KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(57)

4) I know I should leave. Right now. Just pack my things and peace out … but I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave Landon right now. I want to take care of him.

Is that because my motherly instincts are kicking in? Or it because Landon means something to me.

Means more than a title of fake fiancée.

Means more than I know.

Fiona wants to start planning the wedding as we sip our brandy, but I put her off.

“Fiona, why don’t you take the lead with everything,” I say. “I don’t really care, and not just in a passive way. I mean, I just don’t have an eye for it, and I’m guessing you may. And I know decisions will need to be made fast.”

“I can’t believe this,” Fiona says. “We have so much to plan, in just a few days. And Geoffrey, you have to get me a ring now. A big one, like Claire has.”

“Right.” Geoffrey’s jaw is tense, as if he truly thought Landon and I were going to back out of the double wedding, which would give him an out, too. But these brothers are so competitive they’ve just buried themselves.

But they’ve buried me too.

I can’t get out of this today.

And that’s not the worst of it.

I don’t want out. Not right now. I want to take Landon back to our bedroom and I want to make love to him and make his sexy smile return–because, oh my God, the past hour has been intense.

And then I want to pretend again that my life is this life. The one Landon and I are living. Not the one where I’m a single mom living with my mother, making ends meet for Sophia, and always feeling torn.

This one, where I can play make-believe in a castle with a man so far out of my league it hurts.

I don’t want to tell the truth right now, because the truth means the arrangement between Landon and me would be over.

I’m not ready yet to say good-bye to us.

“Landon,” I say declaratively. “I need to go upstairs and call my mother and Sophia. A lot is going on, and I need to explain.”

Geoffrey’s eyebrows furrow at this, as if surprised that I’d be calling my mom now. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Obviously I’m not telling my mother about any of this wedding stuff. But I need an excuse to get Landon up the stairs and in bed. With me.

“Okay.” He stands. “I’ll come with you. We’ll come back down in a few hours for dinner.”

I watch Landon walk over to his father and wrap him in a big hug. “Dad, I know things are hard for you right now, but we’ll get through it.”

“Thank you, son,” he says, clapping Landon’s back.

In that moment I miss my own father, a man who was always good to me, who died far too young. A man who taught me to drive and bought me my first cup of coffee. A man who might have had advice at a time like this.

The other thing I miss, in the space of that hug, is the idea of Sophia having a father, too. But God knows that ship sailed a long time ago.

Landon and I walk out of the room, and I take his hand this time, wanting to lead the way back to bed, back to the place where he and I only see one another.

Not the money. Not the daughter. Not the flipping double wedding.

All I want right now is to make Landon happy, better. I want him to know he’s going to be okay.



“So ... there’s no paycheck, no successor,” Landon says slowly once he’s shut the bedroom door. And locked it.

“It’s okay. That was so stupid anyways. I mean, it’s not like I really thought it would work.” I shrug, standing a few feet from him. The day has exhausted me.

Emmy, Ace, and Tess arriving.

The meeting gone totally sideways.

A double-effing-wedding.

“Didn’t you though? Weren’t you willing to take risks you’d never dreamed of because of it? Leaving the country, leaving Sophia, sleeping with me?”

“Sleeping with you had nothing to do with the money. We did that before.”

“Hell, yeah, we did,” Landon says, walking toward me. “That first time I saw you naked, I thought I was going to get off before you ever laid a hand on me.”

“The waltz gets you pretty horny then?” I tease, remembering the dance that led us back to his suite.

“You dancing? Yes. You doing anything? Yes. God, Claire, I want you so bad.”

“What do you want from me?” I ask, unbuckling his belt, undoing his pants, reaching my hand inside his briefs to feel his hardening cock. It grows with each stroke, with each touch, as if I have magical powers.

“I want to make you happy. Forever,” he says. “Not just fake-engagement happy. Really, truly happy. I want to make you smile and make you blush and make you remember that life isn’t so terrible, so chaotic as you seem so intent to believe.”