And release and freedom might just be coming from the cocky Texas cowboy smirking at me through the dim light of a Vegas dance club.
“Alright, c’mon wife. Let’s go dance.”
I bite my lip. “I’m not really a club person.”
Austin grabs the champagne out of the ice and fills up the half-empty glass in front of me before sliding it my way. He winks as he fills his to the brim as well. “Well, down the hatch, then.” He tilts the flute back, emptying the entire glass down his throat before he sets it back on the table and grins at me, like he’s daring me.
Screw it.
I knock the glass back, draining the champagne down my throat and resisting the urge to cough as I empty the whole thing.
Austin is nodding at me, grinning widely as I set the flute back down. “Well, shit. My wife, ladies and gentlemen.”
He starts to fill my glass again when I shake my head, still trying not to cough as I wave my hands over it. “Whoa! Whoa there, buster.” I choke out, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Just trying to loosen you up, princess.”
My brow shoots up and he rolls his eyes. “To dance, Jesus. I’m not a scumbag, you know.”
“I don’t know you at all, actually.”
He jumps up from his seat and sticks his hand down towards me. “Well let’s get to know each other.”
I eye his hand, chewing on my lip before I move my gaze up to those deep, hazel pools of his eyes.
“You want to get to know me after you fake marry me, huh?”
“More than anything.”
And just like that, as I reach for the glass of bubbly and take another huge swig of it, the battle inside of me is over in the blink of an eye.
And the new Natalie - the new me who goes to Las Vegas clubs and drinks champagne in private rooms, and who has marriages of convenience with strange, wealthy, and ridiculously attractive men - stands and takes her new “husband’s” hand.
“Alright, mystery man. Let’s get to know each other.”
And that’s when I willingly, readily, and eagerly lose myself. It’s taking his hand and letting him pull me into the mass of swirling, dancing bodies as the music pounds around us. Because twenty-four hours after meeting this man – twenty-four hours after kissing him like a crazy person – I’m now in the middle of a Las Vegas club, feeling his body pressed against mine as we pulse and sway to the music.
Twenty-four hours later, I’m leaving the good, the groomed, and the proper girl named Natalie Ames behind - leaving her standing by the wall like some piece of pretty art, or a conversation piece.
Because this Natalie Ames just let go. This version of me is letting the thundering bass move through her like a live current, and undulating her hips against the tall dark and handsome with the body carved out of iron behind her.
This version of me is running her fingers through her hair as she tosses her head back against his broad, chiseled chest. This me is biting her lip and moving in time with his hands on my hips, his breath against my neck, and his lips against my ears.
And there’s still one lingering part of me that knows how crazy this is - one final part of me that knows I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be dancing with this stranger like this, and letting his hands slide over my body.
But it feels too damn good.
All of it does - the letting go, the freedom, the craziness and the music and the champagne pounding through my veins like fire. And of course, him. Him being my new fake husband, my wild-card draw, and my leap of faith.
His lips slide across my neck as the music moves us like lovers, his hands entwining in mine.
And I’m free.
I’m wild.
I’m hauling him to the bar, laughing when his brow shoots up at the shots I line up across the bar. And I’m laughing, and spinning, and falling into him at the feel of his mouth and his tongue tasting the salt and the lime from my skin. I’m feeling the charge of something raw and something wicked as I taste tequila on his lips.
This is life. This is living.
And for the first time since I can really ever remember, I just let go.
9
Natalie
The first thing I’m aware of is the blinding pain lancing through my head.
I wince, blinking and feeling even worse when I do. I haltingly bring my hands up in font of my face, pawing at the light in some vain attempt at shutting it out, even if I’ve got at least a vague sense of it being sunlight.
Will someone turn that damn sun off?
I blink again, this time feeling the rolling wave of nausea oozing through me. I groan, feeling my tongue rasp like sandpaper across my parched mouth, feeling my lips brush together like crepe paper. I roll on to my side, the pulse in my head like a hammer blow again and again.