The Wedding Rescue Novel – “I’ll be your date. And in return, you’ll do something for me.” “What?” I was turning into a broken record. Half-horrified and half-curious, I said, “What could you possibly want me to do for you?” His grin deepened, turning predatory and a shade more triumphant. Still holding my hand, he reached for my arm with his free hand and tugged me closer. My body heated at his sudden proximity. Leaning in, he whispered, “I want you in my bed. For as long as I’m your date, your body is mine. You’ll give me anything I want, Leigha. And in return, I’ll solve all your problems.”
LEIGHA I was well into my second appletini when I heard the chair next to me slide back. I kept my eyes on the bar, not interested in company or polite chitchat. My calm, orderly, sedate life was a shambles, and I had no interest in talking to anyone except the bartender. That was until I heard his voice. It was low and dark, like hot chocolate with caramel drizzled on top, and it sent shivers down my spine. He had to be hot. No one with a voice like that could be anything else. I snuck a peek and froze. Hot didn’t begin to cover it. Our eyes met and I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away. His eyes were the crisp, fresh green of a Granny Smith apple. I’d never seen eyes like that before. On anyone else I might have wondered if they were contacts, but not on this man. His eyes were extraordinary but serious. This man didn’t put up with nonsense. Not one who’d wear colored lenses. His face could have come out of a magazine with his thick, dark hair, those bladed cheekbones, and that full lower lip. But he lacked the empty blandness of a model in an advertisement.
No, his face had character. He had fine lines around his mouth that suggested he laughed a lot. A tan that said he liked to be outdoors. His gaze was assessing, evaluating me. I wanted to tear my eyes away and look anywhere else, but I couldn’t. He wasn’t just a regular guy. I knew that already. Spinal shivers from his voice aside, the bartender had called him ‘Sir’ when he’d come in. And that suit. I didn’t know a ton about fashion, but it was too well-tailored not to be custom made. He was way out of my league—way, way out. “Bad day?” he asked in that chocolate and caramel voice. More shivers ran down my spine. A suspicious heat grew between my legs. Women would pay just to hear this guy talk. “Bad week,” I said, my mouth moving before I could stop it. “Do you want to talk about it?” The bartender delivered his drink, and he took a sip, eyes still on mine. He waited with all the patience in the world to hear my pathetic story. Suddenly, I was less depressed and more ashamed.
How had I let my life come to this? “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to a stranger’s problems,” I said, not wanting this beautiful man to know what a mess I was. “I’m never too busy to listen to an attractive woman,” he answered. I snorted a laugh, choking a little on my appletini. He must be working an angle. Men like this didn’t hit on me. Maybe he thought I was easy, or maybe he was another scammer. I’d had enough of that lately. I couldn’t afford to be taken in again. “Smooth,” I said, still giggling a little. “But whatever you’re selling, I don’t need any. I’ve got enough trouble as it is.” “I’m not selling anything.” He actually looked affronted, as if I’d insulted him. “Really. I just got off work, wandered in here, saw you, and wanted to get to know you better.” “Why?” I challenged, tossing back the rest of my drink. Sure, this was the most beautiful man I’d seen in real life. However, his sitting beside me and starting a conversation just because he liked the way I looked was a little hard to swallow. Girls like me did not attract men like him. I was too plump, too boring, and too plain. Besides, I was not having a lucky week. Or month, if we’re being honest. “Because,” he said, leaning in so his lips almost grazed my ear, “you’re the only real thing I’ve seen in this place in months.
You’re gorgeous, and you don’t even know it. And I want to know you better.” I snorted again. Not the most elegant sound. Maybe I’d had one drink too many—no, I’d definitely had one too many. I just couldn’t buy it. I had decent self-esteem, but come on. This guy could get any woman he wanted. I was a somewhat overweight accountant who lived in a tiny bungalow, drove a beige sedan, and contributed regularly to her retirement account. All I was missing was a few cats, and I’d be all ready to become a little old lady at twenty-five. I might live in Vegas, but it could have been the small midwestern town I’d grown up in for all the excitement in my life. “Sorry. Not interested,” I said. “The last hot guy who told me I was gorgeous ended up cleaning out my savings account. That was after telling me how hard it was to date such a fat hip long enough to get my bank card and pin. I’m not looking for a guy like you.” I waved my hand in the air in a gesture meant to encompass all that was him. “I need a nice, boring guy. Maybe another accountant. Or an actuary. Someone like that.”
“How much did he get?” I sat back, startled. All the smooth had drained from his face. It was like looking at a different man. His arresting green eyes were narrowed, his lips tight. He looked pissed, and even though I knew it wasn’t directed at me, he was a little scary. Why had I told him that? My most humiliating secret and I blurted it out to a complete stranger? I had second thoughts about ordering another drink. “Ten thousand,” I mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. I’d been stupid, and I’d paid for it. “How did he get it?” His voice was hard. Uncompromising. I thought about not answering, but I didn’t have it in me to stay silent, especially not with that commanding tone in his luscious voice. “It was a backup savings account. Not the one attached to my checking. But it had a bank card. I never used the card, and all the information was in a file in my office. He found it and stole the card. Then he made the maximum withdrawal every day until it was empty. I only check the account once a month, so I missed it. I feel so stupid.”
To my horror, I felt another tear escape from the corner of my eye. He reached up and brushed it away with one warm, gentle fingertip. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Did you go to the police?” “They weren’t that interested. He said it was a gift, he had the card and the PIN, and we’d just broken up when I reported it. So they filed it as a domestic issue and suggested I sue him.” “Did you?” My shoulders slumped. “I started to. Then my lawyer found out that ‘Steven’ wasn’t actually Steven. And he’d disappeared. So there was no one to sue. And I was out the lawyer’s fees, which I couldn’t exactly afford with no savings to fall back on. I have a good job, but not good enough to replace ten grand overnight.” I changed my mind about the drink and raised my hand to get the attention of the bartender. If I was going to get through this night, I needed another drink, stat. Something stronger than an appletini. Tequila? To my surprise, the god of a man sitting beside me took my hand in his and pulled it down before the bartender could notice. “You don’t need another drink,” he said.
“You need something to eat. I’m taking you to dinner.” He slid off his chair, apparently assuming I’d follow right behind. “I do need another drink.” I tried to raise my hand again, but he hadn’t let it go. “And I can’t go to dinner with you. I’m eating dinner in an hour.” “Date?” he asked, eyes narrowed. This time, I really couldn’t help my snort of disgusted laughter. “Are you kidding? It’s going to be a long time before I’m dating again. No. My sister is getting married here this weekend and I have to meet her, my other sister and my mother for dinner.” I scowled at the thought of the other reason I was having a miserable week. “Fine. Then I’ll take you for appetizers.” Before I knew it, he’d tucked my arm in his and was leading me out of the bar. What was going on? Was I just going to let him drag me out of the bar? When I didn’t jerk my arm away or tell him off, I realized I was. Why not? I’d missed lunch and I could use a snack before dinner. God forbid I actually ate anything in front of my sisters. I’d never hear the end of it. Even so, I put up a token resistance.
“I can’t go to eat with you.” “Why not?” he asked, easily. “I don’t even know your name,” I protested. He stopped walking and turned to face me. “Dylan Kane.” He held out his hand to shake, watching me carefully as if waiting for something. When I didn’t respond except to take his hand, he smiled. I almost missed the smile, jolting a little at the touch of his skin to mine. His hand was warm and strong, the touch sending tingles all over, settling in my breasts and between my legs. That was a lot of impact for a simple handshake. A few more of those and my panties would be soaked. This guy was dangerous. I wondered what it would feel like if he touched me. No. I was not going there. Thinking with my hormones was how I got into trouble with Steven. I was not going to make any more lust-driven decisions. Instead of drifting off into fantasies of those warm, strong hands all over my body, I squeezed his hand back and said, “Leigha Carmichael.” “Leigha,” He repeated. “A beautiful name.” Pulling me close to his side again, he led us further into the casino.
We headed for the bank of elevators, away from the restaurants. I tried to reclaim my arm. I’d said I’d go eat with him, but it didn’t seem like a great idea to disappear into the upper floors with a man I just met. Cautious, that was me. Except I’d been cautious with Steven, and here I was, broke and alone. Before I could protest, he asked, “Is there anything you don’t eat?” I shook my head and said, “No.” He lifted his mobile to his ear and hit a button before he spoke. “Cheryl, order in a selection of appetizers. I’ll be there in a minute with company.” Now I did try to pull my arm away. “I’m not going to your room with you.” He grinned at me, relaxed and amused. “No, you’re not. At least not right now. We’re going to my office. It’s private, comfortable, but you won’t be completely alone with me.” “Your office? You work here?” I asked, glancing around the floor of the casino. The Delecta was one of the newest casinos on the strip. Sumptuous and elegant, it was not a family casino. It was on the small side, with more suites than the average hotel, all of them luxurious and expensive. So expensive, I’d told my sister I’d rather stay at home and drive in for the wedding events.
But, as usual, she pitched a fit, the rest of the family took her side, and I found myself convinced to spend money I didn’t have on a pricey hotel room in my own city. I’d managed to get one of the single rooms and stuck it on my emergency credit card. The Delecta was a casino for adults. The spa was extensive, the decor designed to seduce, and everywhere I looked I saw couples, exquisitely dressed and beautifully groomed, gambling away their money and laughing with delight as they did it. This place was the ultimate scam. Didn’t they know the house always won? And here I was, wandering off with a man I didn’t know, just because he was beautiful and charming. So who was I to judge? I looked up to see that he was smiling at me, an almost fond expression on his face. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked. Should I? I could tell now that I should. I didn’t get out a ton. Was I making a fool of myself? Probably. “No, I don’t,” I admitted. “Sorry.” I shrugged apologetically. “I own the Delecta,” he said. “Well, I’m part owner of the conglomerate that owns the Delecta. But, for the last few years, this project has been my baby. I do most of my work from here.” “You own the Delecta?”
I felt my jaw hanging open. So not just panty melting hot, but a billionaire? As in, actually having and controlling assets worth multiple billions of dollars? I was so completely out of my league. I was a junior accountant in a modestly-sized firm. This man could have his arms draped in supermodels in the blink of an eye. “I own Kane Enterprises, which owns the Delecta, yes.” He steered me into an empty elevator while I stared and tried to absorb this information. What was he doing with me? DYLAN She didn’t get it, and why would she? That just made my task easier. I understood women, got their strange thoughts about men and food and their appearance. I knew way too much about the effect money and power had on some of them. I knew the grasping and the lies, their need to take. I’d see soon enough if this girl was one of those. I doubted it. She probably thought she was overweight and boring, wondering why I’m not calling up a showgirl or a model instead of her.
By the time I was finished with her, she’d know the truth. She was luminous, her creamy skin soft under my hand, her grey eyes clear and honest. Her papillae jiggled a little with every step, her rounded hips moved with a natural, sensual sway. Just the idea of getting her undressed, seeing all that sweet flesh bare, was enough to get my shaft half-hard. She had to be in her mid-twenties, but she radiated innocence. I missed innocence. Lately, I’d come to crave it, to need the clean feel of someone who wasn’t scheming. I missed people who weren’t trying to get something from me. I looked her over as she shifted from one foot to the other, too shy to meet my eyes. Delicious. I couldn’t decide where to start—with those soft, full, perfect papillae? Would she be one of those women who could come just from having her papillae sucked? From the way she shivered when I touched her, I bet she would. Or I could shock her and go straight for that sweet private part. I guessed it saw little use. If she’d seen a lot of action, she would have been more at ease with her body. This girl was barely a woman, and she had no idea what she was—and what she could be. I was the man who was going to show her.
LEIGHA I kept my mouth shut all the way to his office, not sure what to say. I felt less anxious about being alone with him, at least in the sense of safety. The head of Kane Enterprises wouldn’t bring me to his office if he planned to hurt me. I still didn’t understand what he was doing with me. I wished I would have had another drink, but I was wobbling a little in my heels and knew he was right. What I needed was food. As he typed into his phone, the door opened and a uniformed waiter pushed a cart into the room. Dylan said, “On the table, please.” Without looking at either of us, the waiter said, “Yes, sir.” and began unloading the plates. As he whisked the covers off, delicious scents sent my mouth watering. One plate held what looked like steak tartare with tiny diced onions and capers. It was one of my favorites. Another held a selection of olives and cheese with colorful pieces of bruschetta. The last had toasted brioche rounds with crème fraîche and caviar. I hadn’t had caviar in years, but the last time I had, I’d loved it. My stomach growled, and I flushed. It always embarrassed me, feeling overweight and eating in front of people. I’d grown up with my sisters questioning every bite I put in my mouth. The idea of eating in front of Dylan, easily the most handsome man I’d ever met, paralyzed me.
Somehow, he knew exactly what to do. Lifting a square of toast heaped with shaved beef tartare, he held it in front of my lips. “Open,” he ordered. I did. The flavor hit me first. The rich, meaty taste of the beef, the crisp bite of the capers and the pungency of the onion danced over my tongue. Then his touch settled into my consciousness. I chewed, and his fingers rested on the sensitive skin beneath my chin. He trailed one finger down my neck, stopping to slide under the wide strap of my dress, stroking my shoulder. I’m not sure how I swallowed without choking. It was the smallest of touches, no more than a fingertip, and I was shivering, my body on sensory overload. Between my legs, the heat transmuted into a familiar moisture. He was getting me wet just by caressing over my shoulder. Unreal. I didn’t protest when he slipped one of the caviar rounds into my mouth, this time sliding his touch along my lower lip as he pulled his hand back. My brain was firing on all the wrong cylinders. I was ready to run, or ready to lay back and spread my legs. I made the mistake of meeting his eyes and all thought shut off. A piece of bruschetta later, Dylan handed me my coffee and sat back.
“The coffee isn’t the right complement for the flavors,” he said. “But I thought you needed it more than beverage.” I swallowed and managed to speak, “Thank you. The food is wonderful.” “I enjoy eating. So do my guests, so I make sure everything is top quality,” he said, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Now, any other problems?” “It’s nothing worth getting into. Really.” I was outright lying. My last unspoken problem felt like the biggest. It was also really embarrassing. At least it would be if I had to admit it to Dylan. It would be over in three days. I could get through three days. “So there is something else. Tell me.” I resisted him this time. “No. Honestly, I’m fine. I appreciate all of this, but I don’t understand why you’d help me. You just met me.” His eyes reminded me of a wolf’s as they rested on my face, meeting mine, before sliding down to stroke over my body. Possessive. Confident. Predatory. I was way out of my depth. “I want something from you,” he said, bluntly. “Something only you can give me. Tell me what your last problem is, and we’ll see what we can work out.” I couldn’t speak. He wanted something from me? I didn’t have anything. No money.
Not since that prick had cleaned me out. And Dylan Kane could hardly need money. Ditto for accounting services. He probably had an entire floor of accountants tallying up all his cash. How could I give him anything? “I don’t -” That was as far as I got before he took my hand in his, his thumb stroking over my skin in slow swirls. “Just tell me.” His eyes bored into mine, compelling me. I wanted to tell him. However, I didn’t want to see him laugh at me, either. “I—” I stopped, not believing I was going to talk. Then my mouth opened again, and I started to speak. “I don’t have a date to my sister’s wedding. She’s a huge bimbo, and if I show up alone, she and my other sister will make me miserable. I was supposed to go with Steven, but…” I trailed off, unable to meet his eyes, utterly humiliated. Why had I given in? I peeked up at him, expecting to see scorn, or worse, pity. Instead, he was smiling, a wide, open smile that lit his green eyes and was oddly triumphant. “Perfect,” he said, turning my hand over in his so he could rub his thumb into my palm. “That’s the easiest to solve. I’ll be your date.” “What?” Not the answer I was expecting. I don’t know what I thought he’d say, but it definitely wasn’t that.
“I’ll be your date. And in return, you’ll do something for me.” “What?” I was turning into a broken record. Half-horrified and half-curious, I said, “What could you possibly want me to do for you?” His grin deepened, turning predatory and a shade more triumphant. Still holding my hand, he reached for my arm with his free hand and tugged me closer. My body heated at his sudden proximity. Leaning in, he whispered, “I want you in my bed. For as long as I’m your date, your body is mine. You’ll give me anything I want, Leigha. And in return, I’ll solve all your problems.” “I can’t do that,” I whispered back. “Why not? Don’t tell me you don’t want to see what it would be like.” “I don’t know you, and I don’t have very much experience. I wouldn’t know what to do.” My brain stuttered for something else to say. I couldn’t do what he was suggesting.
It was ridiculous. It was absolutely insane. But it was also probably the only chance I’d ever have to see a man like this undressed. It’d be my only chance to see what intercourse would be like with a man who knew what he was doing. I had no doubt that Dylan Kane was a master in bed. He’d only touched me a few times, all innocent, and I was wet and quivering. How would it feel to be the focus of all his passion, to have him order me to do something, knowing I would obey? I felt another rush of liquid heat between my legs. I was under no illusions that this would be an equal partnership. He would be in charge. He’d own me.