Accidentally Married on Purpose: A Love and Games Novel Page 18

  Tonight, she was claiming her man.

  The decision made even more sense in the light of day. By the time Colby and Angelle had arrived to help her prep, she’d had the eye of the tiger…and Katy Perry playing on repeat. For twenty-nine long days, she and Tyler had been good. They’d courted, held hands, and shared a scant handful of steamalicious kisses for show. He’d never once tried to push her no-sex-rule—and she’d been too chicken to act. But that ended now.

  “Lord, I wish I had your skin tone.”

  Sherry blinked her newly applied fake eyelashes and released her death grip on the lipstick.

  Angelle smiled warmly as she leaned in to inspect Sherry’s makeup. “Gorgeous. When the world sees pictures of you in the morning, they’re gonna forget all about that famous husband of yours. They’ll be asking, Hey, who’s the dude with that hottie?”

  Sherry snorted. “Right.” Out of her many concerns—and boy, did she have a ton—fan reaction wasn’t a blip on the radar anymore. Strangely enough, the media and all that other nonsense had become white noise.

  “I’m serious,” Angie pushed on. “Tyler’s gonna take one look at you in the stands and abandon his kingly duties.” She waggled her auburn eyebrows mischievously. “I hear the suites at the Roosevelt are romantic.”

  From the closet, Colby added, “And have thick walls.”

  Shocked, Sherry glanced back where her sister was selecting the perfect pair of heels. Colby shrugged, but a playful smile twitched her lips. “What? You look like a screamer.”

  Other than the night in Vegas, which didn’t count since Sherry couldn’t remember much, she didn’t know the last time she’d screamed. But she was positive Tyler could inspire her. Heck, if he accepted her offer, who knew what noises would be coming out of her mouth? Animalistic mating calls, high-pitched squeals, or curses that’d make a sailor blush…at this point, anything was possible.

  With a final check of her makeup and hair, Sherry tugged the knot of her robe. Time to get her night of seduction underway. Releasing a slow exhale, she walked to the garment bag hung outside the closet door. Each step closer made her plan more real, more concrete, and sweat pricked her skin. Before she left for the parade, she’d need another swipe of her deodorant.

  Why am I so nervous?

  Now was the time for bravery, not stupid cowardice! There was nothing left to fear. She was already butt-crazy in love with Tyler (that ship had sailed), and he was most definitely leaving tomorrow. His bags were packed, ticket bought, late-night show appearances booked. Whether she slept with her husband tonight was irrelevant. Saying good-bye would tear her apart regardless.

  Steeling her spine, her last bit of resolve solidified. Sherry unbelted her robe and let it fall to the floor with a gentle whoosh. Shaky fingers lifted the plastic covering the gown, and she slid the straps from the hanger.

  …

  People in suits and fancy ball gowns hobnobbed on either side of her in the viewing stands, a weird and striking contrast with the casually dressed crowd packed like sardines below. Sherry hadn’t been to a downtown parade in years (she preferred the smaller, family-friendly ones on the north shore), but this was definitely the way to do it. Access to a private bathroom, plenty of refreshments on hand, and enough legroom that her new shoes wouldn’t get trampled. Now, if only she could turn off her brain, she’d be set.

  Horses trotted down the blocked-off street and costumed riders tossed trinkets to the crowd. Sherry blew on her hands to warm them. She hadn’t factored in the weather when planning her wardrobe, but oh well. At least the bluish tint to her skin went with the dress. And she looked hot. No less than five men had hit on her since she arrived in the Quarter, enough to give her a boost of confidence for the night. But then, reeling men in had never been her issue. Keeping them was another story.

  The drumbeat from a local high school’s marching band thrummed heavy in her stomach. As the dancers shimmied, stomped, and did their thing, her body kept time with the music, her gaze seeking Tyler’s distant outline. The king’s float was next.

  A Krewe of Erato program was wedged underneath her arm, but Sherry didn’t need it. She’d had the parade order memorized for hours, having zipped to the website upon finding today’s sticky note on the bathroom mirror.

  Sherry,

  You deserve the life you’ve always dreamed of.

  Never settle for less.

  But for at least one more night, you’re mine.

  Tyler

  No pet names this time. Direct, simple, and if she had to guess, a shade apologetic. That first part was Tyler’s way of letting her down gently, easing the sting of his embarrassing rejection the night before. But she didn’t need apologies. Didn’t want pity, either. She wanted what she’d set out to experience, a fairy tale, and in lieu of stepping into the pages of her very own story, she’d settle for chasing a manufactured one.

  Besides, everyone knew a good romance needed a hot sex scene. And fortunately for her, the second part of his note was much more promising.

  The king’s float turned off Canal, and as Sherry’s anticipation escalated, so did the bob of her head. Butterflies flew loop-de-loops in her belly and the ache in her chest bloomed…but there was no fighting her smile at Tyler standing tall and proud atop a gaudy green, purple, and gold papier-mâché display.

  The float was comprised of every recognizable Mardi Gras emblem she’d ever seen, and the centerpiece structure was a huge carnival mask. Tyler’s throne sat just below that, but she doubted his butt had touched the seat once. He was clearly having a ball—wiggling his hips, waving to the crowd, tossing goodies their way. And looking damn fine doing it all.

  Strands of multi-colored beads were his only nod to the holiday. Otherwise, he was dressed in all black. A button-down with sleeves rolled up and a snug pair of jeans. Sherry knew he’d change into a tux for the ball, but she liked him like this. Rugged, real, and sinful. The crowd on Tchoupitoulas screamed his name, and Tyler laughed as he chucked beads and doubloons at their heads.

  Mardi Gras was kind of sadistic.

  Since she never once looked away from his face, she knew the exact moment that he saw her. She was hard to miss in the front row, clutching the guardrail and staring unabashedly, but she’d prefer to think he was simply as attuned to her as she was to him. His gaze held hers for a long moment, then he stooped and said something to one of his assistants. The float crept forward until it slowed to a stop in front of the stands, and Tyler walked toward the edge.

  The camera from WWL-Channel 4 swung her way as her husband leaned forward. A sizable gap remained between them. Close enough to touch, but not quite close enough for him to kiss her…though the way his smoldering eyes lingered on Sherry’s skin, it felt as if he had.

  A young man popped up beside him, the same assistant he’d spoken with before. He handed over a bundle and said, “Here’s the special throw.”

  Tyler accepted it, and then turned to Sherry with a grin. “You know, this is called a throw because I’m supposed to toss it at you.” After testing the weight in his hand, he leaned back on his heel and took in her dress again. “But seeing as how I’ve got plans for you tonight, I’d hate to hurt you.”

  Sherry’s eyes widened. It appeared as though Tyler had been sampling the punch. A shocked laugh escaped her lips as she scanned the crowd. The television crew was on the other end of the stand, and the street noise was deafening. No one, other than the few people on either side of her, could hear their banter. Even if they did, they were married anyway. The flirtation worked in their favor.

  And it sounded as though Tyler’s plans remarkably aligned with hers.

  Pressing her hips against the metal railing, Sherry bent her torso toward him, grinning at his small intake of air. The neckline was a bit scandalous. “You gonna tease me with your package all night?” she asked with a wicked grin. “Or are you gonna give it to me?”

  This time Tyler widened his eyes, followed by a deep, throaty chuckl
e. It carried over the noise of the street, settled in her core, and sent her heart racing. Something must’ve flashed in her eyes because suddenly his amusement died. And awareness took over.

  Tyler’s gaze sharpened on her face. The thick knot in his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his dark eyebrow lifted. Knowing what he was asking, Sherry stared straight ahead. She nodded subtly, and his mouth parted.

  “You’re sure?”

  She smiled. A lot of things between them remained in the air, but of this, she was certain.

  Tyler snagged her wrist, encircling it with his calloused fingertips. The hold was gentle, but the effect staggering. Her knees went weak and she was grateful for the support of the rail. Flashes went off at their clutch, and the media drew in, trying to capture the moment happening between them.

  They’d officially delayed the parade, but presently, clearly neither of them gave a damn.

  “Tonight we’re breaking the rules,” she told him, hoping he didn’t catch the slight waver of emotion in her voice.

  He glanced down, his chest expanding with a breath, and she briefly wondered if she was about to be rejected again. But then his green eyes found hers, heat where doubt had once been, and he held out his other hand. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

  Excitement ignited under her skin. Sherry accepted the throw, acknowledging its weight without looking down, and then watched as the float crept forward, the parade begun once again. Several long beats later, Tyler broke their stare and resumed his kingly duties, and only then did she study the gift—the special throw—he’d given her.

  A purple lace garter, a string of coveted Erato-signature beads, and a single perfect rose, wrapped around a thick bundle of yellow Post-it notes. Sherry smiled. It was so uniquely and wonderfully him. Her dopey, lovesick, gone-pecan heart convulsed inside her chest.

  …

  The Superdome was a madhouse. Bodies were everywhere, marching bands were dueling, and huge floats were coasting down the floor. Somewhere in this chaos was Sherry, and if Tyler didn’t know Tony had personally escorted her here, he’d be flipping the hell out. As it was, he was about ready to crawl out of his skin.

  He raised his cell phone and gritted his teeth. Of course, he had no reception. Luckily, he’d thought ahead and instructed the bodyguard to meet him on the Plaza level at Gate D, so that’s where he headed. Nodding distractedly at the fans calling his name, apologizing for not stopping to take a photo. If he did, he’d never make it anywhere.

  And after what happened on the parade route, he needed to see Sherry now.

  Tyler hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. He’d been haunted by the look in her eyes when she’d left his room. Leaving her was the right thing—she needed to pursue her own dream, and life on the road was insane. But that didn’t make saying good-bye any easier.

  Selfishly, he wanted to hold on while he still could. Time wasn’t on his side. His plane to L.A. left in fourteen hours…and drunken idiots were tripping over their own feet all around him. Sidestepping a group of cackling women leaving the bathroom, Tyler pushed on, gaze fixed to the sign for the gate. He was so intent on ignoring the mayhem and finding Sherry that he almost walked right past her.

  “In a hurry, music man?”

  His feet registered the voice a second before his ears. As a result, he nearly knocked out a young woman walking dazedly behind him. He helped her catch her balance, grateful she was either not a country fan or too liquored up to care, and turned to search for his wife.

  There she was, back leaned against the wall, her mouth curved in a smirk. “Miss me?”

  An unintelligible sound rumbled up his throat.

  Sherry had looked incredible on the parade route, but a metal wall, the edge of the float, and a dozen security guards had blocked his path. Now, only a few short feet separated them. And their one, lone guard was smart enough to keep his distance.

  Beginning at her feet, Tyler slowly traced the length of her crimson gown. His gaze lingered on the high slit up her thigh. Paused at the plunging neckline of the bodice. And rested on her parted lips before finally reaching the mesmerizing pools of her eyes.

  Her words from the viewing stand hung in the air. “Tonight we’re breaking the rules.”

  God Almighty, he needed her.

  “Yes,” he answered without a trace of flirtation in his voice. “I did miss you.”

  Her mouth tumbled open, as if in surprise. “Well…uh.” She shifted on her feet. “That’s good.”

  That slight hesitation, her small flare of uncertainty, prompted him into action. Two steps closed the distance between them, and he never once broke eye contact. Sherry needed to see the desire in his eyes, feel what she did to him. Their future was iffy at best, improbable more likely, but he’d always wanted her. Would always want her. Probably long after she’d forgotten about him.

  He pressed his body into hers, and they shared a gasp. Sliding his arms up against the wall, he caged her head on either side. Then he ducked down, tilted her chin, and kissed her.

  The response was immediate.

  Sherry’s hands latched on to his forearms as he devoured her lips. Sweet, soft, and wet, her lips had filled the majority of his dreams. The memory of their taste would drive him insane on the road. Impatient, Sherry opened her mouth beneath him, clutching his arms as she invited him to delve inside…but he waited. Something he’d wanted so badly for so long was finally within his grasp. Tyler intended to feast.

  Sherry moaned, frustrated, and the softened bite of her nails through his jacket made him grin. “Ty…”

  “You burning, baby?”

  She nodded as he slid his nose along her jaw, inhaling her scent until he reached the gentle lobe of her ear. He tongued the delicate skin, sucked it into his mouth, and then whispered, “Me too.”

  She moaned again as he leaned his head back, inadvertently crushing his hips against hers. He hissed a breath. “Ready to go?”

  Her thick lashes were slow to lift. Rimming her bottom lip with her tongue, her gaze skated over his tux. “But…you’re the king.”

  The breathlessness of her voice made him ache with desire. “I did a ton of interviews this morning,” he told her, “and made a speech for the execs a few minutes ago. The news got plenty with our halftime show in the stands.” At that, she grinned wickedly, and he chuckled. “My duties here are over.”

  Sherry’s dazed eyes met his as his words sank in. Then, with a curt nod, she replied, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The moment the driver closed the door, Sherry hiked up her dress and straddled Tyler’s lap. High slits rocked.

  “I think…” His voice trailed off as she simultaneously slipped her hand beneath his shirt and sucked the skin of his neck into her mouth. Beneath her lips, she felt him swallow hard. “I think maybe we should talk first.”

  Isn’t that supposed to be my line?

  “No,” she replied, a bit forcefully. Talking was the last thing they should do. “Kiss first.”

  The stubborn man went to protest, and she pushed up on her knees. She licked a trail down his neck, returning the favor he’d given her ear in the Dome, and he hissed a breath as he clutched her hips.

  Talking was overrated. It led to problems, questions, and revelations about feelings. Since she had the messy love kind for Tyler, and he didn’t reciprocate, that would lead to her doing the ugly cry. So not attractive. No, if talking had to happen, it’d be after sexy time. After they ended their month-long fairy tale with a lovely memory she could cling to.

  Tyler’s fingers pressed into the satin of her dress, massaging and grasping her curves. Sherry loved her body. Getting to that point had been hard earned, and she owned her confidence with pride. But her husband was the first man who made her feel as though he loved her body, too. Not just liked her curves, but reveled in them. That feeling was like a drug.

  The limo came to a stop, and Sherry glanced out the window
. They were still a block from the hotel. “Just a red light,” she whispered, bringing her mouth down again.

  The imagined tick of the clock counting the seconds until their relationship’s eventual demise made Sherry’s motions frantic. She assaulted Tyler’s mouth, ground her hips against his, and tugged the silky strands at his nape. But he wasn’t a meek participant. Tuxedo pants whispered against the leather seat as he fought to wrest control, and the rest of the limo ride blended into a blur of grunts, moans, hisses, and touches. Such wonderful, tingle-inducing touches.

  When the car came to a stop, Sherry waited until the last possible moment to lean back and put her dress to rights. The driver rapped on the window.

  “We’re ready.” Tyler’s searing hot gaze ripped through her, as his words hinted at so much more.

  “Hell, yeah, we are,” she replied, twisting off his lap with a wicked smirk.

  The Roosevelt Hotel on Baronne Street was un-freaking-believable, like something out of a fairy tale. Though the setting was fitting, Sherry didn’t give a flip. As her heels clacked on the marble, her gaze swept the high ceilings and fancy digs with one thought in mind. “Where’s our room?”

  Tyler’s response was a firm tug on her hand toward the elevator bank.

  As they stood waiting for the lift to arrive, he pulled her back flush against him. The rigid feel of how much he wanted her shot through her core like lightning, making her weak in the knees and clutching the tight arm around her waist. His lips nipped at her ear. Soon, they seemed to warn.

  Bring it.

  Finally, the sleek doors popped open. They rushed inside, and Sherry turned in Tyler’s arms, ready to pick up where they left off. Only, just before the doors closed, a very elegantly dressed elderly couple snuck on board. At her groan of frustration, Tyler winked.