did.â He closed the laptop and gave her his full attention, but the sensual smolder had been replaced with an almost detached friendliness. Something had happened between pulling up to the drive-through chapel and now; they were no longer boozy partners in crime. Now they were two adults who had just met.
Who happened to be married.
âDid we kiss?â she asked.
He furrowed his brow. âI think so. Right after I introduced the officiant to Benjamin Franklin and right before you passed out.â
She covered her lips with her hand. âHow was it?â
âBrief. Official. Wine-flavored.â
She tugged her blanket tighter around her shoulders. âHow are you still awake?â
He shrugged. âIâm supposed to be looking over some work documents.â
âYouâre working.â The reality of everything theyâd done slammed into her. âItâs our wedding night and youâre working? Thatâs not very indolent of you.â
âIâm
supposed
to be looking over some documents,â he clarified. âIâm actually watching a documentary on giant radioactive wolves.â
Brighton scrambled into a sitting position. âLike, science fiction?â
âNo, theyâre real. Itâs about what happened to the wildlife at the abandoned Chernobyl site.â
âIs that . . . related to your job?â
âNot even remotely.â
âOkay.â She blinked a few times. âYou like nature documentaries?â
âI do when theyâre about radioactive wolves.â He lifted the shade so she could see the golden morning sunlight. âWe wonât be landing for another hour. You can go back to sleep, if you want.â
âWhat kind of work do you do that you can afford all this?â she rasped. âPrivate jets and teams of people to do your bidding wherever you go?â
He didnât reply. She could hear the steady drone of the engines and the hiss of air from the overhead vents.
Just when she started to wonder if sheâd inadvertently offended him, he asked, âDo you like to talk about your job when youâre hanging out at bars or flying to Vegas?â
âNo,â Brighton admitted. âBut thatâs because my work is really boring.â
He nodded. âMy work is really boring, too.â
âBoring and completely legal . . . right?â She laced her hands together and squeezed.
âCompletely,â he assured her.
âIt better be. Because, so help me, if I find out later that youâre some sort of drug dealer or Mafia kingpin, Iâm going to be pissed.â
âIf I were into drugs or organized crime, I wouldnât be spending my summers in Black Dog Bay.â The warmth had returned to his voice and his eyes. âEverybody knows everything about everybody else, and they all talk.â
âGood. I just want to make sure you donât have a criminal past. Or a criminal present, for that matter.â
He mirrored her solemn expression. âIf it makes you feel better, a wife cannot be forced to testify against her husband. So if I
were
a criminal, marrying me is actually reducing your odds of getting caught up in all the legal proceedings.â
Her eyes widened and her palms started to sweat. âThe fact that you know that does not make me feel better.â
âRelax. Iâm just torturing you.â
âWell, knock it off and reassure me that cocaine and arms trafficking didnât pay for this plane.â
He finally relented. âSand paid for this plane.â
âWhat?â
âSand, concrete, and gravel.â
âElaborate, please.â
âI started out supplying concrete for construction contracts.â He looked and sounded completely bored with this topic of conversation. âThatâs how I made my first million.â
âFirst millionâs the hardest, right?â Brighton paused.