Of course I wanted him badly enough. I wanted him more than anything. Axel Levine, the confused, confusing, wealthy bachelor I'd never expected to come into my life. He'd seduced me with his eyes in a hotel lobby in St. Tropez, fucked me in an industrial kitchen, done things to me no other man ever had.

And I was marrying him, for real, this time. There'd be no interruptions, he swore it.

"We have a private hangar at Las Vegas airport," he told me, as we began our descent into the city. I loathed Las Vegas—gambling and bright lights and corruption like that weren't my cup of tea.

It was a quick plane-ride; seconds into the air it was already time to come back down.

He must have seen my grimace, as he took my hand and brought it to his lips. "I know, it's low-class and hasty, even less fancy than the courthouse, but it's our only option if we want to do this." He paused, eyebrows raising as he looked at me. "You do want this?"

I pulled my hand from his grasp. "Yes, I told you I did. I'm just not a fan of Vegas."

"I'm sorry," he said, taking a final sip of his drink before the ride got too bumpy. "It was this or go to some foreign country, which would complicate the paperwork and make Estelle even more suspicious."

I pursed my lips. "Do you think she is now? Suspicious, I mean."

"She probably always will be." He shifted in his seat, looking down. "The resources it took to pull this off..." His gaze snapped up, firm and serious. "This is important for both of us, to save our reputations, to help you keep your job long enough to figure out a back-up plan. And Estelle..." He rubbed his chin. "I love her with all my heart, but she can fuck off, right now."

I hesitated between laughter and another frown. This was his sister, dammit. As his bride, I should have been good to his family, and they should have been good to me. Instead, I was sneaking in uninvited and likely about to be rejected from all the Levines. Violet wouldn't get too mad—she'd loved me since I planned her wedding. But I didn't know Harvey well enough, and Estelle would refuse our wedding immediately.

"It's going to be okay," he said, patting my hand as the wheels hit the tarmac. "I took all the precautions, I promise. This hangar is so secure it's not even on the map. According to the TSA and airport authorities, it doesn't exist." He sighed, peering out the closest window. "And our honeymoon suite is booked under a fake name, at The Venetian, just in case. We're safe."

"We're safe," I repeated as we unbuckled our seatbelts. And I repeated it again as one of the secret service guys guided me to a small room off to the side of a shabby hangar. It looked barely large enough to hold a minuscule jet, and the wallpaper was peeling, and the ground was covered in dust.

"We're safe," I told myself once more, inside the cramped, moldy-smelling room. "She won't find us. She won't stop us."

A cracked mirror was set up against one wall, and a chair and table against another, where I placed my makeup pouch. I hung my garment bag from a random nail in the wall near the mirror, and studied my reflection for a moment, debating. I'd brought a change of clothes, and two different outfits for the ceremony, because I hadn't been able to choose. They were dresses I'd almost opted for a few days ago, before Axel bought me that beautiful luxury ensemble.

But the ensemble was stained, and I had no time to get it dry-cleaned. I'd decided against burning it altogether but couldn't wear it today.

I unzipped the garment bag, staring at the options—an off-the-shoulder, peach colored number that stopped at the knees and hugged my curves, or an off-white, summery maxi dress.

I touched them both; one was made of silk, the other of a light, airy cotton. Like two different sides of a personality, sexy and smooth, daring and innocent.

I felt like neither of those at that moment.

Snorting at the dresses, I returned to my reflection.

Who was I kidding? This wouldn't work, it couldn't.

"It's too easy," I said, dropping into the chair, my entire body slumping. "Race off to Vegas for a rushed elopement, and then what?"

I kept imagining Estelle breaking through the door. Her hair a mess, her eyes wild with rage, encircled by a band of men who were all P.I's spying on me for her.

I constantly checked over my shoulder, feeling watched, very far from alone.

Trapped. Tricked.

I'd consented to this, but too many negative outcomes swirled in my head. All the crap Estelle had spat out to us at the courthouse...Axel hadn't denied any of it. It was all true. The no-divorce clause, the former gold-diggers, the mentions of red flags and money-grabbing schemes.

What if we got married, and all was fine and dandy, but then things went awry? What if married life disagreed with us? Divorce was common in this day and age, even for couples who'd at first been the picture of perfection. Emotions changed, people changed, some grew apart. It wasn't always messy, but it was painful.

I loved Axel. But what if marriage wasn't the best for us? What if there was so much interference in our relationship that it made us lose the affection we had? What if we become distant, annoyed with one another, and realized the bliss we'd envisioned wasn't all it was set out to be?

Or what if we were all about the chase, the thrill of hiding, and once we were out in the open, we didn't love each other as much? What if our entire relationship was based on sneaking around, and when we didn't have to sneak, we grew bored?

What if we—

"No, I can't get caught up in all this." I shook my head, brushing off the negativity. The more I over-thought, the more nauseous I became.

I had to believe we'd go beyond that, that we'd work on any issues that arose. Axel was a sensitive man. He could be reserved, and he had his pride, but if something was wrong between us, he'd say it. We wouldn't be trapped in a marriage; we'd get help if we needed to.

Still...something tingled within me, making me hesitate.

What about all those so-called gold-diggers, then? The ones who'd turned to him in the past, trying to woo him, marry him for his money; what if he told them the same as me? What if he had cared for them, but things fell apart because of his meddling sister?

That could have been why she was so suspicious of me, why she didn't trust me. I was like all the others—I'd come out of nowhere. I wasn't rich, I hardly had a roof over my head and made ends meet. Axel had known me five minutes before deciding he had to have me, no matter the cost. Maybe he was a little naive and blind to red flags.

But was I a red flag?

I sneered at the woman staring back at me, her auburn hair staticky, her eyes swollen. "No. No, I'm not."

Hurt still bulged in my heart that Estelle would call me that. That she would think that of me. She didn't know me, but I'd never given off that kind of vibe, had I? I was respectful, on-time, understanding, efficient at my job. What had I done or said to make her feel otherwise?

Whatever it was, it had convinced her I was a gold-digger. Just one more in the crowd of men and women who wanted to get with her big brother.

"I am getting with him, and it has nothing to do with money."

I picked the peachy dress; it was more appropriate for what we were doing. Bold, sleek, brave. Untraditional, pushing the boundaries.

"It's for love, for protection. Love," I repeated, clenching my teeth as I loosened the zipper on the dress and worried it might not fit anymore. "And protection. He loves me, I love him, and we want to protect each other."

I wasn't fully convinced, but it was too late. I'd plunged head-first into this, and the only way out was through.

***

The ceremony was quick, but tasteful. One of the secret service guys was an ordained minister, and he married us without fuss, albeit without much emotion, either.

"We'll re-do it," said Axel, as we entered the dark-windowed car he'd ordered to take us to the hotel. "Later, once we're in the clear and comfortable, we'll have a real ceremony, a better one. Lavish as you want, or discreet, if you prefer. Whatever you wish for, baby."

Baby.

I settled beside him as the engine came to life, and the driver—coincidentally our officiant—directed the car forward and away from the hangar.

"How'd you find this place?" I shouldn't have bothered asking; Axel had his ways. His money opened many doors all over the country, the world. But I couldn't help my curiosity.

"Word of mouth," he said, smirking as he set a hand on my leg. "Did I tell you how fucking scrumptious you look in this dress?"

I chuckled, blushing. "Scrumptious? I didn't know you'd have that in your vocabulary." Axel was normally blunt, using words that had more directness—hot, sexy, fuck. "Is this some perk of married life? Hearing you say something more poetic from time to time?"

"If you'd rather I be blunt," Axel's hand ventured higher up my thigh, "then you're fucking sexy in that dress, and I can't wait to tear it off you."

I bit my lower lip, sensing my center pulsate with desire. I'd been so busy freaking out in the past few days that I'd forgotten how delirious he made me, how he charged me up with passion, with need.

His eyes were sharp, piercing into me to tell me how serious he was. How badly he, indeed, wanted to rip my clothes off and lay me bare for him to devour.

"I enjoy the poetic moments and the bluntness," I said, squirming in my seat as his hand reached higher, higher. I wasn't sure where he planned to put it next; under the hem of my dress, or the top? "But mostly I enjoy knowing you want me."

"I do want you." He leaned sideways and planted a languorous kiss below my ear. "No matter what you're wearing. But more so if you're naked."

The car turned into a busy street, zigzagging past stopped cars and annoyed honks. It'd be a stretch to strip our clothes and straddle one another in the backseat, yet his ever-so-tempting touches seemed to imply that was what he wanted.

Axel didn't mean to fuck me here, with no separation between us and the driver, did he?

He caught my questioning expression and shook his head. "He's paid pretty handsomely to not give a shit." As if answering that, the driver gave a brief grunt before swerving down a side-street with fewer vehicles in his way. "But I don't want to fuck you yet; I just want a little taste."

His voice was a melody I'd never refuse to dance to. If he wanted a taste, he'd get several, gladly.

I nodded, and at once he slipped his hand under the top of my dress, grasping my breast firmly, massaging it.

"I can't wait to pop one of these in my mouth," he said, circling my nipple, shooting electric shocks up and down my arms and legs.

"I can't wait to watch you do it," I said, sending my hand over to his thigh, squeezing. If I went further up, I knew I'd find him hard and ready, and it'd be nearly impossible to resist taking his pants off.

But fuck...I wanted to feel him, to remind myself what his arousal did to me. I'd spent too many days in a panic, adrenaline spiked and rib cage tight with heavy breaths.

This relief, this desire, was necessary. It was a comfort, a reassurance. We did it—we got married; the shiny ring on the finger of my left hand anchored that fact. And now we could relax, at last.

Hopefully.

He removed his hands and wet his fingers before returning to my nipple, moistening it with his touch. "Shit," I said, with an urge to take those fingers and stuff them into my pussy instead.

He flicked the nipple, eyes on me intently, enjoying every second of my reaction. "Yeah?" He kissed my neck. "What else do you want, Vivienne? How else can I warm you up for what's coming next?"

"Tell me," I said, taking his hand at last and guiding it below the edge of my dress, along my thighs. "Tell me what you're going to do to me as you touch me here."

He'd typically toy with me, drive me crazy, but this time he dove straight in, heading for my underwear to slide it aside and access my wetness. I moaned as his fingers dipped into me, staying close to my clit without touching it. My legs shook.

"Hmm," he said, using two fingers, gliding up and down between my lower lips, getting me nice and drenched. "I'm going to carry you over the threshold with my hand inside your panties," he whispered into my ear, his tongue tickling at my earlobe.

"Oh, fuck," I said, not only envisioning the action, but losing myself as his fingers found my center in actual time. He twirled around it slowly, delicately, almost, and used his free hand to tilt my face sideways so he could better see me. "Oh, fuck, Axel."

"Yeah, fuck." He accelerated his movements. "Then I'll remove your dress and plop you up on the pool table and lick you until you explode, baby." One finger entered me, as the other focused on my clit, swirling me into oblivion.

"Axel," I moaned, my legs quivering with every second he spent pushing me towards my climax.

I completely forgot about the driver, about the road, about the cars on either side of us as Axel rubbed my pussy into submission. I forgot about the constraints, the reasons why we were here, creeping off to a honeymoon suite reserved under an alias.

Everything about the past few days dissipated as I unleashed a low squeal and came all over Axel's fingers.

☼☼☼