Divorcing Mr. Right: The Charm City Hearts, #3

By M.C. Vaughan

The one-night stand with her brother's best friend in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas. Then he moved to her hometown...

 

When free-spirited violinist, BROOKE BURAS, touches down in Las Vegas for her military brother's shotgun wedding, the last thing she expected was temptation in the shape of her brother's exceptionally hot best friend. This weekend was about supporting her brother, not about embracing her vices. Even if he's the most perfect man she's ever seen…

 

The two things that matter most to intelligence analyst LUKE WARREN are brotherhood and security. Much as he hesitates to step away from his job, when his best friend asks him to be his best man, how can Luke say no? Seems like a simple enough gig. Then he encounters his buddy's flirtatious little sister, and all bets are off.

 

They get under each other's skin in all the best ways. After the reception, wired on romance and a couple of shots, they hit the Strip. Casinos, cocktails, and a hilarious visit to an infamous Sin City chapels lead to a hot night in Brooke's hotel room. After all, whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

 

Weeks later, Luke's government agency performs a routine background check and uncovers that he's married. They need a divorce, quick. An accidental wife looks suspicious on Luke's personnel file, and Brooke's auditioning for a spot in a touring symphony. As they wait for their court date, they can't deny they're falling hard for their soon-to-be-exes. How will that work when Brooke is on the cusp of exploring the world, and Luke only wants Brooke to stay?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Jul 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781771552813

Book preview

A picture containing text, man, photo, holding Description automatically generated

Divorcing

Mr. Right

The Charm City Hearts Series, Book 3

M. C. VAUGHAN

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Divorcing Mr. Right

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.

~ * ~

eISBN: 978-1-77155-281-3

Copyright © 2020 M.C. Vaughan All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Melody Pond

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

www.champagnebooks.com

Version_1

To my husband, David, the best

person I know. (Now please

stop gloating.)

Chapter One

The raucous bachelorette party marching across the lobby made Brooke Buras grin. That’s how you do Sin City—surrounded by your besties, clutching champagne bottles, cracking jokes, and ready to indulge in Las Vegas’ infamous vices.

Total #FriendGoals.

Sadly, her friends were in Baltimore. She, on the other hand, was stuck between her parents on the Stratosphere Hotel’s stiff couch waiting for her Air Force brother and his about-to-pop fiancée. Today’s wedding prep agenda included more errands, dropping off centerpieces and bathroom baskets at the venue then rushing back to the hotel to get ready for the rehearsal.

I sure hope Helena didn’t do anything like that. Mom nodded toward the bachelorettes climbing into their party van. This whole wedding’s been so rushed, but I suppose it can’t be helped. How’re you feeling about the music? Are you ready?

A hundred percent.

She wasn’t totally lying. She could play Canon in D and the Bridal March on her violin with her eyes closed, but she hadn’t nailed the recessional piece she’d selected to surprise CJ and Helena.

Good. If the wedding can’t be perfect, at least your music will be. Mom patted her knee. When you get married, hon, promise me you’ll do it in the church?

She choked on a laugh. Marriage? Uh, nope. Among her solo practice sessions, symphony rehearsals, and performances, her career allowed maybe eight spare minutes a day. For her to say, I do, Mr. Right would need to stroll into her living room and refuse to leave.

Her schedule would tighten further if the prestigious Chesapeake Symphony Orchestra in Washington, DC invited her to audition for their violin vacancy. She’d applied the day before flying here. If she won the spot, then goodbye spare eight minutes. According to the application, the CSO’s rehearsal schedule was more intense than her current situation, plus they booked international tours.

Not that she’d confide any of this to her parents. All of it would cause unnecessary drama, and there was no sense poking the mama bear the day before her firstborn’s wedding. Instead, she said what every child says when she’s been asked to make a fairy tale promise to her mother:

Sure, Mom.

Mom beamed, and tension banded around Brooke’s forehead. She loved her parents, but concentrated time with them drained her, especially since she’d switched into dutiful daughter mode since they picked her up at 4:45 a.m. to drive to Baltimore-Washington International Airport. With Mom and Dad hovering like drones, opportunities to blow off steam were limited.

Three days, she reminded herself.

She’d keep it together until Sunday then hop a flight home and unclench with her roommates. Zara, Grier, and Melinda would feed her ice cream and booze and laugh at her insane wedding stories. Well, they would if they were home. Their careers and boyfriend situations had shifted into high gear over these past few months, and a group hang wasn’t a sure bet.

Case in point, last week, they hadn’t scraped together a night to celebrate her big quarter-life birthday. Brooke dragged her bottom lip through her teeth. They’d promised to take her out next week, but who knew if that would happen? Mom and Dad flat-out hadn’t remembered, but she gave them a pass because of the wedding and the baby.

There they are. Dad yanked his earbuds loose and elbowed her. Grab a bag, Brookie?

Outside, CJ hopped from his jeep and jogged around to the passenger side to help a ripe Helena onto the sidewalk.

Mom sucked her teeth. "He still has that deathtrap? Helena can hardly climb into it. You know, her OB is this close to putting her on bed rest. And a baby shouldn’t ride in a vehicle without a hard roof."

I’ll talk to him, Lise. Dad sighed.

Brooke attempted to heft a heavy shopping bag and it ripped around the handles. Sheesh, what’s in here? Bricks?

Bathroom baskets, Mom said.

Do they contain spare toilets? She belted her arms around the bottom, like she was carrying loose laundry, and followed her parents outside.

An SUV made of black metal and testosterone glided to the curb behind CJ’s jeep. Its driver, a scruffy dark blond with thick stubble, loped toward the sidewalk. Wearing a black T-shirt stretched over his rounded shoulders, faded jeans, and brown leather work boots, he was effortless, masculine-cool.

He stopped next to CJ and Helena and raised a hand in greeting. After a few seconds, he shifted his stance and caught her gaze. Whoa. His intense blue eyes must be on loan from Superman. A thrill shot from her belly straight through her fingertips, like when she hit a perfect note in a tricky composition.

Morning, you two. Mom said. Next, she greeted the new guy. Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met.

Mom, CJ said. This is Luke Warren.

Brooke crushed the bag to her chest. Luke? CJ had said his best man was an intense intelligence analyst he’d met at work, and during the past two years, they’d become comic book, movie, and gaming buddies. Nothing in that description prepared her for a rugged superhero lookalike who made her body hum.

The best man! Mom wrapped her arms around him. It’s so nice to finally meet you, hon.

Brooke buried her face to hide a giggle. Based on Luke’s ramrod-straight stance, he must not be accustomed to surprise affection from strangers. He’d better get used to it this weekend. Lisa Buras was a hugger.

Let him go, Mom. You’re scaring him. Hi, I’m CJ’s sister. She shifted the bag to shake his hand, but the paper protested and the weak side split. Mini deodorant sticks, breath mints, gum, tampons, and pads cascaded to the ground.

Oh, God. There were so…many…pads!

She doubled over with laughter. "Mom, what are these for? Are you expecting The Shining?"

Her mother scowled, snatched an overturned basket, and hurled runaway toiletries into it. Don’t just stand there, Brooke. Help me.

Hang on, Luke said. I’ve got a bag in my truck.

He reappeared a moment later with a reusable grocery bag and knelt next to her.

Bet you’ve never done this before, she said, and dropped scattered goods in the bag.

It’s a first. He scooped up an armful of pads. This is…a lot of sanitary supplies.

And there are only sixty people coming to this wedding. Half of them are men.

After she caught the last pack of gum, she and Luke straightened. Wow, he was super-handsome. A warm desert breeze caressed her hair. She stared deep into his eyes and opened her mouth to say something clever and flirty.

I’ll take the bag. Dad shoved his beefy hand between them. Good to meet you, Luke. I’m CJ’s dad. Call me Scott. I hear CJ recruited you to help today?

He did. Luke rocked on his heels and shifted his attention back to her. You’re name’s Brooke, right?

That’s me. She couldn’t pass up the perfect chance to touch him. Stepping toward him and away from her family, she extended her hand.

As Luke’s palm glided against hers, the world hushed. This crackling energy had whooshed over her only one other time. Three years ago, when her parents had slipped her graduation/twenty-second birthday/Christmas present—a Holstein Bench Strad 1715—into her eager hands, and she’d known she and the violin were made for each other.

So, what did it mean that it happened with this guy?

CJ hasn’t told me much about you, she said.

Dad left to pop the bag into the back of CJ’s jeep.

Likewise. Luke lowered his voice and leaned into her space. "But he did say you’re a handful."

CJ’s best man was a player, eh? This twist was problematic because players were her catnip.

Incorrect. She batted her eyelashes. I’m two hands full.

A crooked grin spread on Luke’s face, and she let his hand go.

In a hot minute, her weekend had become way more fun.

~ * ~

Luke’s weekend had gotten way more complicated.

He backed away to regroup. Between the street traffic and his bad ear, listening to CJ and Helena organize the logistics for today was impossible. Instead, he surveyed CJ’s family.

Scott, Lisa, and Brooke.

Before they’d touched down, Luke gathered intel on them including names, ages, and potentially sensitive topics to avoid. Nothing sketchy, just details to help smooth out the weekend. He’d even inspected the family photo on the wall at CJ’s house, figuring it’d be easier to pick them up at an airport or whatever if he recognized them, except he’d never asked when the photo’d been taken. Rookie mistake—the picture contained stale data.

Scott, age 57, matched the family portrait. Tall guy, Luke’s height, and muscled underneath the layer of evidence that he enjoyed food. Scott’s full, mostly gray beard was an attention-getter, and he owned a pair of angled eyebrows to match.

Basically, he was CJ in twenty-five years.

Lisa, age 56, matched the picture, too. Medium height, medium build, intelligent eyes, and a crucifix necklace. Different hairstyle, but the same blonde shade from the photo.

But CJ’s sister?

Brooke, age 25, did not match.

The woman standing next to him, siphoning his attention, bore little resemblance to the kid in the photo. He’d expected a taller version of the teenager sporting braces and an Eeyore hoodie, but that’s not who showed up. Today’s Brooke owned an easy laugh, wavy brown hair, big brown eyes sparkling with mischief, and an orange sundress with flimsy straps knotted at her shoulders. One simple tug—

Stop it, he told himself.

She was CJ’s little sister, and off-limits. The prickling of his skin when she came near didn’t matter. At work, that sensation signaled he’d picked up on the thread of a secret. Except Brooke wasn’t a plan or a plot to foil. The safest, surest way to nip this reaction in the bud would be to distance himself from her for the next few days.

Luke, Helena said. Brooke and I will ride with you.

Wait, what? he asked.

Sorry, man. CJ cleared his throat and raised his voice. You and Brooke and Helena are going to the dry cleaners, shoe store, and licensing office. Mom and Dad and I are hitting the liquor store, chocolate shop, and then running everything to The Oasis. If we divide and conquer, there’ll be plenty of time for everyone to get ready for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

Can we add a stop at a lingerie store? Brooke asked.

He flushed, unable to stop his imagination. This afternoon would not be easy.

Helena tapped her phone screen. Done.

We better all get going. CJ kissed Helena goodbye and helped her into Luke’s passenger seat. To Luke, he said, Take care of my girls, dude.

Will do. He opened the door for Brooke and tried to ignore the flash of her upper thigh as she climbed inside. After closing her door, he situated himself behind the wheel.

Thanks for driving. Helena twisted toward Brooke in the back seat. CJ wanted to give you a break today. He said you normally last a day with them before climbing the walls.

Brooke’s laugh tickled Luke’s ears. He knows me well.

Where to first? he asked.

Dry cleaners, Helena said. The one on Losee Road, near your apartment.

So, Luke… Brooke leaned forward between the front seats, and a pleasant fruity scent wafted from her. CJ said you guys work together, and you like nerd stuff, but that’s it. Tell me more about you.

Hmph. He gathered information, analyzed it, and reported out on it, but sharing his personal history? Not in his wheelhouse. His training was to deflect personal questions.

If you want to get to know someone, how about Helena?

We Skype all the time, so we’re good, right Helena?

Absolutely, she said, staring down at her To Do list on her phone.

Brooke’s face was intimately close to his as she said, It doesn’t have to be anything deep and dark. Like, where’re you from?

Everywhere. I’ve moved around a lot.

She clapped a palm to her forehead. Come on, that tells me nothing. Where’d you grow up?

Oh, I know this one, Helena said. West Virginia, right?

He nodded.

That explains the slight accent, Brooke said.

Only sharp ears could catch the Appalachian hiding in his pronunciations. Living around the country for the past decade had mostly diluted his twang to generic American.

What part? My parents used to take us camping in Shannondale.

Tiny town called Wardensville.

His skin itched. This was the most he’d revealed in introductory casual conversation in years. Even with CJ, he’d dribbled his personal info in the context of long, winding philosophical debates about the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

College?

Virginia Tech.

Any brothers or sisters? she asked.

No, he answered. Not anymore.

Helena cleared her throat. Hey, Luke, the dry cleaners are up ahead.

As Luke entered the parking lot, Helena thrust the ticket and cash toward Brooke. Could you run in and pick it up? You’ll be faster than me.

Sure. Back in a second. She took the money and slipped from the truck. Her enormous purse covered her ass. Good. He shouldn’t be staring at her ass anyway.

Sorry, Helena said. I know you don’t like to talk about your family.

Thanks, but it’s okay. He poked the top of the window frame. She’s just making conversation.

True, but CJ said she’s relentless when she’s interested in a subject. It’s why she’s successful with violin, but on the flip side, she doesn’t let up. She’s unstoppable.

Like the Juggernaut.

The what?

CJ would’ve gotten the reference to the X-Men villain. Shared fandoms were like secret codes, and they allowed him to convey volumes of meaning with a single quote. Sometimes he forgot Helena wasn’t familiar with the deeper cuts in comic books.

Comic book character. He waved his hand. Never mind. You were about to drop some wisdom on me, right?

Dr. Helena Benitez wasn’t always nice, but she was always kind, and he’d take her advice all day long. Her life as an emergency department doctor meant she cut through bullshit fast, and while she’d come into his life through CJ, she’d become a good friend to Luke as well.

Share whatever you’re comfortable with, but don’t stonewall her. Though, I’m not sure there’s much you can do to stop her interest.

The dry cleaners’ door opened, and Brooke sauntered through it with the bundle clothes sleeved in clear plastic. A stiff wind plastered Brooke’s dress to her body, highlighting her curves, and Luke shifted his gaze back inside the car.

He disagreed with Helena. Icing Brooke’s interest would be easy. Girls usually preferred a bad boy, so he’d be polite, boring, and distant. Managing his attraction would be harder, but the looming threat of CJ punching him in the junk helped

He could do this. Three days, and they’d ship back to Baltimore.

Piece of cake.

Chapter Two

In the shoe store, Brooke inhaled the aromatic swirl of leather and newness. The snazzy Louboutins she’d borrowed from Grier would grace her feet tomorrow, but resisting a fresh pair of heels required serious willpower. Unless you were Helena, who’d frozen at the entrance.

This is overwhelming. I’m terrible at shoes.

Luckily for you, I’m great at shoes. Brooke scanned the display. We want a low heel, yes?

Yes. Comfort is key. Helena lowered herself to a bench in the aisle, and her protruding belly filled her lap. If the shoes pinch, I’ll want to stab someone after five minutes. Can’t I wear my work clogs?

Definitely not. What size do you wear?

Helena shrugged. Between eight and nine, but I’m not sure. Pregnancy made my feet bigger.

"You gain pregnancy weight in your feet?" Brooke goggled at her.

Yup. One of the many joys of pregnancy. Also, cankles, angry stretch marks on my hips and belly, and a weird dark line running from my naval to my sternum. Oh, and hemorrhoids.

Yeesh. File those tidbits under Things Brooke Didn’t Want to Know.

I’d never guess because you totally glow. My dumb brother better be taking care of you. She ambled further along the aisle, away from the spike heels.

Guess who buys me Preparation H and cocoa butter? Helena laughed. I probably give him too many details, but we have zero secrets between us. Sorry about the TMI. I forget non-medical people have boundaries around body stuff. I’ve seen much worse than hemorrhoids.

I’ll thank you to spare me the gory details.

Strappy gold sandals caught Brooke’s eye. They were low-key gladiator style, like Helena. Strong, feminine, and ready for battle. With a slight heel and a simple zip along the back, these were perfect. She wiggled a size-eight-and-a-half box from the stack.

She knelt before Helena and flipped open the lid. Let’s try these on.

You don’t have to do that, Brooke. Helena reached for the box on the floor and nearly toppled off the bench.

I’m happy to help. Brooke giggled and helped her soon-to-be sister-in-law upright. Besides, CJ’d kill me if you did a face plant on my watch. And since the words ‘bed rest’ were mentioned, my mom’s convinced we should wrap you up in packing bubbles until the baby’s born.

"Okay, okay. For the record, my OB suggested bed rest to combat stress from planning the wedding. Since all of you started helping, my blood pressure’s been fine. Once we get the license, we’re home free, and I can really relax. Helena kicked off her flip-flops. No judging my pedicure. I haven’t seen my feet for a month, so I have no idea what’s going on down there. CJ painted them for me last week."

Her heart clenched. Her brawny big brother, a guy who’d jumped from planes and piloted air strikes, had wielded a tiny brush to paint his fiancée’s toenails. Not a total surprise. Despite his temper as a teenager, he’d also shown teddy bear qualities, like playing dollies with her and giving her carnations after her recitals.

She glanced at Helena’s feet. Oh, boy.

CJ’s intentions may have been good, but he’d done a miserable job, splotching color around the nail beds. Brooke hid her giggle, slipped the shoe on Cinderella-style, zipped them up around Helena’s puffed ankles, and said, Give ’em a spin.

Helena strode toward the floor mirror at the end of the aisle to check out the shoes, lifting her maxi dress skirt to get a better view.

Well? How do they feel? Brooke asked.

Great, actually. She dropped her skirt and returned to the bench. They’re not weird for a bride?

Please. Those are Amazon goddess shoes. They go with anything.

Sold. Can you help me out of them?

Yup. Brooke unzipped the sandals and repackaged them. You’re speedy. My mother would’ve made you try on every pair in the store.

Helena wiggled her feet into her flip-flops. She might’ve suggested it, but I’d have said no. There are too many things to do. Setting up the nursery, updating his Air Force paperwork, packing my house and putting it up for sale… The list goes on.

They joined the line for the register.

Wow, I forgot you were moving, too. Wouldn’t it have been easier if CJ moved in with you?

It’s cheaper to live on base, Helena said. And I’d have to sell my house when he PCSes, so I might as well do it now.

What’s a PCS again? I know it means moving to another Air Force base, but I can never remember what the letters stand for.

Permanent change of station. I thought medical jargon was bad, but the military is so much worse.

Does he have a new assignment? He hasn’t mentioned anything.

Yes and no. He’s been here for two years, so he expects we’ll PCS in the next six months, but the location’s up in the air. Same with Luke, actually. Wherever CJ and I end up, I hope it’s a state that has medical licensure reciprocity with Nevada. One less paperwork headache.

I’m in awe of you. For someone balancing three major life events, you’re super calm.

I didn’t use to be, but the past year has been an exercise in giving up control. Helena pointed to her belly. Discovering I was pregnant was totally embarrassing.

Hey now. Brooke set the box on the counter for the cashier to scan. Who cares about that? You guys are in love, and that’s all that matters.

"Oh, you’re a total sweetheart. I wasn’t ashamed about having a baby before marriage. No, I was embarrassed because I’m a doctor. She waved her hand over her belly. I know how contraception works. Surprise pregnancies aren’t supposed to be a thing, but it was our anniversary, and we were drinking... Honestly, we should name her Piña Colada since they’re the reason she exists."

She? You’re having a girl? That’s so exciting! Brooke smooshed her in a hug. Well, sort of. Given the enormous baby bump between them, the embrace mostly involved throwing her arms around Helena’s shoulders.

Whoops, Helena laughed. Pregnancy brain. Please don’t tell your parents. CJ wants it to be a surprise.

Your secret’s safe with me. Brooke released Helena. For what it’s worth, I can’t handle piña coladas either, or anything with rum. During spring break in New Orleans our junior year, I drank a Hurricane the size of my head, got blackout drunk and did things my roommates continue to taunt me about. Rum-drunk Brooke is a daredevil.

Duly noted. Helena signed the receipt and collected the bag from the cashier. No rum for you. Time for the lingerie store, yes?

Yeah, my dress for the wedding requires a strapless bra. It’ll take five, ten minutes.

The store’s across from where we left Luke. Out in the mall’s walkway, Helena dodged a perfume kiosk salesperson. Can I talk to you about him for a minute?

Butterflies winged through Brooke’s stomach. Yes, please.

He doesn’t like to discuss his family.

I could tell. The monosyllables gave it away. Are they cult members or something?

Gray-haired mall walkers clotted the foot traffic, and she and Helena slowed.

Alone, Brooke could’ve dodged through the gaps, but navigating the crowds with Helena was like running the egg and spoon race in elementary school and required careful, deliberate maneuvers.

No, nothing like that, Helena said. When he was thirteen, he and his dad and younger brother were in a car accident, and he was the only one who survived.

Brooke gasped and her face and ears went hot. Oh God, that’s awful. I must have been torturing him. Was his mom okay?

She wasn’t with them, but from the little he’s shared, she never recovered from a broken heart. He doesn’t talk about it or her much. From what I gather, they aren’t estranged, but they aren’t close.

Should I say anything to him? Now that I know?

Helena shook her head. I wouldn’t bring it up out of the blue. I mostly wanted you to understand why he might avoid those kinds of questions.

The mall crowd thinned, and they arrived at the bank of massage chairs where they’d left Luke. He was the same handsome man she’d met this morning, but thirty seconds of background information permanently altered Brooke’s perspective on him. Her heart still kicked faster than Chopin’s Minute Waltz around him, but something softer beat underneath, too.

Helena sank into the chair next to him. We’re back.

Success? Luke shoved his phone in his shirt pocket, but not before Brooke spied Spider-man webbing a villain to a wall.

Success indeed. Helena groaned, stretched, and closed her eyes. And now I’d like to sit for ten minutes, please.

That’s all it’ll take me in the store. Brooke flipped her attention to Luke, and the urge to flirt overwhelmed her. Hey Luke, what’s your favorite color?

Blue, Luke answered. Why?

No reason. Brooke spun on her heel and sailed into the store.

~ * ~

CJ’s sister is adorable, isn’t she? Helena asked. And helpful. She found perfect, comfortable shoes for me.

She’s all right. Luke glanced at the store, curious about what she was buying.

On the other side of the front window, Brooke methodically picked up bras and massaged the cups. When she glanced at him through the glass and winked, he shifted in his chair. This woman was too much. Within a minute, she settled on a simple blue bra and flagged down the shop girl.

Good choice. In his experience, supposedly sexy bras were a complicated pain in the ass to remove. Not that he’d removed any lately. Opportunity had knocked, but over the past year, he’d lost his taste for casual hook-ups.

He wasn’t sure what had changed. Might be from turning thirty? He’d catted around during his twenties, and he’d been honest with his bed partners about not wanting a relationship. Some of them still walked away hurt. It might also be that witnessing two good people like CJ and Helena evolve from passion to devotion had made him hungry for the same.

The upshot was, he didn’t want to bed-hop anymore, so he’d stopped. Now, the lack of sex during the past six months seemed like a major miscalculation.

The idea of Brooke stripping off her sundress to try on a simple blue bra shouldn’t make him salivate like this.

Luke? Helena asked.

He blinked and shook his head. Did you say something?

Do you need to shop for anything while we’re here? If not, we can eat, then head to the Marriage Licensing Bureau.

No, I’m— His words dried in his throat as Brooke emerged from the store with a small pink bag. The garment inside had been wrapped around Brooke’s breasts two minutes ago.

—I’m good, he said.

At least, he’d try to be.

~ * ~

Brooke glanced at the dashboard clock—1:08 PM. If the license pick-up went fast, she’d be able to squeeze practice in before the rehearsal dinner. Only then could she relax and, gasp, indulge in a cocktail. Or not? She’d already been flirting hard with Luke while stone-cold sober, so liquid courage might dial it up.

Side note—hooray for Luke Warren.

Without him, she’d be a jittery mess. Teasing him distracted her from her parents’ hovering, her empty email inbox, and her stress about performing tomorrow. His reactions were fun, like his stunned expression when she winked at him from the window of the lingerie store. That had been chef’s kiss perfect.

He pulled into the Marriage License Bureau’s lot. After hooking his sunglasses onto his collar, he glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

Whew, those blues were something else.

As he switched his gaze to the building, he said, Leave it to Vegas government offices to have fancy cursive neon signs.

Guess they like to jazz it up for the newlyweds, Helena mused. Her phone chimed, and she glanced at the screen. Good news—CJ says the perfect guest book search is over, and they’re delivering everything to the Oasis soon. They might beat us back to the hotel.

They popped open their doors, and ugh, the dry and unrelenting Nevada heat baked her skin. Brooke swiped mint lip balm across her lips. She caught Luke watching her and blew him a kiss.

Let’s hustle. He pointed to a super-stretch Hummer docked at the curb. That’s a chapel limo. No telling how many couples are in there.

He held open the building’s door. Inside, Brooke tipped up her sunglasses. They’d beaten the chapel couples, but a shambling crowd already snaked around the office. Aha, there was the end of the roped-off line. The sign on top of the stanchion made Brooke giggle.

She elbowed Luke. Check it out.

ATTENTION CUSTOMERS

We are not able to issue a marriage license to customers who appear to be overly intoxicated or under the influence of drugs

which may render them incapable of making decisions with legal

ramifications. You will be asked to return after sobering.

He shook his head. Bet it happens all the time.

This’ll go fast, Helena said as she waddled into the line with them. When I called yesterday, they said the wait’s about twenty minutes.

Brooke pursed her lips. Two windows at the counter were open, and the couples ahead of them hadn’t budged. Twenty minutes? Doubt it.

Helena clasped her hands under her rounded belly and shifted her weight.

Why don’t you sit, and we’ll hold your place? Brooke gestured to a bench along the far wall.

I should refuse. Helena sighed and backed out of the line. But my ankles thank you.

That was kind of you, Luke said.

She ran her palm along her neck, unsure of where to look. She liked that Luke said she was kind.

It’s literally the least I could do.

The doors behind her opened and hot desert air brushed her back. As the party limo couples tumbled into the room, their semi-drunken chatter filled the air. Brooke refused to listen to Jan from Orange County complain about the weather, the line, and weak mimosas. Interesting conversation was required, allegro.

Who’s your date to the wedding? she asked.

Come again? He curved forward, crossing into her personal space, and something shimmered between them. All the lusty love in the air must be getting to her.

The wedding, she repeated, louder. Do you have a date?

More questions? You’d make a good interrogator.

His voice, his mouth, was close to her ear, and tingles flared along her spine.

I’ll assume you’re complimenting me, she said. Who’s your plus one?

I’m going solo.

This information thrilled her.

You? he asked.

Same, unless you count my violin.

Silence fell between them again and the line inched forward. Was this an awkward lull, or a normal one? The pulsing in her ears indicated awkward. What to talk about? She’d keep her distance from family chit-chat, but what were other good topics? While potentially boring, careers were usually safe conversational territory.

CJ said you’re an intelligence analyst.

He tensed up, crossed forearms and biceps bulging. After circling his gaze around the room, he returned to her. Clearly, she’d said something wrong, but wow, even when perturbed and flashing, his blue eyes sent a jolt rocketing through her.

I don’t discuss work in public, he said.

Jobs weren’t safe either? Luke was delightful to look at, but this sticky silence was frustrating. Conversation was like a symphony—it required active participation from everyone.

I’m begging you to work with me here, Luke. Name a topic. She threw her arms wide. "Movies? Comics? Television? The plight of the