Winter Wedding In Vegas

Sure, he’d been attracted from the moment he’d met her. But although he’d have sworn she felt a similar spark, she’d brushed off his attempts to further their relationship.

Until last night.

Last night she’d looked at him and he’d felt captivated, needy, as if under a spell he hadn’t been able to snap out of.

He took a deep breath. “A divorce works for me. A wife is not something I planned to bring back from Vegas.”

Or from anywhere. He had his future mapped out and a wife didn’t fit anywhere into those plans. He’d dedicated his life to breast-cancer research and nothing more.

Marrying Taylor had been rash—the effects of alcohol and Las Vegas craziness—and wasn’t at all like his normal self. Women were temporary in his life, not permanent figures. He preferred it that way.

A divorce sounded perfect. His marriage would be one of those “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” kind of things.

Thank goodness she didn’t harbor any delusions of happily-ever-after or sappy romance. They’d chalk last night up to alcohol and a major lapse of judgment.

Maybe there really was something about Vegas that made people throw caution to the wind and act outside their norm. Or maybe it had been the smiley little elfish limo driver, who’d kept puffing peppermint spray into the car, telling them they were at the wedding chapel that had made the idea seem feasible. Had the spray been some type of drug?

“Good.” Taylor’s chin lifted a couple of notches. “Then we’re agreed this was a mistake and we can get a divorce or an annulment or whatever one does in these circumstances.”

“I’ll call my lawyer first thing Monday morning.” Relieved that she was being sensible about calling a spade a spade and correcting their mistake, he pushed the room-service cart over next to the bed and stared down at a woman who’d taken him to sexual heights he’d never experienced before. Maybe that peppermint stuff really had been some kind of aphrodisiac.

Even with her haughty expression, she was pretty with her long blond hair tumbled over her milky shoulders and her lips swollen from his kisses. Until the night before he’d never seen her hair down. He liked it. A lot.

He liked her a lot. Always had. He’d wanted her from afar for way too long. Despite the whole marriage fiasco, he still wanted her. Even more than he had prior to having kissed her addictive mouth. She’d tasted of candy canes, joy and magic. Kissing her had made him feel like a kid on Christmas morning who’d gotten exactly what he’d always wanted.

Which was saying a lot for a man who hadn’t celebrated Christmas since he was twelve years old.

“Now that that’s settled, there’s no reason we can’t enjoy the rest of the weekend. Let’s eat up before this gets cold.”

The covers still clasped to her all the way up to her neck, she crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were narrow green slits of annoyance. “Don’t act as if we’re suddenly friends because we both want a divorce. We’re not and we won’t be enjoying the rest of the weekend. At least, not the way you mean.”

“Fine. We won’t enjoy the rest of the weekend.” He wasn’t going to argue with her. “But we’re not strangers.” Ignoring her I-can’t-stand-you glare and his irritation at how she was treating him as if he had mange, he lifted the lid off one of the dishes he’d ordered and began buttering a slice of toast. “I’ve been working with you for around a year.”

“You see me at work.” She watched what he did with great interest. “That doesn’t make us friends. Neither does last night.”

She had to be starved. While satisfying one hunger, they’d worked up another. He’d ordered a little of everything because he hadn’t known what she liked. Other than coffee. Often at the clinic, he saw her sipping on a mug of coffee as if the stuff were ambrosia. Funny how often he’d catch himself watching for her to take that first sip, how he’d smile at the pleasure on her face once she had. He’d put pleasure on her face the night before that had blown away anything he’d ever seen, anything he’d ever experienced.

“You make your point.” He sat down on the bed and waved a piece of buttered toast in front of her, liking how her gaze followed the offering. “But as we’re in agreement that we made a mistake, one we are rectifying, I don’t see why we can’t be friends and make the most out of a bad situation.”

Scowling, she shot her gaze back to his. “You and I will never be friends.”

She grabbed his toast and took a bite, closed her eyes and sighed a noise that made him want to push her back on the bed and, friends or not, taste her all over again.

Perhaps she’d prefer it if he told her how much he was enjoying how she’d just licked crumbs from her pretty pink lips? How much, now that he knew disentangling himself from their impromptu marriage wasn’t going to be a problem, he was anticipating making love to her again, because for all her blustering he wasn’t blind. She’d looked at him with more hunger than she had the toast. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was as affected by him as he was her. They had phenomenal chemistry.

She leaned toward the tray, got a knife and a packet of strawberry jam, then nodded while she spread the pink mixture on what was left of her toast. Not an easy task because she refused to let go of where she clutched the bed covers, which seemed a bit ridiculous to him since he’d seen every inch of her. Seen, touched, tasted.

Slade swallowed the lump forming in his throat and mentally ordered one not to form beneath his towel. “In case you need reminding, we had a good time last night.”

“I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie.” He’d been there. She hadn’t faked that, couldn’t have faked her responses, and he wouldn’t let her pretend she had. “Yes, you did.”

“Okay,” she conceded with a great deal of sarcasm. “You’re good in bed. Anyone can be good if they get lots of practice and we both know you’ve had lots of practice.”

“Lots of practice?” He hadn’t lived the life of a monk, but he didn’t go around picking up random women every night either. Sure, he never committed, but the women he spent time with knew the score. He wasn’t the marrying kind and avoided women who were. “You want to discuss my past sex life?”

“Not really.” Her face squished, then paled. “Although I guess we should discuss diseases and such.”

He arched his brow. “You have a disease?”

“No.” She sounded horrified enough that he knew she was telling the truth. They should have discussed all this the night before. And birth control. Because for the first time in his life he hadn’t used a condom. Because for the first time in his life he’d been making love to his wife.

Slade’s throat tightened. He’d not only gotten married the night before but he’d had sex without a condom. How stupid could he have been?

Was that why the sex had been so good? Because they’d not had a rubber barrier between them? Because they’d been flesh to flesh? He didn’t think so. There had been something more, something special about kissing Taylor.

Besides, they’d used a condom the first time. It had been their subsequent trips to heaven that had been without one. He’d only had the one condom in his wallet and they’d still been high under the Las Vegas night air—or whatever foolishness had lowered their inhibitions.

“Do you?” she asked, sounding somewhere between terrified and hopeful his answer would be the right one.

“I haven’t specifically gone for testing recently.” There hadn’t been a need. He had never had sex without protection before her and didn’t engage in any other high-risk behaviors. “It’s been a year or so since my last checkup, but I do donate blood routinely and have always checked normal.”

His answer didn’t appease her and she eyed him suspiciously. “When was the last time you donated?”

“About two months ago.”

Relief washed over her face. “No letter telling you about any abnormal findings?”

He shook his head. “No such letter. What about you?”

Her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “I’ve only been with one man and that was years ago during medical school. I’ve been checked a couple of times since then. I’m clean.”

As unreasonable as it was since he was no saint and they were going to end their marriage as soon as possible, the thought of Taylor being with anyone else irked him. A surge of jealousy had his fingers flexing and his brain going on hiatus.

“He didn’t have to marry you to have sex with you?”

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_133eab3e-d5de-5273-aa00-0ca72dd18f91)

SLADE INSTANTLY REGRETTED his sarcastic question, especially when, with a pale face and watery eyes, Taylor glanced down at the plain gold band he’d put on her hand the night before.

“No, Kyle didn’t marry me, but I did believe he was going to spend the rest of his life loving me. Silly me.”

The fact that she’d been heartbroken by the jerk rankled Slade. Good thing she didn’t want this marriage any more than he did. He’d hate to think he’d hurt her like that fool had. Regardless of what the future held for them, he didn’t want to cause Taylor any pain. That much he knew. “What happened?”

She shrugged and the sheet slipped off one shoulder to drape mid-upper-arm. “He didn’t marry me or spend the rest of his life loving me. End of story.”

Hardly, but he wouldn’t push. Such sorrow laced her words that his chest squeezed tighter. “I’m sorry.”