Ready, Aim...I Do!. Debra & Regan Webb & Black
“Cold.”
“All righty.” She reached past him and he saw the glint of gold on her left hand. What did it mean that she apparently had all her faculties and still wore a wedding band as new and shiny as his? Nothing good, he decided when she gave him a little encouraging nudge into the shower.
The cold spray against his scalp and rushing down and over his skin was a brutal shock, but it cleared his head faster than a pot of coffee and restored some measure of control over his lusty hormones.
When he decided he’d tortured himself long enough, he climbed out and reached for a towel on the warmer. The bathroom was empty. Her courtesy and thoughtfulness surprised him—and actually had him a little worried. What the hell was going on? For now he was grateful to find his shaving kit still near the sink closest to the shower. The other sink, which had gone unused since he’d checked in, was surrounded by feminine details, including a flowered bag, a pink toothbrush and a contact lens case pushed to the back of the counter.
Huh? When had that stuff gotten there? Was it his imagination, or was she planning to stay awhile?
Knowing it was risky, he decided to live dangerously and shave anyway. Surviving the experience with only a couple of small nicks, he evaluated his reflection and thought he looked almost normal.
He opened the door to go find some clothes and nearly got rapped on the nose as her hand was raised to knock.
“Whoops,” she said, her vivid green gaze direct and clear. “Looks like I’m late.” She held out a stack of clothing from his suitcase.
“That was fast.”
A small frown drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“Married less than twenty-four hours and my wife’s already picking out my clothing.”
She gave a little huff and shoved the clothing at him, but he saw the blush turning her cheeks a rosy pink. A small victory, but he liked knowing he had some effect on her. Being the one doing all the reacting was no fun.
“Get dressed. Room service should be here soon. Then we can discuss last night in a civilized manner.”
“Yes, dear,” he said irreverently, closing the door on her frown.
* * *
GIN PACED THE room while he dressed. Damn the man for being too handsome for his own good. Or hers. They were in the middle of a serious crisis. Attraction would have to wait. It had proved a serious challenge to ignore his impressive body and the instinctive way he responded to her, both last night and again this morning.
For a hefty tip, the limousine driver had extended the tour when Jason dozed off, then he’d been kind enough to find a drive-through for coffee. The caffeine perked up Jason enough that she could get him into his room. She hadn’t counted on it being enough of a stimulant to have him put the moves on her.
The poor man had been so abused by the drug, and still he’d kissed her like it had mattered at the altar, but more specifically when they’d arrived right here. She brought her hands to her lips, remembering. She’d never expected his response to wedded bliss to be so enthusiastic, even if it had been his idea—albeit while under the influence of whatever drug someone had obviously slipped him. He was a test to her self-control, but she’d gotten him safely to the bed before he passed out again.
Once she was sure he would stay unconscious she’d dashed back to her own room and gathered what she needed to set the stage here in his suite. Then she’d returned to his room and searched it, looking for any clue as to why he’d been in Vegas, particularly in the same hotel where a deadly virus was about to change hands. She’d found nothing to point to his purpose or even a possible cover story. The easy explanation was this was just a quick getaway for him, but she didn’t believe in coincidence.
Now, while he showered off the last effects of the drug, she cleaned up the mess she’d deliberately made and indulged in what was surely the most girlish moment of her life. She buried her nose in his shirt, remembering his hands in her hair and cruising over her body. The woman who married him for real would be one lucky, well-loved woman.
She shivered, squashing the reaction when the door opened and Jason joined her. His step was steady now, his gaze clear despite the dark circles under his eyes. His thick, sable hair glistened, and even from across the room, she caught the fresh scent of him under the zippy mint of the hotel-brand body wash.
After sleeping next to him all night, making sure he didn’t suffer nightmares or worse from the drug, she’d probably be able to pick him out of a lineup with only her nose. Good grief, what was wrong with her?
She twisted the gold band on her finger and searched for the right place to begin. “Could we, umm, talk out there?” Away from the tangled sheets of the bed. “I’ve brewed a pot of coffee, and breakfast will be here any minute.”
He agreed with a subtle dip of his chin, and she knew he was evaluating her every move for a motive or a clue.
“Where’s my gun?”
“In the closet safe. The code is your birthday.”
His eyebrows lifted at that revelation. “Did we, ahh—” He finished with a tilt of his head toward the bed.
“You really don’t remember?”
He looked away. “Just bits and pieces.”
“Hmm. I should probably be offended,” she teased. In reality, she was relieved. His lack of knowledge could work to her advantage. “It was a night I’ll never forget.”
When they were out of the danger zone most people called a bedroom, she poured him a cup of coffee, then slid onto the counter stool. She didn’t want to do anything as intimate as sit across from him at the table as if they really were newlyweds. The thought made her chuckle. It didn’t get much more intimate than tucking a naked, amorous husband into bed.
When he’d tossed her wig to the floor and pulled the pins from her hair so he could run his hands through it, it had been all she could do not to cave to the temptation he presented. He was handsome and quite striking when dressed. Nude? Well, artists would kill to paint him if they knew what treasures his clothing hid. His body, strong and sculpted, showed the results of his dedication to fitness and preparation. She had relished taking in every single detail.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” She sat up straighter. “Thank you. Maybe this would go faster if you just ask whatever is on your mind.”
“Are we married?”
“Yes.” She handed him the documentation from the Viva Las Vegas wedding chapel. The paperwork was real and almost complete. The marriage license wasn’t official, but he didn’t seem to notice that. There was the added complication that the marriage wouldn’t be considered valid if Jason Grant wasn’t his real name. Her sources said it was, but mistakes happened. She still wasn’t sure why she’d used her real name rather than the alias she’d prepared for this mission.
He tossed the certificate and marriage license to the table and the scowl on his face was enough to have her second-guessing going along with his convenient, drug-induced idea.
He crossed his arms and stared at her. “Why?”
The flippant remark on the tip of her tongue just wouldn’t fall. Neither would the truth. Fortunately, she got a momentary reprieve with the arrival of breakfast.
He stalked over to the door, gave a belated glance through the security peephole and yanked the door open. The waiter was all smiles, going on about the pitcher of mimosas and sharing the congratulations for the “happy couple” from the staff. To her shock Jason took it all with a smile worthy of any happy groom, even tipping the man on his way out, but as soon as they were alone, the scowl returned.
“It won’t be that bad,” she said as he lifted the cover from each plate. She’d placed the order last night when they’d