A Convenient Groom

He took the bottle from her, ignoring the crazy lurch of excitement in the pit of his gut at her smile, at her warm body pressed beside his, of how close her full red lips were.

Joe took a swig, breathed through the liquid fire sliding down his throat and tucked the bottle behind his leg, out of view. ‘Why marry me?’

‘Why not?’ She shrugged. ‘I figure, what the hell…If I can’t be anyone else’s wife, I’ll be yours.’

Joe stared at her. Words escaped him. Not the sort of flattery he was after. ‘Right,’ he managed. ‘Okay.’

She leant towards him. ‘You really want to know why?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cause if you won’t have me,’ she whispered, staring up into his face, her eyes glistening. ‘No one will.’

His chest tightened. Hell. Was he that bad? How could she have got an impression like that about him? He shifted on the step, looking towards the door.

‘Yep.’ She nodded. ‘You’re rude, obnoxious and awfully scruffy…’ She ran a hand down his coarse whiskers, shaking her head.

His blood rushed hot through his body, her fingers leaving a trail of burning desire down his jaw. What was she doing to him?

‘I’m the bottom of the barrel?’ Joe asked slowly. Surely all those years in university and then working his way into a reasonable reputation for finely executed photographs had counted for something?

She nodded earnestly. ‘Yep. Bottom-bottom.’

Joe swallowed hard. ‘And why do you feel that you need a man in your life, a husband, to feel complete?’ he asked, cringing at his own idiocy. A bit of layman psychology wasn’t going to be enough for this situation, not in a long shot.

She waved her hands in the air, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Everyone knows that life isn’t the same if you don’t share it.’ She sagged against him as though the effort of talking had taken what was left of her energy, leaning her head on his shoulder. ‘Where’s the fun in doing stuff, movies, meals, places, if you don’t share it?’

‘True.’ He had to agree on that one. Sure, he wasn’t going looking for someone to marry but when you found the right person to fit comfortably into your life and share it with…

Riana straightened. ‘So, will you share my life with me or will I have to go and find another bottle?’ She stared at her empty hands then looked around her. ‘Where’s my vodka?’

‘You don’t need more booze. It won’t solve anything.’

‘Huh. Says you.’ She dug around in the purse hanging off her shoulder as though she could find it in there.

Joe’s gut tightened. ‘You know the stuff can kill you?’

She shrugged, tipping her bag out, the contents spilling on to the floor. ‘What the hell, like it matters…’

Joe stared at the scattered contents of her bag. She had enough make-up to start a small shop, plus a small can of hairspray, a couple of brushes, a mobile phone, loose change and receipts.

His gaze stopped on her car keys, memories of his sister flooding his mind. A tough breakup, booze, tears and car keys…

Raw grief sliced through him.

Hell, there was no way he could sit by and let Riana do this to herself—he looked her in the eyes—not when he could do something about it.

‘Yes.’

She swayed towards him, her finely arched eyebrows lifting. ‘What?’

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

Her brow creased. ‘Yes what?’

Joe cupped her face with his hands and stared into her beautiful dark eyes, praying that this would make all the difference to her. ‘Yes, I will marry you.’

She smiled, her full red lips curving into a smile, her eyes brightening. ‘You will?’

‘Sure.’ And as soon as she sobered up and came to her senses she’d dump him like she’d dumped every other man that came into her life. But at least she’d make it through the night without making a mistake that could cost her life.

She swung her arms around him and held him tightly. ‘I’m so happy.’

Desire rippled through him. She felt so good. He tried not to breathe in her scent, take in the feel of her body pressed against his, or think about the wild responses deep within him.

She was all woman. Her alluring softness pressed against him. The sweetness of strawberries surrounded him. The soft scent of her shampoo invaded his senses as she held him close to her.

‘I’m not a loser then, am I?’ she whispered into his ear, her breath caressing the nerves in his neck, making promises that Joe knew could never be.

He shook his head, sucking in deep, slow breaths, bringing his arms up. He hesitated. Hell. He closed his arms around her, holding her close.

He couldn’t have her think he didn’t care about her. She had to believe that the proposal was real for now. That he loved holding her, loved the feel of her, the smell of her, the sweetness of her voice, no matter how slurred.

She had to see how much life she had yet to live.

Riana pulled back, running her soft fingertips down his bristly cheek, biting her bottom lip. ‘Where’s my ring?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You’ve got to give me a ring if we’re engaged.’ She smiled wildly at him.

Joe stared at her. Was she for real? She was amazing…unbelievable…drunk as hell…and such a romantic.

Hell. A ring. Where the hell was he going to get a ring from at this time of night?

He glanced at his fingers, all empty. Now would have been the perfect moment for that silver skull ring his mother had confiscated from him at sixteen.

Joe pulled the nearest camera bag over to him and flipped it open. Something he could use as a ring…? He undid one of the tripod legs and took the brass packer off the end. It looked about the right size.

He offered the small brass ring to her on his palm.

Riana pouted. ‘Do it properly.’ And she held out her hand as though she was in some old movie, awaiting a kiss from a handsome prince on her left hand. ‘And you have to kneel.’

Joe ran a hand through his hair. ‘Okay.’ He tucked the vodka bottle into the camera bag and shoved it to one side. He dropped to the floor in front of her.

He looked up into her face, saw the tears brimming in her eyes. His gut tightened.

He swallowed hard and slipped the ring slowly onto her finger, his mind a mass of crazy thoughts, his body a frenzy of tangled urges. None of which he had any intention of pursuing.