“Pat!” Hastily, Alex cut her off. “We have to catch a plane.”
“Okay, okay. C’mon, girls. Let’s go.”
* * *
Mere moments later Ben shoved the key in the ignition of his midnight-black Tahoe, pulled out of the drive and aimed for the airport. As he wheeled through the light Sunday morning traffic, his gaze cut to his prospective bride.
Alex hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since she’d kissed Maria and hustled her out the door. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was having serious doubts about this shotgun wedding. God knew, he was. But he waited until he’d joined the traffic heading south on I-25 to comment on her obvious nervousness.
“There’s still time to back out.”
“I know.”
She didn’t look at him, just stared out the windshield as they cruised past the towers of downtown Albuquerque.
“It’s your call, Alex. You don’t have to do this.”
That shook her out of her funk. She angled to face him and pulled on a smile. “Yes, I do. And in case I forget to tell you later, I’m more grateful than I can say. I owe you, Cowboy.”
For some reason, that irritated the heck out of Ben. He didn’t want her thanks any more than he wanted her to owe him. The fact that he didn’t know what exactly he did want from her irritated him even more.
Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? He knew precisely what he wanted. The memory of this woman naked and languorous and stretched out in bed had kept him awake and aching for most of last night.
The plain truth was that he wanted her naked again. Sated and smiling and sleepy amid a tangle of sheets. Preferably in a luxurious suite similar to the one he’d taken her to their last time in Vegas. Instead, he was going to zip down to city hall, fork over fifty bucks for a marriage license, participate in a hurried ceremony and hustle his new wife aboard a flight back to Albuquerque almost before the ink had dried on their marriage certificate. Not exactly the wedding of any woman’s dreams, even if she insisted that’s exactly what she wanted.
* * *
Give the time change, they landed at McCarran Airport a mere thirty minutes after their Albuquerque takeoff time. To Alex’s surprise, a uniformed driver was waiting when they walked out into the arrivals area. The chauffeur escorted them to a stretch limo half a football field long. Alex folded herself into the decadently luxurious back seat and hiked a brow when she saw the label on the champagne bottle nested in a silver ice bucket.
“Veuve Clicquot?”
“You only get married for the first time once.”
“True.”
“Too bad I don’t have my dress uniform and sword,” he said as he peeled off the foil and unscrewed the wire cage. “Badger learned the fine art of sabering champagne while serving a stint at the US Embassy in Russia. He taught a few of us the trick during some downtime on a rotation to a former French colony that shall remain nameless.”
“He was real, this colonel of yours?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ben got the cork out smoothly despite the lack of a saber and filled two crystal flutes. “Here’s to that first time.”
It was as good a toast as any, Alex thought, given the circumstances. With a nod, she tipped her glass to his.
The familiar landscape rolled by outside the limo’s window as the driver took I-15 toward downtown and the Clark County courthouse. To the right were the improbable castles and pyramids and glass towers of the Strip. To the left, the Spring Mountains rose in majestic splendor. Alex had lived here almost four years and still thought of it as home.
“By the way,” she told Ben, “I called the woman I used to room with here in Vegas. She’s a dancer at the Flamingo and has a matinee show but said she could slip away long enough to meet us at the Bellagio and act as a witness.”
“I called a pal, too. He’s stationed at Nellis and agreed to do the same.”
Alex took another sip of the champagne, hoping that the presence of two friends instead of strangers would make the quickie wedding seem a little more real.
As smooth as the champagne was, she confined herself to those two sips during the drive downtown. Once they’d obtained the marriage license, though, her nerves revved up and she gulped down what was left in her glass.
Ben’s choice of the wedding venue had surprised her. Given the short notice, she’d expected a no-frills, hurry-up-and-say-I-do ceremony at one of Vegas’s tacky little wedding chapels. She certainly hadn’t expected the Bellagio, but given a choice it would’ve been among her top three or four picks.
The Bellagio’s famed dancing fountains were delighting crowds of tourists when they pulled up at the main entrance, where an event planner in an Armani pantsuit was waiting with clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face.
“We’re ready for you, Ms. Scott, Major Kincaid. This way, please.”
The planner led them through a lobby festooned with fabulous glass chandeliers to a private terrace overlooking the lagoon. The fountains were just finishing a lavishly choreographed sequence to “Time To Say Goodbye” sung by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli.
“Lex!”
The high-pitched squeal that pierced the music and splash of cascading water came from Alex’s former roommate. A statuesque five foot ten, brimming with energy and surgically enhanced everywhere it counted, Chelsea had tossed a light wrap over a costume that consisted of spangled flesh-colored stockings, a rhinestone-studded G-string and a pearl-encrusted bra. A sparkly cap concealed her glossy black hair and buckled under her chin. The ostrich feathers topping the cap bobbed as she rushed across the terrace to engulf Alex in a rib-cracking hug.
“I still can’t believe you talked someone into agreeing to your crazy scheme,” she exclaimed when they disengaged.
“I can hardly believe it, either.”
“You sure you want to go through with it?”
“I’ve run out of options.”
“Mmm. How’s Maria?”
“Fine. She sends her love. And her congratulations on moving up to second lead. You deserve it.”
“I think so, too. I’ve got the best strut in town, even if I do say so myself.” Her inch-long fake eyelashes fluttered as she aimed them at Ben. “So this is the sex machine you spent that wild weekend with?”
As best Alex could recall, she hadn’t used quite that term to describe Ben. She had to admit it wasn’t too far off the mark, though.
“Chels, this is Major Ben Kincaid. Ben, Chelsea Howard.”
Although Ben topped Alex by a good five or six inches, he stood eye to eye with the long-legged dancer. He held out his hand but, before Chelsea could take it, another arrival rushed out on the terrace.
“Sorry, Cowboy. Damned traffic was backed up for a... Well, hel-lo.”
The new arrival’s eyes locked instantly on Chelsea. His sand-colored flight suit dotted with subdued military patches told Alex this had to be Ben’s pal from Nellis Air Force Base. Ben confirmed it when he pried his friend’s attention away from the dancer long enough to make the introductions.
“Brace yourself, Alex. This sorry excuse for a combat systems officer is Captain Jerry Floyd, call sign Pink...for obvious reasons.”
“Pink