Page 15 of It's Holy Matrimony, Baby

“Right. That.” A shiver runs up my spine. Just the thought of them tastes awful on my tongue.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Casey.” He climbs to his feet, spreading big hands on his thighs when he shrugs. “I think we ought to give this thing a shot. See what happens.”

“Divorce happens,” I fire back. My voice is rising. I’m practically shouting. Divorce happens. All the time. Or death. Nothing much else in life is certain. Those two are guaranteed. “And I don’t need you to agree to make it happen.”

“I suppose you don’t.” His expression grows serious, hard around the edges like it was earlier. He steps away from the couch.

“Let me show you out.” I march toward him, veer in the direction that will have him leaving my life again. The sooner the better. Opening the door, I hold it for him. “I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with you. That way we won’t have to see each other again.”

He stands there for a moment, his gaze flicking from me to the hallway beyond. Just leave already.

“Actually, I’m good right here.” He puts a hand behind his back and my mind overlays it with him taking his shirt off. The way he’d grabbed the collar and pulled it up over his back, those shoulder muscles stretching fluidly. Those pectoral muscles tensing and then relaxing. The tattoo with those words about taking life on like a beast. Only it’s not memory. He’s shirtless, the cotton dangling from his fist.

“What are you doing?” I march back toward him.

I’ll push him out the door if I have to, shirt or no shirt. My hands are on his skin before I have time to plan this through properly. Thick, corded muscle bunches and releases under my palms, but doesn’t budge. The man is an oak; tall, proud, unmovable.

He stares down at me with that twisted half smile. God, if I could wipe that expression straight off his gorgeous face...Or at least if he could stop looking at me like he’s hungry and I’m a Kobe steak. It’s been a long time. A really long time. Two years almost. Twenty-one months to be exact.

Rugged arms, well-developed and bronzed, probably from some sort of outdoor labor, surround me. Big hands grip my hips, more intently this time, holding me still. “You might want to stop pushing me, or I might take it to mean you like touching me.”

“I don’t,” I say, slightly out of breath from trying to move something so immovable.

“Didn’t like it that night we spent together either, did you?” He peers at me a little too close for comfort, like he’s trying to see something more than I’m showing.

And okay, he’s gorgeous, and I have a thing for a great set of arms. I mean a phenomenal pair of arms. Perfect, corded forearms, sculpted from marble biceps, shoulders you could park a Coupe de Ville on. And his hold on me is spreading warmth into all the parts of my body that I’ve ignored and put a lock on. Because of him. Because I married him. Even though I didn’t mean to, and it meant less than nothing. What’s even more less than nothing? It meant that.

Still. I tug on my lip with my teeth and take a deep breath, which might be a mistake since his scent makes saliva pool in my mouth. And now my panties need changing, not that he needs to know.

“You were something.” Is his voice rusty with desire, or am I imagining it? “Eager. Demanding. You couldn’t get enough. You’re one of my favorite memories.”

“I don’t remember.” It’s not a lie. No matter how hard I try, there are parts I will never recall.

“I can fix that.” He drops his face closer to mine, and now all I can see is his wide sensual lips and that small dimple in the right corner where they crease. Boy, he knows how to bring back what I do remember. “I could kiss you like I did that night. If you wanted me to.”

Maybe I do want him to. Just to see what all the fuss is about. I must nod, because his eyes get bluer. If that’s even possible. Those firm weights brush along my lips, and I get a little lost in the sensation and the solidness of his kiss and the way the tip of his tongue touches my bottom lip.

“No.” I push both hands into his chest, which only serves to keep him where he is while I take a step back. “No, this isn’t what we’re doing here.”

“It could be.”

“Don’t try to confuse me.” Why can’t he just agree? To cancel our marriage. To get out of my hotel room. “Why are you being difficult? Why won’t you go along with this?” I can hear the desperation rising in my voice. “It shouldn’t matter to you.”

“Well, Beck Casey—”

“It’s Beck,” I snip. “Or Beckett, or if you insist on using my full name, Beck McClain. It isn’t Beck Casey. It will never be Beck Casey.”

“Fine. Beck.” He practically rolls his eyes, like my discomfort amuses him. “You can go ahead and start the proceedings. And sooner or later you’ll get your wish. But until then I’m going to stay right here. See what happens.”

“You can’t.”

“See that’s the beauty of marriage, Beck. I can.” He glances around, notices the open door to the bedroom. “Now if you don’t need me for anything else, babe, I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t you dare.” I grip his arm to stop him from marching into the bedroom. “I’ll call hotel security. The police. My lawyer.”

He glances at the somewhat ineffectual hold I have on his arm. “You go ahead and do that. I’ll wait.”

Is he for real? I guess so, since he wanders into the bedroom, drops his shirt on my floor, and flops onto his back amidst the tangled covers and my clothes that I left out when I tried to work out what to wear for this evening’s simple conversation. Easy, yeah right!

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