Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“This can’t be happening.”
Jaxon studied her. “You don’t remember.”
It wasn’t a question so much as a statement, but he said it anyway. She hadn’t been that drunk, had she?
“Of course not!” Her face twisted into an expression of rage. “I can’t believe you talked me into this! I was drunk and you took advantage of me!”
“Oh, no, don’t you lay all the blame on me. You were the one saying last night how much you wanted a real man and suggested we get married.”
“I most certainly did not!”
He lifted a brow at her. “You did. Multiple times, in fact.”
“I would never do that!”
He shook his head. “Really? Then how, exactly, did we end up married if you were so dead set against it?”
Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. “I’m not opposed to marriage as a whole. I would just never marry a stranger.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “Clearly you tricked me.”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up in his throat.
Adalyn glared down at him, and he swung his legs over the bed, not caring that he was on full display.
Not like she hadn’t seen it—several times.
And wasn’t that a kick in the nuts? Best sex he’d ever had, and the woman didn’t even remember.
He shook his head as he pushed to his feet.
Her jaw almost hit the floor as she covered her eyes. “Oh, my God! What are you doing?”
He batted her hands away. “Little late for that, isn’t it?” Grabbing one hand, he dragged her to the table in the corner of the room and picked up a small packet. “You want proof? Here ya go, darlin’.”
Her chin notched up as she snatched the folder from his fingers. She extracted the marriage certificate, and a photo fell out and landed face-up on the laminated wood tabletop. He felt more than heard her gasp.
It was a fantastic photo, really. They’d left the hotel bar and walked down the Strip, talking about how they’d stay in contact while he was away, when suddenly Adalyn had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him, looping her arms around his neck.
Why wait? she’d asked. She wanted him. And he wanted her.
God knew he was attracted to her— their chemistry was so potent he could almost smell it smoldering between them.
He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like he knew her.
Not just the tidbits he’d picked up in the short time since they’d met, but really knew her.
It was crazy to think, and even crazier to say out loud, but he swore he could read her soul.
He knew the kind of person she was, the things she wanted out of life.
She deserved the best and, while he wasn’t the best man for her, he’d spend forever trying to be the one she needed him to be.
So when she’d asked why he wasn’t married, he’d told her the truth—that he’d been waiting for a woman like her. He’d been waiting for her. It was as if God had delivered her right to him at the moment he needed her most.
After almost three decades on this earth, he’d never met a woman like Adalyn, never felt so much for someone he’d just met.
But she was different in so many ways. She was kind and sweet and beautiful, sexy and smart and so amazing.
She made his heart race, turned his blood so hot, his body so hard he thought he’d explode into a million pieces.
When her smile stretched across those gorgeous lips of hers, her eyes pleading for him to listen, he couldn’t say no. Instead, he’d laced his fingers with hers and speed walked to the nearest chapel.
Although it wasn’t Elvis who married them, it still had Las Vegas flair. The officiant was a burly biker guy with tattooed sleeves running down both arms. The witness was his mother, barely five foot tall with a cotton candy pink beehive tall enough to rival that of Marge Simpson.
In the photo, Adalyn had her arms wrapped around his waist in an intimate embrace. Her eyes were on the camera, a dazzling smile on her face. His eyes were on her, an admittedly besotted look on his face, and the photographer had captured the moment forever.
She ran a finger over the photograph before pulling away and retreating into herself.
“I think you should go.” She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, refusing to look at him.
“Adalyn, let’s talk about this.”
“Please go.”
With a sigh of frustration, he bent to pick up the jeans he’d barely been able to strip off before they’d made love last night—the first time.
He pulled them on and shrugged his rumpled shirt over his shoulders, leaving it partially unbuttoned.
His wallet and keys lay on the table next to the discarded manila envelope, and he snagged those up, shoving his wallet into his back pocket.
Swiping his phone from the nightstand, he turned to her.
“I’m going to go grab us some coffee. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Then we’re going to talk.”
She nodded absently, her posture rigid, and he let out a soft sigh.
He wanted to pull her close, reassure her that everything would be fine, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.
His touch might push her over the edge, and he didn’t want to risk losing her.
For now, he’d give her some space, a few minutes to herself, then they could clear the air, fully caffeinated and conscious.
He strode to the door of the hotel room and pulled it open, then took one last look at Adalyn before he stepped into the hallway and closed it behind him.
He should have waited and done things the right way—should have wined and dined her, won her over the old-fashioned way, let them get to know each other a little better first. But he didn’t have time for that.
He had to nail her down while he could. But the effects of alcohol combined with Adalyn’s natural allure meant he hadn’t been able to deny her.
They had a special connection, something he’d determined within just minutes of meeting her.
Despite their unconventional start, he was looking forward to getting to know her better, learning all the things about her that made her tick.
He wanted to know about her childhood, all her memories, her hopes and dreams.
Now they were stuck in this boat that was sinking perilously, insecurities flooding in faster than he could bail them out.
He grimaced. He was never impetuous like this, had never done anything this crazy.
He was a good soldier, always following orders and doing the right thing.
So, what had happened last night? He’d completely lost his head, been swept away by a pretty face—a beautiful woman who happened to have no recollection of the events that had taken place.
He liked the idea of having someone to come home to after a mission. Someone to talk with, share his life with. Start a family with. And the more time he’d spent with Adalyn last night, the more he began to imagine coming home to her. Seeing her in his house, pregnant with his children.
It was crazy, he knew. Who thought those things as soon as they met someone? But wasn’t that precisely why people dated in the first place—to see if someone would be a compatible partner? He’d just accelerated the process a little bit. Okay, maybe a lot.
Stabbing the button to summon the elevator, he shifted on his feet.
He’d give her some space, let her clear her mind and come to terms with what had happened last night.
Then they could discuss how to proceed from here.
He’d be leaving soon on another deployment, anyway.
He wanted to see more of her before he was shipped off this time, and he hoped after she’d had some time to think things over that she’d come to the same conclusion.
The ding from the elevator doors opening disrupted his thoughts, and he stepped inside, punching the button to the lobby.
Doubt started to creep in. Maybe this was a terrible idea.
As much as he’d wanted her last night—still wanted her—would they have enough in common?
They seemed to get along so well last night.
Even when they hadn’t agreed on something, it had been more of a friendly debate rather than a staunch refusal to see the other’s point of view.
That was refreshing. He’d dated several women who thought their opinions were the only things worth believing.
He liked a woman who knew what she wanted—just not a woman who thought her opinion was the only one that mattered.
Talking with Adalyn last night, he felt that she genuinely seemed to care about his thoughts and feelings on things.
He shook off the negative thoughts as the elevator doors parted, and he strode across the gleaming, freshly polished floors to the coffee shop in the corner of the lobby.
Reaching the counter, he let out a mirthless laugh.
This was one of the problems of being impetuous.
He had no idea how she took her coffee. Did she even like coffee, or did she prefer tea?
He scanned the board, debating his options.
Finally, he ordered a black coffee, a chai tea, and some frou-frou vanilla-flavored drink, just in case.
As the barista whipped up the drinks, he automatically scanned his surroundings.
A woman, her long red hair a halo of crazy, frizzy curls drifting around her head, sat at a table in the corner, phone in hand.
Her eyes met his, and he offered a small smile, then continued to rove the room.
People bustled back and forth, busy even for eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. But that’s Vegas—some people were starting a day of sightseeing and tourist activities. Others were just now spilling back into the hotel after a long night out on the town.