Текст книги "Sweet Sinful Nights"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
There were no flowers. There were no rings. And the bride didn’t wear white.
Neither one of them changed from what they already had on—her green dress, his blue shirt and jeans. It was a hell of a lot more fun to race over to the marriage license bureau and snag the paperwork. The bureau was open until midnight every day, and plunking down IDs was nothing short of thrilling.
He pulled up in her car to a drive-thru chapel, its orange neon sign lit and flashing. The officiant came to the window. Brent had called earlier to book a quickie ceremony, and that’s exactly what they got. No Elvis impersonator, no Johnny Cash stand-in, no Vegas theme package of mobsters, or starlets, or showgirls. At the end of the two-minute ceremony, the officiant said the words Brent had longed to hear years ago. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
No one needed to tell him that twice. He laced his fingers through Shannon’s hair, and dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her softly at first, savoring the sweet taste of her lips, memorizing every second of the first kiss with his wife.
Mrs. Shannon Nichols.
The name played in his head, and it was so fucking perfect, so damn sexy, and so everything he’d ever wanted in his life. In mere moments, the kiss climbed the heat scale as he kissed her furiously, and she tangled a hand in his hair, consuming his lips with her fire too.
He kissed her harder, even as the officiant clapped and cheered and wedding music played from the chapel.
Click.
Click.
Click.
He opened his eyes to see her cell phone held in one outstretched hand. He broke the kiss.
“I know you love selfies of us, so this is your first wedding present from your bride. Our first picture as husband and wife.”
“I love it, Mrs. Shannon Nichols,” he said in a low dirty growl in her ear. “Now, I need to fuck my wife for the first time.”
“Then put on your seatbelt, handsome. I see a parking spot over there that’s got our name written all over it.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Nichols?”
“Yes. Those names,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Love those names.”
A minute later, he pulled into the farthest spot in the lot, away from other cars and lights. In a quick tango they’d practiced years ago in college, he moved to the passenger seat, lowered it, and lay back, bringing her on top of him.
He reached into his back pocket and proffered a condom. “Now I get why you’re so particular about them.”
“Some day I won’t ask you to use one.”
“Maybe someday soon. But for now, you should really ride your husband hard. Because we have ten years of lost sex to make up for.”
“We’re going to be pretty busy,” she said, her eyes sparkling with equal parts naughtiness and love, then with heat and want, as he hiked her skirt to her waist.
“My beautiful wife,” he said, as he brushed his fingertips along the front of her white panties. She trembled into his touch. He traveled lower, his fingers on a luxurious path to her center. Her mouth fell open in a sexy gasp as he felt the first evidence of her desire. “Hmmm. Seems marrying me turns you on.”
“Nothing has turned me on more,” she said, her breath already coming fast.
He unzipped his jeans, yanked her panties to the side and handed her the condom. “Put it on me,” he told her, as he held tight to her hips.
She opened the condom and rolled it onto his erection. He couldn’t believe it had only been twenty-four hours since he’d been inside her. It felt like forever. But as he lowered her, he savored both the intensity of sliding into her gorgeous body, and the sweet, blissful knowledge, that he had a lifetime ahead of him to be with her like this.
His wife.
She took her time, rising up and down, and swiveling her hips in a way that drove him wild. He watched her, raking his gaze over her face, her body, her hips. She was his now, completely his. He reached for her hair, threading his fingers into her strands, pulling her on top of him.
“Closer,” he said on a groan. “I need more of you.”
He dropped his hands to her ass, and gripped her tight as he moved her up and down, the friction, the heat, bringing them both to the edge. She rocked faster, harder, her hands grappling with his hair, her breathing turning frantic.
She said his name in the most desperate, ecstatic voice he’d ever heard, and it sent them both over the edge.
After, he wrapped his arms around her, her heart beating fast against his chest, her cheeks flushed. “Come home with me tonight, Mrs. Nichols.”
“Tonight? Just tonight?”
“Every night,” he said, as he smacked her ass. “Get your stuff. You’re moving in with me.”
She shot him a pouty look. “Why your home?”
“Why not my home?” he countered.
“Actually, I don’t care if it’s your home or mine. I just want to be with you. Plus, I hear you have a pretty good dishwasher.”
She went home with him. It had only taken him more than a decade to carry her over the threshold, but all those years of missing her were worth it that night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
One week later
Shannon kissed Brent goodbye at the door to his house. Now, it was their house. “I’ll see you late, late, late tonight in the Big Apple,” she told him.
“I’ll be counting down the hours till you knock on the door dressed as a sexy room service French maid.”
She furrowed her brow. “Just exactly what kind of hotels do you stay at, Brent?”
He winked. “The kind where my wife shows up at midnight.” Then he kissed her. “Have a great rehearsal.” He swooped in for one more kiss. “See you tonight.”
She shooed him out the door. “Go. You’ll miss your plane. You need to be fresh and ready to impress the ladies of Tribeca tomorrow.”
“With you by my side, it’ll be a piece of cake,” he said, then left for the airport.
She finished getting ready for work, pulling on a pair of black leggings, a tunic tank top, and high heels, then tossing her favorite scarf around her neck—the silk, blush pink scarf that Brent had given her. A thin, wispy thing, it was perfect for the summer heat. She had a final on-site rehearsal today with her dancers at Edge. The San Francisco debut had been a smashing success, and with the show set to launch at Edge in Vegas next week, Shannon wanted to make sure everything was perfect. She’d catch a late afternoon flight to New York and land in the Big Apple at midnight. That would still give her plenty of time to go to the picnic with Brent tomorrow, and support him in this key business deal. Tribeca was making him jump through some crazy hoops, and though she might not agree with the neighborhood association, she was ready to stand by her man, and to show, too, that his wife supported him. More importantly, she wanted him to know that his job mattered to her. That it wasn’t a source of friction as it had once been, and that they were in this together now.
The weekend was packed and was sure to fly by in a whirlwind. After the picnic tomorrow, they’d visit with Julia and Clay in the evening. Shannon was thrilled and a bit nervous to meet her brother-in-law’s wife for the first time. She wondered if they’d give her and Brent a hard time for “eloping,” just as her brothers and grandma had done. Of course, that hard time lasted all of five minutes because her grandma then declared she’d start planning a wedding celebration party with barbecue and beer for both families. The menu pleased her brothers, and the party planning pleased her grandma. Julia and Clay were coming to the party in a few weeks, but Shannon was eager to see them tomorrow night, too. Then she and Brent would fly back Sunday morning in plenty of time for Shannon to visit her mom on Monday when Ryan returned from his own weekend business trip. Departure was slated for the crack of dawn on Monday to allow for the five hours of desert driving between Vegas and Hawthorne, a small town with a big prison.
Whew.
She was exhausted just thinking about everything on the agenda. But maybe she was mentally drained, too, in advance of the visit with her mother. As she finished applying mascara, she fast-forwarded to visiting day at the Stella McLaren Correctional Center. Her stomach churned as she heard her mom’s voice in her head, as she imagined that desperate, manic look in Dora’s green eyes—the same damn shade as Shannon’s. Surely she’d be trying to convince them once again of her innocence. But not just convince. Dora wanted to prove she should be a free woman. That had been her mission for some time now. The fact that she’d met with a lawyer gnawed at Shannon.
It was that little detail that twisted her gut. That made her worry. Her mom was losing touch with reality, but surely a lawyer wouldn’t have come to have his ear bent with her mother’s latest obsessive claims. If a lawyer had visited, something was up, and Shannon needed to know what that something was.
As she slung her purse over her shoulder, her phone bleated from inside the bag. She fished it out to find an incoming call from an 800 number, one she didn’t recognize.
“This is Shay Sloan.”
The phone was silent, and Shannon was ready to hang up when she heard a tinny voice say, “This is the operator. Will you accept a collect call from the Federal Bureau of Prisons?”
Her stomach plummeted. She managed a yes, and five seconds later her mom was on the line.
Cooing.
Her mother actually cooed when she heard Shannon say hello.
Her mother launched into rapid-fire chatter. “I can’t wait to see my sweet babies. Are you and Ry-Ry on your way? Will I see you any minute? I’ve been waiting all morning for my babies. I even put on lipstick today. I can’t wait to see you. I’m so excited I had to call. I hope you don’t mind.”
Shannon sighed, a sad, wistful sound. Her mom couldn’t even get the date right. “Mom, it’s Monday. We’re coming on Monday. When Ryan is back in town.”
Her mother gasped. “No, no, no. It’s today. Did he tell you Monday?”
“You did, Mom. You told him and you told me in your letters. Last day of the month. That’s what you said.”
“I meant today. It’s today. Last Friday of the month,” she said, with the speed of an express train. “Today, today, today. They gave me my final two hours today. Mondays are bad. No one likes Mondays. It’s today. By five p.m.,” she said, her voice turning into a low wail. “There’s so much to say, baby. So much to say. I have to see you and Ry. It’s urgent. You have to come, you have to come today, you have to come today. It could change everything.”
Everything.
There was no way this could change everything.
Her mouth tasted bitter. Her skin felt clammy and cold.
But that desperate, frantic tone clawed into her. She pressed her palm against her door, holding on firmly. What if? What if? What if? That question echoed in her mind, in the house, across the whole damn expanse of time. Shannon didn’t believe for a second that anything had changed, and yet...
What if it had?
She glanced at her watch. It was eight-thirty. She could rush over to Edge for fifteen minutes since it was on the way out of town. The valets could babysit her car so she wouldn’t lose much time there. She could be on the road by nine-fifteen and at the prison by one-thirty, two p.m. at the latest.
“Mom, I need to put you on hold for one second.”
She set the phone down, snapped open her laptop on the kitchen table, and opened a browser window for her airline. She tapped in the destination and the date—today—at cheetah speed. She waited for the beach ball to turn, and spit out the results. She pumped her fist. There was one seat left on the Red-Eye to New York. If she spent an hour at prison, she’d be back on the road by three or four, then pulling up to the airport with time to spare before the midnight flight.
She could still make Brent’s picnic.
She picked up the phone. “Yes, Mom. I’ll be there,” she said, then switched her flight, and paid the change fee.
* * *
With the crackle of gate announcements overhead, Brent fired off a few, quick emails to James and his real estate attorneys on the various expansion plans. The Chicago club was coming together more quickly than expected, and all the approvals were in place.
He wrote back. “Great. If only New York would go so smoothly.”
But that was what this weekend was for. To seal the deal. To say hello to the families of the neighborhood, and let them know he was good for business and ran a tight, clean ship. He was flying in ahead of Shannon to finish up some key paperwork with Tanner and meet with some potential vendors for the club in New York.
Five minutes later, the boarding had begun and as he walked down the Jetway, he called Shannon. “Hey, babe. I’m about to get on the plane. Can’t wait to see you tonight.”
“Actually,” she said in a heavy voice, “I won’t be there till first thing in the morning. I had to change my flight to the red-eye.”
Something inside of him tightened with worry. “What happened? Is everything okay?”
“My mom called. The date was wrong. I’m going to see her today.”
His spine straightened. “You are?”
“Yeah. She was pretty worked up that I wasn’t there today with Ryan. I guess there was a mix-up with the date. She said she has something to tell me that will—” She paused and he could practically see her sketching air quotes as she said, “Change everything.”
“Shan,” he said softly as he neared the plane. “You can’t go alone. Ryan’s not even in town.”
“It’s okay. I can handle it,” she said, in a cheery voice. “Seriously. Don’t worry about me. I’m sure it’s nothing new. Nothing I haven’t heard a million times before.”
“Hmm,” he muttered.
“Hmm, what?”
“I don’t think you believe what you’re saying.”
“Brent, it’s fine. I’ve got it all under control. I will see you as planned. It’ll just be a little later.”
But he didn’t like the idea of her driving five hours through the desert on her own. To a prison. Then five hours back. Then flying five hours on a plane to New York to be with him. To help him. This was not sitting well with him at all.
“Shan—”
From her phone, he heard a car horn honk in the distance
“Let me call you back. Traffic to Edge is getting dicey. Need to pay attention. Bye.”
She hung up, and he stared at his phone with narrowed eyes, as if there were an app to reveal how she really felt, and whether she could truly handle this meeting with her mom all by herself. Well, of course she could. But should she? The things her mom had been saying lately seemed to suggest the woman had uncovered some key piece of evidence. What if it was the kind of evidence that turned on its head everything Shannon and her brothers had ever believed about their mom’s conviction?
He stopped dead at the plane door.
“Good morning, sir.”
He met the chipper expression of the flight attendant, who flashed a bright smile. His opportunity.
“Hey, I was hoping you could help me with something,” he said as he stepped into the galley.
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I need to switch flights. Get on a later flight, as it turns out. My wife was on the four p.m. and she just changed to the red-eye. Can I get on that flight with her?” His evening meetings would need to be cancelled so he could accompany Shannon. They’d still make it in time for tomorrow’s picnic.
“Let me just check with the gate. Why don’t you take your seat, and give me a few minutes to look into this?”
Five minutes later, the flight attendant found him in the second row and her mouth formed an apologetic O as she dropped a hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry. The Red-Eye is full. We just sold the last seat.”
Shannon’s seat.
He exhaled deeply, taking in the knowledge that she’d switched her plans to be with him, and now there was no way he could do the same.
* * *
“Go,” Shannon’s assistant Christine said, pushing her arm playfully. Or maybe not so playfully. Christine was trying to shove her out the front door of Edge.
Shannon held up her hands in surrender. “I’m going. I swear.”
“I have this under control,” Christine said, gesturing to the final rehearsal. The dancers were glorious, moving like waterfalls, lush and sumptuous, the music playing loudly overhead at Edge.
“You go take care of things,” Christine said. Shannon hadn’t given Christine the details, and she was glad her second-in-command wasn’t nosey enough to pry.
Shannon took a deep breath and nodded, then waved to the scene unfolding in front of her in the empty club. “You’re right. Everything looks amazing.”
“I will text you and keep you updated. I can even send you pictures and video,” Christine said, as she continued to shoo her away.
“Yes, please do,” she said, and then walked out of the club.
Along the way, she spotted James, Brent’s key investor and advisor. “Hi James,” she said with a quick wave.
“Hey, Shay. How’s everything going? The dancers look great, don’t they?”
She gave him a double thumbs up. “Thank you. So glad you feel that way. And thank you for your time earlier in the week.”
“It was nothing. Brent’s great. Glad to help out, even if it means my mug is on camera.”
She race-walked past the shops of the Luxe and threaded her way through the slot machines and card tables on her way to the exit. She handed the ticket to the valet, and tapped her foot as she waited for her car. She lowered her shades, and grabbed her phone from her purse. She had several missed calls from Brent.
Shit.
She hadn’t heard her phone when she was inside Edge and the music was playing.
Quickly, so she could get out of Dodge in a jiffy, she called up the GPS app on her phone, plugging in the address of the Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center in Hawthorne, Nevada. Four hours and thirty minutes away, the app predicted. That was doable. Very doable. She plugged in her headset and dialed Brent.
“You looking for me?”
She stared at the screen. The voice didn’t seem to be coming from the phone. It was coming from... she looked up and saw the valet shutting a town car door, then her husband walking over to her.
She parted her lips to speak, but he went first as another valet pulled up with her little red car.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said. “I’ll drive.”
“But...” she said, sputtering.
“No ifs, ands, or buts about it. No wife of mine is driving five hours in the desert, then five hours back to catch a flight to be by my side. I’m going to be by her side,” he said, his eyes fixed on her, his gaze so strong, as he opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the car, the surprise of seeing him still working its way through her.
He walked behind the vehicle, tipping the valet, then got in on the driver’s side. After adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he pulled out of the Luxe’s portico.
“Did you just literally walk off the plane?” she asked, still trying to compute that he was there, and not flying across the country to New York. “Stand up and leave? Like in the movies or something?”
He nodded as he flipped on the blinker to turn right. “I did.”
“So we’ll take the red-eye together?”
He shook his head. He was grinning wickedly.
She scrunched her brow. “I don’t get it.”
He dropped a hand to her thigh and squeezed. “The red-eye was booked. No room on it. Turns out my wife got the last seat, and I’m having none of that. I missed the chance to be there for you in the past. This is important. You’re not going alone. I’m going with you. Every step of the way. I called Tanner and said I wouldn’t be able to make it.”
She brought her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by what he’d done. How he’d chosen her. How he’d walked away from work to stand by her. “What did he say? Was he angry?”
“He wasn’t too happy about it. I said I had to be here for you. Case closed.”
“But you’ll lose New York if you don’t go to the picnic tomorrow.”
He flashed her a million-dollar smile. “Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes you decide there are more important things than a business deal. Like you. Always you.” He pointed to the radio. “Now, let’s crank up some tunes. You got a desert driving playlist? We need something to rock out to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Would ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ be too ironic?”
“Irony is my middle name.”
She turned on Johnny Cash and held her husband’s hand the whole way through the desert as the sun rose high in the sky, blazing through the windshield, the road unfurling before them in a slate ribbon, her heart fuller than it had ever been.
