Perfectly Wedded (Perfect Crush #1)

17. Sloan

SEVENTEEN

Sloan

E ven though Vale’s words nearly knock me off my feet, swimming is still out of the question. Part of me was hoping I’d suddenly feel courageous enough to rip off my dress and run into the water like a Baywatch lifeguard. Then I remembered I don’t look like Pamela Anderson, despite what Vale insists. He’s just giving me a confidence boost so I won’t be embarrassed to be seen by him in my swimsuit.

But there’s something else going on too. Instead of acting like we’re married only when people are around, it’s like he wants to flirt with me when we’re alone too. I almost get the feeling that he enjoys being with me—as more than his friend.

Which leaves me wondering: Is this still pretend? How can I believe that when his hand brushes mine as we walk the beach, or when I catch him staring at me like I’m the only one here? It’s not like he hasn’t seen me a million times. But it’s the way he looks at me, his eyes darkening, landing on my lips for a split second too long. And then he asked me to date him, which left my body zinging with fireworks and my heart more confused than ever.

When we get back to the hotel, Vale opens the door to our room and gives me a hesitant smile. We both drop our eyes. The moment feels too weighty. This is the first time we’ve been alone since we eloped. We’re stuck together in a romantic honeymoon suite with a stunning view of the ocean. The whole scene feels like the perfect setup for a night to remember.

If Vale even showed the least bit of interest, I’d fold like a house of cards and jump into his arms. But that would also be a massive mistake. Because if I do, I’ll start hoping this could actually work. And logically, I know better. This was never supposed to work, not when our whole relationship is built on a business agreement.

My eyes land on the couch. Vale looks at me, and shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”

“What?” I say innocently.

“You feel guilty for taking the bedroom.” He settles on the sofa and flips off his sandals. “I’ve slept on plenty of couches in my lifetime, and a few left me feeling like I needed a tetanus shot afterward. This is not one of them.”

“Do you at least want to see the bedroom?”

“And see what I’m missing?” he asks with a smirk. “No, thanks.”

“We could take turns sleeping there,” I suggest. “To be fair, you earned this suite too.”

“It’s all yours,” he says. “I’ll be on my comfy couch, watching a movie.” He leans back and links his hands behind his head. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Can I wear my pajamas?” I ask.

He lifts an eyebrow. “As long as I can wear mine. And fair warning: they’re not flannel pajamas either.”

Heaven help me, if that man’s pajamas involve boxer briefs, I’m a goner.

“As long as you follow one rule,” I say, trying not to let my face show how much seeing Vale in his “pajamas” scares me. Right now, the swimsuit under my dress is so tight, it feels suffocating. “You have to wear more than just underwear.”

He bites back a smile. “You thought I’d show up to movie night in my underwear? ”

“Well, yeah,” I say with an embarrassed shrug. “I saw you a few weeks ago, before Vegas, in the living room...” I blurt, then stop myself.

His mouth quirks. “Sloan. Have you been spying on me?”

My cheeks flame. “For the record, I wasn’t spying. I walked into the kitchen late one night to get water and I thought someone had left the TV on. That’s when I saw you doing pushups in your underwear.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He folds his arms across his chest.

“Vale. That would make it look like I was guilty.”

“And were you?”

I scoff. “You need to learn manners.”

He narrows his eyes. “ Please. ”

I was totally ogling my husband. Vale was a sight to behold, all muscles and tanned back, along with other assets.

“It’s kind of hard not to notice,” I say in my defense. “Look at you.” I wave my hand at his tight T-shirt. The poor cotton is being stretched to near shreds by all that muscle.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You’re very muscle-y.”

Vale catches me staring at his chest and grins. “Would you like a repeat performance?” It’s so unfair that any man should be this good-looking... ever .

I put my hands on my hips. “You know, you should be glad I don’t walk around in my underwear.”

“Maybe you should,” he suggests with a cocked eyebrow. “Just to make things even. Every good marriage is based on equality. And it would be very unfair for me not to suffer through the same experience.”

I smack him on the arm. “You wish.”

He smirks. “I do, actually.”

I laugh. “Stop. You’re teasing now.”

“Who says I am?” The way he asks it, like the truth rather than a question, makes me take a step back. Maybe this is how it feels to go to the edge of a cliff and put your toes over, just to feel the razor-sharp edge of danger.

“I thought we...” were only faking this marriage.

The words won’t come out. They’re lodged in my throat, too heavy to say. My eyes drop to the ground. “I should change into my pajamas.”

I hurry to my bedroom, leaving Vale on the couch, still reeling from how much I want to give in and step off the edge of the cliff. Why is he making me feel this way?

Because he feels what you feel.

When I swing open the bedroom door, I immediately freeze. My bed is covered in red rose petals, alongside a box of chocolates and a card on the pillow.

I shake my head and back away like it’s a live snake. “No,” I whisper.

About the time when everything feels like a dream, when I might believe Vale feels the same, reality comes back to smack me in the face. None of this is real. Not Vale’s flirting. Not the way he looks at me with longing. Not even this rose-covered bed that practically begs for us to fall into it.

I grab the envelope and rip open the seal, pulling the notecard from inside. In my sister’s perfect handwriting, she’s written, “Happy honeymoon! Expect more surprises this week.”

Surprises . . . what surprises?

“Uh, Vale?” I call. “There’s something in our bedroom you need to see.” My voice trembles slightly.

“What is it?” He looks around the room. “Looks like someone vomited rose petals all over the bed.”

I shove the note at him. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

He reads it, then shakes his head. “No. But it’s the honeymoon suite. Jaz probably arranged it beforehand.”

“What does she mean by surprises?” I ask. “Did she tell you anything before we left?” My voice sounds accusatory, convinced everyone is scheming against me even though Vale’s done nothing to deserve my suspicion. If anyone’s to blame for my inner turmoil, it’s me. I inconveniently fell for a hot hockey player and then married him. Nobody knows it’s a fake marriage, and my own husband doesn’t know I’m harboring irrational feelings of desire for him on a daily basis.

The rose petals were just a warning. Back away from the bed ... and the hot man next to you.

Vale touches my arm, gingerly rubbing his thumb over my skin, like a lit match. “If I knew about any surprises, I couldn’t hide it, Sloan. When it comes to you, I’m pretty much an open book.”

His thumb stops moving, and so does my heart.

So what he said earlier is true?

Don’t get too cozy, Sloan. The honeymoon suite is doing weird things to your brain.

I whirl around to face him. “How long do you want to be married, Vale?”

He drops his hand and stares at me. “As long as it takes. I never set a timeline on this marriage.”

I straighten my spine, about to rip the Band-Aid off this fake marriage and pretend it doesn’t sting. I point between me and him. “This thing between us was only supposed to be temporary. I think this will be easier for everyone if we set an end date now.”

A crease deepens between his brows. “You’re already worried about the end of our marriage? I thought we’d decide later, based on your health.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “My health is unpredictable. I just think it would be in everyone’s best interest to have a clear timeline. Just so...” I glance around the room. “So we keep expectations in check.”

“Expectations about what ?”

Like he doesn’t know. Literally every romance movie that features a bed with rose petals has a couple crashing into it within the next ten seconds. Maybe it’s the lack of control I feel right now, but I take a step away from Vale, making it clear we should put space between us. “I don’t want either of us getting ideas about what will happen this week.”

“Exactly what do you think will happen this week?” he says, taking a step toward me, his eyes burning with questions.

I back away, suddenly feeling like this is a game, and I’m about to lose... spectacularly . It’s not that I don’t want Vale. The problem is, I do. Overwhelmingly so . But I’m afraid of the future, scared to care for him so much, terrified of hurting him and everyone who believes this marriage is real. It’s like I’m facing off with a locomotive, barreling toward me full speed.

“I’m not saying anything will happen,” I say, my voice wavering. “I’m establishing guardrails. So we don’t do anything we’ll regret.” Especially rule number four.

“And what would we regret, Sloan? I want to know,” he presses.

The back of my thighs bump against the mattress, and I lose my balance and fall to a sitting position on the bed, scattering rose petals everywhere. It’s like I can’t get away from the siren call of those stupid roses. Vale stands over me, his gaze dark, and excitement shivers through me.

“We should never be in this bedroom together,” I say, my voice low, determined. “And definitely not in bed.”

Vale hooks his fingers under the straps of my swimsuit and hauls me to a standing position.

“Then why are you sitting on the bed, looking all lonely and kissable, like you’re inviting me to join you?”

Am I that transparent? Apparently so, because I wasn’t even trying to look kissable or inviting.

“You should definitely not kiss me,” I warn. “Especially not on the lips.”

“Because we’ll regret this tomorrow?” His voice scrapes like gravel.

He’s only a breath away, his fingers still looped under my straps, holding me so close, he can probably feel my heartbeat thumping against this chest .

“Regret it for the rest of our lives,” I tell him. “And I wouldn’t want to ruin your life.”

“So kind of you to think of my future. But you’ve already ruined me, Sloan.”

My stomach drops. He didn’t just say that. He’s not playing fair, and he knows it.

“That’s why we need an end date,” I remind him. Maybe I’m playing dirty now, but we need to stop this madness before everything in me turns molten and burns down the bedroom.

“Sloan,” he warns, his hands sliding across my shoulders, sending a shudder down my body. “I will never give you an end date.”

Vale is a man who keeps his promises. If I force him to give me a date, he’ll have to keep it.

“Even if I ask nicely?” I say, tipping my chin up to him, hoping that if I look kissable again, he’ll give in.

“Never,” he says, his voice gravel.

I hitch myself toward his lips. “Even if I let you kiss me?”

His thumb trails up my neck to tease the corner of my jaw. “I thought you said it would ruin us.”

“You said it already had,” I whisper. I kiss the corner of his jaw, and he sucks in a breath.

“I refuse ,” he says in a strangled whisper.

Even if I regret making this tradeoff, it will be easier for us in the end. We won’t get emotionally involved. We’ll avoid falling into the erroneous belief that this week is something more than it is. His defenses are slowly crashing down. One more push... and the rest will fall.

“Can I tell you a secret?” My lips barely brush his and his eyes spark, a foretaste of something I know he wants too. My entire body exhales. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me ever since we got here.”

“Sloan,” he says, his voice thick. His jaw flexes, and I can tell it’s taking every ounce of resistance not to give in. “I want to,” he says, dipping his head, leaving a line of kisses along my collarbone.

Tingles flood down my body.

“You don’t know how much I want this,” he groans. “But not if it means setting an end date to our marriage.”

I tip his face to mine. “But I thought we agreed. You just kissed me. That was the deal. A kiss for an end date.”

“I never promised not to kiss you other places,” he says, one corner of his mouth tipping up.

He tricked me at my own game.

“That’s not fair.” I put my hands on the sides of his face so he can’t get away, can’t leave me without giving me what I want.

Is this really about forcing him to give me an end date—or do I want him to kiss me like a husband should?

I lock my gaze on his. “I won’t take no for an answer.” Then I reach up and finally place my mouth on his. This time he doesn’t fight me. His hands slide to my back. As my lips graze over his, a loud rap at the hotel door knocks me back into reality.

“Vale? Sloan?” a woman calls through our door.

“Jaz?!” I say ripping my lips away from Vale’s. His hands stay locked around me, reluctant to let this moment go.

“Your sister is here?” he mutters under his breath, scraping a hand across his jaw.

“In Cancun?”

“Unless it’s someone impersonating my sister who just happens to know our names.” I wiggle out of his arms and rush to the door, barely able to contain my ragged breathing—or the relief flooding my body. What in the world was I thinking in there? I was just about to give in to Vale... in return for setting an end date to our marriage.

And he refused.

But why?

I don’t have time to answer that question, and Vale’s face doesn’t offer any answers. The dark desire in his eyes is gone, replaced by something that shakes me more: what almost happened.

Vale is back to playing the part of my dutiful husband to a tee.

“Are we still following the rules?” he asks, his face unreadable. I can hardly stand not seeing the same man who was just with me in the bedroom, the one who looked like he wanted to shower me with kisses.

“What rules?” I say breathlessly, my body still flushed from our encounter. I can barely think, let alone remember any silly rules I might have agreed to.

“The ones we created before we came home from Vegas.”

“Oh, those rules about touching all the time and making our marriage look believable?” And no sex. Let’s not forget that one.

“We agreed we’d do whatever it takes,” he says. “Is that still the case?”

“Sure, fine. Whatever.” I turn back to finish my trek to the door. The tension is so thick in here, I could cut it with a knife.

“Good,” he says, nodding. “I just wanted to be sure.”

I wheel around to open the door, and then spin back. “Why do you ask?”

My sister pounds harder. “Sloan, what’s taking so long?”

“One minute!” I call to her.

He pulls me away from the door, so Jaz won’t hear. “Because I strongly feel we should keep those rules. Personally, I didn’t do a very good job back at the house. I think there may have been some doubts about our relationship.”

“Doubts?”

“Yes. So in full disclosure, I plan on making our relationship even more believable.”

“More believable?” I say, my voice an octave higher.

“One hundred percent more believable,” he says, his eyes sparking, a vivid reminder of what almost happened a minute ago. “I plan on making it so believable, we might not be able to tell the difference between what is real and fake.”

“You can’t do that,” I say, shaking my head, remembering the no-sex rule. But even without that rule, there’s still a lot we can do. And Vale’s the type to push the boundaries of all those rules.

“I most certainly can. And will. ”

The air sizzles between us. I want him to make it more believable right now, by finishing what we started in the bedroom. But I hold back, mostly because my sister won’t stop knocking.

“Sloan!” Jaz calls.

“Coming!” I say, dragging my hand through my hair. I point to Vale and whisper loudly, “Don’t you dare use those rules against me.”

“Against you? Never, ” he promises. “But I will use them to fully convince you that you’re my wife. Whatever it takes.”