She squinted and studied him. “Well, I’m having second thoughts about that outfit of yours, but other than that, no.”
“That wasn’t what I—” He looked down at his navy linen sports shirt and cargo pants. “What’s wrong with my clothing?”
Chelsea tugged at one of the buttons on his shirt. “They don’t scream, ‘Whee, I’m eloping with my hot new girlfriend.’”
His mouth quirked. “No? What do they scream?”
“They scream, ‘Whee, I just read that the DOW was up thirteen points.’”
He laughed and unbuttoned the first button at his throat. “Better? Am I wild and crazy now?”
She snorted, then reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, tousling it. His body immediately reacted to her touch, his cock aching with need. Chelsea didn’t notice the way he stiffened, though. She reached for his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, then stepped back and judged him. “Better. Now you just look like a businessman on a bender.”
“Perfect for a rebellious getaway marriage.”
“Exactly!”
She lifted her arms. “Let’s go, then!”
“Did you want to pack anything else?”
She shrugged. “I can get the rest of it when we get back.”
“I can send a man over to get it for you, if you’d rather. Or hire a crew.”
She gave him a dimpled smile. “That works, too.”
“We need to stop by my lawyer’s office for the prenuptial agreement before we go to the airport.”
“Cool.”
She was entirely too casual about this. “You can still back out, you know. We’re about to enter into a two-year agreement for a fake marriage.”
“Nope, I’m fine with it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not entertaining any other prospects, and it’ll help us both out, right?”
“Right,” he said. Fuck. Two years of being married to this woman and not being able to touch her. He watched her walk to the front door of her apartment, noticing the way her hips swayed under her long shirt.
Maybe he was the one who needed to think things through again. Sebastian quickly shook the thought out of his head. He needed this fake marriage, if nothing else, to get Lisa off of his back and to avoid his mother’s ever-present camera crew. Things would boil over for about a week and then fall into silence. Blessed, blessed silence.
He was looking forward to that a hell of a lot more than getting laid.
As Chelsea headed out the door to the apartment, he noticed she hadn’t turned any of the lights off. “Uh, do you want to switch these off?”
“The lights?” she asked. “No, I always leave them on.”
All of them? He paused, waiting for an answer as to why. When she didn’t provide one, he decided it was none of his business and offered her his arm. “Shall we go get hitched?”
Chelsea chuckled and put her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Yes we shall. I hope you bought me a nice ring.”
*
Sixteen hours later, they were in New Orleans, and they were married. With a few phone calls from Sebastian’s assistant, he’d managed to book the best suite at the Ritz-Carlton. Now they were in the room together, alone.
Married.
They’d hit up a small chapel in the French Quarter and Chelsea had bought a loose sundress at one of the shops. It had spaghetti straps and a gauzy skirt and was a pale almost-white. She’d paired it with sandals and a bouquet of flowers they’d paid through the nose for at the chapel, and then they’d stood quietly for their small ceremony.
Well, okay, not so quietly. Chelsea had gotten the giggles, and he’d started chuckling, too.