Page 106 of The Single Dad Project

Patrick blinked then glanced down at his hand as if he’d forgotten the gaudy plastic jewelry still adorned his hand. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, he shook his head.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not one of those husbands who refuses to wear their ring. I’m proud of being your man.”

“Patrick,” she growled his name like a warning. No, a threat.

But the corner of his mouth quirked in a slight smirk, then he turned and continued down the hall and out of her room. She didn’t move, but stared at the space he used to occupy.

I’m proud of being your man.

Dueling emotions of fear and, God help her, pleasure, twisted together, snarling until she couldn’t separate one from the other. As his words echoed in her head, the two emotions became synonymous.

“Oh damn,” she whispered. “I’m in trouble.” Heaving a louder sigh, she sank to the bed.

Though she had to get dressed, down about two gallons of coffee and meet her employees downstairs in the hotel lobby, she didn’t move. Didn’t do anything but stare at the window and the sprawling view of Las Vegas. She beat back the edges of panic that tried to tackle her again and drag her under.

She hated being out of control.

She hated being a prisoner to her own bad decisions.

She hated being uncertain of the future.

Most of all, shehatedBlue Christmas.

CHAPTER TWO

COLEDENNISON,ATTORNEY-AT-LAWand Rose Bend’s mayor, stared at Patrick and Brooklyn across his desk as if they were two strangers—two aliens—instead of people he’d known for several years. In Patrick’s case, almost two decades.

And maybe because of that long friendship, Cole’s gaze remained on Patrick the longest. With a “Huh,” the attorney fell back against his office chair and continued to scrutinize them, his fingers steepled under his chin.

Hell.

“That’s all we get ishuh?” Patrick asked, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Is that a legal opinion?”

Cole shook his head, a smile slowly curving his mouth.

“It’s the best one I have at the moment.” His smile deepened, broadened, lighting up his brown eyes. “I have to admit,” he said, leaning forward and propping his forearms on the desktop, “I’ve been a lawyer for years, and over those years, people have come to me with some pretty out-there things. But I can honestly say this is my first Vegas elopement.” When Brooklyn’s lips parted, Cole held up a hand, forestalling what would undoubtedly be an objection toelopement. “Sorry, not an elopement. A drunken night of revelry that ended up in a marriage. Still, this is my first. And though I’ve heard and litigated weirder cases, I’m still a little stunned.”

“Try waking up married with no memory of how you got that way,” Brooklyn muttered.

Waking up married, no memory and naked. Can’t forget that. There was no way he could ever forget that, Patrick silently added. Even if he had no memory of getting her in that state.Dammit. But since she wouldn’t appreciate the reminder, he kept it to himself.

“Is the wedding or marriage legal?” Patrick asked, gripping the chair arms.

Realizing just how tight his fingers clutched the wood, he deliberately relaxed his hold. And shut down the foolish, ill-advised slivers of hope that slipped between his ribs, refusing to be plucked free.

Hope that Cole would say yes, their marriage was legal and binding. That yes, they had no way out of this situation they’d created and had to make the best of it. Oh yeah, he hoped that he could keep Brooklyn Hayes as his wife. Keep her as his.

But he couldn’t voice any of those thoughts. Because that would mean betraying his longest and most closely held secret.

That he was in love with his ex-girlfriend’s older sister.

And had been for three years.

He and Kayla had broken up two and a half years ago. Yes, he’d started wanting Brooklyn before he’d broken up with her sister.

That made him an asshole. Especially in Brooklyn and her family’s eyes, if they ever found out. But no one had, and no one would. This was his burden, and even before he’d ended things with Kayla, Patrick had accepted he could never have Brooklyn.

But then fate, God, tequila... One or all three had thrown him a bone, and at Christmas, too.

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