3 Brides for 3 Bad Boys (22 page)

She looked ready to do violence.

He wondered which of the poor fools in the taverna had pissed off the pale-faced Amazon.

Her head swiveled from side to side as she scanned the room, but before her gaze reached him, one of the men sitting at the bar got up and approached her.

Garcia.

Every bar had to have a badass, and at the Las Playas del Blanco Taverna, Garcia was it. He steered a clear path around Colton. Most of the men did, but Colton had seen the man in action, and he didn't have a good feeling about what was going to go down here.

Garcia said something coarse and suggestive to the woman in Spanish. The other men around him snickered.

It didn't help that they were far enough into rural Mexico for a lot of old-world beliefs to still be a big part of the local culture. Like the idea that nice girls didn't travel alone.

The woman looked at Garcia. "I don't speak Spanish."

Her husky voice affected Colton like no woman had in the six weeks since he'd left Las Vegas.

Garcia laid his hand on her arm, stepping closer to her. "No talk,
que bueno,
señorita. I not want to talk either."

He was tall for a Mexican, but he still didn't quite meet her eye to eye. Not that that seemed to bother the guy. He was intent on proving his reputation.

She tried to shake his hand off her arm, but his grip tightened, and she winced.

Colton came to his feet without thought, and the men around him scooted backward. He was used to such a reaction to his size. He usually found it amusing.

Right now, nothing was funny, though. Not with the woman starting to look scared and the men in the bar taking on the appearance of a pack of jackals.

"I'm here looking for my husband."

Colton's teeth ground together. The idiot should have known better than to send his wife into a Mexican bar without him. Even during the day, it was a bad idea.

Garcia grabbed her other arm and pulled her closer to him. "Maybe you come to the wrong place. All you find here is me."

The guy's English was pretty good, but his manners were rotten.

"Let her go."

Colton didn't expect his words to have much impact. Most of the guys in Las Playas del Blanco were good men, but with a badass like Garcia, there was no point in attempting reason. Maybe a couple of hours ago, before he'd consumed enough whiskey to turn his eyes red, but not now.

From what Colton could tell, the guy had been drinking since morning. He'd sure as certain gotten more and more belligerent over the past hour Colton had been in the taverna.

Garcia didn't turn. "You stay out of this, gringo."

"That's not going to happen."

The woman's head turned toward him when he spoke the second time. "You!"

She'd been looking frightened; now she looked mad enough to take Garcia down to his toenails.
"Let me go."

She didn't shout, but if Colton had been Garcia, he would have obeyed. The woman sounded deadly.

Garcia wasn't that smart. "I no think so. You are a pretty soft woman." He caressed her arms. "Maybe I like to feel some more of your softness."

"I told you, I'm here to see my husband." Then her knee came up at the same time as her arms came out in a classic windmill breaking his hold. She brought both hands down in a simultaneous slap on Garcia's ears.

He crumpled to the floor, cussing in Spanish as much as his labored breath would let him. He didn't even try to get up, but writhed in pain on the dirty floor.

She must have gotten him a good one in the nuts.

Some of his friends moved as if to touch the woman, and Colton gave them a look that dared them to do it.

They backed off.

She didn't even notice. She wasn't looking at Garcia any longer either. Her entire attention was fixed on Colton.

"You said you came to meet your husband." For some reason he really hated saying those words. "Maybe I can help you find him. What's his name?"

She might be the wife of one of his engineers. No one had said anything about having a wife join them, but she might have decided to surprise her husband.

She whipped her sunglasses off her face. Green eyes the color of perfectly cut emeralds glared at him as if he was lower than a snake's belly. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny, ma'am. I'd like to help you find your husband."

"What, don't you think a Vegas marriage license is legal?"

This was getting weird. "I'm not sure—"

Her hand came up over her mouth, and her throat convulsed. She gasped in air.

"I need a bathroom."

He didn't think twice about the wisdom of his actions, but swung her up in his arms and headed out of the bar. The single toilet bathroom in the back would have made her nausea worse, not better. There was a stream that ran behind the taverna all the way to the beach. He carried her there, his long legs eating up the distance.

They made it to the stream in the nick of time.

He held her while she was sick, crooning stupid stuff about how she was going to be okay and that it would feel better in a little bit. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Though he was silently cursing her moronic husband who hadn't been in Las Playas del Blanco to meet her when she arrived. When she finished, he ripped open one of the pre-moistened wipes he'd kept in his pockets since coming to Mexico and washed her face.

"I know you want to rinse your mouth out, but the stream isn't safe. I'll take you to my boat. I've got bottled water and something to settle your stomach." And he'd find out where the heck her absentee husband was.

She nodded, but didn't attempt to speak. Her face was the color of the white beaches the town had been named for, and her breathing was way too shallow for his liking.

He didn't give her the option of walking, but picked her up again and headed toward the docks.

When they reached his boat, the supplies were loaded, and one of the men from town was waiting for Colton to sign the approval slip and pay him.

He nodded toward the man to tell him to wait and carried her inside his cabin.

He laid her down on the bed.

Her eyes flared with alarm.

"I'll be back in a little bit, and we can go about finding your husband. Just rest and get your breath back right now."

Her eyes went all squinty, but then she seemed to deflate and turned her head away. "All right."

He felt wrong about leaving her, but he had a man waiting for him. "Listen, what's your husband's name? Maybe he's in town right now."

She turned on her side away from him, like a wounded animal seeking to minimize its vulnerability. "Go away."

Damn it, he could not leave her like this. He leaned over the bed and laid his big hand on her shoulder. Her bones felt fragile. "Tell me what's wrong, honey." He'd never called a woman by an endearment in his life, but it slipped out, feeling too natural considering she was a married woman. "Maybe I can help."

Not that there was a whole lot he could do if she'd picked up a stomach bug from drinking tainted water. It would just have to run its course.

She curled up into a tighter ball, and her shoulders shook as if she was crying.

He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life. He was the go-to guy, the responsible one. He fixed things for people, and here was this woman lying on his bed, crying as though her heart was broken, and he didn't know a damn thing to do to fix it.

"Please, just tell me your husband's name. I'll get him. I promise." He'd drag the man to his boat by the scruff of his neck if that's what it took.

She mumbled something into the pillow.

"What did you say?"

She lifted her head, tear-drenched eyes accusing him with such impact, he almost believed he was the sorry bastard responsible for her plight.

"M-my husband's n-name is…" Her voice trailed off into a sob. Her entire body shook, the hurting in her eyes tearing at his own soul. "C-Colton Denning."

Then she turned on her side again, dismissing him with her body language as effectively as if she'd flipped him off.

How had she known his name, and why was she so pissed at
him?
She was obviously not going to tell him her husband's name right now.

"I'll be right back."

He was up on deck, handing a wad of pesos to the supplier, when certain things began to register.

The woman lying in his bed had chestnut brown hair. He hadn't noticed until she turned away from him and he got a good look at her ponytail. Even then, the rich reddish brown color hadn't really sunk in until he'd looked back at her once more before walking out of the cabin.

Other things started filtering into his brain as well. Her calves were extremely well toned, like those of a dancer … or a showgirl. She'd spit out
Colton Denning
with a lot of contempt, but also as if answering his question, which implied something totally impossible.

That he was her husband.

Fayre lay on the bed and willed her stomach to settle and her tears to cease. She'd done all the crying over Colton Denning she was going to do. Wasn't that what she'd promised herself? Hadn't she come to make him face up to his responsibilities, not grieve the sorry bastard's lack of a conscience.

But how could he act like he didn't even know her?

As if they'd never even met. As if he'd never sweet talked her into believing it
had
been love at first sight for him. That he wanted to marry her more than he wanted anything else in life.
Come on, girl. He walked out on you, turning your so-called marriage into a one-night stand.

Her stomach cramped, and she willed herself to calm down.

"Are you trying to say you are my wife?"

She flipped onto her back in shock at the volume of the words that reverberated in the small room.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she was grateful her stomach didn't start heaving again. "Are you trying to say you don't remember?"

"I don't."

"Right. You've got amnesia." She might look like a bimbo, but she wasn't one.

She believed that fairy tale like she believed Cinderella had been a historical figure. Not.

The bulging muscles of his big body went tense, and sexy lips that had done incredible things to her body at one time thinned into a frown. He brushed his hand over his head, almost as if running his fingers through the nonexistent black hair he'd had shaved close to his head.

Then his dark brown eyes bore into her with intense concentration. "Why don't we start by you telling me why you're claiming to be my wife."

C h a p t e r T h r e e

"
I
don't believe you."

This man could not be for real. He'd been all over her, calling her angel. This
honey
thing was a new one. So was the way he held himself so stiff and did the whole silent-man routine. The man she'd met six weeks ago had been fun loving, funny and so sexy she'd melted at his touch.

The touch thing was still iffy. It had felt way too good when he held her, making her believe she was safe in his arms. Just like he had in Vegas, but it was a lie. He was trying to pretend he didn't even remember meeting her.

No safety there. No protection. Just pain.

"I'm claiming to be your wife because I am." She barely suppressed tagging on a
you jerk.

She was going to be grown up about this thing. He'd hurt her, but she'd been the idiot who believed him in the first place. She knew she didn't deserve the kind of pain she was in right now, but she couldn't help feeling it was inevitable when linked with that kind of stupidity.

His big hands clenched and unclenched. "Do you have some proof of your claim?"

"Stop it."
She couldn't stand this anymore. "Stop playing this game with me. It's not fair."

"I'm not playing a game." He sounded angry, but his eyes were way too gentle for the tenor of his voice. "I need to know when I was supposed to have married you."

She named their wedding date, and he closed those gorgeous brown eyes, leaning back against the wall of the cabin, his dark skin taking on a gray cast.

"You're the woman who was in my bed in Vegas."

The words slapped her with their impersonal implications. He hadn't even given her a name. She was just the woman he'd had sex with in Vegas.

He looked like such a decent guy. How could he demean her like that? And they'd done more than have sex. They'd gotten married, and he could damn well admit it.

"I did more than screw you. I married you, and contrary to what you obviously think, quicky Vegas weddings
are
legally binding."

"I don't doubt the legality of our supposed marriage, but I don't remember it either."

"It isn't a supposed marriage. It's a real marriage. On paper anyway and I've got the marriage certificate to prove it." Not that she wanted to stay married to this jerk.

She'd heard Mexican divorces were as quick as Vegas weddings. Tomorrow, she had every intention of finding out.

Coming after him had been one more stupid thing to do in a long line of them.

She should have waited for him to come back to the States and just served him divorce papers, but she'd gone a little nuts, her rational thought processes going on hiatus. She could blame it on her hormones.

All of which left her in a tiny town in rural Mexico, trying to make a man who had no intention of even acknowledging their wedding stand up to his responsibilities.

Not going to happen.

"I'd like to see it."

She swung her feet off the side of the bed and stood up.

Still a little woozy, she moved slowly. "I'll show it to you tomorrow when we file for divorce."