Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

So close that we’re breathing the same air.

“Because this is it,” I tell her. “Once you marry me, I’m never letting you go. We may have problems, we may disagree on how to handle things, we may even hurt each other—though I’ll do my best to never hurt you again—but that won’t matter. Because this is forever. I’ll never walk away from you. I’ll never turn my back on you when you need me. I’ll be there for you, no matter what. Be sure, Chloe, be very, very sure. Because once we do this, once we’re married, I am never letting you go. You’re stuck with me for the rest of this life, and for whatever comes next.”

I don’t know if I’m trying to scare her or reassure her—maybe a little of both as I’m still not sure I’m really the best thing for her—but it doesn’t really matter. Because Chloe’s face is as resolved as I have ever seen it as she murmurs, “And you’re stuck with me.”

She lifts a hand to my face, pushes a couple unruly locks of hair back from my forehead. “I know it hasn’t been easy getting here. I know some people might say it’s too soon for us to get married, especially with all the problems we still have to work out. But when I look at you, when I see the love you have for me shining in your eyes, none of that matters. The love I have for you is so much, it’s so big, that sometimes I feel like I can’t contain it. I feel like it’s going to burst right out of me, like it’s going to shatter me into a million pieces. And that’s okay, because the only other thing I know with the same certainty that I love you is that, if I do shatter, you’ll be there to put me back together again. No matter what.”

“I will,” I vow, squeezing her more tightly against me.

“I know.” She takes my hand, lifts it to her lips and presses a kiss right in the center of my palm. Then, as she curls my fingers over the kiss, she continues, “And I’ll do the same for you. So what other assurances do I need? What other assurances will I ever need?”

“I—” My voice breaks as I try to get out just a few of the words that are choking me up, battering at me from the inside.

Just then, the chapel manager comes up to us and says, “She’s ready for you now.”

I’m still too choked up to answer, so Chloe speaks for us. “We’ll be right there.” Then she’s pulling out of my embrace. Wrapping an arm around my waist. Propelling me gently forward as she whispers in my ear, “You’re the love of my life, Ethan. Let’s go get married.”

I’m shaky and more than a little overwhelmed as I let her guide me down the aisle. But my steps never falter. Because she’s the love of my life and I will follow her anywhere—even into hell itself.

—

The wedding ceremony is pretty much a blur. But that’s fine, because no matter what vows we said in front of the minister, our real vows were exchanged in that alcove before the ceremony ever started.

Before I know it, we’re pronounced husband and wife—no sexist language in Chloe’s wedding ceremony—and I’m pulling her into my arms for our first kiss as a married couple. I want to take my time, to savor it—to savor her—but Chloe is all but bursting at the seams with excitement as she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me with an enthusiasm that I will only ever be grateful for, even if it ends up nearly knocking me on my ass.

Tori is laughing at us, a low, rich sound that combines with my own happiness, and with Chloe’s, until the whole chapel is filled to bursting with a pulsing, electric joy that I want nothing more than to wallow in forever.

But then it’s time to sign the marriage certificate, with Tori and the chapel manager as witnesses, and to pay for the ceremony. And then we’re done, spilling out into the street that—as night descends—is as brightly and boldly lit as my soul.

I take Chloe and Tori to dinner at Joël Robuchon, where we all drink too much champagne and order one of every dessert choice on the menu. The restaurant’s very famous chef comes out to greet us and to offer his congratulations on our nuptials. The gleam in his eyes tells me that the jig is up—he knows exactly who I am as does the rest of the waitstaff. In an hour, the fact that I’m a married man is going to be splashed all over Twitter and Facebook—if it hasn’t started already. I probably should have had the celebratory dinner back in our suite at the Atlantis, but to be honest, now that it’s done and there’s no chance of the wedding ceremony being ruined by overeager paparazzi, I don’t want to hide. I want the whole world to know that Chloe and I are married. I want everyone to know how much I love, adore, worship her. And if she’s not ready for all the speculation and press that comes with being Mrs. Frost, then I can protect her until she is—no one needs to even know her name until she’s ready for me to share it with them. After all, what’s the point of having all this money if I can’t use it to take care of my wife?

My wife. I roll the words around in my mind. Who knew two little words could fill me with such immeasurable happiness?

After we’ve finished off a third bottle of champagne—and wreaked havoc on six separate desserts—Tori slips out of the booth. “I think it’s about time for me to take my leave.”

“Don’t you want a ride back to the hotel?” I ask. “The limo is out front waiting for us.”

“Like I’m getting in the back of that car with the two of you right now,” she answers with a roll of her eyes. “You’ll probably have your clothes off before we hit the first red light.”

“That’s not true,” Chloe protests with a delightfully tipsy giggle. “We’ve got some self-control. We’ll probably last until at least the second light.”

Tori snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she says, gathering up her purse and cell phone.

I put a hand on her forearm. “W

e’re all going to the same place,” I tell her. “It’s no bother. And if it makes you more comfortable, I promise not to do anything more than hold Chloe’s hand.”

“Hey!” my wife protests a little plaintively. “Don’t I get a vote here?”

For a moment, just a moment, the mask Tori wears like armor softens and I get a glimpse of the real woman who is Chloe’s best friend. But just as suddenly, her face closes back up. Then she’s leaning forward with a sassy grin, patting my cheek and then Chloe’s. “You guys don’t need me around to cramp your style. Besides, I’m not going back to the Atlantis for a while. I’m going to check out the high-roller tables here, and then maybe cruise over to the Bellagio and New York–New York. Gotta try my luck at the roulette wheel…and maybe a few other things, too.”

She winks, just in case her meaning wasn’t obvious enough, then disappears in a cloud of perfume and laughter. And I am finally alone—or as alone as I can get—with Chloe. With my wife.

Yeah, still not tired of saying it. Something tells me I never will be.

“So, what do you want to do next?” I ask, dropping a credit card into the leather check holder our waiter brought to the table a few minutes ago. “We can check out one of the casinos or I can take you dancing. Or we could go to the Cirque show I got tickets for when we checked in?”

Chloe laughs, low and sexy. The sound travels down my spine, hits me in the stomach with the force of a freight train. My dick is hard even before she says, “The only place I want to go right now is back to our hotel room. Besides,” she leans forward and whispers in my ear, “with the lingerie Tori insisted I buy today, I’m pretty sure you’ll get more of a show in our suite than anything you can buy tickets to.”