A Convenient Groom

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He took the bottle from her, ignoring the crazy lurch of excitement in the pit of his gut at her smile, at her warm body pressed beside his, of how close her full red lips were.

Joe took a swig, breathed through the liquid fire sliding down his throat and tucked the bottle behind his leg, out of view. ‘Why marry me?’

‘Why not?’ She shrugged. ‘I figure, what the hell…If I can’t be anyone else’s wife, I’ll be yours.’

Joe stared at her. Words escaped him. Not the sort of flattery he was after. ‘Right,’ he managed. ‘Okay.’

She leant towards him. ‘You really want to know why?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cause if you won’t have me,’ she whispered, staring up into his face, her eyes glistening. ‘No one will.’

His chest tightened. Hell. Was he that bad? How could she have got an impression like that about him? He shifted on the step, looking towards the door.

‘Yep.’ She nodded. ‘You’re rude, obnoxious and awfully scruffy…’ She ran a hand down his coarse whiskers, shaking her head.

His blood rushed hot through his body, her fingers leaving a trail of burning desire down his jaw. What was she doing to him?

‘I’m the bottom of the barrel?’ Joe asked slowly. Surely all those years in university and then working his way into a reasonable reputation for finely executed photographs had counted for something?

She nodded earnestly. ‘Yep. Bottom-bottom.’

Joe swallowed hard. ‘And why do you feel that you need a man in your life, a husband, to feel complete?’ he asked, cringing at his own idiocy. A bit of layman psychology wasn’t going to be enough for this situation, not in a long shot.

She waved her hands in the air, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Everyone knows that life isn’t the same if you don’t share it.’ She sagged against him as though the effort of talking had taken what was left of her energy, leaning her head on his shoulder. ‘Where’s the fun in doing stuff, movies, meals, places, if you don’t share it?’

‘True.’ He had to agree on that one. Sure, he wasn’t going looking for someone to marry but when you found the right person to fit comfortably into your life and share it with…

Riana straightened. ‘So, will you share my life with me or will I have to go and find another bottle?’ She stared at her empty hands then looked around her. ‘Where’s my vodka?’

‘You don’t need more booze. It won’t solve anything.’

‘Huh. Says you.’ She dug around in the purse hanging off her shoulder as though she could find it in there.

Joe’s gut tightened. ‘You know the stuff can kill you?’

She shrugged, tipping her bag out, the contents spilling on to the floor. ‘What the hell, like it matters…’

Joe stared at the scattered contents of her bag. She had enough make-up to start a small shop, plus a small can of hairspray, a couple of brushes, a mobile phone, loose change and receipts.

His gaze stopped on her car keys, memories of his sister flooding his mind. A tough breakup, booze, tears and car keys…

Raw grief sliced through him.

Hell, there was no way he could sit by and let Riana do this to herself—he looked her in the eyes—not when he could do something about it.

‘Yes.’

She swayed towards him, her finely arched eyebrows lifting. ‘What?’

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

Her brow creased. ‘Yes what?’

Joe cupped her face with his hands and stared into her beautiful dark eyes, praying that this would make all the difference to her. ‘Yes, I will marry you.’

She smiled, her full red lips curving into a smile, her eyes brightening. ‘You will?’

‘Sure.’ And as soon as she sobered up and came to her senses she’d dump him like she’d dumped every other man that came into her life. But at least she’d make it through the night without making a mistake that could cost her life.

She swung her arms around him and held him tightly. ‘I’m so happy.’

Desire rippled through him. She felt so good. He tried not to breathe in her scent, take in the feel of her body pressed against his, or think about the wild responses deep within him.

She was all woman. Her alluring softness pressed against him. The sweetness of strawberries surrounded him. The soft scent of her shampoo invaded his senses as she held him close to her.

‘I’m not a loser then, am I?’ she whispered into his ear, her breath caressing the nerves in his neck, making promises that Joe knew could never be.

He shook his head, sucking in deep, slow breaths, bringing his arms up. He hesitated. Hell. He closed his arms around her, holding her close.

He couldn’t have her think he didn’t care about her. She had to believe that the proposal was real for now. That he loved holding her, loved the feel of her, the smell of her, the sweetness of her voice, no matter how slurred.

She had to see how much life she had yet to live.

Riana pulled back, running her soft fingertips down his bristly cheek, biting her bottom lip. ‘Where’s my ring?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You’ve got to give me a ring if we’re engaged.’ She smiled wildly at him.

Joe stared at her. Was she for real? She was amazing…unbelievable…drunk as hell…and such a romantic.

Hell. A ring. Where the hell was he going to get a ring from at this time of night?

He glanced at his fingers, all empty. Now would have been the perfect moment for that silver skull ring his mother had confiscated from him at sixteen.

Joe pulled the nearest camera bag over to him and flipped it open. Something he could use as a ring…? He undid one of the tripod legs and took the brass packer off the end. It looked about the right size.

He offered the small brass ring to her on his palm.

Riana pouted. ‘Do it properly.’ And she held out her hand as though she was in some old movie, awaiting a kiss from a handsome prince on her left hand. ‘And you have to kneel.’

Joe ran a hand through his hair. ‘Okay.’ He tucked the vodka bottle into the camera bag and shoved it to one side. He dropped to the floor in front of her.

He looked up into her face, saw the tears brimming in her eyes. His gut tightened.

He swallowed hard and slipped the ring slowly onto her finger, his mind a mass of crazy thoughts, his body a frenzy of tangled urges. None of which he had any intention of pursuing.

‘With this ring…’ she murmured, listing to one side, a soft smile on her face, her eyes closed.

‘That comes later,’ he said, shaking his head. And in this case, not at all. He was already seriously involved.

She fell sideways.

Joe caught her in his arms, holding her. What a night.

He lifted Riana into his arms, sending a prayer to the ceiling that the morning would bring her some sense as well as sobriety.

The last thing he needed was another fiancée.

CHAPTER FOUR

RIANA held her head and opened her eyes gingerly. Damn, what had she been drinking? She pried her tongue off the roof of her mouth and wet her dry lips, swallowing hard, trying to dispel the fur lining.

She was lying on the white sofa in her back office, her shoes on the floor, the spring silk samples draped over her like a blanket.

What was she doing here?

She vaguely recalled coming to the boutique last night…and before that? The wave of despair hit her. Stuart didn’t want to marry her!

Her eyes burned. He was such a jerk. Using her like a plaything, something just for fun, to amuse him until someone worth getting serious over came along.

She stared at the ceiling. Why on earth wasn’t she serious material? Sure, she may not have come from a rich family, or gone to a private school, but she had a class all of her own.

She shook her head. She was an idiot for even considering that he was worth her time, let alone her hand in marriage. The nerve of the man to tell her that she wasn’t good enough for him or his high-and-mighty rich family! 41

She rolled off the sofa, holding her stomach with one hand, her head with the other, bracing herself against the pitching of her senses.

The floor wavered. Darn. She should have kept drinking so she didn’t have to think about him, or feel like this.

She closed her eyes, resting on the edge of the sofa. At least she’d ended up safely here at Camelot Bridal Boutique and not in some gutter somewhere. That wouldn’t have been a good look for a wannabe up-and-coming designer.

She cupped her cheeks, holding her face in the hope that it might still the vibrations gnawing at her head. She hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. At least Joe couldn’t complain this morning about her tardiness. Did she still have that change of clothes in her office from the last time she went straight from work to a club? She hoped so. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Joe’s face when he arrived and she was already here.

Joe…

She strained to think. There was something about him that she was missing. She shook her head tentatively. Whatever it was, it could wait. The last session with him was today and she wouldn’t have to think about the scruffy-looking control freak again.

Riana stood up and staggered to the bathroom, her legs feeling as though all the alcohol she’d drunk last night had solidified there, every step jarring her brain and her stomach.

Waves of nausea slapped her senses.

Riana flicked the light switch in the bathroom and blinked away the pain behind her eyes.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Mistake. Her hair was sticking out at wild angles as though something unspeakable had nested in it for the night. The smudges around her eyes from her make-up gave her the classic been-in-a-pub-brawl look, and her skin was as pasty as olive skin could get on a bad day. And, sheesh, it was a bad, bad day.

She turned the tap on. What she needed was a long hot shower to make her feel better, wash away all the comments Stuart had thrown around. Huh! She wasn’t just for a good time.

She cupped her hands under the streaming warm water, her attention caught by the glimmer of gold on her hand.

What? A ring? On that finger?

Her belly lurched. She brought her hand up closer to her face. The small band looked like a wedding ring. She shook her head as much as her aching brain allowed. But it couldn’t be. Whirlwind weddings didn’t happen in Australia. There were no Vegas altars available twenty-four-seven here.

Riana knew this for a fact. Her older sister, Skye, was forever being asked how fast a wedding could take place—mostly by young couples too caught up in the amazing raptures of love to think straight.

It was a month, she was sure of it. And it could only be less if someone was dying—if she was remembering right. She did have the habit of blocking out her sisters’ talk about work.

She fingered the band. Who?

Had she done it herself, knowing she deserved to be as happily married as her sisters? Or had someone else put it there? Why?

She scrunched her eyes tightly closed, clawing for any hint of last night’s desolation and subsequent commiseration with a bottle of vodka.

Joe’s face came to mind.

Riana grabbed the sink for support. Something to do with Joe Henderson, photographer extraordinaire, last night?

She could remember his face, strong and angular, his jaw rough with bristle. She closed her palm, almost feeling the sensation on her fingertips.

She’d touched him?

Flashes came to mind. Of kind words, his velvet-smooth deep voice, his golden eyes looking down at her with a warmth that made her toes curl.

What had she said to him? Her throat burned. The last thing she wanted was that man to know all her woes, especially after bragging up Stuart’s imminent proposal.

She sagged to the floor. Could she have acted more like an idiot if she’d tried? Fancy believing in the jerk so much that she’d told everyone that he was going to propose, including Joe.

Tears burned her eyes and made her throat ache with the need to yell. She was a fool.

Memories flooded her mind—of all the time she’d taken to spend with Stuart, of all the energy she’d spent on him, all the smiles, the flirting, the amazing outfits. And he was just like every other jerk that she’d met.

She stared at the ceiling, futilely blinking back the tears. She’d even told her mother she could stop worrying about her, that she was going to settle down too, like her sisters.

She let the tears flow, let the sobs rack her body, cursing her big fat mouth. Everyone was going to know now how much of an idiot she’d been with Stuart. He hadn’t loved her at all.

There was a light tap on the door.

‘Hey?’ said a deeply male voice. ‘Are you okay in there?’

Riana staggered to her feet, choking back the tears and the pain in her head. Couldn’t a girl have a quiet cry on her own bathroom floor without being interrupted? She flung the door open. ‘What?’ she snapped.

Joe Henderson stood in front of her, freshly shaved, his hair combed back, his blue jeans fitting very nicely on his body, and his white T-shirt stretched tightly across his wide chest.