Page 19 of Chasing His Bride

Back out. She’s letting you back out.

Instead, I slide my arm around her waist and pull her to me and kiss her. It’s supposed to be a close-mouth kiss, but it quickly turns into something much more passionate.

I’m marrying her.

And then I’m going to fuck her brains out.

I laugh; she arches an eyebrow.

The Gold brothers are going to love that I have finally let myself go. I’m never impulsive; everything in my life is managed, from my childhood to my adult life and work life. Not one aspect of my life has ever been intuitive.

Was it intuitive? What did it mean? To have an irrational, impulsive decision to marry her.

The Gold brothers are going to lose their fucking minds once they find out. As long as they believe us, that’s all that matters.

Just as the reality that it's my grandfather that needs to believe me sinks in, the doors to the chapel swing open.

Amber squeezes my hand. “Is this us?”

I kiss the side of her temple to relax her.

“Amber Greyson and Jack Clark?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t expect it to be such a quickie,” Amber says.

The guy dressed like Elvis says, “hopefully this is the only quickie, sweetheart.” He follows his words with a wink.

I laugh at Amber glaring at Elvis, but then I’m more interested in the crossing of her toned legs. Obviously, something is happening between them, but looking at her gorgeous tanned thighs, something is happening to me too.

“Are you ready to do this?” I ask, trying to take my thoughts off the beast between my legs.

“I am,” she says after a few seconds of chewing on her lip.

“Come through.” Elvis pushes his back against the door and waves us inside.

She stops me once we’re inside as she looks around the nearly all-white room. “Are you sure?”

I press my hands against her cheeks, flickering my gaze across her beautiful eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

I kiss her hard on her lips. “Never.”

“You’re crazy.”

For you.

I definitely am.

Chapter 8

Amber

“Drive the car around,” Jack says to the limo driver before he raises the privacy screen. He picks up his phone, flicks through his contacts, and makes a call. “Hi, Jack Clark here. Can you send cake and champagne to my room, please?”

I wonder if I called the hotel and asked the same. They’d know without asking which room I was staying in. I doubt it.

“So, Mrs. Clark, where would you like to go, dinner, another show?” Jack asks.

“Ms. Greyson is happy to do anything,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

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