Soft Target (13 page)

“Good morning. You made coffee?” He made horrible coffee.

“No. I ordered room service.” Roger indicated the cart with a game show flourish.

“I made coffee.”

Gray sat on the sofa opposite his makeshift bed. He’d shaved, but he was in the T-shirt and sweats from last night. Sipping coffee and reading
USA Today,
he appeared the picture of relaxation until Maggie looked deeper. He was angled into the cushions so he could see the door, and he glanced up at the end of every sentence.

She went through the routine of breakfast while rehearsing her argument. Well rested, in the light of day, he’d see the reasoning on this. He’d go home, and she’d marry Roger, just like she’d planned.

Perching opposite him, next to his folded bedding, she nibbled a Danish made from cardboard. Gray’s scone sat in crumbly effigy on the coffee table between them.

“So you two have made up?” she began, dropping her pastry on a napkin and looking between the two men.

Gray’s lips hitched in a half smile as he folded the paper. “I’ve apologized for being an ass.”

“And I’ve told him you do that to people,” Roger teased. “We’ve had a long talk. Don’t worry.”

She wouldn’t worry as soon as this was settled. “Now that you’ve rested—”

“No, Maggie.”

“I think—” Roger began.

Maggie focused on Gray. “You can’t actually mean to do this.”

“If you do, I do.” A blush crept under his skin at the words, and her skin heated in response.

“If I can just—” Roger began again.

“No one will get hurt my way,” she persisted.

Gray’s eyes widened over his grim mouth.

This time, Roger moved to the sofa and grabbed her hand. “Quit shushing me.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I can’t stay. My agent called this morning and they need me back in LA for an audition. My shuttle will be here at nine-thirty.”

She sagged against the sofa. Her only ally was fleeing the field. She stared at him until his smile wobbled. There was no sense in making him feel guilty. “Go pack. And good luck.”

The bedroom door closed, and she pivoted to face Gray. “Are you happy now?”

His glower indicated happy was a long way off. “What was your plan for when you got here?” The sarcasm was like another person in the room.

“I resent that. Things were fine until you scared him.”

“And I rest my case. If he can’t handle an
overwrought
attorney, he can’t handle what’s waiting on you.”

“Fine, then. My plan was to wake up this morning, get the license and go find Elvis.”

“You want to be married by an Elvis impersonator?”

“This is all a big joke anyway. Why not?”

“Because you only do it—” His face colored again.

“Once? You only do it once?” Hysteria edged her words. “No, we don’t. We’ll only get
divorced
once. And the next wedding—” the word bounced along her tightening vocal cords “—the next wedding will count.”

She was becoming an expert in weddings that didn’t count. The crack in her heart widened, leaving her hollow.

He handed her a list written in bold, decisive strokes on hotel stationery.

“You have a list?” A surprise smile curved her mouth. “Why am I not shocked?”

“Hush.” The same smile played on his face. “I think we can plan on early evening.”

“Evening?”

“I’m not getting married in sweats and tennis shoes in front of Elvis like some drunken frat boy.”

“You’ve been planning your dream wedding for a while, have you?” The smile grew to a giggle.

“Stop it.” He rolled his eyes.

As she reviewed the list, her laughter dissolved.

“I don’t need a ring.”

“Yes, you do.” His smile wobbled. “I’d appreciate one as well.”

“You’re buying a new suit?” Her stomach churned when he nodded. “I’ll need another dress.”

“I’ll find the minister.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tears coated the back of her tongue.

“Because I want to help you.” He stared across their imaginary battle lines. “And because it’s serious. It should be treated that way.”

“It’s
temporary
.”

“Which doesn’t make it any less serious.” He reached for a legal pad with the first page covered in neat handwriting. “Read this and make sure it’s correct. Don’t sign it until we have witnesses.”

Maggie read each paragraph before she reached the signature lines, his name next to hers. “Roger and I had an agreement about expenses. If you want—” The rest of her offer was squashed to silence by his fingers against her lips. She looked into eyes like ice.

“We’re going to pretend you weren’t about to insult me or yourself.” His voice was as hard as his stare. “Go get your shoes. It’s nine.”

Chapter Sixteen

Walking through the mall, Gray tried to act like he wasn’t wedding shopping in gym clothes. Like he hadn’t written his own prenuptial agreement on a government-issue legal pad and hadn’t waited in line between dewy-eyed couples to get a marriage license.

With the formalities out of the way, it was time for the fun stuff. Shopping. For rings. With his fiancée. He looked down at Maggie’s blond head and compared her to the women who’d been in line at the courthouse. Sure a few of them had been young, and a few had been drunk, but at least they’d been happy. Maggie acted like she’d been sentenced to death. Even now she had her arms wrapped around her body as if she was afraid to touch him, or afraid he’d touch her.

Every nerve in his body jangled for him to do just that. But he knew if he held her hand, he’d kiss her, and if he kissed her, he wouldn’t stop until he was buried inside her.

And he couldn’t do that because this was a lie.

He’d promised himself he’d tell her this morning. He’d paced the suite in the predawn hours and practiced his bodyguard confession. Then she’d smiled at him over coffee, and he’d lost his nerve. The next chance came at the clerk’s office. All he had to do was leave his wallet open so she could see his credentials. It would have solved everything without a word, but he’d held his wallet like a poker hand.

Because if she ran from him here, he’d never get her back. Trudging forward, he stopped in the doorway at Tiffany and returned the saleslady’s smile.

“We need wedding rings.”

She looked to his side, confused. Gray followed her stare. There was no
we
. Maggie was standing in the mall, at the entrance to The Body Shop, with the crowd milling around her.

“We’ll be back,” Gray said before he dodged through tourists and groggy gamblers to reach his shell-shocked almost-wife. Spotting a nearby bar, he guided her to a table and gritted his teeth when she flinched away from him.

He sat as he ordered. “One Jack Daniel’s, one Stoli, both rocks, both doubles. And two shots of tequila, beer back. Amber Bock for her, Shiner for me. Please.”

Her smile was faint under her wide eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much to drink before lunch.”

“It’s a special occasion.”

They stayed quiet until their drinks arrived, and they both reached for the tequila first. He took the saltshaker when she offered, then they toasted each other with the shots, grimacing at the burn and squinting over the sour lime. She reached for her beer, and he wrapped his fingers around his vodka glass. Little by little, she relaxed into her chair.

“We can stop right now and go home,” he offered.

“Can you promise a judge will see it your way?”

He wanted to lie, to stop her from doing this, to keep from disappointing her. Instead, he shook his head.

Her smile was sad. “I can’t risk it. But you don’t—”

“I’ll keep my word.” He watched her peel the label from her bottle. “What else is bothering you?”

“I’ll stay in my apartment. The trust doesn’t say we have to live together.”

Tell her.
“Won’t people wonder?”

The waiter brought chips and salsa and they dug in, munching while they negotiated.

“If we don’t make a big deal out of it, maybe no one will notice.”

Tell her.
“I think the rings will be hard to explain.”

“If it gets around, we’ll figure it out. But we’ll still see each other every day, and we can work out social schedules. That’s not much different than oth—real couples.”

Tell her.
“Maybe we could use a Google calendar.” He angled a rueful glance and a crooked grin at her, both of which she missed.

“That might work.”

Tell her.
“Maggie—”

“We never should have kissed,” she blurted. “Because now that’s all I think about, how I felt kissing you.”

That was one up on him. Every time she looked at him he felt naked, or like he wanted to get naked, or get
her
naked.

“That’s not such a bad thing considering what we’re about to do.” He snorted.

Anxiety dissolved into horror. “It’s not funny.”

He pushed the corn chips aside and took her hand, clinging to it when she tried to jerk away. “This is so fucked up it
has
to be funny.”

“Why did you?”

“Kiss you? Because I wanted to. And I knew I should stop, given—”
Tell her. Given that I’m lying to you about why I’m here.

“Everything,” he muttered. “But I couldn’t. I like kissing you, and I’m not going to sit here and promise not to do it again.”

“It’ll complicate everything.”

He stared across the table, and she stared back.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get there,” he said. “Deal?”

She was silent for a long time before she nodded. “Deal.”

While they waited on the check, she looked over her shoulder at the jewelry store. For the first time, he saw what she did. Loving couples were entering and leaving hand in hand. The ones shopping were cuddled together in front of glass cases full of diamonds. His stomach dropped. “Why don’t we shop on our own and regroup this afternoon?”

“What are we supposed to do all day?” she asked, still staring out the window.

“What do you normally do in Vegas?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never been. I’ve always wanted to come.”

Now
he
looked out the window. She’d never been here, and her only memories were going to be a shotgun wedding and a shopping mall. “You could get a pedicure.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

God, this was awful. “Do you have string and scissors? Anything?”

She ferreted through her purse and came up with dental floss and manicure scissors.

Gray pulled a length of waxed, mint green floss. “Give me your hand.” When she volunteered her right one, he sighed. “The other one.”

She extended her left hand. He tied the floss and clipped the ends. Then he slid the makeshift ring from her shaking finger.

“My turn,” he said as he extended his hand.

She fumbled the floss and had to tie the knot twice before she pulled it free. Then she cut the ends. Her gaze never met his.

“No diamonds, please,” she said as they stood. “It would feel wrong.”

It made him want to buy her the most ostentatious ring he could find. “Okay.”

They separated in the doorway. Gray kept his gaze on Maggie’s distinctive hair until she disappeared into the jewelry store. Then he went to buy a suit.

* * *

Married.

Maggie blinked at her reflection in the mirror as night darkened the windows behind her. The person staring back wasn’t her. The woman in white with wide eyes and shaky fingers wasn’t Maggie Mathis. She hadn’t worn a white dress in ten years. But she tilted her head when Maggie did, and she smoothed her dress when Maggie did. And she jumped when someone knocked on the door, just like Maggie did.

She slid the large ring from its velvet box. Her grandfather’s ring had been gold. Nate’s ring was gold. So was Michael’s. Kevin’s was platinum. Gray’s was sterling silver. Pretty, but not precious—one of the most common and temporary metals.

Married. To Gray.

He knocked again. Jamming the ring onto her thumb, she opened the door.

He loomed at the threshold, rolling his tongue on his lips. The deep navy suit fit like he’d brought it with him, and the white shirt enhanced his growing tan. His gaze swept over her, and when he met her stare, his bright blue eyes glowed. Looking for a way to calm her tremulous fingers, she straightened his tie. “Is the minister here?”

“She is,” he said as he came into the room and closed the door. Without looking at her, he tugged her to the chair and sat on the opposite ottoman. His fingers linked with hers, and they both stared at the ring on her thumb.

“It’s not gold,” she whispered. “It should be—”

“Yours isn’t either.”

She thanked hours of preparation for her calm voice and practiced smile. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing, and I’m just selfish enough to let you.”

Married to Gray.

After a moment, he stood. “Are you ready?”

She put her hand in his warm, strong one. He was beginning to get calluses from the quarries, and they added a roughness to his touch. Her legs shook as she remembered the path they’d taken when he’d kissed her at Nate’s reception.

This was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. “Ready.”

They walked into the empty room, and stood in front of a round-faced, dark-haired woman in a wine-red suit. Behind her, the lights of Vegas overwhelmed the sunset. “I’m Reverend Solomon, Margaret. Oh, wait. Gray said you prefer Maggie.”

A knock on the door gave Maggie a chance to catch her breath. Two uniformed hotel employees waited on the threshold. She saw the flowers in the man’s hand, and blood roared in her ears. Every bouquet, every creepy promise, swirled through her brain. She’d come all the way to Vegas and he was still—

“Where did those come from?” Gray’s words stung like dry ice as he tugged her close.

“Compliments of the management to celebrate your wedding.”

“Please give the management our thanks, but we can’t accept them. My fiancée is allergic.”

The man stood there, holding the roses, which were getting larger by the minute. Maggie’s knees shook as she clutched the doorknob. Warm fingers tilted her chin until she could see Gray’s worried gaze.

“I’ll take care of this.” His voice thawed and wrapped around her, turning her spine to wax. But the flowers were still on the threshold. Gray’s handsome face blocked her view. “Please trust me.”

Maggie held her head high without the help of those beautiful fingers and straightened her spine as she returned to their borrowed minister. Behind her, Gray invited the late arrivals, their witnesses, to join them.

Everyone stood in the sitting room in front of the windows with the lights of Vegas in the background. Gray took her hands in his.

“We have gathered to witness the marriage of Graham Harper and Maggie Mathis,” Reverend Solomon began. “Repeat after me...”

“I, Maggie, take you, Graham,” Maggie whispered when prompted, and then followed along, staring into Gray’s warm eyes and encouraging smile.

He squeezed her fingers. “I, Graham,” he said in his deep, quiet voice, “take you, Maggie...”

Graham. From the day she’d met him, he’d insisted on
Gray
. But there wasn’t anything gray about him. He was bright and quick, decisive and strong. Her husband. Graham.

Her lungs tightened.

“Do you have the rings?”

Her fingers trembled as he slid the band into place. The wide pattern of brushed and burnished silver reached almost to her knuckle.

“Olive branches,” he rumbled. “I thought I could use the help.” He repeated the minister’s words. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

She slid his ring over his knuckle, and his hand shook in hers. Then he wiggled his fingers and stared at the brushed silver band.

Tears filled her whisper. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

He stared, his eyes widening as his lips slackened

They should have found Elvis. This felt too real.

“You may kiss—”

The end of the command was lost as he obeyed. His tongue slipped across her lips, reminding her of the last time he’d kissed her. When he pulled away she pursued him, intent on her own taste. His purr tingled through her fingers.

“Honey,” he whispered, smiling against her lips.

Honey.
A husband word. What her grandfather had called her grandmother. She pulled back as their witnesses applauded.

They walked their guests to the door, and then they were alone in the quiet. Their reflections stared from the entryway’s mirrored wall, and the new silver bands sparkled in the light.

He cleared his throat. “Helluva second date.”