Accidentally Married to the Billionaire (The Billionaire's Touch, #1) (5 page)

“Chocolate. If there was a chocolate mocha, like a coffee flavor, that would be it. I love coffee, as black as my soul,” she purred.

He took out his phone, tapped at the screen a few times and then held out his hand for hers.

“We can pick out an engagement ring, something suitably lavish. It’ll be a photo op.”

“We’ll both need wedding bands too.”

“We’ll get it all taken care of. I found an all-night jeweler we can stop at.”

“Classy. Did the rings fall off a truck? Is it inside a convenience store?”

“No, it’s in a city where people get married in the middle of the night all the time. And according to the website, Elvis Presley bought rings there.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? If it’s good enough for the King, it’s good enough for me. Let’s go.”

“Where do you want to get married?”

“Some chapels have a theme, some are drive-through, and some are very upscale.”

Marj blinked. “You don’t look like the theme or drive-through type of guy. So that leaves us upscale.”

“Upscale chapels are found in resorts and those require reservations.”

“We can make the wedding tomorrow,” Marj said. “But can we still have the honeymoon?”

He wrapped his arms around her. “You’re addicted to my kisses, aren’t you?”

She pulled him close as her heart beat wildly. “Absolutely.”

“And I’m addicted to yours as well. Listen, I don’t need a fancy chapel. Let’s just go to the strip.”

“Fine by me.”  

Laughing, he took her hand and led her out of the hotel to a waiting car. His hands were big and powerful. His palm seemed to engulf her hand in a not unpleasant way. She was disappointed when he released her hand in the car as he directed the driver. They stopped at the courthouse and showed their ID’s, got a marriage license in less than ten minutes.

“I guess I didn’t pay too much for this dress since it’s going to be my wedding gown,” she mused.

“It’s something new and something blue. Got anything old?”

“My earrings. I got them at a flea market, antique—or at least used.”

“So let’s assume they were stolen and pawned, and we can call them something borrowed as well.”

“This gets more and more romantic.”

He stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “Tell me about it. Can two drunk people plan this any better?”

She laughed as she leaned closer. “I don’t think so.”

Cupping her face, he stared deeply into her eyes. “I’m so glad you want a honeymoon tonight. Because I want nothing more than to feel your soft lips on mine.”

“You’re so damn sexy,” she said.

“And you’re so damn beautiful. How did I luck out like this?”

“Who needs Lady Luck? When I’ve already won the jackpot.”

He pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Are you feeling this crazy chemistry we both have?”

“Yes, you’re literally setting my soul on fire,” she said.

“Then we both agree to have sex in this marriage?”

“Hell, yes. I’m not living with you for a year and being a nun. If you feel the need to take a mistress, do it discreetly and for goodness sake, don’t tell me.”

“If I had a mistress, if I had anyone at all that I wanted a relationship with, do you think I would have picked up a girl in a bar and proposed?”

“I picked you up,” she corrected.

“Regardless of who initiated the plan, we have rings to select. What kind do you like?”

“The diamond kind,” she deadpanned, expecting him to balk at her remark and insist on the cheapest stainless steel $19.99 ring they carried.

One look around the store, and it was obvious that it didn’t cater to the twenty dollar budget crowd. She stood beneath the dim lights of the russet interior, her hand resting tentatively on one of the many glass display cases as a clerk sized her finger at a seven and began withdrawing velvet trays of glittering rings. One after another, the clerk passed her rings and she tried them on, extending her hand to judge the fit and appearance, then glancing at her companion who shook his head. The narrow, Milgrain band bright with a tiny constellation of diamonds made her feel flushed and dizzy as a new love. She looked at Brandon who nodded.

“Something bigger. She likes that one. Do you have the same style, more carats?”

She responded with a gasp. Her eyes grew round. He was not only willing to buy the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen, but he also wanted a bigger and better one for her. She shook her head.

“This one is perfect. Really. I’d be lucky to have it.”

“You might, in your everyday life. But Mrs. Brandon Cates had better have three carats and platinum around that finger or no one would believe it was true.”

“Fair enough. Marketing I can understand. I just don’t want you to think I’m greedy,” she said.

“What I think doesn’t matter nearly as much as what the lawyers think,” he said coolly.

The clerk brought a ring of similar design but encrusted with three rows of diamonds wrapping all the way around the ring. It was like an extremely valuable and somewhat heavy disco ball on her hand. The light caught the huge diamond from every angle, making it glitter and sparkle. It was eye-popping. She looked at him incredulously.

“It’s beautiful,” she said mesmerized.

“Think you can wear it?”

“And not get mugged?”

“You won’t be mugged. You’ll be moving in a very different sphere than you’re used to, Marjorie. Does it look like something you could get live with?”

“Yeah, I guess I could live with three carats of diamonds on my hand. Sure,” she said flippantly, and the clerk boxed the ring and handed it over as Brandon slid a black credit card across the counter to him.

Marj kissed him on the lips. “Thank you, Brandon. It’s just gorgeous.”

“No, thank you. I’ll forever be in your debt.”

A folder of paperwork went with the ring, inspections and authentication and a certificate that declared it to be comprised exclusively of conflict-free stones. She carried the folder awkwardly and pointed out that he needed a ring, too. He pointed out a plain platinum band and submitted to being sized before paying for it as well.

An old man in an expensive Armani suit walked in with a pretty blonde woman who smiled at them. She wore a sparkly, black dress and spiked heels. When the man left her to go talk to the shop owner, she came over and leaned on Marj.

“Are you as drunk as I am?” she asked.

“If you’re this drunk you shouldn’t be getting married.”

Brandon laughed at Marj’s comment. “Isn’t that...wait, what’s the phrase? The pot calling the kettle black.”

Marj nudged him. “Hey! It’s different with us. We’re saving an entire company from the ice queen’s tyranny. Plus, I’m trying to help you get the keys back to your kingdom.”

“Well, I’m looking for a man with a large bulge in his right pocket,” the drunk blonde said.

Brandon had enough of her and pulled Marj away. The blonde stumbled, then caught her balance and waved goodbye to us.  

“No diamonds for you?” Marj teased.

“I’ll leave the sparkle to you. Let’s get hitched.”

“Wait,” she said, seizing his hand, “give me the rings.”

Brandon complied, and she laid them on the black folder and took a picture with her phone. Then she pressed her cheek to his and smiled dazzlingly for a selfie.

“Anyone who’s getting married takes pictures of every little thing. Trust me. Those photos will go a long way to proving authenticity.”

“Good thinking. Anything else?”

“Yeah, give your phone to the clerk and kiss me. We’ll need a picture.”

Marj slid the dazzling ring on her finger and held it out as if to admire it as he kissed her. Unfortunately, when he covered her lips in a slow and tender kiss, she totally forgot she was supposed to be posing. In fact, she forgot where she was, what her name might be, and anything else relevant except for some sort of primal response of the ‘me woman, you man’ variety. Passion flamed between them like a roaring forest fire. His mouth was hot and he consumed her. Her bones seemed to melt at his touch, her mouth opening at the onslaught of his tongue. He did clever, wicked things with that tongue until she made a noise, an actual audible noise of the very tackiest kind in an upscale jeweler’s shop in Nevada.

The sound of her own moan made her pull back in embarrassment. She knew she looked disheveled now, her face flushed, her lips bruised, her hair rumpled from his hands. Those hands—the telltale thick-wristed strong hands—had tangled in her long auburn hair, as if he, too, were oblivious to their surroundings. Instead of a posed photo for Instagram followers, the picture on the phone looked more like they were ready to do it up against the glass counter. Which, maybe was better for convincing PR than her planned snap would have been.

“You put on quite a show, Cates,” she said.

“Show’s over. It’s time for wedding bells.”

“I bet the bells are extra. We just need a bare-bones ceremony. I do. You do. We get the officiant to sign and bingo, you’re the unquestioned heir to Power Regions, Ltd.”

“If only it were that simple. We’ll have months of legal wrangling to establish the legitimacy of our marriage and to prove that it’s a match of affection, not convenience. Think you could pretend to like me for eight million dollars?”

“I could pretend to like you for this ring. Do I get to keep it?”

“Yes. I mean, I don’t want it. What am I going to do with a woman’s wedding band when this is all over?”

“Should we maybe not talk about this in front of your driver?”

“Soundproof partition,” he explained.

“Ah. But as a rule, we’re not telling people, right?”

“Right. Keep it between us.”

“Ooh, I was just thinking, if I, like, commit some heinous crime, you don’t have to testify against me! I could totally kill someone, tell you all about it and I’m safe!”

“If you’re committing heinous murders I wouldn’t characterize you as safe. Is that part of your plan?”

“No, I’m just thinking out loud. There are perks to this. I mean, my taxes will be less if I’m filing jointly I think.”

“Your taxes will reflect my income as well. However, we have several offshore accounts so you should be fine. Don’t worry about taxes. It’s hardly a wedding night topic.”

“Okay, speaking of wedding night, your room or mine?”

“Mine. It’s the better room, trust me. You’re in whatever block of rooms the firm got at a rack rate. I’m in a suite.”

“Well la di da, Mr. Fancy Pants,” she laughed.

“I’m going to ask in all seriousness that you never call me that again.”

“Fine. What should I call you?”

“Some permutation of my names would be preferable. You may choose whichever you like. Do you prefer Marj or Marjorie?”

“Marj.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Iris.”

“Like the beautiful, purple flower? It’s lovely.”

“Thank you. My brother’s named Mordecai. He always said I got the better name. I think I might have to agree.”

“Mordecai. Really?”

“Really.”

“When will I meet him? I presume we’ll invite your family to dinner or the like once we’re settled in Manhattan.”

“He won’t be joining us.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t come to stuff like that,” she said uncomfortably.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch on a sore point. Forgive me.”

“No matter. How about you? Any family besides the Wicked Queen?”

“No. I’m an only child. So we’ll have your parents and my stepmother, and that should be a lovely dinner. We should have wine. A great deal of it, in fact.”

“Or not.”

“Why?”

“My mother has a drinking problem.”

“Recovering alcoholic? Ah, happens to a lot of good people.”

“Not recovering. Just a drunk, Cates. But that’s another something I’d rather not discuss.”

“We’re here anyway. The Chapel of Everlasting Bliss.”

“Am I being cremated? It has a funeral parlor ring to it.”

“No. You’re being joined in holiest matrimony as a favor to a man you just met.”

“Well, see that you act suitably grateful,” she said in what she hoped was a light voice.

He grinned as she smiled.

The driver opened her door, and she stepped out of the car. The immensely frilly-looking white and pink structure before her was daunting. There was an archway of fake flowering vines above the doorway, and she ducked instinctively because she didn’t want plastic ivy leaves in her hair. She wished she’d touched up her lipstick since whatever cheap Polaroid photo the chapel provided would soon be all over the Internet gossip sites.

Marj swore there were about fifty wedding chapels lining the north end of the strip. Brides wore anything from short, black dresses and heels to traditional, white Cinderella gowns. She peeked in the window and watched as a woman with black hair walked down the aisle in a t-shirt and veil clutching a bouquet of white flowers. Brandon chuckled at the garter over her blue jeans on her thigh.

“Looks like there is a long line,” Marj said.

“We’re next.”

“Like VIP?”

He smiled. “Something like that. So are you ready to be Mrs. Brandon Cates?”

Marj squealed. “Yes!”

“We could skip this and just have a traditional wedding.”

“No, getting married here is all the rage. Just ask Britney Spears.”

He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips on hers. Their tongues swirled in the most perfect, harmonious dance as heat flared deep down inside her.

“Are you positively sure?” he asked.

“After that kiss, yes, I’m positively sure. Please tell me there’s a lot more of that to come.”

“So much more...”

Holding her hand, he led her inside.

“We want to get married!” Marj declared as they both walked inside.

“Well then,” said the officiant, “you’re at the right place.”

Brandon laughed as he dipped and kissed her. “You are the most radiant bride I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“I hope my next groom looks as hot as you do in a designer suit.”

Everyone in the room looked at her in confusion.

“Um, inside joke,” she laughed.

“Funny,” the bride with the jeans said.

“Thank you,” Marj replied. “And congratulations on your marriage. We wish you all the best.”

“Thanks. Do you guys think you’ll last?”

Marj looked into Brandon’s eyes. “At least a year tops.”

They both burst into laughter at the hidden joke.

“Ted and I have known each other for five years. We both knew we ready to tie the knot. How about you?” she asked. “How long have you guys known each other?”

Brandon looked down at his watch. “An hour?”

Marj playfully swatted him. “C’mon dear. Longer than that. At least two hours.”

“I don’t know about you, but I enjoyed skipping that awkward dating period.”

“You and me both,” she replied with a chuckle. “Not to mention, there was no time for me to become a Bridezilla. Brandon, you dodged a bullet.”

“Close one.” Blowing out a breath, he pretended to wipe sweat off his forehead.

The both laughed.

The bride wearing jeans gave Marj a sympathetic look. “Listen, if you’re looking for spontaneity, then look...”

“No further than us! I know!” Marj said. “Because when I woke up this morning, I had absolutely no idea I’d be getting hitched.”

“Me either,” Brandon said. “I guess life is full of surprises!”

The bride smiled. “So what made you two decide to get married?”

“We’re in Vegas! You can throw dice instead of rice,” Marj said.

“Well, I wanted vows with a wow,” Brandon said.

“Maybe you two should give it some time. You haven’t known each other very long.”

“But we have to defeat the evil witch,” Marj said. “Her heart is as cold as ice.”

“No, no, no,” Brandon cut in. “You’re getting it all wrong. You called her the Wicked Queen.”

“That’s right. We have to dethrone the Wicked Queen. Off with her head.”

Laughing, Marj and Brandon gave each other high fives.

The couple made a comment about how wasted they were, and then hurried off. 

Inside, the place was now empty except for a pianist, an officiant, and the woman. It was a small room with a few rows of white pews padded with velvet cushions, garlands of cloth flowers, and a pulpit.

Marj looked at Brandon. “It’s so romantic. We’re getting married in a little white chapel.”

The woman greeted Marj with a white paper box. “Ms. Reynolds? This is for you. It’s just arrived.”

Marj lifted the lid and found the most beautiful hand-tied rose bouquet she’d ever seen. It was wrapped with wide cream-colored ribbon, the blossoms full and icy white. She smiled at Brandon, knowing he’d ordered these for her. She hesitated only a moment before she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.”

“Just being properly grateful,” he said, but he smiled and she felt that explosive blow to her chest, the air whooshing out of her lungs appreciatively in reaction to all that gorgeousness.

Music swelled and he waited for her at the makeshift white plastic altar. She took slow, measured steps to the beat of the music, which seemed oddly enough to be a limping rendition of Sunrise, Sunset. At last, she passed all those rows of empty chairs and reached Brandon who held out his hand. She took it, finding it hard to balance her heavy bouquet in one hand. This was why a woman had bridesmaids; she realized with a nearly hysterical laugh, so someone could hold her crap while she got married. She stooped and laid her bouquet on the floor. Straightening, she gave both of her hands to her fiancé and smiled a little shakily at him.

His hands were warm and steady, and it helped to hold on to him as the officiant rattled off the serious moral implications of the vows they were about to make to one another. She felt wobbly, not just from all the wine and whiskey and whatever was in that one blue drink. She felt unsteady because of the fact she was marrying a stranger on impulse. She didn’t want to think too hard about it because she figured she’d run for the exit as fast as her ironically blue suede shoes could carry her.

There was a branch of candles on a stand flanking either side of the altar. She stared intently at one of the candle flames, hard and bright. It was a point of focus for her, to stop her from overthinking—if she could even marshal a rational thought through all the alcohol she’d consumed and the dazzle of her new diamonds, the whirlwind aspect of it all. She looked just beyond his shoulder at the candles, and it kept her still. When prompted, she answered that she did, in fact, vow all sorts of serious things to this handsome man she knew so little about.

He slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her softly as the hostess took pictures with both their phones. They were directed to stand before a backdrop of clouds and doves for portraits. The officiant himself took the pictures, and she watched as Brandon forked over money for the picture package. When instructed, he dipped her and kissed her. He bent on one knee before her. He stood with his hands at her waist, diffident as any sixteen-year-old going to prom. She was faintly embarrassed by the exaggerated poses, but she started laughing when he scooped her up in his arms. She kicked her feet and waved her bouquet in the air with a flourish.

In the car after the ceremony, Marj whipped out her phone.

“Okay, do you want to tweet it first or shall I? This is how you start a media frenzy. Tease a secret wedding and then disappear from social media for twelve hours.”

“I can’t believe that’s your first thought after getting married. You’re a genius.”

“I could market in my sleep, honey. How’s this? I’ll tweet the picture of the rings on the folder, and you post the one of us kissing at the altar. Tag me in it.”

“Okay,” he said, tinkering with his phone.

Within moments, the tagged wedding photo was getting retweets and comments and starting to trend.

“Now turn off your phone. We want every speculative article to end with the words, ‘Mr. Cates could not be reached for comment,’ it drives people crazy!” she nearly squealed.

“Done,” he said, powering down his iPhone and tucking it in his pocket, “I have more pressing matters to attend.”

Marj walked into the lobby of the hotel; his hand warm in the small of her back through the fabric of her dress—her lucky dress, she thought smugly. He pulled her close in the elevator and kissed her neck. Her whole body seemed to hum. She could feel every point of contact on her body, every spot where he touched her, where his skin met hers.

She had gone to bed with men who’d only bought her a drink, never a ring, never a promise to cleave only unto her for...well, for a year and that was a bigger commitment than she’d ever had out of anyone else (ahem, Luke). If she was still sort of hung up on her ex, what did it matter? This was for the greater good...to keep a rich man from losing his dad’s corporation and to keep a rich woman from firing all her female employees or something. It was muddled in Marj’s head, how this served the greater good of the universe, but she was fairly sure it was the just and righteous thing to do. In fact, sleeping with her new husband was practically her patriotic duty.

She giggled at the thought, and when he drew back to see what was so funny, she only laughed all the harder, unable to quit. Waves of giddy laughter gripped her and she was practically doubled over guffawing when they entered his suite. Her laughter died when she saw the room. Not only the lavishly appointed accommodations, the vast wall of glass looking out over the Vegas Strip. What she saw was the cake. The rose petals. The gift box tied with a pink ribbon.

“Wait!” he said. “We have to redo that. It was all wrong!”

“Redo what?”

“I have to carry my bride over the threshold. It’s tradition.”

“But I want cake.”

“Cake will have to wait. You said I wasn’t romantic with the proposal, so I have to correct things.”

She squealed as he swiftly picked her up.

“You’ve had a lot of Jack. You couldn’t drink liquor any quicker. Hey, that rhymes. You’re not going to drop me, are you?”

“I bench more than you weigh.”

She grinned widely.

“We’re drunk and married,” she shouted.

“And now it’s time for the honeymoon!” he roared.

“It was quicker and easier to get married than to get my driver’s license.”

“I know. And no test!”

“My adrenaline’s pumping! This was like jumping off a cliff.”

“Into a raging river.”

She glanced down at her glittering ring. “I love being a newlywed!”

He kissed her. “Me too.”

Laughing and happy as can be, they excitedly walked inside. As he set her down on her feet, she glanced around.

There on a low table, between tall white tapers, stood a small tiered cake, like a miniature of a traditional wedding cake, but she could scent its flavor across the room. This was no pallid vanilla with slick fondant. This was a decadent creation of chocolate and coffee and, if she had to guess, rich, thick buttercream. A long cake knife lay beside it, tied with a ribbon. She lifted it and sliced into the cake.

Remembering, she snapped a picture with her phone, then proceeded. She lifted out a sliver of cake and laid it on a crystal plate nearby. With a silver dessert fork, she cut a small bite of dense chocolate sponge layered with a sinful mocha buttercream. It melted in its rich intensity on her tongue. She moaned.

“Oh my gosh, you have to taste this. It is unreal!”

“I’m glad you like it. Enjoy.”

She dipped her finger in the frosting. He grabbed her hand and seductively sucked her finger.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

“You look so happy,” Marj said. “I’m never going to forget this look on your face.”

Pulling her close, he kissed her softly on the lips. “It’s going to take me the rest of my life to pay you back.”

“Nonsense. Just a year like we agreed.”

He smiled as she grinned.