She leaned into him, his touch so calming yet seductive that her heart couldn’t keep pace with her emotions. “I do, but—”
“No buts. No ifs.” Christian’s hand fell to his side, clenching and unclenching. “Tell me what to do…what to say to assure you I’m serious.” He leaned against the metal shelves, the tips of his fingers pressing against his bottom lip as he studied her. She became hyper-aware of the rip in her dress, the throb at her temple and that her hair was completely undone.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in the familiar heartbreaking scent of him, then opened her eyes. “I don’t know.”
His lips pressed together. For a moment he looked as if he wanted to argue. “I want you to stay in your room for the rest of the afternoon. I need to make sure this wasn’t planned, that it was only drunken idiots with an excess of testosterone. I’ve had threats in the past from stalkers.”
“Most recently from those who want to blackmail me,” he added with a resigned look on his face.
The pictures. She hated that he was in this position. He had so much to give, and already gave so much, without anyone knowing.
“Okay, I’ll stay in my room until you find out who was behind it.” She tucked a large chunk of hair behind her ear. It fell forward, covering one eye. “I need to call my family, anyway. I’d rather they hear about what happened from me than the news.”
“Let them know that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” His arms came around her, gently squeezing her. All she wanted him to do was hold her like this and never let go.
Arriving at her room, he turned to face her. “Don’t unlock it for anyone but me.” Taking her key to the room, he swiped the card and opened the door. He held up his hand, indicating for her to wait. “You’ve eaten lunch?”
“Yes, and I have snacks.” Chocolate sounded good right about now. Lots and lots of chocolate.
“Good.”
He entered first, checking the closet and bathroom before returning to the bedroom. “I’m sending security to stand at your door. Men on my payroll. Ones I trust and you can, too.”
“B-but I don’t need security now.” Or maybe she did. “All right.”
“Did your phone make it through?”
“I don’t know.” Frowning, she pulled her phone out of her skirt pocket and examined it. “Still works.”
Plucking it out of her hand, he began typing. “Here’s my number.” He slipped the phone into the pocket of her skirt. “Text me if you need anything or if you just want to talk.”
“Is this your sneaky way of getting my number?” she asked, trying to lighten his mood.
“Maybe. I’ll be back soon, yes?” He kissed her again, hard and quick. “How about dinner at a restaurant without a reputation?”
She nodded in agreement, despite the need for him to stay. Only she didn’t know how to ask, without coming across as needy. Why couldn’t she woman-up and tell him exactly what she wanted?
“What am I thinking?” He scrubbed his hand across his face, then turned to lock the door behind them. “I can’t leave you like this: alone and waiting on me. I’ll make my phone calls from here, if that’s okay?”
Smiling as he faced her again, she said, “Staying is exactly what you do to begin convincing me.”
Christian posed for another picture and signed a napkin. He craned his neck, looking for Zoe. She sat on a nearby bench, playing with her phone. Mostly likely she was trying to beat his score at ‘Angry Birds’.
After making the decision to not leave her alone, he’d spent rest of the afternoon with her lying in his arms as she drifted in and out of sleep. Inquiries had been made about the fight and The Oasis employee while he’d held her. The fight had turned out to be spontaneous. Unfortunately, Mr. Fulner didn’t exist and all signs pointed to his father hiring the man to make Christian look bad.
He had become so furious at the news that he’d left Zoe (and a note) asleep in bed and a security guard at her door to go workout in the gym. Thank God she’d understood.
“Would you sign here?” A woman with a pouty red mouth pointed to her breasts.
“Uh.” He glanced at Zoe again. Her eyes met his, a grin playing on her lips. “How about here instead?” He wrote his name on the woman’s arm and nodded to security.
Quickly and efficiently, they cleared the area as he ambled over to Zoe, propping one foot on the bench and leaning over her. “Ready for the show?”
“Isn’t the main attraction already here?”
“Very funny, but I mean the one I told you about—the flash mob.” Grinning, he stepped back and gently pulled her to her feet. She tucked her phone in her purse and smoothed her dress down.
“Aren’t flash mobs supposed to be planned spontaneity?” She regarded him skeptically.
He brushed back the dark fall of silky hair gleaming on her shoulder. “Insider information.” Brennen had told him the dancers would be performing a mash-up of some old Bruno Mars and Train songs. Brennen had also assured him the lyrics would be considered romantic by a woman like Zoe. To ensure his friend was telling the truth, Christian had promised Brennen severe bodily harm if the words ‘smack that’ left anyone’s mouth.
“Did your informer say what kind of songs they’d be performing?”
“Something romantic.”
Raising her brows, she smiled. “Pulling out all the stops for my last night in Vegas, huh? I’m impressed.”
“I want it to be something you’ve never experienced. Hell, it’ll be new for me.”
Music sounded to the right of them. Men and women emerged from the crowd, joining in.
Zoe swayed lightly to the beat while she stood in front of him, then froze. His jaw dropped.
Brennen had kept his promise. ‘Smack that’ didn’t leave anyone’s mouth. It was worse. Much, much worse.
When the last notes faded away, she turned to face him. “Did you mean it or was that for everyone else?” Her dark eyes were luminous and vulnerable.
He couldn’t do this, not to her. No matter how much his agent would love this kind of news about him. Not even for an organization like B.T.S. It was too cruel, too permanent. He had enough sins weighing him down.
But his heart had other ideas. There would never be another moment like this, so perfect and right. He would never have another woman look at him like Zoe was right now. Like he’d hung the moon and stars for her. She didn’t see him as Ian Romanov, the actor. She knew him, down to his most guarded secrets, as Christian Romanov, the man.
As if coming from a far off distance he heard himself ask, “Will you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, throwing her arms around him.
Then he kissed her.
Chapter Seventeen
Young Elvis winked and shot a finger pistol at them as Christian carried her out of main room of the chapel.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Zoe shouted in her best Elvis voice. Her head swam from the all the glasses of champagne she’d drank while they were waiting for their turn. Who knew so many people came to the Little White Church or was it the den of iniquity? Too bad she didn’t have her notepad with her.
Christian set her on her feet and she lurched to one side. “Hang on there, Mrs. Romanov.”
Reaching around him to grab another glass, she’d only taken a few sips before he snatched it away. “Hey, that’s mine.”
“I think you’ve had enough, love. Can’t have you puking your guts up on our wedding night.”
Her vision blurred, then his fallen angel face came into focus. “Would you hold my hair back if I did? And then feed me Bo’ Jangles the next morning?”
“Is that a cure for a hangover?”
She giggled. “Always worked in college.”
“Were you a wild-child in college? We never discussed Zoe: The College Years.”
“No, I was very, very good.” She dramatically sighed, thinking of all the times Melanie hadn’t talked her into going out. “All I did was study, study and study some more. No playtime for me.”
“Not even once?” He smiled at her and she wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him.
“Once I was very, very naughty.” She held a finger to her lips. "Don’t tell my momma, but I did it again tonight.”
“I would think all mothers would love their daughters getting married.”
Zoe snorted. “You haven’t met my mother.”
“She can’t be that bad.”
“That’s what you think. My mother tends to be dramatic.” She swept her arm out, smacking a vase of flowers and sending the entire thing crashing to the floor. “Oops! I’m sorry. So sorry, Young Elvis.”
“Add it to our bill,” Christian said.
“Thanks for not minding my non-sportsiness.”
“That’s not a real word.”
She tried to give him an imposing frown. “It’s my wedding night, and I can say what I like.” She let go of him and leaned against the wall. “And I likey that word.”
“Lucky for you I can afford your un-non, er, sporty stuff.”
“Non-sportsiness,” she corrected. “And I can afford myself.”
“But I like taking care of you.” Christian looked down at his bride as her eyes closed, faint smudges of mascara under them.
She’d cried when they kissed as man and wife. Then she’d gotten really happy, kissing the preacher and the Elvis impersonator. Hell, he had to stop her before she’d kissed the groom waiting to go next. Not that the guy minded, but Christian sure as hell had. The guy’s fiancée hadn’t looking too excited about the prospect either. Even Zoe had noticed and had thrown her bouquet at the woman, telling her to turn her frown upside down.
Frowning, she mumbled something about her hair. He glanced at her head. The makeshift crown of pink and green flowers she’d put in her hair while they had waited had wilted, but she looked rather enchanting. Her little pink dress made her look bride like. The marriage certificate made it official.
Come tomorrow he would either kill Brennen or thank him. Maybe do both, then go on a long honeymoon in a country that didn’t extradite criminals.
He shoved his hands in his pockets to find his phone, texting Sasha with a few instructions. He needed a ring for his bride, and not just any ring either.
They’d almost skipped over the ring portion of the ceremony, until he remembered the one in his pocket. He suspected Sasha had slipped the thing in his pocket. He also suspected Sasha was in cahoots with Brennen. But why?
She fussed at the platinum circle when it hit the floor for the hundredth time. “Oh, you slippery little sucker. You better stay in place this time.”
He stifled a grin.
“Here’s your copy of the pictures and video of your wedding,” the manager of the chapel said, handing Christian a flash drive decorated with faux diamonds.
“Thanks,” Christian said. Zoe would be enormously pleased when she had a chance to view them. She had oohed and ahhed over all the Wall of Matrimonial Bliss. Such a little romantic he’d married.
His little romantic fell on her butt.
“Sorry, it’s the champagne,” she said, her words slurring. “Champagne. CHAM-pagne. Does that word sound funny to you? Cham-PAGNE.” The ring fell in her lap. “Darn it, my wedding ring slipped again. It’s too big for me. Like you.”
At least she was a happy drunk unlike his mother who’d wept and railed at the world over what a bastard his father was until the day she’d left. Although, he was inclined to agree with her assessment of Vladimir.
He brushed away the melancholy thoughts.
After texting Sasha, again, when he didn’t reply, he sat beside Zoe, but she had other ideas and parked herself in his lap. He groaned as her cute bum ground into his groin.
“You okay? Want me to kiss your owie?”
His what? “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.” She plunged her hands between his legs.
“Carefu—ow,” he yelped as her fingers pinched him on the thigh. Now the word made complete sense.
She grabbed his hand, holding it up to the light. “I’m really sorry I stabbed you.” Her lips were gentle as they moved over the faint scar. “Poor baby.”
“It’s nothing, Zoe.”Actually, he quite liked the fuss she made over him.
“Love,” she said.
“What?”
“I love it when you call me love. No one calls me love, but you. No one loves me, but you.” Her hand crept around his neck. “And I love you, too. Only you, my husband and I lahve him. You.”
She tried kissing him, missed and nearly high-fived the wall with her face. He managed to stop her just in time by grabbing her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Are you going to start singing again? The couple in front of us did enjoy your rendition of “Somebody to Love” and you had the entire chapel joining in on the chorus.” Christian smiled fondly at the recent memory.
“Wise men say, only fools rush in,” she sang in her off-key, but sweet voice. She leaned back in his arms and gazed up at him. “I forgot the rest. Sing it to me.”
“You did not and that’s not the right song.”
“Just a little bit of singing, please.” She batted her lashes at him, and he caved faster than sandcastle hit by a wave.
“Somebody to love,” he sang softly.
