But there was the assistant carrying a box shaped like a pink Cadillac. Inside were two rings, both plain silver except for the colorful abalone shell inlay around each band.
“They had a selection of rings here,” Shelby said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “I picked these out while you were dealing with the paperwork. I mean, I know this is just for show…but are they okay?”
He accepted the thinner band—Shelby’s ring—from the assistant and marveled at the glint of light off the shell inlay. All the tiny swirls of silver and green and purple and black. It managed to be both practical and fanciful, and didn’t that describe the pair of them to a T?
He picked up her hand and slid the ring into place. “It’s perfect.”
Her smile lit the room and, yeah, in that second, it was perfect.
Chapter Eight
Shelby climbed into the back of the limo provided to take them to their hotel. It was just as chintzy as the rest of the wedding had been, with blue suede 50s decor, and a gaudy JUST MARRIED sign on the back window. She kind of loved it.
Reece, on the other hand…
She settled into the leather seat across from him. He was adorably rumpled, his hair tousled, his tie askew, his jacket wrinkled. If she was pressed to give a name to his appearance she’d call it “shell-shocked,” or maybe “flabbergasted” was a better term. When he reached to open the mini fridge and spotted the ring on his finger, he froze, stared at the band for several heartbeats, then grabbed the complimentary bottle of champagne instead of the water he’d been reaching for. He popped the cork and downed half the contents in one breath, his throat working with each swallow.
Damn. That was sexy.
The temperature in the car inched into uncomfortable territory, and Shelby shifted in her seat, crossed her legs under the skirt of her dress. Sure, all of the Wilde brothers were good looking, but Reece? With his long, lean muscles and cutting hazel eyes, he was sex walking around in a perfectly tailored suit. She’d always thought so, since she first saw him at The Bean Gallery, back before she knew he was Cam’s brother.
And now they were married.
Weird.
She twisted her ring around on her finger and couldn’t take his silence a second longer. “So. Interesting night.”
He made a noncommittal sound and sat back, loosening his tie with a quick tug that did absolutely nada to douse the firestorm of lust building inside her.
What would he do if she crawled over there and straddled his lap? He was her husband now, after all. Wasn’t that expected behavior on a honeymoon?
She entertained the fantasy of hot limo sex for a few minutes, but never made a move toward him. She knew better. They may be legally married, but it wasn’t real. Yes, they had a mad case of lust-at-first-sight, but there was no love here. The optimist in her liked to think there might have been something more between them if circumstances were different, but this farce had ended any possibility of that. And she wasn’t quite sure where that left them.
Reece set the bottle aside and finally met her gaze. “We need to figure out the rules for this…marriage.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he’d want rules. He liked black and white. No shades of gray. And definitely no spontaneous bursts of color. What a boring life he must lead. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought we’d wing it.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t wing anything.”
“You did a good job of it today.” She held up her ring finger, wiggled it for emphasis. “Unless you planned to put a ring on it when you got up this morning?”
Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “Fuck me. What have I done?”
She would not let those words hurt. Nope. Not at all. Rubber and glue and all that bouncing. “Hey, if you’re having second thoughts, we can go get it annulled right now. Claim temporary insanity. I bet it will go down as the shortest marriage in history. Even by Vegas standards.”
“No.” He dropped his hands to his lap. “We’ll see this through. We have sixty days to get an annulment. That’s time enough to solve both of our problems.”
“What if you don’t catch your blackmailer by then?”
His jaw hardened. “I will.” He left no room for argument in his tone. It was as if a conversational wall had dropped around the subject with a big sign that read, “Off fucking limits.”