Page 22

Twenty-Two

Luna

Why are people always bursting into the bedroom when I’m naked?

I clutch the blankets to my chin as a huge, bearded man barrels his way into the room. Then stops, mouth dropping open.

“Christ,” Aiden says, shoving past him then standing in front of the bigger man, doing his best to block me from view. “You being at a loss for words would be funny,” he mutters, “if only you weren’t in my fucking hotel room.”

The door to said room slams closed, making me jump and seeming to jar the big man.

He looks around Aiden and waves at me, a boyish smile curving his mouth.

“Um…sorry to intrude,” he says, his voice just as big as his body—and beard.

“I’ll just hit the door and let you two get back to…

your fun time.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder and starts to turn, spinning away from the bed, rotating toward the dresser.

Then stopping, shock ricocheting through his form.

“A marriage license?” he asks, turning back toward us, his mouth falling open a second time.

Which is when Aiden’s had enough.

He plunks a hand onto the big man’s chest, shoves him toward the door, sending him staggering back several steps. “Really, Smitty. It’s time for you to get the fuck out.”

The aforementioned Smitty brushes Aiden’s hand off like it’s a feather then lurches forward, grabbing the signed and notarized paper.

“It is a fucking marriage license! Holy shit, dude!” His grin is nearly as big as the rest of him.

“You’re fucking married? To the hottie from the pictures your mom sent?

Do your parents know?” He leans in, lowers his voice—which is to say, the volume of his words decreases, but he’s still loud as hell.

“Are you sure this is wise? Vegas, buddy, it can be the land of magic…but also of regrets.” A beat.

“Do you…like…really”—his eyes slide toward me, chagrin in the deep brown depths, and voice drops further, as if he’s just realizing I can hear every word—“ know her?”

I bite my lip, stifling a giggle.

If Smitty only knew.

But Aiden isn’t amused. He groans, eyes closing, and I can practically see him counting to ten—then twenty when patience doesn’t come after the first interval.

“Um,” I say, drawing the big man’s focus again. “Aiden and I grew up together. So yeah,” I finish. “We know each other pretty well.”

His brown eyes come to mine, and he takes a step toward me, though I don’t miss that he stops immediately when I clutch the blankets a little tighter to my chest. “I’m Smitty,” he says, voice going gentle.

“Luna,” I reply softly. “Maybelle.”

“Nice to meet you, Luna Maybelle,” he says, still in that gentle voice, then looks away, giving me at least a blip of privacy.

“Great,” Aiden mutters. “Now that introductions have been made all around, you”—he glares at Smitty—“can get the fuck out.”

“Hell no, man!” Smitty says. “We’re in Vegas. You’re married to a beautiful woman who seems nice”—another slanting glance of deep brown eyes and the mischief in them has me wanting to giggle again—“we’ve got to celebrate!”

“There is absolutely no we where you’re involved, Smitty,” Aiden grits out, every word sounding like he’s gargling broken glass. “ Luna and I are going to celebrate. You’re going to go back the fuck to your hotel room and leave us alone.”

Smitty pouts.

It’s a ridiculous expression on a grown man, not the least of which one of Smitty’s size.

But it’s also somehow…cute?

I like him.

“But you didn’t even tell us so we could throw you a party,” he grumbles. “And you know I throw a great party.”

Aiden shoves a hand through his hair. “We eloped Smitty. That means we kept it a secret from everyone so we could enjoy things like our wedding night in private.”

Smitty’s pout deepens.

Aiden sighs and tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

“Look,” he says, dropping his head back down.

“My mom is going to freak out and likely throw something together the moment she finds out. You leave us alone until we get back to the Bay Area and I’ll make sure you get an invite. ”

The big man considers that for a long, long moment.

“Don’t push me, Smitty,” Aiden mutters.

“It’d be better if we plan it together—your mom and I,” Smitty says contritely, while not looking contrite in the least.

“That’s not going to happen.” Aiden glares. “And if you push it, I’ll make sure the theme is wombats.”

I don’t really understand what that means, but Smitty does, apparently. He shudders. “That’s not fair,” he says begrudgingly. “But fine.”

“ Wombats ,” Aiden repeats. “With beady little black eyes and cube-shaped poop.”

Smitty pales slightly and shives. “Ugh. Like I said, fine . But”—he jabs a finger in Aiden’s direction—“the party better be soon. And if your mom reaches out because she wants my help then I’m telling you’ve okayed it.”

Why am I almost certain that Kathy Black is going to reach out to Smitty for party planning help?

I keep that thought to myself, along with the guilt that threatens to rise up about Kathy planning a party for a business deal of a marriage.

This isn’t purely that.

I know it. Aiden knows it.

And anyway, I can flagellate myself later.

Tonight, I just want to enjoy Aiden…and maybe also the big man’s shenanigan’s. So long as he leaves soon.

“Dude,” Aiden mutters, shoving at his chest again. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

Likely realizing that he’s pushed Aiden to a breaking point, Smitty finally cooperates, letting himself be herded toward and out the door, calling a goodbye to me in the process.

I call one back, thinking—yeah, I can’t help it—but I like the man.

I hear the heavy wooden panel slam closed. Then a thunk , like Aiden’s dropping his head against it.

Carefully, I get out of bed, peeling off my bunched up dress and hanging it over the back of the chair. I take a step toward the door then pause…debating.

Yeah. The aftermath of Smitty’s interruption definitely calls for lacy undergarments.

So, I change directions, snagging the lingerie from my bag. It takes only a couple of seconds to clip on the bra, to drag the matching panties up my thighs.

And when Aiden doesn’t reappear in that time, I venture down the short hall, see that he’s got his face pressed to the door.

He sighs loudly.

Smiling despite myself, I settle my hand on his back. “Wombats?”

He spins beneath my touch, emerald eyes filled with irritation. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do,” I say. “Like, I really do.”

Smitty seems incorrigible enough that I’ll need ammunition for future interactions.

“No, you don’t...” But he trails off, eyes heating as his gaze drags down my front, catching on my breasts, dipping lower to the scrap of fabric that is masquerading as underwear. “ Luns.”

I shiver, heat gathering between my legs, making the tops of my thighs slick with need. “You like?”

“As much as that dress and those heels?” He shakes his head. “No. Fuck no.”

One side of my mouth curves up.

Especially when he adds, “But is it a close second? Oh yeah, sweetheart.”

“I—”

But I don’t even know what I would have said next because whatever bit of sass had risen up in my throat, preparing to escape and tease this man who I desperately want to be mine is cut off when he wraps an arm around my middle and drags me against him, lips sealing over mine, tongue sliding into my mouth.

He kisses me long and deep and wet.

And even before he gives me a moment to catch my breath, before he scoops me up and carries me to the bed…

I’m ready.

He isn’t, though.

He takes his time stripping the lacy undergarments from my body as he kisses me, as he strokes and licks and touches, as he caresses and worships and loves, as he guides me up and sends me over the edge before coaxing me back down.

Only, just as he rolls on another condom and starts to stroke home…

There’s another knock at the door.

One that doesn’t stop.

One that means I’m clutching the blankets to my chin and Aiden is cursing up a blue streak again.

One that means he’s pulling away from me and answering the door in a towel, also again.

Thank God for small miracles, it’s not another hockey player intruding.

Though, the interruption is from Smitty—at least according to the note on the room service tray, tucked between the plates of food, it’s corner secured beneath the bottle of champagne.

To keep your energy up.

-S

P.S. It had better be a really good party.