Free Full Throttle (Fast Track) by Erin McCarthy Page B

told, it was wrinkled. Hey. It was Friday and two in the afternoon. Who was there to give a shit?
    “How thoughtful.”
    “You look pretty,” he told her truthfully, though the minute he said it, he hated how lukewarm it sounded. So he added, “But I wouldn’t have objected to some cleavage.”
    She was wearing a narrow skirt, tights, and boots, with a red sweater. It was kind of officelike, but it was February and a fake wedding, so he hadn’t expected her to pull out all the stops either. But it wasn’t exactly screaming “We’re in love, I’m so excited.”
    Rolling her eyes, Shawn told him, “You should be looking at the doughnut, not the hole.”
    Say what? Rhett got an erection instantly just thinking about her hole. “Do not say things like that in public. Seriously. I mean it.”
    Her expression took on a mulish quality. “You can’t tell me what to say. It’s a free country.”
    “It’s also illegal to have sex in a hallway, so unless you want me to shove you into the restroom and fuck you against the stall wall, I suggest you not talk about your hole or your creamy edges.” A man could only take so much. Surely she could understand that.
    Her eyes widened. “Why do you have to be so gross about it?”
    That made the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. Shawn was clearly deluding herself if she actually believed she thought it was crude. The truth was, she liked it when he was honest and straightforward about his lust. It was there in her body language, the way she leaned in toward him, the way her breath caught. The tightness of her nipples beneath her sweater.
    “Your disgust isn’t even remotely convincing,” he told her. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be done with the ceremony and back at her place. He was convinced he could get her to let him inside her with just a little coaxing.
    Her knuckles were white on the ring box. “Are we sure we want to do this?”
    No. He really wasn’t.
    Marrying Shawn might be akin to opening Pandora’s box. It might let out feelings, sexual and otherwise, that he wouldn’t be able to contain again.
    “Are you getting cold feet?” he asked, because it bothered him more than he cared to admit that she might bail. “Runaway bride does make for an interesting end to our short-lived relationship. Met me to left me, all in one week.”
    Her response was as predicted. Shawn bristled. “Of course I’m not bailing! The track means everything to me. Everything.”
    “Then let’s go.” He took her hand firmly in his. “Repeat after me: I do. That’s all we need.”
    Shawn looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. “I do. Don’t I?”
    It almost made him laugh. He led her down the hallway and through the glass doors to the reception area to let the clerk know they were there. “Do you have the marriage license?” he asked her.
    “Yes.”
    Five minutes later they were married. It was easier than renewing his driver’s license. Easier even than getting a flu shot, and for the most part, less painful.
    Rhett looked down at Shawn, gauging her mood as he leaned down to kiss her. She looked like she’d hit the wall at Talladega at one hundred and forty miles an hour. Stunned. But when he brushed his lips over hers, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him like a wet kitten.
    It was a convincing embrace.
    “You okay?” he murmured to her.
    That snapped her out of her terrified fog. She said defiantly, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? This was my idea.”
    “Excellent.” Rhett turned to the clerk. “Can you take our picture with my phone?” He wasn’t sure why it seemed important. It just seemed like someone would ask at some point if they had proof of the ceremony. Or maybe he just wanted a picture of them. He handed her his phone from his pocket and showed her the button to push.
    “Sure. Say ‘wedding night!’”
    Shawn dutifully repeated it as they smiled at the camera. But Rhett just held her hand, his finger