Page 11 of Rough Return

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Excited about the wedding night, is all.”

His slow, sultry voice, tinged with suggestion made her blood surge. “Not that kind of marriage.” If she’d been trying for conviction in the words, she’d missed the mark, and his smile said he knew it, too. He folded his arms under his head and watched her until she squirmed. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Appreciating my fiancé?” He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

They were lines. She knew what she looked like. Even if she hadn’t seen herself every morning of her life, she would know that sleeping in mascara and eyeliner didn’t make for a pretty morning Fiona.

“Knock it off, Grier.” This time, he stood and came around the bed to stand in front of her. Somehow, through the night—hell, for all she knew she’d done it—his shirt had come open and his six-pack stared at her. “We both know we’re being forced into this. We don’t have to pretend to enjoy it when we’re alone.”

He pushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “Maybe I’m not pretending.”

And before she could stop her thoughts from shooting out of her big stupid mouth, she asked, “Why now? Why not back then when I wanted you?”

He shrugged, his hand at the back of her head now. “You were too young.” He pressured her forward until her only choices were to stand or press her face against his bare stomach. Because the second option would have been awkward, although more desirable than she wanted to admit, she stood. “I was dumb.”

When he lowered his head—Jesus Holy Church, when did he get so tall—she turned and his lips brushed her cheek. He smiled. “You’re right. Let’s save it until the preacher says I’m allowed to kiss my bride.” He winked. “It’ll build the anticipation.” He dropped his hand, and Fiona missed the touch. Nothing powerful stood in the way of a quick roll between her sheets. Nothing but history and pride. She’d argued with herself about this a hundred times over the last couple of days. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt anything. Or maybe it would shred her. She leaned toward it not hurting anything. Leaned hard.

But it would. He’d get the power. He’d know how much she wanted him. And she wouldn’t be able to stop her body from telling him what she would cut her own tongue out before she let her mouth say.

She crossed her arms ready to dismiss him. “You need to go. Ham and I’ll meet you at the courthouse at eleven.”

“Hamilton?”

For the first time, she felt like smiling. “He’s my maid of honor. Plus, he’s going to be there to make sure you don’t chicken out.” And that she didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

* * *

What did one wear to marry the guy she’d wanted to marry once but was now being forced to marry? Jeans? Sundress? So much for her big dreams of the long white ball gown. Of the church with flowers on every pew. Of Max walking her down the aisle and handing her over to... Grier. In her fantasy wedding, Grier had always played the groom. No one else seemed to fit in her dream tuxedo.

Oh, God. Grier in a tuxedo. Now there was a thought. Which flowed into her loosening his tie, stripping off his jacket, unbuttoning each button of his shirt with slow, steady hands, lingering at his waistband…

“Did you hear what I said?”

She shook off her lusty imaginings. “What?”

“I said, I’ll see you later. At eleven.”

She nodded. “Right. Eleven.”

And thankfully, before she could make an even bigger fool of herself, Grier left and she fell back onto her mattress.

* * *

Shit. He’d been about two seconds from embarrassing himself on a grand scale, epic even. The kind he wouldn’t have been able to flirt his way back from. He drove to the clubhouse in the car Fiona let him borrow. He needed to get ready for the big wedding. His wedding.

He pulled into the lot and dialed Kye’s cell. It rang twice while Grier tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Hey, buddy. Glad to see they didn’t kill you yet.” Kye hadn’t thought they would, also he hadn’t called since Grier left, so he obviously hadn’t been too worried, either.

“No. Worse.” Well, he had to tell someone. Kye was all he had. “Max wants me to marry Fiona.”

It took a whole minute for Kye to stop laughing. The bastard. “Marry Fiona. Do you get to be the husband or the wife?”

Grier didn’t share Kye’s ability to laugh about the whole stinking situation. “Funny.”

“You’re taking her last name I assume. Mr. Grier Strong. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Go ahead, assface. Laugh it up. I’m doing this for your dumb ass.”