and both of us were going to come until we couldn’t come anymore. They should put that in the fucking vows.

“Mr. Wilder?” came a respectful voice from the doorway. “Miss Farraday?” A man stood there, papers in his hand. He smiled at us. “Time to come in.”

So we did it. A few words, that was all. No pictures or cake. But we were married, and when we stepped back out of the small civil office, I had her hand in mine. I had a marriage certificate—it was all legal. What was mine was hers. I had the feeling like I’d finally done something I was meant to do, something my mother might be happy about. Though I’d never know.

Night was falling, the lights of Vegas starting to shine against the dusk. I wondered how long before someone in the Black Dog found out what we’d done. Hours, maybe. Or not. Maybe someone already knew.

I looked at Dani. “You want to do something? Go for dinner?”

She shook her head, her shoulder-length hair moving against her neck. “Hotel,” she said.

That was my girl.

We went back to our room—hotel rooms, it seemed, were our destiny—and ordered room service, but we barely ate any of it. I told her I needed a shower, and while I took it I left the door unlocked, just in case.

It took her only a few minutes to step naked into the shower with me, her hands sliding over my chest and my stomach. Fuck, Dani naked was a sight any man would fantasize about—her white skin, her slim waist, her small breasts with their upturned rosy nipples, the modest thatch of dark hair between her legs. And those four blackbirds, flying away along the side of her ribcage. She was mine—at least on paper. Her body was mine, at least for the next few hours. She was offering, and I would make it mine.