Finally, Grant lifted his head. “Huh, sex with you is good even without chocolate.”
She laughed. “Told you.”
He squeezed her ass. “I still want to fuck you in your wedding dress.”
She looked puzzled. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” He couldn’t explain it. He ran a hand over her hip. “There’s something about it being your wedding dress that makes me feel like I need to claim you. Something about the ring. The whole thing.”
She didn’t laugh. Or look concerned. She just studied him. Then she nodded. “Yeah. You know what? I want to ride you in the back of the limo with you in your tux too.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You do?” That sounded fucking amazing.
“Yes. While we drive around this city,” she said, nodding.
“Why is that?”
“So that when you wear it in the future, or are in a limo again, or drive around downtown, you think of me,” she said.
And that was it. He wanted to make memories. He wanted that dress to be all about everything he could give her. She’d never traveled before. Not really. She hadn’t been pampered and spoiled. She hadn’t been naughty in a penthouse suite. She hadn’t been risqué in the back seat of a limo. She hadn’t been married before.
He didn’t know if she’d have any of those things again. But he wanted her to remember these firsts, and him, either way.
“I want you to ride me in the back of the limo with me in my tux too,” he said.
“Yeah?” She looked excited and mischievous.
He loved that look on her. “Very much so.”
“Then let’s go get married so we can do that!” she said.
He laughed. “Well, that’s one reason to get married.”
Jocelyn scrambled off the bed. And gave him a hell of a view in the process.
Grant groaned. “Maybe we should shower separately. So Judge Perkins doesn’t have to wait all night for us.”
She paused in the bathroom doorway and gave him a sexy look. “Okay. But next time I shower, I want you in here with me.”
“Done.” He wasn’t sure he had the willpower to stay out next time, frankly.
He wasn’t going to think about the willpower he may, or may not have, when it came time to stay away from her for good. After all of this was over. After she was healthy and stable. After he was back in Chicago again. Alone.
13
There were worse ways to get married.
No one had lost a bet. There were no shotguns involved. No one was drunk.
And damn, her groom looked good in a tux. So good. Grant looked good all the time, but when she’d stepped out of the suite’s bedroom in her shimmery white dress, she’d actually stopped in her tracks at the sight of him.
It was the tux in part. The man filled it out and wore it with the ease that the men she knew wore t-shirts and denim. But he’d also been wearing a smile that had caused her heart to skip a beat. A smile that had been quickly replaced by a look that was a combination of awe and heat.
“You look gorgeous, Jocelyn,” he’d said in a gruff, low voice that had made her stomach flip.
She loved this dress. She never wanted to take it off. It glided over her skin like butter. It clung to her in all the right places but she didn’t feel like she had to suck anything in or prop anything up with spandex or special bras. She was wearing a halter bra that she’d found in the top drawer along with a tiny silk thong. That was it. Two skimpy pieces of lingerie, the dress, and a pair of heels that she was going to beg to keep after the annulment or divorce or whatever. They were the prettiest shoes she’d ever worn. She wasn’t a high-heels kind of girl, but these shoes could change her mind. They were princess shoes. The whole thing was a princess ensemble. Including the freaking tiara.
That she had to give back. She knew that. But that wasn’t stopping her from loving every second it was on top of her head.
She felt sexy and beautiful and confident. And when Grant looked at her the way he’d looked at her in the living room of the suite, she knew that tonight was going to be magical.
She’d pushed the thoughts of gall bladders and hospital bills to the back of her mind. She’d crossed the room—she’d freaking glided across that room—she’d tipped her head to look up at the