Page 38 of Sweet Surrender

Followed by another shot.

I look over at Jase in the dimly lit elevator beside me. His bow tie is undone and hanging loosely around the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt. The almost empty bottle of tequila is in one hand while the other is resting politely on my lower back.

He’s striking even now as I stare at him and think about the kiss earlier in the hotel room. His lips. His skill. The taste of tequila on his tongue. The way he stole my breath and heated my body in one fell, fucking swoop.

He turns to look at me, the blue of his eyes so light. I don’t know what I expected from him after the ceremony—anger maybe over having to get married, aloofness definitely given what I am to him—but it most definitely wasn’t the mixture of pride and mischief that I see in them right now.

A slow grin crawls across his lips as he shakes his head. “Sorry for the sucky last name.” He pulls me against his side and murmurs, “I’ve always hated it but now we can hate it together.”

“It’s not bad.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Gizmodo.”

The sound of those words makes my stomach twist. “You’re right. That might take some getting used to.”

“I think there might be a lot of that to get used to in the coming days, but we’ll figure it out. And if we don’t, my house is big enough that when you’re mad at me, you have plenty of room to steer clear of me.”

“You can just as easily be angry with me.”

He angles his head to the side and meets my eyes. “I doubt that’s possible.”

The elevator arrives at our private floor, but when I look around, it’s a different foyer than I remember. “I don’t think this is the right—”

“It is.” He takes a key card from his front pocket and opens the door, ushering me in before him. “It’s the honeymoon suite. Or rather, what my agent, Abigail, requested to be the honeymoon suite. To keep up pretenses, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I say.

“Who knows what we’re about to get. Ready to find out?”

If I thought the room I had earlier was extravagant, this one is that on steroids. The entire penthouse is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, providing a stunning view of the Strip. The lights that line the wall are colored, but it’s the scattered flower petals, the chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne chilled on the table, and the heart-shaped bed with fluffy robes laid out for us that have me catching my breath.

Because if the nuptials and you may kiss the bride didn’t make this real, seeing all this sure as shit did.

Those nerves the tequila tamed? Yeah, they’ve come roaring back with a vengeance.

“Oh. Wow,” Jase says as he follows behind me. “All that’s missing is the vibrating bed.”

“Are those still a thing?” I ask, distracted as I move around and peek into the bathroom that’s larger than my entire studio.

“I’m sure they are somewhere,” he says. “We stayed in some pretty shifty places when we first started out, but I can’t say I ever saw one.”

“This suite is . . . gorgeous. Over the top. Ridiculous.” Completely unnecessary. I smile when I see my luggage is on the far end of the room. Clearly, someone must have packed it up and brought it here for me. I don’t know how I feel about that—someone doing things for me. “I’ll—uh—get changed. I’m sure you want to get back to Los Angeles and as far away from this as soon as possible.”

“Hey.” I yelp as Jase grabs my hand and whirls me out as if we’re dancing and then back into him. I land solidly against his chest and am greeted by his grin and a flutter in my lower belly. “This is some crazy shit, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I say and try not to think about his lips being so close. “Probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Give it time. You’re married to me now. I’m sure there will be more times to stretch those wings of yours.” He chuckles as I become fully aware of every single place we’re pressed against each other.

“Noted.” Why do I sound so breathless? “Um. I’ll go get changed. My bag. It’s over there.”

“True,” he says but doesn’t let go of me. “It is.”

“I’m sure you want to get back home for . . . whatever. In Los Angeles. Away from here.”

“Do I make you nervous?” he murmurs, his eyes flickering to my lips before locking on my gaze.

My body wars between sense and desire—neither of which I want to win. This is fake. This whole scenario. We kissed. We got married. I’m normal and totally not his type.