Sunlight streamed through the massive windows of the hotel suite, revealing the Vegas skyline in all its morning-after glory. I blinked, but the motion felt slow, heavy even, and nothing about me was ever slow. I’d made myself a damn good career out of being fast. My entire body felt sluggish, as though I’d had way too much to drink last night, which didn’t make sense. Vegas meant I was here for a game, and a game meant there was no way I’d been drinking.
Something about that didn’t quite fit the situation, but I couldn’t pin my groggy little finger on it.
What the hell had I done last night?
I rolled over, turning my back on the window and the morning it promised and found the most exquisite woman I’d ever seen lying beside me.
Persephone VanDoren.
I was dreaming.
That explained…everything. The corners of my lips tugged upward, and I relaxed into the buttery soft sheets. I propped myself up on my elbow and almost congratulated myself on having the perfect fucking dream, but I was too busy studying her in a way I never could in real life.
The woman was gorgeous with a flawless, oval face, thick lashes that rested in crescent moons on her porcelain skin, and the most kissable, bow-shaped mouth on the entire fucking planet. The covers rested just above her breasts, and she slept with her left hand cradled under her pillow and her right only a few inches away from mine. Her long, blonde hair fanned out around her like a luminous halo, and I rubbed a few strands of the silk between my thumb and forefinger, savoring just how soft it felt. Funny, I’d always thought it was all that same pale, color, but it wasn’t. Various shades of blonde, from nearly white to honey-gold ran across my skin. The contrast against the heavy, colorful tattoos of my forearm nearly made me groan.
I was covered in tattoos from the nape of my neck to my toes, and her skin was as virgin as the day she’d come into the world—at least what I’d seen of it.
My blood heated, pulsing through my veins in an all-too-familiar rush that swelled my cock. I knew exactly how this dream would end—it wasn’t like it was the first time I’d had it, and yet I couldn’t keep myself from reaching for the covers.
I drew them down her frame and growled in appreciation. Of course, she wasn’t naked—she never was. My imagination would never let me fill in that particular blank. Instead, this time she was covered with a white, spaghetti-strapped silk slip that dipped low at her neckline, then hugged every fucking curve the woman had until it ended high on her thighs. Damn, those thighs looked so creamy and soft, and while they would never part for me in real life, well, this was a dream. Who the fuck cared about the real world?
I slid one arm beneath her, cradling her light frame, and rolled her to her back as I rose above her. Her lips parted, and she murmured as she shifted underneath me.
Her. Thighs. Fucking. Parted.
I put one of my own between them. God, she was so small, so delicate. So breakable next to my six-foot-five bulk. How far would this dream go?
Keeping her cradled beneath me, I filled my free hand with the curve of her hip and squeezed lightly, then moaned my appreciation for that curve against the soft skin of her neck. She smelled like apple blossoms, sunshine, and everything good and right in the world—everything I’d never have. Fuck, she’d never felt this real before. My cock pulsed against her thigh in agreement.
She shifted again, letting loose a small, breathy sigh as she arched her neck, giving me full access. I kissed her gently just beneath her jawline like I’d fantasized every time she stuck that chin of hers in the air at me. She was such a contradiction in the real world. Easy-going and stubborn as hell, kind and sweet, then salty and harsh, delicate in one breath and a force of nature in the next—she was all of it.
The one thing she never was? Mine.
The only place I’d be good enough for Persephone and the only place she’d be safe with me was here—in my dreams.
She whimpered, as if coming awake, but when I moved to lift my head, she tangled her fingers in my hair and kept me right where I was.
I took the hint and put my mouth against her throat in an open-mouthed kiss. How could she taste so fucking good? I groaned and swept my tongue over her skin, then sucked lightly at the patch.
She shifted her thigh, lifting her knee so she rubbed against my hip.
“Cannon,” she moaned, her fingers tightening in my hair.
Fuck. Need, hot and insistent, raced down my spine. I pressed against her center with my thigh, and the heat I found there set every cell in my body on fire.
She gasped, then rocked against me.
Keeping my weight on my elbow, I lifted my head and found her lashes fluttering slowly as she opened her eyes.
God, her eyes were beautiful, just like the rest of her—crystal blue, like Caribbean pools I wanted to dive into. I wanted to dive into her. She looked up at me with wonder, like I was her fantasy too, and my heart jumped to a fast, skittering rhythm
“Cannon,” she said again, her voice husky as if she’d truly been asleep.
“Persephone,” I answered.
Her hands slid to my face, and she ran her thumbs over my cheekbones with a sleepy grin. “You’re so beautiful.”
Speechless. Even in my dreams, I couldn’t come up with a response to that one.
She rocked against my thigh again, then bit her lip and groaned. It wasn’t just heat warming my skin. She was wet. I felt it even through the material of her panties. Of course, she’s wet. This is your dream.
Her fingers traced the line of my face, and I sucked the tips of two of them into my mouth as she ran them over my lips. She gasped as I flicked my tongue across the digits, tasting the salt of her skin. Her gaze flickered from my eyes to her fingers and back again, widening.
“Cannon…” Her voice shook slightly.
I raked my teeth over the pads of her finger before letting them go free. “Persephone.” Wasn’t that always my reply? I couldn’t hear one name without saying the other.
“Cannon.” She pulled her hand away, staring at her fingers with alarm. “Oh my God. Cannon!”
That was not the way I’d fantasized her saying that particular phrase. I sat back on my knees, and she scooted herself to sit against the headboard. The change in positions started a vicious throbbing in my head, and I lifted my hand to my temple to help assuage the ache. Wait. Why would I have a headache in my dream?
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” she chanted, staring at her hand.
Oh shit. I bit my tongue lightly and felt the sharp sting of pain at the same moment my stomach sank.
This was not a dream.
This was real.
I ran my hands down my face, trying to clear my head.
Persephone was actually in my bed, in Vegas, currently losing her shit—
“Holy shit! You have one, too!” she shrieked, then gripped my wrist.
“What are you talking about? And what the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I growled, pulling out of her grasp. Never mind that I’d had my fucking tongue on her sixty seconds ago; I never touched her if I could help it. Not because I didn’t want to—of course I wanted to. I’d have to be dead not to want to. But I didn’t exactly have willpower when it came to the woodland fairy princess Barbie that was currently staring at me like I had two heads.
She thrust her hand in front of my face.
A giant fucking diamond winked at me from the fourth finger. Her ring finger. Holy shit, that was her left hand, and there was a narrow band of gold just behind it. Complete, utter rage turned my blood to ice.
“Who the fuck did you marry?” I ground out. Whoever it was—he wasn’t good enough for her. I didn’t care how much breeding or money he had, a saint wouldn’t be good enough for Persephone, and God knew that she needed someone stronger than a saint to remove the giant stick she kept up her ass.
She scoffed and picked up my wrist again, replacing her hand in front of my face with my own.
“Apparently, you!”
Words failed me as I looked at the thick band on my left ring finger. It was black, inlaid with a textured sort of silver that might have been attractive if it wasn’t mocking me so loudly.
Someone pounded on our door three times. “Let’s go, newlyweds. Breakfast is here. And put some clothes on before you come out of there.” That voice…Nathan Noble, one of the defensemen on my NHL team—the Carolina Reapers.
My gaze jerked down to my boxer briefs. Not naked. Had I seriously had Persephone under me and not remembered?
“They know. Oh God, they know.” Persephone whispered, still staring at my ring. “What did we do?”
“I have no fucking clue,” I muttered, then got the hell off the bed.
“I don’t remember last night at all. Do you?” Her hair fell all around her, making her look all the more angelic as she looked up at me with eyes that begged for an answer.
I thought back. We’d all boarded the plane in Charleston. Nathan and his fiancée, Harper, Sterling—one of last year’s rookies—Nixon Noble and his charity auction date, and us. “We came for the charity auction thing,” I said as I stared down at a pile of clothes on my side of the bed. Persephone had demanded I participate in the Reaper Charity Auction to help raise funds for the public library. When I made my own demand that she not sell me to someone I wouldn’t consider fucking, she bought me herself, which I guess fulfilled that part of our bargain since I’d never willingly take her to my bed.
And yet I’d married her?
“Right, but I don’t remember anything past mid-flight,” she said, scooting off the bed.
“Maybe this is a prank. I highly doubt we’d do something stupid like get married in Vegas.” I heard a rustle of fabric and turned to see Persephone holding up a wedding dress on her side of the bed.
“The evidence suggests otherwise.” She dropped the dress in a puddle of lace and silk and wrapped her arms around her waist. “What are we going to do?”
It took everything I had not to replace her arms with mine, to tuck her against me and tell her that everything would be fine.
“We’re going to get dressed and find out just how stupid we were last night.” I picked up my clothes—yep, it was a fucking tux—and headed for our suitcases, which sat next to each other against the wall.
“Right. That sounds like a good plan.” She took her suitcase and marched right past me, shutting the bathroom door behind her.
Don’t panic. Whatever this is, it’s fixable.
I dressed quickly, putting on athletic pants and a Reaper T-shirt. Then I stood in front of our window and looked out over the strip while I waited for her, refusing to let the reality of what was happening sink in. Why the hell couldn’t I remember anything past the flight? Why couldn’t Persephone?
I turned my head as I heard the door open, and Persephone stepped out of the bathroom with a slightly surprised look on her face. “You waited for me?”
“I figured we should probably question everyone together.” I took in her tiny white shorts, blue silk blouse, and simple braid that started just beneath her ear and ended nearly at her waist. Good. She looked more like her, except she’d never wear those shorts to the office, thank God, or I would have walked around with a permanent erection because holy shit her legs were incredible. Toned and supple and long, especially for someone as petite as she was.
“Thank you. That was really…considerate.” Her thumb toyed with her ring.
“I’m not a complete asshole, you know.”
Her eyes slid shut. “That is so not what I meant.”
“Let’s go.” I held the door open for her, and she muttered her thanks as we walked into the vast suite. We’d rented out the biggest one the casino had, boasting five bedrooms throughout two stories.
I followed Persephone down the stairs and found our friends sitting at the dining room table. Nathan sat near the center with Harper on his right, and his twin, Nixon, to his left. The NFL star had brought his own charity auction date…Liberty—that was the pretty brunette’s name—and she took the seat at the end of the table.
Great, I could remember her name, but not how I’d wound up in bed with Persephone.
Sterling held down the opposite end of the table, raking his hand through his short, black hair. His eyes widened as he saw us.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Price!” Harper said with a grin. “We ordered a smorgasbord, so hopefully there’s something that you like.” She gestured to the buffet of food laid out on the various room service carts.
“Could someone please tell us what the hell kind of prank this is?” I pointed to my left hand. “Not that it’s not a good one, but if this is Connell’s doing, you can tell that practical-joke-loving asshole—”
“Prank?” Nathan interrupted, slowly shaking his head.
“Surely there has to be some explanation about how any of this happened,” Persephone said with that sweet southern drawl.
“You said you wanted to get married, and then got married.” Sterling shoved in a mouthful of waffles and started to chew.
“We what?” Persephone shrieked, going for Sterling.
I caught her around the waist. “Maybe we should sit down.”
She nodded, and I let go, ushering her into a chair. I took the one next to hers and reached for the carafe of coffee.
“Yes, please,” she said when I nodded toward her cup.
I filled hers then mine, noting that she dumped a heap of sugar and cream into hers as I started to sip mine as black as it had come.
The entire table stared at us in between bites of their breakfast.
“Okay, so Persephone and I don’t remember anything from about halfway through the plane ride,” I stated, then sat back, waiting for the holes to be filled in.
“I told you!” Harper jabbed her fork toward her fiancé.
“Fuck,” Nathan muttered.
“Are you going to tell them?” Nixon prodded his twin.
When no one spoke up, Liberty sighed. “Well, since I’ll never see any of you again, I don’t have much to lose by filling you in. You both complained of headaches, right?”
We both nodded.
“Right.” The woman grimaced but forged ahead. “The flight attendant said she had some pain relievers, and gave them to you from the bottle of ibuprofen.”
“Sounds harmless enough.” Persephone’s hand shook slightly as she put down her coffee.
“Right, except about ten minutes later, she told her coworker what she’d done, and then that woman freaked out. I mean majorly lost it because she’d taken the bottle from her bag, and she’d stashed her sleeping pills in there.”
My gaze narrowed. “Okay?”
Liberty’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’d both already had a couple of drinks, and then you had a couple more…”
“And it basically turned into The Hangover from there,” Nathan finished for the girl. “You two were fucking insane, and the rest of us just tried to keep you from skydiving and shit.”
“Could you skip to the part where the rings appeared on our hands?” I growled, my patience already razor-thin and disintegrating at a rapid rate.
“I caught that on film, actually.” Sterling slid his phone across the polished cherry wood, and I caught it, putting it between Persephone and me.
She pressed play.
“Bigger,” I said, pointing to a ring case. “She has to have the best one you’ve got.”
“I like that one!” Persephone pointed to a spot on the glass.
“This one is going to set you back a pretty penny,” the attendant warned as he brought the ring out.
“I don’t care what it costs as long as she’s happy.”
“I love it!” Persephone slid it onto her finger. “And it fits! See? We’re meant to be, Cannon.” She smiled up at me adoringly. “But you need one too!”
The camera turned around, the frame filling with Sterling’s face. “Just for posterity’s sake, we’ve told you guys this is a bad idea at least two dozen times, but you’re pretty insistent.”
“Sterling! We need to get the license! Let’s go!” I shouted.
The video ended, and Persephone and I stared at each other.
“No way,” she said, turning toward Harper. “There’s zero way you guys let us get married when we were drunk and drugged out of our minds! This is all some really sick joke, right?”
“It’s not a joke,” Harper said softly. “I went with you to pick out your dress.”
Persephone blanched.
“But we’re not actually married, right?” she insisted.
“You are,” Liberty said gently. “It was the cutest ceremony by this little, old, singing Elvis, and you guys looked so happy—”
“There is no way I got married by a singing Elvis!” Persephone shouted.
Damn, I’d never heard the woman get that loud before. If this wasn’t Connell, I was going to have to give it to whoever had seen this prank through. It was some pretty realistic shit.
“Okay, if that really happened, then where’s the video of that?” I challenged, sliding the phone back at Sterling.
“They said we couldn’t record,” he answered with a shrug as he caught it. “But you bought their recording, and he said it would be mailed to you on disc within two weeks.” He thumbed through his phone. “Here, I have this one, though.”
He slid it back, and we repeated the earlier pattern.
“It looks so good on you,” Persephone said as her thumb stroked over my ring finger.
“What’s the silver part?” I asked.
“It’s meteorite. I figured it fit since you’re out of this world. Get it?” She giggled.
“You are incredible, Mrs. Price.” I hoisted her into my arms, fluffy white dress and all, and carried her into our hotel.
Suddenly it didn’t feel like a prank. My stomach twisted at the very real implications of what we’d done last night.
“I knew you were going to regret it,” Nathan muttered, shaking his head.
“Then why the fuck didn’t you stop us?” I snapped.
“Man, have you ever seen…you?” Nixon asked, gesturing to my torso. “You were really fucking goal-oriented, and we all have million-dollar contracts. You look like you could easily rip off my arms.”
I could easily rip his arms off, but I kept that fact to myself.
“And he’s a quarterback,” Liberty nodded slowly. “He kind of needs his arm.”
“True story,” he said to her with a grin.
“Okay.” Persephone sat up even straighter. “Let me get this straight. We decided that we should get married. How?”
They all exchanged looks. “None of us saw that part. You guys were sitting next to each other on the plane, and by the time it landed, you were on a mission,” Harper supplied.
“And you’re telling me that this isn’t a prank? That we actually bought rings, bought a dress and a tux, purchased a wedding license, and then got married by a singing Elvis?” Persephone restated what we’d already heard, keeping her voice miraculously calm.
“Pretty much,” Nathan agreed.
“Okay,” she sat back and folded her arms across her chest with a Cheshire cat grin. “If this is real and you’re not pulling our legs, where is the marriage license?”
They all exchanged knowing looks, and Nathan nodded toward Sterling.
The kid turned in his seat and grabbed a folder from the buffet table behind him. Then he slid it straight at me.
I caught the white and gold folder emblazoned with the name of a wedding chapel on the front and opened it slowly.
My stomach twisted into a hellacious knot.
“Oh God,” Persephone whispered next to me.
It was a perfectly executed copy of a marriage license, signed by both of us. A certified copy, to be specific.
“Where’s the original?” I questioned. This was fixable. It had to be.
“You guys were married at four p.m. and made it to the clerk and recorder by four-thirty,” Harper answered. “For being out of your minds, you were ridiculously thorough. The county took your original for recording and gave you the certified copy.”
“Let me guess, we’ll get that in the mail too?” I quipped sarcastically.
“Pretty much,” the scientist answered, then sipped her orange juice.
I stared down at the license, letting the reality of it sink in.
“Holy. Shit.” Persephone’s words were a breath of a whisper. “We did it.”
Three facts hit me simultaneously.
The first was that I was actually, really, completely married to Persephone.
The second was the way she’d signed, officially taking my name.
And the third—the most ridiculous out of all of this—somehow, I’d managed to kiss the very woman I’d fantasized about for the last two fucking years, and I couldn’t remember a single second of it.
Married. Bound. Chained to a woman I’d never be worthy of, a woman I’d destroy with my temper or my reputation. She’d never survive it unscathed, not in the debutante circles she ran. Her family had more blue blood than freaking aliens. She represented everything I hated about class warfare, and I was everything she turned her nose up at.
“Cannon, I think we’re really married,” Persephone whispered.
My reply came without hesitation. “Not for long.”
