he says, running his finger down my bare arm, which is a sea of Jell-O–covered goose bumps. I shudder, not so much from the touch but because it feels unnaturally good. Like I could use a whole lot more of that. “Jeez. Fuck. Are you always this uptight?”
“No. Just when I get married to complete strangers.”
He laughs. Is this all just a game to him?
“What? You don’t care that you’re now wedded to someone you just met and would never even consider marrying otherwise?” I demand.
He shrugs. “It’s not real.”
“Yes, it is. As cheesy as it was, we have an official license with our name on it. So we basically just spit in the face of a time-honored tradition that should be treated with respect. I sullied my dreams for the future with a husband I love. People will look at me when I get married for real and think I’m a fraud because I married you. For what? Money? I feel . . . dirty.”
He considers this. “Hell, when you put it that way . . . All I know is, it don’t go against my dreams for the future. I never planned on marriage at all. That ain’t my thing.”
He’s so gross. “By that you mean commitment? Love? Monogamy?”
He gives me a look of disgust. “Yeah. All that shit. Maybe you just need to relax and not worry about what other people think so much.”
“I can’t help how I act. And yes, I’m normally high-strung. It’s an asset, actually. I’m organized, focused, and competitive, even if I’m not athletic. That’s why I graduated summa cum laude with all my degrees.”
“Don’t know what that means. All I know is you’re uptight as hell. You’d be hot as fuck if you weren’t so wired, maybe lost those glasses you’re hiding behind. Take it easy, baby.”
I scowl at him. I don’t care about being hot. Even though he’s probably right. People have called me an uptight stick-in-the-mud all my life. “Don’t call me baby.”
“Whatever, sweetheart. Number three, you seem to be down on yourself a lot,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. “And there’re going to be a lot of physical challenges in this. I don’t want to hear I can’t from you, even once. If you’re having trouble, tell me. I’ll help you through. And I’ll be asking you if there’s a puzzle or anything that involves more brain cells than I got. I don’t know a lot, but I’m never gonna tell you I can’t. Got it?”
I don’t really care for his manner. He’s acting like those vows we took means he owns me. “Anything else?”
He scratches the scruff on his chin. “Don’t think so.”
“All right. Well, I’ve got something. Absolutely no touching me. And no, we do not sleep in the same bed. And if they make us share a room, I get the bed and you get . . . something else, preferably in another room. Also, don’t think that because I’m your wife on paper that it entitles you to any of the normal things wives do for their husbands. Think of this as a business arrangement. Nothing more. Okay?”
The corners of his mouth twist up in amusement. “Yes, ma’am.”
I nod, satisfied that he’s actually gotten it through his brain. I glimpse the airport in the distance and exhale.
Then I hear him say, under his breath, “But I expect you to change your mind on that.”
I swing my head to look at him. “Under no circumstances will I change my mind!”
He shrugs. “If you say so, baby.”
“I know so! And do not call me baby or sweetheart or any of those things, because I’m not amused!” I cross my arms and pretend he’s dead for the rest of the trip.
Which isn’t very long. The next moment, the bus pulls to a stop. I look at him, and he reaches over and gently touches my cheek.
And he brings his fingertip to his tongue and licks it. “Damn. You taste sweet.”
I nearly die right there.
The touch is as light as a feather, but it rockets straight to my core.
“Did you listen to a single thing I said?” I demand as my temperature skyrockets. “No touching?”
He stares at me for a long time, then licks his lips. “Yeah. I heard. But I have a thing against following directions. Especially from someone as lickable as you.”
My jaw drops. My mind whirls.
I can think of nothing.
Except that he just called me lickable. Me. Lickable?
One of the staff members walks down