Page 14 of Marrying Mr. Majestic

I lifted my hands in an exaggerated shrug. “What am I, chopped mush? I’m your legal spouse, for god’s sake, and she just?—”

He clapped a hand over my mouth and yanked me down a side street before shoving me behind the shops into a narrow alley. “Will you shut up? This town has ears, in case you didn’t know.”

I let out a laugh. “Relax. No one heard me.”

His nostrils flared. “I can’t relax. I can’t ever fucking relax, not when everyone and their fucking…” He exhaled in a rush and reached for his hat again, lifting it and resettling it in a nervous gesture. “Never mind.”

I reached forward and grabbed his hands to keep them off his hat. “Hey. Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just trying to?—”

“Nobody can find out about you and me,” he growled. “I mean it, Silas.”

“I get it. You already said as much. Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not… it’s not… it’s not because of the gay thing.”

I wanted to pick a fight with him. Suddenly, I was feeling some kind of way, and I wondered if maybe fighting with him would help keep me from grabbing and kissing the fuck out of him just to distract him from his stress for one solid minute.

“Feels a little like it’s because of the gay thing,” I said, meaning it as a joke. Or maybe I didn’t. I wasn’t quite sure, but it annoyed me all the same. “You’re not gay, right? Makes sense that you wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“That’s not why I don’t want anyone to know,” he gritted out.

I let go of his shoulders and stepped back. “Fine.”

He stepped closer and glared at me. “I’m not homophobic. I wouldn’t care if anyone thought I was gay. I told you, my best friend is gay.”

I wondered if his best friend had been the sexy sheriff, the one whose arm I’d wanted to rip off earlier. “You can have a gay best friend and still be homophobic,” I pointed out. “You could be gay yourself and still be homophobic.”

He stepped closer, his eyes flicking down to my lips. “Fine. But I’m not.”

I licked my lips without thinking. His eyes flared as he glanced from the movement to my eyes. Time tripped and slowed. I wanted to challenge him, to murmur prove it, but I kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t complicate things between us. I wouldn’t be the reason he got found out here among everyone he held dear.

“Okay,” I breathed.

“I kissed you that night,” he hissed, eyes flicking down at my lips again before his scowl deepened.

“I remember.” My voice came out as a low rumble. My heart skipped too fast in my chest. Holding myself back from tasting his lips was damned near impossible. I wanted him more than ever. Maybe it was because I couldn’t have him—not here in this town. Or maybe it was because my tongue seemed to choose that moment to remember exactly how sweet he’d tasted.

I held my breath and closed my eyes. Maybe if I couldn’t see the thick, wavy blond hair curling out from under the brim of the hat, or the little patches of scattered, faded freckles under each eye, or the microscopic scar bisecting his lower lip… Maybe if I couldn’t see them, I’d stop wanting him.

“You were drunk,” I offered softly, giving him an easy out.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t the alcohol,” he said, although he didn’t sound so sure.

I opened my eyes. “Wasn’t it?”

He took another step closer until our bodies were pressed together, stomach and chest. I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare pull his hips closer so I could feel more of him. Instead, I stayed frozen, only moving my eyes left and right to see if anyone was around to witness this.

We were alone in the alley.

“No,” he whispered, eyes firmly locked on my mouth now.

Prove it, I thought again in desperation. Please, god.

His hands came up and grabbed my face before he leaned in and kissed me hard. It wasn’t a tentative, testing kind of kiss, the kind that wondered whether Saturday night had just been a drunken Vegas mistake. No. This was a confident, crushing kiss, one that set out to make a point.

To devastate.

I made a surprised sound in my throat before grabbing his hips and yanking him closer. I’d thought of him over and over for the past forty-eight hours, and in the dark hours of the night before, this had been the way I’d imagined him.

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