Accidentally Married to the Billionaire 3(8)
“It must’ve been the dancing that stuck out in your mind. I do know how to shake that ass.”
He shot her a devilish grin. “Yes, you do. Now go barefoot on that filthy carpet before they think we’re conspiring and decide to do a cavity search. I could live without a digital exam of my rectum at the airport.”
“Just at the airport?”
“Anywhere really. Especially the airport, though. I mean, do they even change those gloves? The government is notorious for cutting corners, so these could be used gloves.”
“You’re not a source of comfort right now. What did the vows say about for better and for worse?”
“How about for stubborn and for barefoot?”
“I realize I’d had a few drinks, but I don’t recall Elvis saying a damn thing about how it was okay to say I told you so to your barefoot wife in a public airport. That seems like you’re not exactly cleaving only unto me…” she teased.
“I cleaved to you at six this morning. You were there,” he said with an arch of his eyebrow. It was the sexy smolder. Even when he used it wryly, like now, it was devastating beyond the telling of it. Her lady bits clenched happily in response.
“It’s been hours. I need more cleaving and less giving me crap about the flight.”
“Well, we could’ve cleaved in flight on the private jet.”
“I don’t think it’s ‘cleaved.’ I think it’s cloven as in cloven hoof.”
“Now there’s an image I could live without.”
“Hey, just don’t look at my fresh pedi when you say that,” she said as she proceeded through the metal detector.
The TSA agent had her step aside and did a pass with the sensor wand because she’d set off the metal detector.
“It’s the underwire in my bra,” Marj told the woman, “this happens every time I fly,” she said hopping that the agent would give her a nod or smile of commiseration. They were both women, both had to suffer the indignity of the underwire…it would be a great moment for sisterhood and empathy. Nothing. The woman gave her not one friendly gesture or sound. She just kept on waving the pointy wand at Marj.
“That will be all, ma’am,” the woman said gruffly.
Brandon waited for her with the carryon bags. He flashed her a smile. “You look so radiant today.”
“I’m beyond happy,” she said, linking her arm with his.
“I like to think I have something to do with that.”
“You definitely have something to do with it. This kind of…satisfaction comes when you find that kind of special magic in your life.”
“So it’s not the immense wealth? Or the American Express black card? Or maybe it’s the boring award dinners you have to attend.”
“It’s the hot guy,” she said flippantly and kissed him full on the mouth right there at the airline gate. He looped an arm around her hips and kissed her back with passion, not at all bothered by the idea that people were looking. She felt all tingly from his kiss, from the heat of his hand on the small of her back. The fact was, this was bound to be one long and frustrating flight. Why had she insisted on flying commercial again? The great deal on seats? Because nothing was more rewarding than a bargain airline ticket—unless it was mile-high sex with her hot husband in the comfort of a private Lear, obviously.
She opened her tablet and looked at the latest fashion magazine, trying to ignore the hum of desire that she was forcing onto the back burner until they could arrive in Mexico and make it to their paradisiacal hotel.
“This resort had better have the biggest, fluffiest bed…” she muttered aloud.
“I’d settle for a couch,” he said, alluding to their first hook-up, the night they were married in Las Vegas.
“Our wedding night was fierce but not exactly the epitome of romance, Brandon. We can do better,” she protested.
“That’s the fighting spirit I know and love. That’s the drunk woman who swore she would never let the Wicked Queen win,” he said.
“I’m not the most charming drunk, but I’m glad you were able to overlook that.”
“You came right out and offered to rescue me. It seemed stupid not to take you up on the offer. Besides, I only had a few days left before I would’ve had to experience disinheritance and cast myself on the dismal job market.”
“Not a lot of demand for suddenly broke rich boys? I hear that you ski beautifully, and I have seen you make plenty of lengthy phone calls. All I could recommend you for personally would be the life of a gigolo, however. You’re great in the sack, and that’s a skill not to be underestimated.”