The Sheriff's Secret Wife. Christyne Butler
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work, she could spot them a mile away, ring or not. Married men gave off a scent of possession, of belonging to someone else and, despite the craziness of her life, she wouldn’t—
Afraid she was going to be sick, she clamped a hand over her mouth. Something hard hit her lip. She pulled away and focused on the shiny gold band on her left hand. Jerking up on one elbow, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and there it was, in the same place she’d worn wedding rings twice before.
First when she’d been nineteen and stupid, then six years later she’d taken another chance on happily ever after. When that had ended after eighteen short months, she’d vowed never to grace the aisle again.
But this ring didn’t look like those cheap things from the past. This one sparkled with a row of diamonds. It couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be married.
No, this had to be a joke.
Her gaze flew around the luxurious suite, finally landing on the items littering the glass-top table near the double entrance doors. Bolting from the bed, she raced across the room. Whoa, not a good idea. Both her head and stomach took their sweet time in catching up with her.
She struggled to focus on her purse and the small bouquet of white silk flowers lying next to it. There was also a rolled paper tied with a pale blue ribbon, but her eyes caught and stared at a man’s wallet, open to reveal a shiny law enforcement badge.
A cop?
Racy stilled and blinked hard.
Ohmigod, she had not married him.
Then it all came back to her.
A law enforcement conference and the bartenders challenge in the same hotel. The participants of both events running into each other in the casinos, bars and restaurants, the cops often in the crowds during the challenge’s preliminary events, open to the public.
One cop in particular.
She’d noticed him two nights ago standing in the back, arms crossed over his chest as he’d watched the first round of the flaring competition. It was Racy’s favorite part, where each bartender’s personality and style came out while showing off their moves. Spinning, flipping, catching and balancing bottles, glasses and bar tools while making a variety of cocktails. At the end of her routine, he’d offered her a wink and smile. She’d impulsively blown him a kiss, which every man in the cheering crowd who’d stood between them thought was for him.
That was the last time she’d seen him until.
She grabbed the rolled paper and yanked off the blue ribbon. It unfurled and the words Marriage Certificate stood out in a large, elaborate font. Her vision blurred as she focused farther down the paper.
Bride: Racina Josephine Dillon. Groom—
“Good morning.”
His deep, coarse growl caused Racy to spin around. The room kept spinning, and she grabbed hold of the table for balance. He sat at the edge of the bed, the sheet pulled across his lap, leaving his chest and legs bare. Elbows braced on his knees, he cradled his head in his hand.
Oh. Sweet. Lord.
Gage? She’d married Gage Steele?
“This can’t be happening.” Her words came out so soft he couldn’t have heard them.
But he did. His head shot up and he winced. “As soon as I figure out what this is, I’ll come back with—”
His eyes widened and locked onto her. The heat in his gaze torched her skin from her face to her toes. She realized she was standing there in nothing but her birthday suit.
Racy reached for the closest item of clothing. Yanking on a man’s white dress shirt, she managed to get three buttons closed before a clean, outdoorsy scent filled her head. Gage’s shirt. Even after a night in the city, it smelled like him. Like sparkling lake water, tall trees and the earth. The kind of earth you want to dig your fingers into and inhale.
“Not bad, but I like the other look better.”
Gage’s voice rolled across the room and caused her stomach to roll, as well. Only this time it brought with it a rush of heat. She concentrated on finishing the buttons, ignoring the paper clenched in her trembling fingers.
“What are we going to do about this?”
“There you go with this again.” Gage brushed his hand over his face, then through his hair, causing the short brown locks to stick straight up. “Damn, I feel like crap. I’m getting too old for tequila and late nights.”
Old? At thirty-two, Gage was in his prime, with the football player’s body of his youth honed to lean, tight muscles. As the sheriff of Destiny, Wyoming, he carried the town’s troubles on his wide shoulders without breaking a sweat.
And he’d been nothing but trouble for her since high school.
“This is the problem.” Racy marched to the bed. “According to a piece of paper and the rings we’re wearing, it seems we tied the knot last night.”
Confusion filled his dark blue eyes. “We what?”
“Don’t you remember?” Please, let at least one of us have the memory.
He snatched the paper from her hand, his brow drawing into a deep furrow. “Hot damn, we really did it.”
Her stomach plummeted to her feet. “We did?”
“Hell, I thought you were kidding when you proposed—”
“What?” Racy’s shriek caused both her and Gage to grimace.
“You disappeared into a jewelry store and walked out ten minutes later with a matching set of rings.” He rubbed at his eyes, stopping to stare at the gold band on his hand. “Then you insisted on going to the marriage bureau for a license.”
“I did?”
“After that we hit the casinos for a while. I figured that was the end of it.” Gage dropped his hand and shrugged. “When you won big at poker—pretty impressive, by the way—I had to convince you I wasn’t with you for the money.”
She’d hit it big? The memory wouldn’t come back. How much? Would it be enough? Could she really be this close to getting—
Wait. What did he do? “How did you convince me?”
“Are you kidding? You made me—” His voice caught and those blue eyes turned a stormy hue. “You don’t remember?”
Racy curled her toes into the plush carpet, feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Bits and pieces.”
“Like what?”
“Look, I’m not one of your suspects.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tossed a long curl off her face with a flick of her head. “It’s obvious both of us had a few too many drinks last night. What exactly do you remember?”
“I asked you first.”
“I remember winning the challenge.”
Gage’s gaze shot to the trophy. Hers followed. A silent groan filled her chest as his eyes lingered on her panties still hanging there.
“What else?” he finally said, looking back at her.
She fought not to squeeze her thighs together beneath his dress shirt. “I remember celebrating, when a Mafia thug started hitting on me. I thought I could handle it, but then it got out of control and some guy stepped in—”
Gage’s left eyebrow rose into a perfect arch.
“You stepped in, played the hero, and I bought you a drink as a thank-you.”
“That’s it?” The familiar tic along his jawline told her he wasn’t happy. “That’s all you remember?”
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