Ian frowned and motioned toward the table. He reached the head and opened one of the folders. Instead of sitting, I leaned over the chair and gazed at the form. ‘APPLICATION FOR MARRIAGE LICENSE’ appeared at the top.
“Wouldn’t I need to sign the marriage certificate too?” I asked. “And this form requires a lot more than just my signature. I should probably get more money for that.”
“The certificate is right after the application,” Ian replied, “and we’ve already shaken on it. If you get a hand cramp filling out your home address, I’ll massage it out, I promise.”
“I might hold you to that.” I winked, enjoying his uncomfortable head jerk.
He passed me a pen – and not some disposable Bic with a chewed up cap. It had heft, real weight and gold inlays. Some people collected pens; the fanciest went for quite a premium. Would he miss it?
It took less than a minute to fill out the form. Halfway through, I moaned in pain and rubbed my hand. Ian sighed at my performance. When he moved the certificate in front of me, I held the pen away.
“I haven’t seen the cash yet,” I said.
“Of course,” Ian replied before walking to a door beyond his television.
Despite the overwhelming desire to see more of his apartment, maybe an easy-to-grab pen collection, I remained leaning over the chair, forms in front of me. He left the door open when he came back into the room, paper bag in hand. It landed heavily on the table.
With deliberate slowness, I opened the bag. He already knew my interest in the money, no need to show just how eager it made me. Inside, I found a banded stack of £50 notes. A fan of both sides showed he hadn’t just used fives in the middle to pad it out.
“Feel free to count it,” Ian offered.
A test, no doubt. Did I trust him enough to give the right amount? Not really, but the fan told me enough. I rolled up the cash and slipped it into my purse, then signed the final form. He put them back in the folder and slid it over to his laptop.
“Well, congratulations, Mrs. Fitzroy,” Ian barked while slow clapping. “Seriously, thank you. You’ve helped me out a lot. The reading of Gran’s will just got some fireworks.”
“Isn’t it traditional to share a first kiss?” I teased and pushed myself upright.
Ian’s mouth fell open. His lips moved to speak, only to stop. He recovered with a crooked, superior smile. Smooth.
“I didn’t realize you were so traditional,” he said, inching closer. “I have the signatures I needed, you have your money. The transaction’s complete.”
All true, but I stepped closer to Ian just the same. The excitement of the evening and the stack of cash in my purse spurred me on. Why not have a little more fun? Ian would make a better partner than anyone back at the reception, except for the beard.
“We could come to another arrangement,” I whispered. By now, only inches separated us. “Maybe a little mutual enjoyment on a short-term basis.”
Ian’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths. His wide eyes sported irises even wider. Either he’d been tripping balls or he wanted me, but he hesitated. I’d surprised him. He’d expected a contract signing, nothing more. As much as I could tell he wanted me, the unexpected turn froze him – but not me.
I rolled onto the balls of my feet and closed the distance. The beard almost became a deal breaker. With my eyes closed, the bristles felt like fur for a moment. Ian remained still when our lips met. A second later, his arms wrapped around me, his mouth opening.
We continued, pressed together. His hands slid lower to my hips. My fingers did the same on his back. If not for the beard, I’d have called it my best ever. Still might have been. I blamed the money in my purse for my arousal. Better to be a whore than a lovestruck little girl.
Ian’s shoulders stiffened. He pulled back and sucked in a breath. Narrowed eyes peered into mine.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I don’t want you to think it’s part of the deal, or I’m forcing you.”
“I’ve already kissed you, you aren’t going to win any points for chivalry,” I replied, “but I’ll take a grand off my back £15 if you shave off that beard.”
“You don’t like it?” he teased and stroked the hair on his cheek. “You know my last girlfriend called these my thigh tantalizers.”
His meaning flew over my head for a moment. My mouth opened to a wide O when I put it together. Ian pounced forward. He pressed against me. My backside hit the table. I fell back, he leaned forward. Our lips parted. His hands fell to my side, he loomed over me.
“I never thought I’d ever get married,” I breathed and rolled my head back with a chuckle. “If I ever did get married, I never would’ve waited for the ‘I do’s’ before sleeping with my future husband. Here I am, a married woman before my 20th birthday and I didn’t even kiss my husband before the signatures.”
“It was a good kiss,” Ian said.
Hands slipped closer, pressed against the side of my chest. Ian leaned down and teased a kiss before his lips found my jaw. That damn beard tickled its way down my neck to just above my breasts. I giggled. My shoulders shook. He held me still and slid lower.
“I think you need a demonstration,” he said somewhere near my lower belly. “I’m going to make you scream your love of my beard.”
