Chapter One
Court
The bride is over my shoulder, wriggling like a trout caught between a bear’s paws. And it’s true: my paw is on her ass, so maybe she feels like a trout, even though we’re on a beach and there are no bears in Maui. And she’s screaming like a banshee.
I run like hell down the aisle, past the tropical flowers lining each side, feet churning the sand. Somewhere a Chihuahua is barking insanely. The bride’s head bounces on my back, the white veil brushing my thighs and knees. The guests in semi-casual beachwear are too stunned to move. They just stare, their mouths open. It looks comical—like something from a third-rate chick flick.
“Stop, you son of a bitch!” comes from behind me. The groom’s finally gotten his shit together.
Sissy. I didn’t even push him out of the way that hard. I look over a shoulder to give him a superior smirk.
He’s started after me, his feet pounding the sand. But the guy’s not fast enough. Even with a struggling woman over one shoulder, I can outrun him. I didn’t get my muscles from one of those jiggle dumbbells that simulates jerking off. I got them the old-fashioned way—sweating on Icarian fitness equipment in a gym.
Oh yeah. You aren’t getting married. Not until pigs win the Super Bowl.
Besides, he’s going to thank me. As soon as the fact that his intended and I slept together only two weeks ago sinks into his microscopic brain.
My getaway Maserati convertible is waiting. Hell yeah. Stealing this bride in style.
I dump her in the passenger seat. Cursing, she struggles against the tangled veil and a small sea of white fabric.
I start the car. The engine roars like a lion, while the bride screams like I’m Hannibal Lecter coming off a month-long fast. The Hawaiian breeze ruffles my hair. I smack the wheel in triumph and give the car some gas.
Someone in red runs right in front of the car. Shit! I slam on the brakes.
“You fucking crazy?” I shout, my heart knocking hard against my chest. The Maserati could’ve turned her into a bloody human pancake. “I almost ran you over!”
A tall, slim brunette places her hands on the hood of my car, almost like she’s daring me to run her over. Then she lifts her chin.
What the fuck?
The familiar aquamarine eyes send a jolt through me. I blink. The bride is right next to me, still cursing. What the hell is she doing over there in that red dress? Am I seeing things? I’ve been thinking entirely too much about her over the last two weeks.
“Skittles?” I say.
“Yeah.” The same husky voice.
Damn… It is her.
I glance at my kidnapped bride…who has finally gotten her veil out of the way and has the exact same face as Skittles. What the fuck is going on?
Chapter Two
–two weeks ago
Court
My phone goes off again, but I don’t bother checking it. I know who it is, and it’s better for my sanity that I don’t look at the notification.
Besides, the car’s coming soon.
Sure enough, within a minute, a blue Prius rounds the corner and starts slowing down. Finally! Time to forget parental drama for the night.
Nate stares at it the way a zoo tiger might stare at an offer of hay. “Oh, come on! Court, man. Seriously?”
I try not to laugh at his tragicomic face. “Do you see anything else?”
“That’s a…” He squints. “What is it?”
“Pretty sure it’s called a Prius.” I slap his shoulder in mock sympathy. “Uber drivers don’t usually tool around in Bugattis.”
“But…a Prius?”
I shrug. “So? It’s environmentally friendly, reliable and will take us where we need to go.”
“You know I have a brand spankin’ new Lamborghini right over there.” He gestures at the valet parking.
“Uh-huh. And how many beers did you have with dinner?”
“Two. No more than three.”
I don’t know why he even t
ries. “Four. You need to go back to preschool.”
He gapes at me. “You were counting?”
“I saw the receipt.”
“Oh.” Nate takes a moment to regroup. “Well, I can hold my liquor.”
“The Pryces can hold their liquor,” I correct him, referring to his older brother’s in-laws. They drink scotch and whiskey like water. “The last time I checked, you were Nate Sterling. And it was your idea to go clubbing, which means more drinking. You don’t want to wreck your car so soon, do you?”
He bristles. “I’m a great driver.”
True enough. And he actually can hold his liquor. I’ve seen him execute perfect backflips and make complex, six-figure stock trades after more than ten whiskeys. Still…I have my own rules.
I give him a quick pat on the back. “Don’t be a snob.”
That’s guaranteed to annoy the crap out of him. Even though he was born with a gold-plated silver spoon, he hates it when people treat him like he’s snooty. According to him, liking the finer things in life doesn’t make him stuck-up.