Lachlan spreads his hand over his chest. “I’m very romantic, I’ll have you know.”
“True. You did offer me a towel after sex, and it was clean.” The attendant makes a choked sound, and I smile at Lachlan, but I’m fairly sure it’s more of a leer. “You’re very pretty,” I say dreamily. It’s the truth. He’s rumpled, with a flush of colour on his broad cheekbones, and his eyes are bleary. The disobeying lock of hair has staged another rebellion and now flops endearingly over his forehead. He looks rather mischievous.
“I’m not the pretty one.” He fumbles in his pocket as the lift comes to a stop. “Here,” he says to the attendant. “I think you really deserve it after listening to us speak such a load of crap.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” the attendant says, surprise in his voice. Obviously it was a big tip.
“Ta ta, James,” I say. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I instruct him as I turn to leave the lift. “I have to warn you, though, that it isn’t much. Shit, where’s the door?”
“Behind you, sir. You’re looking at the back of the elevator.”
Laughing, Lachlan fumbles for my hand and drags me into the corridor.
Once the lift’s doors close, he pins me to the nearby wall and kisses me hard. By the time he pulls away, my brain has turned to mush, and my dick is hard as a steel pole.
We stare at each other, and I search for my flippant mode and activate it. “I’m drunk and turned on. It’s an explosive combination, Lachlan. Take me to bed or lose me forever.”
Instead of kissing me again, he stares at me. His face is intent, his eyes intense.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Why have you got so distant with me?” he demands.
“What?”
“Don’t even try to think of an excuse. Tell me the truth. I like that about you, Joe. You’re different.”
I blink blearily. “I’m ten a penny.”
“No, you’re like no one I’ve ever known. The rarest thing. An… an honest man,” he slurs.
“I lie to brides all the time, although I’m sure that’s okay if it’s to make them happy. Last week I told my bride that her dress was beautiful, and it really wasn’t,” I whisper.
He snorts. “That’s fine.”
“I’ll have to ask Father Michaels. He does like our discussions.”
“Does he? Wait. You’re Catholic?”
“I’m sure he likes to discuss things. He always sighs a lot. With happiness,” I insist. “And I’m lapsed. Much to my mum’s disgust.”
“How do I not know this?”
“I can’t imagine. You know so much about me,” I say resentfully. “Unlike you, Stranger McStrangerson.”
“What?”
“I’d like to shut up now,” I say conversationally.
He laughs, which sets off his balance. When he sways, I pull him close.
“I don’t want you to be quiet. This is all very interesting, Joe.”
“Well, it’s just one more thing I tell you while you stay silent.”
He stares at me. “What do you mean?”
“You tell me nothing about yourself.”
“I told you about my relationship with my parents.”
“Only because I thought you were ordering food and I wanted a chicken biryani.”
His mouth quirks.
I shove myself away from the wall and sway down the corridor. “I need my bed.”
“Wait. Is that why you’re pulling away from me?”
“Am I?”
“You know you are.”
We’re suddenly serious, and I flail a little. I’m not used to earnestness from him. He’s the epitome of cool customer.
“Is it because I don’t tell you things, Joe?” For such an assured man, he sounds oddly discomposed. “I’m not good at those things. I don’t enjoy flaying myself open to people.”
“It’s not quite as dramatic as that. Just tell me your favourite colour, which side of the bed you like, and what your ambition is in life.”
“Blue. Any side with you in it. And I want to marry you.”
I jerk to a standstill and spin around. He’s watching me, his eyes bleary but very bright. “What?” It’s intended to be a whisper but comes out as a shout.
“Robin’s egg blue, I should say. The colour of your eyes.”
“What? Wait. Did you just say you want to marry me?”
“Oh, you don’t want to discuss my side-of-the-bed preferences?”
“Lachlan Moore,” I shout.
Laughing, he walks closer and draws me into his arms. He’s warm and big and strong, and I snuggle into him without thinking about it.
“Marry me,” he urges.
“Have you gone completely raving fucking mad?”
He laughs and there’s a very wild edge to it. “Completely bonkers, but let’s do it anyway.”
“You actually want to marry me?”
“I do,” he says in a mock solemn tone that he spoils by laughing like an idiot.
“Why? Because I’m so very different from other mortals, or because you know I’m pulling away?”
“No, of course not,” he says quickly.
I narrow my eyes at him, because it sounds like a lie. “Then why?”
“Because…”
“Because what?”
His shrug makes him stagger, and he misses the wall when he tries to lean against it. “Just because. Because I’m Lachlan and you’re Joe. Because you’re the best I’ve ever had in my bed and out of it. Because you make me laugh. Because you fascinate me. Because we’re in Vegas and we’re drunk and I’m happy. Because.”
I shake my head. “I am way too drunk for this conversation,” I say, but my words aren’t strong at all.
He cocks his head, his expression wickedly tempting. “Come on,” he coaxes. “You and me. Let’s get married, Joe. Let’s show them what a real wedding is all about.”
“Well, it’s going to be one I’m not planning.”
He senses victory and grins. I sigh and when I close my eyes, his lips land on the soft skin of my eyelids.
“Let’s do it,” he urges, his voice a rich temptation. “Come on, Joe. Marry me. I’ll sort out everything. I promise you.”
Something’s missing, but I’m too drunk to figure it out. I stare at his beautiful, craggy face. This fascinating man. The most fascinating man I’ve ever met. Funny and clever and sharp. A challenge unlike anyone I’ve been with before.
“Yes?” he says.
I slowly nod. “Yes.”
I laugh loudly as he seizes me and spins me around, launching into a stumbling tango down the corridor.
A door opens. “Shut the fuck up,” an irate voice says.
“We’re getting married,” I shout. I sway as dizziness seizes me and then chuckle as Lachlan raises me and I wrap my legs around his narrow hips. I grip tighter as he staggers.
“Well then, get your asses to a fucking wedding chapel and get the hell out of the hallway,” comes the wise retort.