Secrets In Texas. Carrie Weaver
What if she fell into old ways of thinking?
The song ended with a sudden click and Elvis cleared his throat. Matthew looked composed.
But Angel couldn’t seem to keep the damn rose still. It trembled in her hands like a terrified kitten. Or maybe it was Angel herself who felt like a terrified kitten.
Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be strong. She was a professional. And she knew how to kill a man in at least eighteen different ways. Without a weapon.
The absolute absurdity of being married by an Elvis impersonator should have reassured her. But glancing at Matthew’s solemn face, she started to sweat. The men in his family took “till death do us part” seriously. No one seemed to know how Matthew’s mother had managed to leave the man and live to tell about it. Angel figured Abigail Stone held some incriminating evidence against good old Jonathon, though she’d never revealed it.
“Do you have your own vows?” Elvis glanced from Matthew to Angel.
Angel opened her mouth to say no but heard yes being spoken in a very definitive baritone.
Matthew grasped her hand, turning her to face him. “Angelina, you are beautiful and courageous. I will love you, honor you, cherish you, protect you till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”
Oh, God, he was laying it on too thick.
Mother Elvis sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
Angel opened her mouth. This time she was relieved to hear her own alto. “Um, yeah, what he said.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Pastor Elvis intoned. “You may kiss the bride.”
“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath.
But Matthew took her in his arms and kissed her anyway.
After that it was all a blur. The wedding license was signed, her mother and father left and Elvis and his mother hustled them to the door, stammering something about a lovely honeymoon.
ANGEL’S EYES WIDENED as she entered the Venetian with Matthew, barely noticing the cabdriver leave their bags with the bellman.
The lobby was huge, with crystal chandeliers and a high ceiling. While the wedding chapel had been pure camp, this was close enough to the real deal for her to wish her honeymoon were, too. Wishes that should have died the first time Kent had raised his hand to her.
Angel vowed to remain strong and independent in her heart despite the stupid cover that required her to play a woman disillusioned enough with the outside world to embrace Zion’s Gate and all it entailed.
Matthew eyed her intently, as if he could read her thoughts. “Ready?”
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
As they approached the registration desk, Matthew wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his side.
She suppressed the knee-jerk reaction that would have had her delivering a crushing blow to her hubby’s groin. Although if she’d started her first marriage that way, things might have turned out very differently.
“Relax,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re supposed to look like you worship the ground I walk on.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Remember, my uncle has eyes and ears everywhere.”
He wanted an act? He’d sure get one.
Angel threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Matthew, this is so wonderful.” She stopped mid-lobby, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to lay a passionate lip-lock on him.
Pleasure shot through her. Not from the kiss but from Matthew’s groan of submission.
Then he nipped her lower lip.
Angel drew back, smiling. She was pleased to note several people were staring.
Matthew leaned close and whispered, “You’re acting too aggressive for a Zion’s Gate bride. Even for a woman unaccustomed to their ways. You leave me no choice.”
He stiffened and his face became stern. “Angelina, darling, you will need to learn your place before we arrive at my uncle’s house.” He grasped her shoulders, rotated her toward the reception desk and swatted her on the rear end.
Angel yelped and turned, ready to do battle.
“Remember, sweetheart, I am the man and you are the woman. My lessons will be gentle as long as you show a willingness to learn.”
This was what he’d meant by “no choice.” He felt the need to publicly chastise her. Too damn bad.
“Screw you.”
Matthew’s eyes flashed. He stepped close, grasping her chin. “Oh, I intend to, darling. I intend to.” Then he leaned down and ground his mouth to hers, possessiveness evident in every aggressive thrust of his tongue.
Angel felt trapped and small. She broke free. Very deliberately she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Stopping short, she suppressed a desire to spit at her new husband. “You sicken me.”
“I don’t think so, Angelina. Just the opposite. But we’ll see. Now go tidy yourself in the ladies’ room while I get our key. Then you will show me the proper respect a woman shows her husband.”
Angel turned and fled, just as Matthew had instructed.
Once inside, she pressed her back to the door. Her hands trembled violently. Her heart raced.
Oh, Lord, what had she gotten herself into?
MEMORY OF ANGEL’S stricken expression haunted Matthew while he registered at the front desk. His peripheral vision was trained on the ladies’ room door, and he saw Angel approach a few minutes later, her manner subdued as she took her place next to him.
Glancing at his bride, he was surprised to see a slightly green tinge to her olive complexion. Was her anguish an act, simply part of her cover? He hoped Perez knew what he was doing.
Matthew accepted the key card from the front desk manager. In turn, he pressed several large bills into the man’s palm. “My bride and I expect privacy. We might not set foot out of the room for the five days we’re here.”
The manager nodded and pocketed the money. “Certainly, sir. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed. The bellman will show you to your suite.”
Angel stiffened when Matthew grasped her hand.
Sighing, he could have kicked himself for letting her aversion bother him. It didn’t matter what she thought as long as they could carry off this charade.
“This way, Angelina,” he murmured.
“Yes, Matthew.” Though her tone was passive, she held her head high.
When they reached their room, he tipped the bellman. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”
Nodding, the bellman pulled their bags from the cart and retreated down the hall.
Matthew swallowed hard when they entered their suite. It was every woman’s wedding-night fantasy. At least that’s what the flash of longing in Angel’s eyes told him.
Too bad there would be no wedding-night, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other sex. Or slow, sweet sex, for that matter.
Angel took one look at the king-size bed and laughed. “Looks like I’ll be very comfortable.” She nodded toward the couch. “You, on the other hand, might be a bit cramped.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
She eyed him up and down. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
He set down the suitcases. “Look, Angel, get this straight. We’re here to make things look a certain way. If we succeed, my uncle will allow us into the compound