Chapter 20
MANDY
Isat next to Briggs on the plush couch in his hotel suite. The laptop was in his lap. He plugged the drive in.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He clicked play. I was pretty sure we were both holding our breath. The professional video started with shaky footage of the chapel interior. I could hear myself laughing off-screen.
Then I appeared on camera.
I was a mess. My hair was falling out of whatever style I’d attempted earlier in the evening. My dress was slightly askew. But I was smiling so wide my face had to hurt.
A woman in a showgirl outfit, complete with feathers and rhinestones, was trying to pin a veil to my head. I kept moving, making it nearly impossible for her.
“Hold still, honey,” she said, her voice patient and amused.
“I’m trying,” drunk-me said, giggling. “Everything’s spinny.”
The showgirl finally managed to secure the veil. Then she handed me a bouquet that I recognized immediately—it was one of the centerpieces from Victoria’s reception.
The camera panned over to Briggs. He looked just as disheveled as I did. His tie was gone. His jacket was draped over a chair. He was grinning like a fool while Elvis himself pinned a flower to his lapel.
“You ready for this, brother?” Elvis asked.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life, King,” drunk-Briggs said with absolute conviction.
I felt present-Briggs tense beside me.
“Did I really say that?” he muttered.
“You really did,” I whispered back.
The video cut to the ceremony itself. We were standing at the altar, facing each other. Elvis was between us, holding what I assumed was some kind of script, though he barely looked at it.
“Dearly beloved,” Elvis began in his best King voice. “We are gathered here today in the presence of these tacky plastic flowers and this fine velvet to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
Drunk-me giggled.
“Marriage is a sacred bond,” Elvis continued. “A commitment to love, honor, and not divorce each other before you sober up and regret this decision.”
After that, the vows were pretty traditional. I still couldn’t believe it was real. Part of me kept expecting there to be a joke at the end.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Elvis paused for dramatic effect. “You may now kiss the bride.”
The camera zoomed in slightly.
Our eyes met, and even through the video, even through my alcohol-hazed memory, I could see something pass between us. Something real.
He stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup my face. Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t a quick peck. It wasn’t a performative kiss for the camera or for Elvis or for anyone else. It was deep. Thorough. The kind of kiss a man gave his new bride.
I kissed him back like my life depended on it.
The video ended there, cutting to black.
I sat frozen on the couch, my heart racing. The room felt too small suddenly, the air too thick.
“Well,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “There you go.”
I turned to look at him. He was already looking at me.
The expression on his face mirrored the one from the video. That same intensity. That same focus. What did that mean?
“We kissed like that,” he said quietly. “And I don’t remember it.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s a shame.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Because it looked like a pretty damn good kiss.”
My pulse was thundering in my ears. “It did.”
“I wonder if it would be the same sober.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
This was dangerous territory. This was exactly the kind of territory we needed to avoid. We were supposed to be keeping this professional. Maintaining boundaries. It was all fake. A business arrangement.
But I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I heard myself say.
Briggs’s eyes snapped back to mine. “Mandy.”
“What?”
“We shouldn’t.”
“But we already did,” I said.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said, but he was leaning closer.
“The worst,” I agreed, tilting my face up toward his.
“We have a contract.”
“We have several contracts—none of them signed by the way.” His hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Last chance to back out.”
“I don’t want to back out.”
“Thank God,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on mine.
His soft lips were demanding but gentle. He kissed me like he had in that video. But now I was getting to experience it for real. And it was so much better than I ever imagined.
I groaned and leaned into him. His hand slid into my hair, gently pulling to angle my head. And then he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth. My hands moved down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. I wanted that shirt gone. I wanted everything gone.
And I was damn well going to get it. I started to tug at his shirt and then my fingers worked his buttons. I’d been thinking about this moment since I laid eyes on him in that conference room, all buttoned up and professional.
But now, with his shirt falling open under my fumbling fingers, I wasn’t thinking about anything except how desperately I wanted him.
“Mandy,” he groaned against my mouth, his hands sliding down to grip my waist. “Are you sure about this?”
“Stop talking,” I whispered, finally getting the last button undone and pushing his shirt off his shoulders.
Holy hell.
Briggs Blackwell had been hiding a body under all those perfectly tailored suits. Broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that looked like they’d been carved from marble. I ran my hands over his bare skin, feeling the heat of him, the way his muscles tensed under my touch.
His mouth crashed back onto mine as he stood, pulling me up with him. His hands found the hem of my shirt and tugged it over my head. Then his fingers were at my back, unhooking my bra with a quick flick.
“Someone’s done this before,” I teased breathlessly.
“Once or twice,” he murmured against my neck, his lips trailing down to my collarbone. His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasped at the sensation.
I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. The sensation was overwhelming. His tongue, his teeth, the suction that had me moaning his name.
His hand slid down my stomach, fingers working the button of my shorts. He pulled both my shorts and underwear off in one go, tossing them somewhere behind the couch.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes roaming over me.
I felt a flush creep up my chest. “Your turn.”
He made quick work of his pants and boxers, and then he was naked before me. All of him. And oh my God, he was perfect. Every inch of him was hard and ready. I felt my core clench with anticipation.
And then he was pulling me close. His hard, hot body pressed against mine. I rubbed against him in an almost feline way.
He backed us against the bed. I climbed on, ignoring the little insecure voice in the back of my head telling me to be shy.
Fuck being shy. I wanted the man.
“Hold on,” he said and rushed into the bathroom.
He returned a second later tearing open a condom. Always the responsible one. He quickly rolled it on.
He paused, his gaze raking over mine. Something dark and primal flashed in his eyes. “Damn, I want to drag this out, but I need you.”
“We’ll do all the foreplay later. I also need you, right fucking now.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
He dropped to the bed, his weight smothering mine for a brief second before he stretched out beside me. His mouth claimed mine once again with his hand sliding between us. His fingers found my center, stroking through my wetness and rubbing over my clit. I gasped into his mouth.
“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned. “Is this all for me?”
“All for you,” I confirmed, my hips rocking against his hand.
He slid one finger inside me, then another, curling them in a way that had me seeing stars. His thumb found my clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure. Fast and then slow. I felt like I was spinning and floating at the same time.
“Briggs,” I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I panted. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He withdrew his fingers, positioning himself at my entrance. Our eyes met and I was suddenly very aware of the intimacy of the moment.
Then he pushed inside me, slow and steady, giving me time to adjust to his size. I gasped at the stretch, at the fullness, at the perfect way he filled me.
“Oh shit,” he groaned. “Fuck.”
He pulled back almost all the way out, then thrust back in, harder this time. I cried out and arched my back.
“Like that?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Exactly like that,” I moaned.
He set a rhythm that had me climbing fast. Each thrust hit something deep inside me that made my toes curl. His mouth found mine again, swallowing my moans as he drove into me harder and faster. He angled his hips and drove in before shifting the angle and doing it again.
I could feel the tension building low in my belly, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke. My hands roamed over his back, feeling his muscles flex and strain as he worked above me.
I was embarrassed by how fast I was reaching a climax. I couldn’t stop it. I was so close. My body trembled on the verge of an explosion.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “Come for me, Mandy. Let me feel it.”
I cried out and exploded like a star that reached the end of its celestial life. I came hard, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me. I cried out his name with my body bucking over and over. I heard him make a noise that was pure primal energy.
And then his body stiffened, pinning me beneath him. More cursing and then he fell on top of me. We lay tangled together, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. I didn’t want him to move. Not yet.
But eventually, he did. He rolled off me, disposing of the condom before settling back beside me. We lay there in silence for a long moment, staring at the ceiling.
“No regrets?” he asked.
I considered the question. Did I regret sleeping with my fake husband?
“No,” I said honestly. “No regrets.”
He smiled. “Good.”
“I’m flying back tomorrow,” I said. “I have a wedding this weekend. In LA. I need to get back and start prepping.”
I rolled off the bed and started to collect my clothes. I didn’t regret it, but I needed to embrace reality.
Briggs propped himself up on one elbow, watching me dress. “I have depositions. I have to get back to New York too.”
I pulled my shirt over my head. “So the honeymoon’s over, huh?”
He laughed. “Shortest honeymoon in history.”
“We should probably figure out when we’re going to see each other again,” I said, stepping into my shorts. “People are going to expect us to act like an actual married couple. That requires being in the same city occasionally.”
“True.” He stood and pulled on his boxers. “I’ll check my schedule. See when I can fly out to LA.”
“Or I could come to New York,” I offered. “I haven’t been in a while. Might be nice.”
“We’ll figure it out.” He walked over to me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “This doesn’t have to be complicated.”
But even as he said it, I could feel the complication settling between us. We’d just had amazing sex. Which made everything infinitely more complicated.
“Right,” I said, forcing a smile. “Not complicated.”
I fluffed my hair.
“I should go,” I said. “Early flight and all.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I paused at the door and turned to look at him. “So, I guess I’ll see you soon?”
“Soon,” he agreed.
I wanted to say something else. Something meaningful. But honestly, what could I say?
By the time I made it back to my own hotel room, the post-sex glow had faded, replaced by the cold steel of reality.
I told myself it was fine. We had fun. And now it was over. He would go back to his life and I would go back to mine.
I got into bed and tried not to think about how much I already missed him.