Hot Commodity (4 page)

But she did notice when her fiancé was jerked away from her. Olivia yelped in surprise as she slid down the wall until her heels hit the sidewalk and she wobbled for footing. Her companion spun around to glare at the individual who’d yanked him away from her. But when he saw the uniformed police officer glaring back, he stumbled in reverse and bumped into her, pinning her momentarily to the wall.

Her eyes flared, and she quickly smoothed down her skirt.

"I told you two to stop," the officer lectured, scowling from her groom to her and back to her groom again.

Her intended winced, holding up both hands as if surrendering. "Sorry, ossif...officer," he gushed. "I was, well, I wasn’t paying attention to much of anything, ’cept her."

He glanced over his shoulder, and when their gazes met, he grinned engagingly, making Olivia swallow down a start of longing. There was just something so incredibly sweet and cuddly, yet wholly erotic, about this man she was going to marry.

She blinked, wondering how he could stand in such a submissive position with his hands in the air and smile at her like he didn’t have a care in the world.

"That’s obvious," the officer muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Now, how much have you had to drink tonight, buddy?"

Olivia’s groom turned to direct his glazy grin toward the cop. "A lot," he admitted openly and cheerfully. Then he hiccupped to prove it. "That’s why I’m walking everywhere, you see. No drinking and driving for me." He paused. "Say, that’s a nice uniform, officer. You must get lotsa chicks."

Olivia closed her eyes and let out a groan of mortification. Why in the world was he sucking up to the cranky cop? He was only going land them both in jail.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found the officer scrutinizing her. She swallowed.

"Ma’am," he said stonily. Then his gaze roved disapprovingly down her outfit. "Are you aware this area has a high concentration of prostitution?"

Olivia whimpered and licked her suddenly dried lips. "I...does it?"

"Now, wait a sec," her fiancé butted in, sounding insulted. He stepped partially in front of her and, she had to admit, his protective gesture felt nice. "She’s not a hooker, damn it. That’s my fiancée you’re talking to, pal. We’re gettin’ married tonight. Besides, I happen to know prosistush—prostitution is legal in Navada, cause this buddy of mine once—"

"Sir," the officer broke in, not looking at all impressed by the drunk’s legal knowledge. "Prostitution may be legal in the state, but it’s not in Clark County or the city limits of Las Vegas."

Dropping his finger to scratch his head and look suitably confused, Green Eyes frowned. "Really? Well, jus’ the same. She’s no hooker. She’s my fiancée. An’ we’re getting married tonight."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is." He reached back and caught Olivia’s hip with a blind hand to tug her closer. "We’re looking for a chapel right now as a matter o’ fact."

The officer arched a skeptical brow.

Her groom gave a defeated sigh. "Look, man. We’re jus’ drunk and horny. Is there a law agains’ being drunk and horny?"

"No, but there is one against drunk and disorderly. And prostitution within the city limits."

Olivia’s intended sank back against her, clearly intimidated. "Oh," he said in small voice. Her fingers clutched his arm.

"Do either of you have any identification on you?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," her fiancé answered, promptly digging into his back pocket.

Olivia blushed, remembering where she’d stashed her ID.

Green Eyes had already handed over his driver’s license when he turned to her. "Babe?"

Both men stared expectantly. Fearing incarceration more than she did immodesty, she gave a loud sigh. "Wait a second," she mumbled and turned slightly away from them, lifting her hand to her cleavage.

"Nice," her fiancé cooed, his eyes lighting with interest as she wiggled her fingers between the leather ties and fished around. "Say, honey. Need any help digging that out?"

"No," she snapped and sent him an irritated look. "That’s exactly what got us into trouble in the first place."

"Sorry," he mumbled, lifting both hands again, this time surrendering to her. Then he grinned over his shoulder at the waiting officer. "She’s the love of my life."

Olivia finally latched onto a hard chunk of plastic and tugged. Along with her driver’s license came a wad of cash and a single condom. Her eyes went wide and she glanced guiltily at the cop.

Great. Now he was never going to believe she wasn’t a hooker.

Shoving the money and prophylactic back into her cleavage, she handed over the warm piece of identification.

The officer clipped both IDs to his badge and said, "Alright then. Mind if I check both your clothes for officer safety?"

"Um, sure," Olivia’s companion said. "Whatever you need, officer."

So, Olivia found herself with her legs spread and her fingers behind her head as a pair of impersonal hands ran quickly down her body. She glanced at her fiancé to find him scowling as he watched. But he repeated the same stance without protest when it was his turn.

The officer had them both sit on the side of the curb about ten feet away from each other as he spoke into his radio and cleared their identities. A couple of minutes later, right about the time Olivia was sure she’d be spending the night in jail, the officer returned.

"Okay, folks. Both of your licenses check out. You’re free to go. Thank you for your cooperation. But I’m warning you now. If I see you again tonight with your public displays of affection, I’m arresting you both. Find somewhere private for it."

"Thank you, sir," Olivia’s fiancé said as he popped to his feet. He went straight to her and held down a hand to help her up. She reached for him, and he hauled her to her unsteady stilettos. As he wrapped an arm around her waist, he turned back to the officer and cheerfully repeated, "We’re getting married tonight."

The cop finally showed a glimmer of amusement. "Congratulations," he said, his mouth pulling tight in an effort to hide his smile. "But I recommend you tie the knot before you start the honeymoon. And find a hotel room for it."

"We will," her intended answered and tugged Olivia away.

They hurried along for a good block, clutching each other gratefully before they slowed. Finally they paused and rested their backs against the wall of a closed storefront while they caught their breaths.

"Okay," her fiancé announced, breathing hard. "That scared the holy hell out of me."

Olivia pressed her fingers to her stomach. "You’re telling me," she gasped. "I thought I was going to pee my pants when he said we were in an area thick with prostitution."

A warm hand clutched hers, surprising her with the comfort that accompanied it. "Maybe we should hurry and get married," he suggested. "Before that happens again."

Olivia looked down at their entwined fingers. Holding a hand felt strange. Actually, it had felt more impersonal to tickle his tonsils with her tongue than it did to weave her fingers though his. She lifted her face and realized she didn’t know him at all. She knew absolutely nothing about this man. The fact that she’d just about had sex with him on a public street shocked and mortified her.

The truth finally sank in. They were getting married. Married!

What in God’s name was she thinking? Yeah, okay, the move would totally aggravate Vivian. But it would affect her too. She’d have a freaking husband.

Olivia opened her mouth with every intention of calling it quits when he threw her for a loop and lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips brushed gently over her knuckles; he caressed her with his hot moist breath. She could only watch in entranced fascination.

No one had ever been so tender with her before. But his sweetness affected her more than anything else ever had or probably ever could. As he turned her palm up and kissed the pulse on the inside of her wrist, she blinked repeatedly, falling under some kind of spell that bound her to him in the most unexplainable way.

"I can’t wait until you’re mine," he said, licking the skin and causing a shot of pure adrenaline to rush through her. He lifted his face and sent her a smile that had her drowning.

"Wedding or honeymoon first?" he murmured, his eyelids heavy with desire.

Forgetting all thoughts from the moment before, Olivia licked her lips and listened to herself say, "Wedding."

He smiled, making her loins swell and tingle.

"Then let’s get married," he announced and linked them together at the elbows.

Their stroll down the sidewalk resembled the way Dorothy and her crew had looked on their trip to Oz. They skipped along jauntily, arm in arm over a concrete sidewalk instead of a yellow brick road, and sang the Dixie Cups’ version of 'Chapel of Love' instead of stressing over lions, tigers, and bears.

He was the first to spot a wedding parlor. "There," he said pointing. "All night weddings. Let’s go."

But as they neared the chapel, another sign caught Olivia’s attention. Her eyes lit. "Elvis!" she screamed and tugged on his hand. "Ooh! Can we get married by Elvis? Please, please, please!"

"Yeah," he said, glancing that way. "Yeah, let’s get married by the king." He dropped his voice and wiggled the corner of his top lip, doing a mediocre Presley impersonation.

Olivia was so excited she threw her arms around him and kissed him. His lips instantly caught hers, and soon he was the aggressor. His fingers tangled in her hair as he held her captive, stroking her mouth with his until she melted against him, limp and dazed and so totally alive, everything inside her could burst out at any moment. She couldn’t remember another time in her life she’d felt so free and exhilarated.

When he finally broke away, breathing hard and looking dazed, she laughed and kissed her way down his neck.

"Holy damn," he panted. "You trying to kill me, woman?"

"I’m trying something," she answered and slid her hand over the front of his pants. He shivered.

"That’s it," he said, stepping back and snatching her wrist. "We’re getting married right now." He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat like some cowboy would to a woman in an old country western movie. "Don’t you worry none, little lady. I’ll make a decent woman outta you yet."

She threw back her head and laughed. He interlaced their fingers and tugged her across the street, breaking into a slow jog as they dogged traffic.

They were both winded and laughing by the time they stepped inside the building, where Elvis’s "Can’t Help Falling in Love" played in the vestibule.

Keeping his hand securely latched around hers, Olivia’s groom pulled her toward the front desk.

The lady behind the counter grinned. "Let me guess. You two want to get married?"

When Olivia’s groom cheered, "Hell, yeah," the woman pulled up a pamphlet from behind the counter and described all the packages and wedding themes they offered. Within minutes, they decided on the Blue Hawaii ceremony.

As the receptionist shoved the paperwork at Olivia’s fiancé, she turned to Olivia. "Do you need a ring, sweetheart?"

Olivia glanced at the man beside her. "Do I?"

He lifted his face. "Well, yes." Then he turned to the receptionist. "Get her the biggest damn ring you got."

The woman cleared her throat discreetly. "And how will you be paying for this, sir?"

A wallet appeared in his hand; he tugged out a gold-faced credit card. After getting her paws on the plastic, the receptionist spun energetically toward Olivia. "Come on, sugar," she said, motioning Olivia to follow. "Let me show you the rings we have."