‘Of course I have a name,’ he replies witheringly.
‘Then why don’t I know it?’
‘Perhaps you didn’t ask.’
‘I so did ask!’ Apparently, I’ve turned into a Minnie Mouse. ‘You said “it’s just Beckett”.’ I affect a deep and proper tone in a vague approximation of him. So why is he smiling?
‘My name is Alexander. And if you call me anything but Beckett, I’ll divorce you before the forty-eight hours are up.’
‘Alexander. That’s a good name,’ I reply as he begins to climb the steps again.
‘Thank you. I had nothing to do with it.’
‘Can I call you Alex?’ I ask, wrapping my free hand around his upper arm. A thrill courses through me as the solid muscle tenses beneath my fingertips.
‘No.’
‘What about Al? Xander? Ali?’
As we reach the entrance, he finally answers. ‘Not unless you want to make me very cross.’ His arched brow matches his tone perfectly.
‘Oh, I’m sensing a story.’
‘And I’m thinking about ways to shut you up.’
‘There was nothing about that in—’
Suddenly, I find myself pulled against the hard bulk of his body and being kissed very thoroughly. It’s exactly the kind of kiss you imagine you’ll receive on your wedding day. Maybe not in front of the congregation but later, when everyone is drunk, happy, and high on love, so no one notices when the groom steals you away for a little passion. And while it might not have happened in the setting I’ve imagined, the effect of this kiss is just the same. It steals my breath and my thoughts and almost the power in my legs. Which could be why I’m feeding my hands under his jacket and pulling him closer still. His lips taste of heat and need, andGod, what I wouldn’t give to be alone with—
The harsh sound of a jeering catcall followed by a wolf whistle pierces my attention. Beckett’s head lifts, his fiery gaze sort of hazy and his full lips a little kiss swollen and pink.
‘I think we attracted an audience,’ I whisper, our lips just a hair’s breadth apart.
‘They’re just jealous because they aren’t the one kissing you.’ And with that, he pulls me to his chest.
Be still my pitter-pattering heart.
‘That might have been one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.’ And I’m pretty sure the look I’m giving him can only be described as sappy. I was toying with the idea of asking him if he’d like to call a truce today. Maybe he’s had the same idea?
‘That’s not true,’ he says as he turns, feeding his arm across my back. ‘I told you earlier that you look very beautiful.’
‘When?’ I scoff and almost trip as he stops quite suddenly again, pulling me back.
‘In the bedroom before we left.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ BecausethatI would’ve remembered. Compliments absolutely fly in the face of our usual interactions. Except when he’s trying to butter me up about something.
His expression clouds, and were I not standing so close, I might’ve missed the almost imperceptible shake of his head. His countenance suddenly clears, and he takes my face in both of his hands.
‘You look so lovely, Olivia. You’re like a creature from another realm, almost otherworldly. Far too beautiful to be true.’ The kiss that would perfect this moment never comes as his hands slide across my shoulders. ‘Let’s get married.’
Inside, a sign directs us to the Marriage Bureau. The interior is quietly genteel with marble floors, Art Deco crown mouldings, and bronze accents. Strangely, the place appears almost empty.I thought courthouse wedding were massively popular, and we’d have to wait for hours.As we walk the long hallway, a couple appear before us, walking towards us hand in hand. They’re so happy it’s almost as though they’re floating an inch or two above the marble floor. Their joy is infectious, and it’s hard not to smile at them even though they only have eyes for each other. What’s not so cool is when they stop right in front of us and start making out.
‘They must be in honeymoon mode already,’ I whisper as we make our way around them.
‘Someone ought to get a hose,’ Beckett comments blithely.
‘Do we take a ticket or not?’ I ask as I spot a machine—the kind you’d expect to find in a DMV.
