Hello, hello lovely readers. I want to thank everyone who had read and reviewed My Boys and Let Me In. To answer some of the comments, I'm not really sure if I would write a continuation to both My Boys and Wanted: Everyday Mommy although I'm not ruling it out. Having said that, I give you another short story and hopefully you guys will like it.
I like writing stories but I'm running out of ideas so if you guys have any that you would like to read about please let me know.
Enjoy reading :)
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Riley Matthews shifted sleepily on the large, comfortable bed, the bare skin of her shoulders sliding across the rich satin fabric beneath her. Having apparently survived her best friend and honorary sister's bachelorette party in Vegas, Riley wanted nothing more than to drift back into dreamland, and would have, if not for the fact she had a raging headache pounding at her temples, and an equally awful taste in her mouth.
She wondered what the bartender had put in the cosmopolitans he had been serving her. After all, she'd paid him extra to make sure her beverages were—unlike those for the members of Maya's betrothed sister's entourage—strictly nonalcoholic. This, in order to make sure she didn't lose all inhibition and do anything foolish, as she had been known to do in the past at these types of events.
Riley groaned and opened her eyes. Saw she had fallen asleep on top of the covers still wearing a pair of sparkly stiletto–heeled shoes she didn't recognize, and that there was a strong male arm clamped just beneath her breasts.
Startled, Riley blinked to clear her head, and blinked again. What…in the…world…? Had she been drinking last night? Because, honestly, that was the only way to explain any of this!
Still trying to get her bearings, Riley pushed herself to a sitting position, stared at what she saw. Tousled dark–blonde hair, equally stunned emerald eyes and an incredibly handsome, oh–so–familiar face that she dreaded seeing, covered with a two–day stubble of beard.
…
Despite the fact that he and the groom had been friends since childhood, Lucas Friar knew it had been a mistake to agree to be Zay Babineaux's best man. Mostly because Lucas' antagonist, Riley Matthews, was the maid of honor. Physically, Lucas and Riley had enough sparks to light up the entire Empire State building, but none of the natural compatibility needed to get along. Like oil and water, the two of them would never mix. Although Lucas admitted privately to himself that he did enjoy getting under the pretty attorney's skin. Had she not been so uptight… But she was. And he'd had far too many rules growing up to want to pepper his adulthood with any more. These days, he and he alone decided what was right for him, and in what manner he wanted to live.
As if to prove that point, Riley's delicate hand closed over his wrist—which was still clamped against her slender form.
"You!" she hissed, flinging his arm away, like some odious piece of trash. "What are you doing here?"
Good question, Lucas thought, rolling over onto his back and taking a lazy look around. They were in a hotel room, all right. Together. For what had apparently been the rest of the night. The larger question was, what were they doing in such over–the–top attire—even if they were in Las Vegas. He had on a shiny silver shirt and white–and–black tuxedo worthy of Elvis Presley. She was wearing a plunging halter dress, with a sequined bodice and white organza skirt, hiked up around her thighs. Which were, Lucas noted, more spectacularly sleek and lissome than he had ever guessed. She was also wearing some sort of rhinestone–studded tiara with a short organza veil.
"Explain to me what you are doing here!" Riley demanded.
Trying not to get distracted by how beautiful the disheveled brunette looked in the sunlight pouring in through the windows, Lucas glanced at the hand she was waving indignantly in front of him, the plain gold band encircling her ring finger.
Lucas fought the sinking feeling in his gut, and a hazy memory of an emotional albeit slightly tipsy exchange with Riley, followed by a dare, and a trip to the Las Vegas marriage bureau. Which, unfortunately for the two of them, stayed open till midnight, daily.
He dimly recalled more taunting, the purchase of a marriage license, and then with Maya trying desperately to derail the very bad idea while Zay goaded them on, a trip—with the entire wedding party—to one of the brightly lit wedding chapels on the Strip…
"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Riley demanded, even more outraged.
Lucas remembered selecting an Elvis and the Showgirl–themed wedding, never dreaming a straitlaced woman like Riley would follow through on the wild idea—even to win a bet. And then, there were wedding vows being said, but not by Zay and Maya, but by…oh, hell…no…
Lucas tore his gaze from the color streaming into Riley's cheeks and looked down at his own left hand. In squaring with his fuzzy memories, there was a band there, too, identical to hers. Rather than try to explain, he lifted it for her to see. "Just this," he commented drily, leaving her to fill in the rest just as he had.
Riley tossed her head indignantly. "If this is a joke—" she speared him with her chocolate eyes, apparently not recalling anything yet "—I am not laughing."
Nor was he. His heart thundering, Lucas sat up, too. He shoved both his hands through his hair, hardly able to believe he had done what he swore he never would. And actually followed in the impulsive footsteps of his oft–married, even more frequently divorced, older siblings.
"You do know what happened!" Riley said.
"It's beginning to come back to me," Lucas admitted gruffly. Although the memory was still fuzzy. And yet oddly romantic in a romantic comedy kind of way.
Riley leaped from the bed. Arms folded militantly in front of her, she paced back and forth, her hips sashaying sexily beneath the full organza skirt. "I can't wait to hear!"
Lucas tore his eyes from the sumptuous breasts spilling out of the narrowly cut top of her dress, and recollected, "It was after the bachelor party, when we met up with the bachelorettes in the bar next to the casino. Talk turned to marriage and you bet I'd never say 'I do.'"
Riley paused, and wet her lips. Already, Lucas noted, the story sounded plausible to her. Probably because she had been ragging on him about that since the two of them had first met a year before.
He shrugged and continued. "I said, 'Sure I would. You're the one who doesn't have the guts to tie the knot.'"
Riley paled, apparently recalling now, too. "And that's when I took you up on the dare and we all went to the county clerk's office for a license, then to the chapel on the Strip…"
Lucas tensed as it all became more and more real. "I kept thinking you'd back out."
Riley sent him an accusing glare. "I kept thinking you would."
Lucas groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Unfortunately, neither of them had. "So we got married to the stunned amazement of everyone else in the wedding party, and the continual railing of Maya. And had a glass or two of champagne."
"And that's the last thing I remember," Riley whispered, her hand pressed to her soft, trembling lips.
Lucas only wished that were the case with him. Although not completely sober himself after an evening out carousing with the guys, he had known Riley was tipsy from the get–go. He'd even heard the other bridesmaids giggling about tipping the bartender extra to put liquor in her drinks after all, because they all knew the ever–uptight Riley had a tendency to say and do surprisingly unexpected and/or hilarious things when under the influence of even one drink. And they'd wanted to see if they could get her to loosen up, and liven things up.
Loosen up, she had.
Although, Lucas admitted, his gaze drifting longingly over her feminine curves, not as much as he wished she would. The kiss they had shared at the conclusion of the ceremony had been close–mouthed and hopelessly chaste.
Once back at the hotel, they'd fallen exhausted onto the bed, too tired to think about the import of what they had done, and apparently fallen fast asleep. Which was a good thing, Lucas noted. Otherwise he might have been tempted to consummate the marriage. Since they hadn't…
Pale, shaking, Riley moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
Although the know–it–all had a habit of getting under his skin as thoroughly as he got under hers, Lucas abruptly felt sorry for her. He reached over and covered her small, delicate hand with his. "Look. We were out of our minds."
Riley stiffened and withdrew her palm. "Clearly."
"We don't have to get divorced. We'll just get it annulled. You're a lawyer. You know how to do that. Right?"
"Of course I—" The ring tone sounded on his cell. Riley frowned as the familiar melody of "Only the Young" filled the room.
Lucas knew the polite thing would have been to let the call go to voice mail. And he would have, had the caller ID not flashed the name of John Wilson.
"Well?" Riley said, torturous moments later, when Lucas ended the call.
Lucas exhaled and admitted grimly, "That's Wilson. He knows. Everyone does."
Riley studied Lucas, aghast. "How?"
"A tabloid reporter was tailing the bachelor party, hoping to dig up some dirt." Which would have been news since the bridegroom and his entourage plays for the Yankees. "She couldn't find anything on Zay, so she wrote the story on us instead. Apparently it's already on the Internet."
Riley's shoulders slumped in defeat. "What are we going to do?"
"The only thing we can do," Lucas said flatly. "Stay married and ride out the storm."
Riley stared at Lucas, sure now he had completely lost his mind, as well as any sense of gallantry he might have possessed. "That is without a doubt the nuttiest idea I have ever heard," she announced heatedly.
Looking sexier and more determined than ever, Lucas whipped off the ridiculous jacket and bow tie. "But the only sensible solution nonetheless," he countered.
Riley lifted her chin and propped her hands on her hips. "And how do you figure that?"
Lucas undid the first two buttons on his shirt. "John Wilson, my manager, does not suffer irresponsible fools. And given what we did last night, we definitely fall into that category."
Wishing Lucas weren't right about that, Riley bit her lip, thinking.
Lucas continued, more grimly than ever. "If we want to hang on to our jobs—and I certainly do, since I'm in line for the MVP slot—you and I are going to have to slide through. At least for a little while."
"Slide through?" Riley repeated, stalking back over to the bed. She sat down in a whoosh of organza.
Lucas sat down beside her. "You know what I mean."
Riley looked at the rock–solid musculature of his thigh, next to hers. She was five feet seven inches tall and fit, but next to his broad–shouldered six–foot–three frame, she always felt impossibly feminine and delicate.
Lucas squeezed her hand. "We can do this," he reassured. And that was when the knock sounded on the hotel room door.
