“Alright, lovebirds,” Kate said, checking her watch. “We’re officially late. Judge Morrison doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Right. The wedding. The actual wedding that I was about to have to this man I barely knew.
No big deal.
Thorne extended his arm, and I stared at it for a second before realizing he was offering to escort me inside.
I looped my arm through his, and the solid warmth of him against my side made everything suddenly, intensely real.
We were doing this.
We were really doing this.
The judge’s chambers were smaller than I’d expected. Just a desk, some chairs, an American flag in the corner, and Judge Morrison—a woman in her sixties with sharp eyes and an expression that said she’d seen it all.
“Mr. Underwood. Ms. Cooper.” She looked between us, her gaze lingering on our linked arms. “Shall we begin?”
It happened fast. Too fast. Judge Morrison ran through the legal requirements, asked if we understood what we were entering into, confirmed we were both doing this of our own free will.
Thorne’s responses were steady, certain. Mine were slightly breathless but just as sure.
We’d rehearsed nothing. Planned nothing. But when she asked Thorne if he took me as his lawfully wedded wife, he looked directly at me and said I do like he meant it.
Like this was real.
My turn.
“Do you, Maddie Cooper, take Thorne Underwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Thorne was still looking at me. Still holding my hand—when had he taken my hand?—and his thumb was doing this thing where it brushed across my knuckles. Light. Barely there. But I felt it everywhere.
“I do,” I said.
We exchanged rings that Kate provided and Judge Morrison smiled. “By the power vested in me by the state of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Oh.
Right.
The kiss.
Through texts we’d talked about everything else—the contract, the living arrangements, the timeline—but we hadn’t talked about this. In my head, I’d imagined a quick peck on the cheek, something business-like for the sake of the witnesses. But Thorne apparently had other plans.
His eyes went dark, his gaze dropping to my mouth and staying there. I watched his throat work as he swallowed. He stepped into my space, one large hand coming up to cup my jaw. He tilted my face up, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
It was supposed to be quick. Perfunctory. The kind of kiss you gave for show.
It wasn’t.
His mouth was firm against mine, confident, and when I made a small sound of surprise, his other hand slid to my lower back, his fingers splaying wide, pressing me into the hard line of his thighs. I could feel the evidence of his reaction against my stomach, heavy and insistent, and it sent a jolt of pure firethrough my system. My hips pressed forward involuntarily, my body doing something my brain hadn’t authorized. My hands found his chest—solid, warm, I could feel his heart pounding under my palm—and I kissed him back.
The wildflowers fell from my hand, forgotten.
I forgot we were in a courthouse. I forgot Kate and the judge were watching. I forgot that ten minutes ago, this man was a stranger. All I knew was the weight of him, the scent of him, and the way my body felt like it was finally, for the first time, exactly where it was supposed to be.
His fingers slid into my hair, tangling in the strands he’d told me to leave down, and the small groan that escaped him made my knees weak. I gripped his shirt, rising up on my toes, and his arm tightened around my waist, hauling me against him.
He kissed like a man who’d been holding back and just decided to stop. Like he’d been thinking about this. Like he wanted more.
