"Want a drink?" he asked next.
"Um, sure," Olivia answered. Why not? Yes, a drink would help segue her into a proposal.
He motioned to the stool at his left. "Grab a seat."
So far, so good.
She gingerly seated herself, noticing he wore a nice-smelling yet subtle cologne as she brushed by. Another plus.
"What'll you have?" he asked as he swept out an arm to display the vast array of liquor displayed along the wall in front of them.
"Well…" Olivia licked her lips and glanced at all the drinks. "A Mountain Dew with a cherry in it sounds wonderful."
The man gave her a funny look. Then he turned to the bartender and grinned. "Give her a bourbon and coke." He tapped his drained glass against the countertop before adding, "And I'll have another one of these."
The bartender nodded and Olivia's prospective husband turned back to her.
He set his elbows on the countertop as if he were ready to chat. "So, what's up?" he asked, as if she were some friend he'd had for years, and they were getting together for their weekly gossip session. It was strange how personable he acted.
Olivia folded her hands and set them lightly on the edge of the bar. She stared at them as she opened her mouth and tried to say, "Will you marry me?" but the words wouldn't come. Finally, she bolstered herself and blurted out, "I have to get married."
He studied her for a moment and then dropped his eyes, only to lift them a moment later. "When's it due?"
Olivia blinked a few times. "When is what due?"
"The baby."
Frowning, she shook her head. "Whose baby?"
Their drinks arrived. The guy paused to chug his shot. He set the glass down and sighed in satisfaction. Then he turned back to Olivia, picking up their conversation where they'd left off. "Your baby."
She floundered. "I don't have a baby."
"You're not pregnant?" he asked, looking utterly confused.
Olivia threw him a dirty look. "No!" She had to glance down at her skin-tight bustier to make sure no fat rolls bulged out. But her belly was as flat as ever.
The man also glanced at her bare stomach. He lifted his eyes. "Then why do you have to get married?"
Her shoulders slumped. "Oh," she said in relief. Thank God he wasn't calling her big. She'd been about ready to give Mr. Green Eyes a black and blue one. Olivia wore a size four, and she worked hard for it. She wasn't about to let anyone call her chunky. She smiled. "To escape my mother."
The guy shook a finger at her in a drunken manner. "Well, what do y'know. That was my second guess. Actually, I was going to say father. But a mother will do jus' as good."
He picked up his drink and realized the glass was empty. Frowning at it, he promptly waved the bartender over for more.
Growing anxiously impatient, Olivia said, "Well?"
Green Eyes glanced curiously at her. "Well, what?"
She sighed. "Will you marry me or not?"
His back pulled straight as he sat up fully and his eyes opened wide. "You want me to marry you?"
Olivia nodded, then looked around the room one last time, checking for any better prospects.
"I'm not exactly—" he paused to hiccup—"marriage material. I mean, I'm drunk. And I-I'm not so sober. And I also—holy mother of God!"
Olivia jerked her head up at his outburst, but he wasn't looking at her. Or rather, he wasn't looking at her face. His eyes were popped even wider than before as he gaped at her exposed cleavage as if he were just now realizing what she wore. His stare slipped down her body. Olivia felt a spurt of heat at his entranced gaze.
"What in the hell are you wearing?" he asked, sounding utterly awed.
Olivia rolled her eyes. He had just noticed. "I'm an apprentice for Cat Woman."
He gawked for another few seconds and actually impressed her when he managed to lift his face to meet her gaze.
"I think I like it," he murmured but then his eyes instantly dropped again to scope out her cleavage, which seemed to be his favorite area.
"Enough to marry me?" Olivia asked and slid off her chair to lift her arms and turn in a slow circle, displaying the goods.
He continued to stare for a moment. He seemed to realize she was waiting for a response when she stopped with her hands on her hips and sent him a probing look. He shook his head to clear it. "Sorry," he said. "But I just had this really vivid picture of me running my tongue up the back seam of those fishnet hose."
Olivia lips widened. She leaned forward so he could look down her cleavage, which he did. "I'll tell you what," she murmured huskily as she ran her long fingernail down his arm. "You can lick anything you want to if you marry me tonight."
He bobbed his head, transfixed. "All right."
Two
Olivia was stunned. It worked. Her skin tingled with sudden apprehension. Good God, it really worked. She'd asked a complete stranger to marry her, and the drunk had actually said yes.
What was she supposed to do now?
He started to slide off his stool until he noticed her untouched bourbon and coke. Pausing, he lifted his eyes. "You didn't drink yours."
"I didn't order that," she reminded him.
He stared at her as if she was insane then nudged her glass toward her. "But I bought it for you." He paused with an almost injured expression. "Besides, you shouldn't let good liquor go to waste." He proceeded to blink his long lashes and stick out his bottom lip. It looked so much like something a five-year-old girl would do, she sputtered out a surprised laugh.
"Oh, for God's sake." She snatched the drink from him and downed everything in one hearty swallow.
Her companion watched avidly. When she set the empty cup down, his eyebrows rose. "Damn." Grinning, he pointed a finger at her and shook it a little. "See there. That's exactly why I'm marrying you. You drink like a pro."
Olivia could only roll her eyes and turn away to stroll from the bar. She was pleased to notice he obediently trailed after her.
Once they were out on the sidewalk, he tripped and stumbled on a crack in the concrete. Olivia caught his arm. Since he continued to sway like a flimsy tree limb in the breeze, she kept her hand around his bicep as she hailed a cab. But as soon as one pulled to the curb and she opened the back door, he resisted.
"No cab," he said, holding his belly as his face turned a pale shade of green.
"What's wrong?" she asked, fearing the worst. But he merely turned away as if the sight of the yellow taxi made him sick to his stomach.
"Motion sickness," he said and started down the sidewalk away from her. "Just need to walk."
Olivia sighed and shut the cab door. "Okay," she said more to herself as she chased after her stumbling groom. "We can surely find a wedding chapel somewhere close. We're on the freaking Strip, for crying out loud."
Her intoxicated fiancé threw an arm around her shoulder, bumping into her as he walked a crooked line. "Are we really, really gettin' married?" he asked, as if he suspected she was playing a prank on him.
"Yes," she said and slung his arm off her shoulder, scanning the streets for an all-night wedding chapel.
Her groom grinned at a passing couple. "We're getting married," he informed them and once again wrapped his arm around Olivia's shoulder, tugging her close. "Yes, we're goooooooing to the chapel," he sang loudly and off key. "And we're gonnnnna get mar-ar-arried."
Olivia sighed. She didn't push him away this time, but slipped her hand around his waist and steered them in the direction she wanted to go. He followed where she led for a good two blocks, right up to the point where they passed a bar advertising "Karaoke Night."
"Karaoke!" he cheered and veered them toward the front door.
"Wait!" Olivia called frantically, grabbing after him.
All she caught was air.
He opened the door and headed inside. Unwilling to find herself another hunky and completely wasted groom, Olivia followed, grinding her teeth.
He'd already made his way to the stage and w
as talking to the emcee by the time she found him. When he caught sight of her approaching, he grinned and turned back, holding up bunny ears. "Two microphones please."
Olivia groaned. She didn't want to sing, damn it. But as the strains of "Margaritaville" started and a microphone was thrust into her hand, she had a bad feeling that's exactly what she was going to do.
Her singing fool of a fiancé motioned her closer and then looped his arm over her shoulder, swaying with her as he began. "Nibblin' on sponge cake. Watchin' the sun bake…"
Her shoulders wilted in defeat as he serenaded the cheering crowd. He didn't seem to notice she hadn't joined in until he reached the chorus. Tightening his hold on her, he grinned down and yelled, "Sing with me now. 'Wastin' away again in Margaritaville.'"
"I thought we were going to get married," she called into his ear.
Her groom waved that thought away with his hand. "Relax, honey. We've got plenty of time." Then he lifted his mike, and the room joined in with the rest of the chorus.
As everyone around them sang on, he leaned down to talk directly into her ear. "Know what your problem is? You just gotta loosen up. Hey, waitress!" he called to a passing server. "My fiancée here needs another drink."
Then he grinned at her and repeated, "Fiancée? Hey!" He brought his microphone down to his mouth and hollered through the speaker system. "Yo, everybody. We're gettin' hitched tonight!"
Olivia blushed as the roar of applause exploded around them. What followed was a barrage of complete strangers buying them each a congratulatory margarita.
The man at her side was so busy singing his own slurring rendition of 'My Girl', he didn't bother with his drink. So, wanting to settle her nerves, Olivia slugged back both cocktails. When her fiancé finally hauled her out the door, she felt good and buzzed. The idea of getting married no longer seemed like such a determined mission; it felt like a fun, exciting adventure.
~ * ~
They stopped at four clubs before making it to a wedding parlor. At each place, her fiancé ordered his first drink only to lift it over his head and loudly announce their pending nuptials. Then he'd set his glass aside, forgetting his own earlier motto that one should never let good alcohol go to waste, and pull her onto the dance floor.
The last place they hit hosted lively salsa music. The dance floor was full of hot bodies, and with the bongos, trumpets and saxophones pulsing through her bloodstream, Olivia wanted to stay there and boogie for the rest of her life. She wanted to slide her body against this man who was proving to be the best time she'd ever had—this perfect, wonderful man who made her sing, and dance, and laugh.
Olivia grabbed his arm and dragged him onto the floor. They were both too smashed to hit any good moves, but they had a blast trying. Olivia gyrated with her back to him while he slipped his hands around her hips and pulled her ass flush against his crotch.
His fingers stroked her bare waist; she had to admit she liked his touch. She liked the way he grew aroused. Leaning against him, she lifted her arms and jiggled her hips to the rhythm. He bent forward and nipped the sensitive flesh on her shoulder as his hand moved around to the front of her stomach and ground her back even harder against his erection. His fingers cupped her breasts through black leather.
Olivia gasped, her body instantly quickening. She'd never acted so slutty before. But this felt good. This felt incredible.
When she glanced around, she noticed other couples doing provocative things ten times worse than what she was doing. So she didn't worry about pressing her backside against his hard-on and grinding for all she was worth.
Behind her, he made a harsh groan and snatched her wrist, hauling her toward the exit. Once they were outside in the fresher air, he spun her around and cupped her face with both hands, yanking her close for a kiss. Olivia let out a surprised yelp—which he promptly smothered with his mouth—and the sound transformed into a needy whimper.
But whoa. Her hottie fiancé could kiss. Liquor must've made his lips especially soft and pliable because it felt like he brushed pure silk across her mouth. He tasted of tequila and chocolate. Where he'd gotten chocolate, she had no idea. But she moaned and opened as soon as his seeking tongue traced the seam. Wet velvet entered and batted her tongue playfully before curiously sweeping across the back of her teeth.
Olivia clutched his hair and returned the favor. He growled, pressing her spine against the building as he cupped her ass and lifted her.
She tried to spread her legs so he could step between her thighs and get closer to the place that needed him the most. But her skirt was too tight to allow much movement. Whimpering in frustration, she bit his tongue and tightened her grip on his hair.
This definitely wasn't the old Olivia in action. No matter how drunk she could get, never in a million years would that star debutante from Pasadena maul a complete stranger in the middle of a busy public sidewalk on the Las Vegas Strip. Never would she want him to pull her skirt up and press himself against her throbbing center. Never would she reach down to stroke him through his pants. But that's exactly what happened.
As if reading her mind, he bunched her skirt until her legs could move freely. Sighing, she lifted a thigh and hooked her knee around his hips. He pushed close and, ahhhh, bliss. Her underwear rubbed against his fly.
With their mouths fused, she fought to get closer and he seemed just as desperate to press against her. For once in her life, Olivia didn't care about anything except feeling a rushing orgasm. Crazy and totally insane as that was, she wanted this man inside her. Now. She was on the point of begging.
Hot hands returned to her ass. With her skirt gathered around her waist, she only had her underwear and fishnet obstructing his path. But since her underwear was a skimpy thong, he pretty much cupped bare skin. Seemingly surprised by this, he paused and pulled his mouth back only far enough to look into her eyes.
"Damn," he said and dipped his head for another kiss.
Olivia went under again. It felt like she was in the ocean. With his mouth on hers, she floated underwater where the world around her remained muted and pleasant. All she knew was his lips. But when he came up for air, it was like returning to the surface, and she could suddenly see and hear the traffic and passing conversations again. Until he dipped his head and she was, yes, once again sucked into the sensation of dangling. Absolutely soaring.
She didn't even focus on the harsh voice saying, "Hey! You two. Hey, cut that out."
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 l
et 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—"