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I’m so fucking heartbroken I can hardly breathe.
Lenox reaches our locked hands up and wipes at them, stepping closer to me, and something about his tenderness breaks me even more. I do much better when we’re adversarial or distant. I just don’t know how I got here. How my life spun so far and so fast from what it was to this point.
I’m trying to reclaim it. I’m trying to steal it back from those desperate to take it from me. I just have to remember this is step one in that process.
“Do you, Lenox Moore, take Georgia Monroe to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do you part?”
“I do,” he says, no hesitation in his voice. Releasing my hands, he takes out the box with my ring in it. And when he opens it up, I gasp and proceed to absolutely fall apart.
He bought me a ruby wedding band.
Why did he have to call me that and then buy this for me? Why? His hands recapture mine, trembling ever so slightly as he slips the ring on my left hand, right above Suzie’s diamond ring.
The officiant asks me the same question, though I hardly hear the words. I hardly register myself say, “I do.” His ring is placed in my hand, and I slide it onto his finger.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Oh, hell. The kiss.
I blink away the tears and slowly look up to find his eyes already on me, filled with something I can’t decipher. His ringed hand comes up to cup the side of my face, slips back into my hair, and then his mouth is on mine.
His lips are firm and warm, powerful as they press rigidly to mine. My hands meet his biceps, ready to push him back but instead, I end up holding onto him because it’s been six years since I’ve really felt his lips on mine, and the sensation is electric. He sucks in a breath through his nose, feeling this too, and he inches in, pressing against me as his other hand comes up, cupping my face.
His mouth softens, and he licks the seam of my lips. Automatically I open for him, and he doesn’t hesitate. His tongue plunges straight into my mouth, stroking, seeking, and the moment our tongues meet, his control snaps.
In a flash, he walks me backward until my back slams into the wall. He groans, and then he’s all over me, using the wall as leverage to press into me tighter. His thumb strokes my jaw as he tilts my head and deepens the kiss, suddenly unable to get close enough, deep enough. There is nothing gentle or sweet about this, though there never has been where Lenox is concerned. It’s wicked and sensual, passionate and desperate.
My hands grab fistfuls of his shirt, yanking on him while our tongues thrash, our lips mash, and I hold on as my knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath me. He pulls my hair the slightest bit, shifting one of the pins, and the quick zap of pain has me moaning into his mouth.
And just as quickly as it began, it ends.
Hands fall from my face, and he takes a step back, his chest heaving as rapidly as I’m positive mine is. His lips are wet, stained ever so slightly with the red smear of my lipstick. The hungry look in his eyes tells me that kiss surprised him—and not in a good way. Without a word, he turns and storms straight out of the chapel, the door flying open only to slam shut with a loud, resonating bang behind him.
For a moment, I stare after him, at the now-closed door, debating what I should do. My lips still tingle from that kiss, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of it other than I don’t plan to give it room to breathe or grow in my thoughts. It was a strange and emotional moment, but for me, the hardest part of it is done, and we can move on to the next phase of this.
I shift my weight. Do I go after him? That seems weird. This is Lenox we’re talking about. He has the emotional aptitude of a cobra, and I already know any comfort or reassurance I could offer would be unwanted and likely unnecessary.
It isn’t until I hear the sound of a throat clearing uncomfortably across the room that I remember I’m not alone.
Well, this is awkward.
I shrug, willing my heart to slow and my features to even out. “That was his first kiss,” I say. “He’s a virgin.” I don’t even know where the words come from. Even if you don’t know who Lenox Moore is, one look at that man, and you know he’s no virgin. Still, it manages to make me laugh and relax all at the same time. “Thank you!” I throw out over my shoulder as I run from the chapel to go and find my new husband.
We have a cocktail party to attend.
Chapter Seven
The incessant noise and clatter and flashing lights of the casino surround me as I tear through it, weaving without purpose, until finally, far enough away from that fucking chapel, I drop down onto a random slot machine seat. The old woman in the seat beside me scowls, giving me a venomous look that I can’t figure out.
“That was my machine,” she clips out in the raspiest voice I’ve ever heard before she takes a drag of her ten-foot-long cigarette.
I stare at the machine that shows it was cashed out and then back to her, still confused.
“If you’re going to steal someone’s machine, you can’t just sit there. You have to play.”
Fucking Vegas.
I slip out my wallet and shove a hundred-dollar bill into the machine, raising an eyebrow at her that asks, “Happy now?” She grumbles under her breath but thankfully turns away and I spin on my chair, giving her my back. I hit a button or two on the machine, and the wheels start spinning, sevens and diamonds and bars and who cares?
