Chapter Seven

 

Three hours later, warm desert air skimmed over Brooke as she and Luke wobbled in front of the Little Chapel on the Strip.

She leaned against his solid, reassuring body. “Is the sign fuzzy?”

“No, jush your viz…vision. It helps if you close one eye.”

She closed her left eye, and it worked. Luke was a genius.

Also, mojitos were her new favorite drink. She’d downed a fresh one at each of their stops on the Strip. The MGM Grand knocked it out of the park. The Bellagio, yum; The Flamingo, double yum, and also where she’d won forty dollars on a Simpsons slot machine. Those winnings had paid for their drinks. At The Venetian, they promptly lost twenty dollars. She consoled herself with a mojito to go, which had been amazing and possibly fueled her desire to wrap herself around the wax statue of Justin Timberlake at Madame Tussaud’s.

Luke kept up with her, drink for drink, draining his flask. After the Venetian, he suggested they call a Lyft to get her home to The Stratosphere. Reluctantly, she’d agreed, and they were sailing north when the Little Chapel on the Strip sign shone like a beacon.

“Stop!” she’d yelled. “I’ll give you all the stars if you stop here.”

The driver hit the brakes hard, and she and Luke knocked into each other. They thanked him and tumbled onto the sidewalk. God, the world was rude, with its spinning. He threw his arm around her shoulder, and she snugged herself against his side.

“Are the superheroes real?” he asked. “Or do they wear cheesy fake muscle Halloween costumes?”

“I don…I don…” Words stuck to the roof of her mouth like peanut butter. “I do not know.”

“Look they’re open.” Luke pointed to the glowing ‘open’ sign below the crimson hearts. With his other hand, he squeezed her arm. “Let’s check it out.”

“Okay.”

They stumbled forward together. Drunk Luke was super fun. Lighthearted. It was like the whiskey had burned away his reserve and left the enthusiastic fun-loving core of him behind. This was what he was like when they’d talked about Superman. When was that? She knit her brows and tried to hold the dissolving memory together.

“Brookie, come on.” He held the door for her.

Oh, well, she’d remember later. Upon crossing the threshold, a powerful floral scent smacked her nose. He sneezed.

“Blesh you,” she said.

A woman with frosted platinum blonde hair greeted them from behind a counter. “Hi there, love birds! How can I help you?”

“Hi.” Luke braced himself against the service desk. “Which superheroes do the weddings?”

“Right now? Superman and Spider-man.”

“Impossible choice.” He shot a glance at Brooke. “Who do you want?”

You. She shook her head to clear her confusion. “What?”

“Which superhero should perform a wedding?”

“That’s easy. Superman.”

“Agreed.” He turned back to the clerk. “Superman, please.”

“Good choice, sir. Let me call Metropolis.” The woman disappeared through door behind her.

Brooke bumped him with her elbow. “What are you doing?”

“S’okay—see?” He pointed to the laminated menu on the counter. “They have a pretend wedding package. Will you pretend marry me Brooke Hildegunt Buras? I wanna see Superman.”

Her heart fluttered. Luke was adorable. Besides, this was dumb and the kind of Vegas story she wanted to take back to her friends.

“Don’t leave me hanging, Buras.”

His glazed, goofy smile made her laugh.

“Never,” she said, and meant it with her whole soul. “But in Vegas fate’s s’posed to decide. Heads, I’ll pretend marry you. Tails, we get another drink.”

She set her violin case and purse on the counter to dig for a quarter. Fuck, she must have one in this huge disorganized purse. Frustrated, she upended the bag and the contents spilled onto and behind the desk.

“Whoops.” She quaked with laughter.

Coins rolled over to him, and he knelt to scoop up a quarter.

“Got one.” Still kneeling, he flipped it high in the air, above their heads. Shockingly, he caught it and slapped it on the back of his hand. “Ready?”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “Ready.”

Luke peeled his hand away, revealing the noble profile of George Washington.

Holy shit.

“Lemme ask again,” Luke said. “Brooke, will you marry me?”

She pointed to the quarter. “Well, yeah. Heads.”

“Outstanding.” He popped up from the floor.

The door to the back office creaked open and the lady reemerged. “Superman’s ready. Oh, goodness, what’s all this?”

“Sorry.” Brooke haphazardly shoveled stuff back in her purse. “I spilled.”

Luke helped retrieve a fistful of items. Tampons, a brush, a pitch pipe, hair ties, hand sanitizer, lip balm, and a novel. The lady behind the counter helped, too, handing Brooke her sunglasses, a protein bar, and discreetly palmed a strip of condoms into her purse. When she straightened, the blood rushed to her head.

“Now,” the lady said. “The paperwork. First and last name?”

“Brooke Buras and Luke Warren,” Brooke answered.

“And you’re from…”

“She’s from Baltimore, Maryland, but I’m local,” Luke said. “Do you have a bathroom?”

“Through there.” The woman pointed to a door marked with an ‘M,’ and Luke disappeared. Her typing rhythm matched the William Tell Overture.

“Okay, now I’ve got your license paperwork. Last question—do you want to purchase a bouquet?”

“Do you have ranun…ranun…” Curse her numb tongue. “Ranunculus? They’re my favorite.”

“No, sorry honey. Roses or multi-colored daisies?”

Brooke held the counter as the world swayed. “Daisies, please.”

“Here’s your bouquet.” The woman swung the door open on the refrigerated display case in back of her then proffered a bright bunch of flowers. “And how will you be paying?”

Luke returned in time to hand over his credit card. “I’ve got this.”

“Perfect.” The lady smiled sweetly. “And the sixty-dollar cash-only minister’s fee?”

He thrust a hundred-dollar bill at her. “Got that too, plus tip.”

Brooke withdrew her nose from the soft blooms and said, “You’re the best, sweetie.”

“No problem, dear.”

The lady dusted her hands together. “Now that’s all settled, we can start.”

Brooke clutched the ribbon-wrapped stems in one hand and threaded the other around Luke’s biceps. She glanced up at him and said, “I’m ready if you are.”

“I’m always ready.”

“To get married?”

He winked. “For anything.”

Swoon.

“Then let’s get you two married.” The lady grabbed a camera from under the counter. “Follow me.”

She led them through a door, and Luke and Brooke dissolved into a heap of giggles. On the other side of the room, Superman stood tall on a small, lighted stage. With his hands on his hips and his shoulders thrown back, the actor filled out the suit pretty well, but Luke could wear it better.

“Hang on.” The lady hustled toward a panel behind the stage and flicked switches. The lights dimmed, and with a whoosh, fake fog streamed around the floor.

Brooke tucked her face into Luke’s chest and laughed.

“Fancy for a fake wedding, huh?” Luke said.

“It’s perfect.”

Canon in D played over the loudspeakers.

“Hey, it’s the Fantastic Four song again. The one you played when Helena walked down the aisle.”

He’d recognized Canon in D from a superhero movie? Brooke quaked with another round of wild giggles. This was, hands-down, the best night of her life.

The lady’s camera blinded Brooke, so she let him lead them down the aisle.

“Remember,” she lectured like the reverend had during rehearsal. “You don’t have to run.”

“I’m an expert now.”

When they stopped in front of Superman, he boomed, “Welcome! We’re gathered together to unify these two citizens in holy matrimony. Do you have the rings?”

“Nope.” She smiled.

“This will be brief, then, which will allow me to return to fighting crime. Do you…” Superman glanced at the lady.

“Brooke,” the lady whispered, and fired off another shot.

“Brooke, take this man…”

“Luke,” the lady said.

“Luke, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.” Something in Brooke settled, and the world stopped trembling.

“And do you, Luke, take Brooke to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” he answered.

Pleasure undulated through her at his words. Though it was fake, the rhythm and cadence of the familiar ceremony loaned the moment gravity.

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Nevada, the city of Metropolis, and truth, justice, and the American way, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Luke leaned toward her and crushed his eager lips against hers, claiming her, lighting a fire inside her. Unable to rely on her knees to keep her upright, she looped her arms around his neck. His grip cinched her to him, and she let him take her weight.

He backed away from her. “Want to get out of here?”

“God, yes.”

After a quick goodbye to Superman, the blonde lady pulled them aside to sign something on their way through the door. They were finally on their way back to The Stratosphere. Her drunkenness downshifted into pleasantly buzzed during the three-block power walk. At the entrance to the hotel, her fake husband tucked a curl behind her ear.

“This is where I say goodnight,” he murmured.

Longing tugged low in her body. She refused to let him leave.

“You can’t go yet,” she said, and caught him by the tie. “Let’s celebrate. Have you been to the bar on the top floor?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Come on.” She dragged him inside. By some miracle, the elevator was ready and waiting, and Brooke hit the button for the top floor. As the car whooshed them upward, she twisted toward him. “You won’t believe the view. It’s amazing.”

Luke slapped his palms flat to the wall behind her, trapping her between his arms. His close warmth overwhelmed her, thrilled her. Butterflies fluttered, swarmed, rioted until she was sure she could pick up her feet and fly.

With heavy-lidded eyes, he leaned in close. “The view in here is more amazing.”

His mouth pressed hard against hers.

She drank in his sharp cologne, and peppery, smoky whiskey taste, and the touch of his crisp suit against her décolletage. With her free hand, she gripped the thick bristle of his hair. As she wrapped her leg around the back of his knee, he groaned and belted her tighter to him. He might claim he shouldn’t stay, but the hardness grinding into her hip was a promise she wanted him to keep.

The ding of elevator announced their arrival. As the doors swished open, the restaurant’s dim chatter filled the car. Luke broke the kiss, searching her eyes.

When he didn’t speak, she asked, “Ready to check out the lights?”

She rubbed her thumb along his raspy jaw.

“No.” He poked the button for her floor. “Told you, I like the view in here better.”

~ * ~

Luke kissed Brooke’s nape as she tried to unlock her hotel room’s door. No easy feat since her violin case covered her from neck to thigh. The card reader’s light blinked green, and the lock tumbled.

After they entered, he shut the door behind them, then flipped the security bar. Yesterday he’d been rooted to this exact spot, his soul shaken by a violin. Twenty hours later, he’d learned it wasn’t the music—it was the woman.

When he turned toward her, his knees almost buckled. With her lips hooked up in a dangerous smirk, she’d be his undoing. He couldn’t wait to begin his ruination.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She launched herself at him. With limbs loosened by booze, he caught her, easy as a pop fly, and spun her around the room. Laughter bubbled from her.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “You’re making me dizzy.”

He dwindled to a stop and set her down. All he wanted was to slip her dress off and taste every naked square inch of her, but they’d both had a lot to drink. Like, a lot. Between the wedding and the flask and whatever they’d bought along the way…

“Hey,” he said. “Is this okay? Are you having fun?”

“Yes.” She peppered him with more nibbles and kisses. “Are you?”

“I want to make sure you’re sure.”

“I’ll give you proof.” She eased the straps of her dress from her shoulders and it puddled at her feet. While keeping her hooded gaze fixed on him, she angled her arm behind her and unhooked the blue bra he’d been fantasizing about since yesterday, then tossed it into a corner. In three strides, she closed the gap between them, grabbed his hand, and placed it on her breast. “Feel that?”

Thank Christ the whiskey had slightly deadened his dick, or he might’ve come. The tight bud of her nipple prodded his palm, and he ran his thumb over the warm, supple flesh of her breast.

“And this?” She slipped his other hand into her panties. He cupped her wet heat, then arched his finger, rubbing the tip along her seam, bottom to top and back again, earning a gasp from her.

“I’ve wanted this.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Since the minute I met you.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

He ached with desire, but if he acted on it, he could lose the best friend he’d ever had. There’d only been honesty between him and Brooke, and he had to be honest now.

“But I don’t think I should, because—”

She wrapped his tie in her fist and twisted, cutting him off.

“Luke Warren, I swear if you mention my brother, I’m throwing you out on your ass. Tonight’s you and me. That’s it. Got it?”

“Got it,” he said.

“Good.” She released her grip and loosened his tie, slithering it from shirt. “Now that’s settled, I want you naked.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shucked his shoes and suit in record time and took a step toward her.

Brooke flashed her palm. “Give me a minute to appreciate you.”

She slowly raked her graze up his body. Her inspection made his skin tingle, and his cock threatened to burst through his boxer briefs.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“Thrilled.” She knelt and yanked his boxers down. Skilled, nimble, her hand wrapped around him and… The world went blank as she took him in her mouth. Pressure, warm and wet and good.

“Brooke.” He groaned as he slid his hands into her hair. “I won’t last if you keep that up.”

Brief regret washed over him as she released him. Slowly, she rose, and he belted her body to his, skin to skin. Another kiss, and he swiveled her back to the bed. In his arms, she was soft and perfect. It was a reminder that there were good things in the world if he opened himself up to them.

He laid her on the bed and hooked his fingers on her panties.

“I’m taking these off.” He coaxed them free from her hips, then down her legs, until they hit her ankles. There, he carefully worked them over her shoes. “But leaving the heels on.”

She raised herself on her elbows and lifted an eyebrow. “Hadn’t figured you for a shoe guy.”

“I’m not usually.” He climbed on the bed and kissed a trail from her ankle to her knee, to her hip, to her sternum, until he was stretched over her, face to face. “I want to make you feel good. What do you like?”

She held his face. “When you were touching me earlier? That felt amazing.”

“Yeah?” After stealing a kiss, he lay on his side next to her. “Like this?”

As he reached between her legs, she arched her back and moaned. He’d take that as a yes. With increasing speed, he worked his fingers over her slick folds. Her breasts swayed as she rocked against him, and he couldn’t resist. Careful not to break contact with her body, he twisted and caught her nipple in his mouth. Lick, suck, and a drag between the teeth.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked. “Mine are in my purse, but I can never find anything in there.”

“Yeah,” he said. “One sec.”

This hadn’t been his plan, but a hopeful man was always prepared. Eagle Scout, after all. He slipped from the bed and found his suit jacket, withdrawing his wallet and finding the one he’d placed there this morning. He ripped the packet open and unrolled the condom over his shaft.

“You’re a blessed man,” she said.

“Thank you. I like to share my blessings.”

He dove back on the bed with her, eager and ready. She splayed her knees, allowing him space. With his elbows planted on either side of her gorgeous flushed face, he leaned down to kiss her while sliding his cock against her welcoming wetness.

“Luke, I want you in me,” she breathed into his ear, and caught the lobe between her teeth. “Please.”

“Anything you want, Mrs. Warren, it’s yours.”

He lodged himself at her entrance and eased forward, inch by glorious inch into her tight heat. For the first time in forever, he was crossing a line, breaking the rules, putting himself first, and he wanted the moment to last.

“Yes,” Brooke moaned. “I knew you’d be amazing.”

She wouldn’t make lasting easy.