Full Throttle (Fast Track) (22 page)

“Are you drunk?” she asked him, sounding very suspicious.

“No. I am buzzed. There is a big difference.” He shoveled pasta into his mouth. He was suddenly very hungry now that his nerves had worn off.

“Oh, Lord,” was her opinion.

“Aren’t you drinking?” he asked her. “You didn’t drink much last night either. Just a couple of beers.”

“I have a headache and my stomach is queasy. Plus I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of your family, so no, I’m not drinking.”

“I doubt you would do that. You’re the king of the car bomb, remember? You can hold your liquor. Have a drink if you want one.” It might do her some good.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” See how good he was at being a husband? He was already agreeing to everything she said.

There was a violent clanking of forks on glasses throughout, and Rhett grinned at Shawn. “They want us to kiss.”

She leaned forward and gave him the most chaste kiss they had ever shared, then waved in acknowledgment to the crowd.

“What kind of a kiss was that?” he complained. “Next time, I think you should slip me some tongue. Show me you mean it.”

“Rhett, don’t piss me off right now, seriously.”

“What?” he asked in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, babe, are you really feeling that awful?”

She nodded, her eyes suddenly welling up with tears.

Seeing her expression, he felt horrible, and he reached over and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Did you take any aspirin?”

“No. I didn’t bring my purse.”

“Honey, there are thirty females in this room. We could medicate a small hospital once they open their purses. I’ll get you something.”

“Thanks.”

“And as pretty as your hair looks, maybe you should loosen that knot thing it’s in. That can’t be helping.”

She nodded, and he went off in search of pain relievers. Within five minutes he had them and had brought them to Shawn. But then he was called over to the bar by his father, who was telling a story to a group of cousins involving Rhett’s first dirt bike and a certain accident involving his jeans.

“Dad, this is not a roast. It’s my wedding. You can’t be telling about every stupid thing I did as a kid.”

“The hell I can’t. It’s a father’s privilege once his son is grown. Someday you’ll understand that yourself. Let’s do a shot.”

It was that suggestion, paired with the idea of fatherhood, that had Rhett willingly reaching out his hand.

Which might explain how by the time he got back to Shawn, he was well and truly on his way to being drunk.

 • • • 

SHAWN
could not believe that Rhett was wasted. In all the time she’d known him, which admittedly was not that long, she’d never seen him drunk. She’d seen him drink wine, beer, whiskey, and never even get a buzz. But here, at their wedding party on freaking Valentine’s Day, where she had a headache and was paralyzed by fear that she might be carrying his child, he chose to get bombed.

So annoying.

Another night she might have found his whistling, his wolfish drunken smile, his loosened tie, and his uninhibited dancing quite entertaining. But while her nausea had disappeared, she was still not in any position to enjoy the ridiculousness.

It seemed everyone but her was freely imbibing. The dance floor was packed with the young and the old and one brother-in-law was swinging his jacket around over his head. The kids were drunk on sugar and excitement, which was in evidence when Danny’s son Simon stuck his entire face in the chocolate fountain, earning hoots of laughter from the adults. When he pulled back and shook like a dog, chocolate flew in all directions, scattering on the floor, the table, and three girls in front of him. Still no one yelled at him, which spoke volumes at the amount of alcohol consumed, in Shawn’s opinion.

She had floated from table to table, always seeking a chair. She was tired. Clinton, her grandfather’s attorney, sank into the seat beside her, and all it took was a very slurred greeting and a glimpse of his glassy eyes to realize he was just as drunk as the rest of the room.

“Hey, Clinton,” she answered, giving him a wan smile.

He leaned forward and clasped her hand in his large, warm one. “You look beautiful, my girl, just beautiful. Jameson would have been so proud to see you as a bride.”

That almost did her in. “I miss him, Clinton.”

“Me, too.” He squeezed her hand. “Shawn, are you happy? Is this marriage really what you want?”

Puzzled, she studied him. “All things considered, it’s the best solution, yes.” He knew she had paid off Rhett to marry her. He was the only person alive who did.

Clinton shook his head. “This was wrong, all of it. I shouldn’t have been any part of it, and I should have told you the truth, Jameson’s wishes be damned.”

Shawn stiffened. “The truth about what?”

He leaned even closer, almost falling into her lap. “You didn’t have to get married. You could have contested the restrictions placed on that will, and I don’t doubt for a minute you would have won. You might have had to split ownership with your brother as dual heirs, but you would have won.”

The heat of the room suddenly felt stifling. For a very brief moment, she actually thought she might faint, but she was made of sterner stuff than that. “So you’re saying I didn’t need to get married?”

“No, probably not. I mean, it would have taken a few months and thousands in lawyer’s fees to contest the will.”

Thousands? Not a hundred thousand, which is what she owed Rhett when all was said and done. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She absolutely could not believe it. Save a few months of paper pushing and probably ten grand in legal fees, she could have achieved her goal of ownership free and clear? She wouldn’t have given a damn about sharing ownership with her brother. He wasn’t interested in the track. He wasn’t even particularly interested in her. He had sent his apologies for not attending this very wedding party, because he had claimed he’d been unable to get a sitter for the baby. When she had suggested he bring the baby, he had said she was afraid of crowds.

Shawn could have taken the hundred grand she was giving Rhett and could have bought out her brother. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he would have jumped at the chance to have the cash.

“You really think I would have won?”

“I’m certain it would have all shook out in your favor. You’re the obvious heir, and the will stated you were to inherit, just under stipulations that most judges would deem inappropriate.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asked, finally freeing her hand from his hot and sweaty grip. God, when she thought about the anxiety she had felt, the panic, the fear that she was going to lose the last connection to her grandfather, Hamby Speedway, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

“I was trying to respect Jameson’s intentions. I kind of figured you would marry Sam after all, but then when you didn’t and you were all set to get hitched with the younger Ford brother, I started to think that you might be making a huge mistake. I should have come to you, but I thought, well, hell, I’m an old man and what do I know about your dating life? Maybe you’re happy with Rhett and this just sped things up. You’re happy, right? I’ll never forgive myself if you’re not.”

Though she was mad as hell, Shawn couldn’t help but feel bad for Clinton. None of this ridiculousness had been his idea, and he had just been trying to respect his best friend’s dying wish. But he clearly felt guilty and he looked genuinely worried about her. She’d let him off the hook, but she wasn’t the least bit happy about his information.

“I’m happy,” she told him simply to ease his guilt, though she wasn’t sure she was, exactly. She was head over ass for Rhett, but she wasn’t precisely sure she was happy. It was exhilarating, but it certainly wasn’t peaceful. But maybe that’s how love went. She didn’t know, because she’d never been in love before.

Part of her questioned if she was even in love. How did one recognize that it was legitimately that elevated emotion? For all she knew, she was making that classic mistake of confusing lust with love. It wasn’t like this was a long-standing relationship. In the course of an average lifetime, she would spend more time renewing her driver’s license than the time she had been married to Rhett. What did she really know about love?

This felt like love.

Didn’t it?

She sought out Rhett across the room, but she didn’t see him.

“I’m glad to hear it, girl, glad to hear it.”

“Thanks, Clinton.” Feeling distracted, Shawn was actually hugely relieved when someone called out that the car service had arrived to safely shuttle home the bride and groom and anyone else who had been drinking.

Rhett appeared. “You ready to go?” he asked, holding on to the back of her chair like the room was swaying a little.

“Yes. Beyond ready.” Shawn stood up and braced herself for the round of good-byes that were about to commence when suddenly Rhett tried to pick her up. “Ack!” She swatted at him and scurried out of his reach.

“What? I want to carry you to the car.”

“Hell, no. You’re drunk, and I don’t want to be dropped on my ass.”

“I could carry you in my sleep,” he retorted.

That statement was so stupid Shawn didn’t even bother to reply. She just wanted to go home and go to bed. And not to have sex, to close her eyes and sleep.

But Grabby Hands was already trying to knead her ass cheeks like he was baking bread as they paused to speak to his parents. She smacked at him, irritated. He seemed to have forgotten their small wedding party had grown to seventy-five people, and most of them were watching them leave.

Sandy was handing her a large silver box.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s filled with the cards everyone brought.”

“Oh.” Shawn blinked. “Oh, thank you . . . I didn’t think . . . I didn’t realize.” People had given them cards and probably some included money. Could she feel any worse? Not that she wanted to test the theory, because she felt pretty much like a huge asshole right now.

Sandy hugged her. “We’ll talk soon.” She rolled her eyes at her son when his hands slid across her backside again. “Rhett, wait three more minutes, for crying out loud. You’re embarrassing your wife.”

He didn’t look particularly concerned, and when they walked outside into the cold night air, Shawn’s jacket just draped over her shoulders, he opened the car door for her.

Murmuring, he said, “You’d better give your heart to Jesus, because your ass is mine tonight.”

What irritated her more than anything else was the fact that despite her annoyance, his words still aroused her.

And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

RHETT
wasn’t as drunk as everyone seemed to think he was. He could still walk a straight line and get an erection. That was all that really mattered. In fact, he already had an erection as the driver took them home, his hand making inroads into Shawn’s inner thighs through the soft fabric of her dress. Or rather, not making inroads. He kept getting caught in folds of slippery whiteness.

“Damn it,” he complained. “This dress is multiplying.”

“It’s drunk-groom-proof,” she said, and her tone was not particularly lighthearted.

Rhett was starting to get the impression that Shawn was not best pleased with him. “Honey, I am not drunk. I’m relaxed. Relaxed Rhett. Everyone always tells me I’m too serious, so here I am, letting my hair down.”

“I’ve never said that,” she said, though the corner of her mouth did turn up slightly.

“How is your head?” he asked, suddenly remembering she’d complained about it hurting.

“It’s a little better, but I just feel exhausted.”

“Let me massage your head.” Because there was no way he was letting her go to bed without a wedding bang.

Shawn shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she did undo the bun and let her hair down. It fanned around her face in some weird hair-sprayed clamshell effect. Rhett was suddenly glad he hadn’t come of age in the eighties. That hair was terrifying.

“If you’re tired, lay down.” He urged her down onto his lap and was surprised when she didn’t protest. “Just don’t fall asleep.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have a thing or two I’d like to say with my tongue before you sleep.” He waggled his tongue down at her so she could get the rather obvious hint.

Shawn rolled her eyes. “This may be the first night in our relationship that I’m immune to your heavy-handed charms.”

Uh. No. He didn’t think so. It was their wedding night, or their second wedding night. Which didn’t sound right. But the point was, he was not going to waste a good buzz and a hard-on tonight of all nights. “Heavy-handed? Is that what we’re calling it? I’ll give you heavy-handed.”

“Shh,” she whispered, her finger over her lips, and her head tilted to gesture to the driver.

“I think he probably has a good guess what we’re going to do. I don’t think you need to worry about being seen as tawdry. It’s our wedding night.” Rhett was starting to lose his buzz. Something was off with Shawn, and he didn’t like it.

It was obvious when she didn’t even wait for him to pay the driver, instead letting herself into the house and actually shutting the door behind her while he was still in the driveway. The driver shot him a look of sympathy, and Rhett felt his irritation spike.

When he went in the side door, Shawn had tossed her coat on a hook in the entry and was holding on to the kitchen counter, peeling her shoes off with a sigh.

“Is there a reason you just shut the door in my face?” he asked her, striving for an even tone.

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be and it’s cold out there.”

That was clearly an excuse. She was bordering on petulant, and he didn’t understand why.

“Let me help you.” He shucked his suit jacket and tossed it over a kitchen chair. Bending over, he undid the buckle on her other shoe and pulled it off. He pressed his lips to her ankle, sliding his tongue up the firm calf. “You have amazing legs.”

Normally she went liquid under his touch, but she remained stiff. Rhett rose again, pulling the fabric of her dress with him so that her legs were exposed from the thigh down. “What kind of panties do you have on?” he asked curiously. He was picturing a white scrap of lace.

Which contributed to his total astonishment when he reached under the silky folds of her dress and discovered some sort of one-piece bodysuit that was clinging to her skin like a wet suit. “What the fuck are you wearing?” He immediately retreated. He didn’t want to touch that. It was like stroking a seal.

“A body shaper. So there are no lumps under my dress.”

“There aren’t any lumps anywhere on you. Except for this.” He cupped her breasts. “First order of business is getting you out of that contraption.”

But when he reached for the zipper on the side of her dress, she wiggled out of his reach. “No, I’m not going to have you take this off. Getting out of a body shaper is almost as difficult as getting into it. There’s a lot of tugging and . . . flopping.”

He held up his arms, palms out in surrender. “Okay, hands off.”

“You can’t watch either.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” This seduction was not unfolding at all the way he had intended.

“No.”

Rhett tore his tie off and dropped it on the counter. “Do you think this counts as disobedience?”

For the first time all night, he saw her breath hitch with desire. But she shook her head. “No. You said that you would never force me to degrade myself. Shoving this off my body while you watch constitutes degradation.”

Rhett laughed. “I can respect that.” He ran his finger over her lip. “Thank you for being honest with me. Thank you for being you.”

But for some reason, his words didn’t have the effect he had assumed they would. She pulled a face.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Studying her expression, he couldn’t read her. She wasn’t even meeting his eye. “Then go take your dress off.”

There it was again, another face. “I suck at these parties. I was awful tonight. I’m sure your family is wondering what you see in me.”

It wasn’t like Shawn to dive into a pool of self-pity, and he was taken aback. “I’m sure they’ll love you like I do.”

Then she totally threw him when she suddenly reached out and started to undo the buttons on his dress shirt, with a sort of manic fervor. He had no idea what this was about, but he wanted no part of it. Something was going on, and they were going to talk about it, not bury those feelings behind sex.

He took her hands firmly and pulled them down by her hips, pinning them in place. “No.”

 • • • 

SHAWN
wasn’t even sure what she was doing. She had just suddenly been overcome with the need to prove herself, to be independent, to be in charge of something because it felt like her whole life had suddenly skittered out of her control. Why did everyone else get to determine her future? Hell, her orgasms.

Feeling mutinous, she pulled a pout, ready to protest.

But Rhett shook his head and gave her a very unexpected crack on her backside. “No pouting, Shawn. You’re better than that. Pouting is for three-year-olds wanting a cookie.”

Maybe he had a point about the pouting. But she was not in the mood for submissive sex play. “You’re not my father.”

“No. I’m your husband. And I’m just trying to get you to see that you’re really much more amazing than you give yourself credit for being. If something is bothering you, tell me. None of this avoidance crap.”

This just wasn’t the way she had operated most of her adult life. She was used to wheedling with the men she dated and using a circular back-door approach to get what she wanted. Rhett despised that.

Which she could understand. But there was direct, then there was just being a dick. She didn’t feel like playing the game tonight, and he should know to back down.

“What I’m feeling is that my husband is an asshole,” she said. The night had been too much. Clinton’s confession. Rhett’s lack of attentiveness. Her own guilt for frauding everyone and their mother. It was all just too much and she wanted, needed to lash out, irrational or not. “Stop treating me like a student whose behavior you need to correct.”

He studied her in that careful way he had. “If I say no or you say no, then the other one should respect that, right?”

She was not in the mood to have him speak carefully to her. She wanted to scream out her emotions, all these unexplained feelings, all this fear, and she wanted him to crack, to break down, and lose it like her. “Of course. But this is about you telling me I’m doing something wrong and I’m tired of it.”

“It’s called communication. When I left a wet towel on the floor, you made it pretty damn clear to me that I was in the wrong, and if I did it again there would be consequences. How is this any different?”

He had a point, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “Because I was pointing out something that is easy to fix and it’s not personal. You were correcting something about
me
.”

“Tomato,
tomato
. It’s all the same thing. It’s a matter of letting each other know how we feel so the other can respect it.”

“Well, I don’t feel like being told what to do tonight.” With that, Shawn picked up her swirly bridal gown and stomped off in the direction of the bedroom, tears in her eyes.

She was breaking down. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to feel inadequate.

“Where are you going?”

“To Paris to see the Eiffel Tower. Where do you think I’m going? To take my dress off.”

“Come back to the kitchen when you’re changed.”

“No!” she hurled over her shoulder. “I am not having sex with you tonight, so stick that in your libido and smoke it.” She wasn’t sure what that even meant, but it felt good to say it.

Going into her bedroom, she slammed the door shut behind her and locked it. It was a challenge to get the zipper down solo, but Shawn wrestled her way out of the dress while Rhett rattled the doorknob and said, in a very calm voice, “Open the door. Now.”

“No.”

“You’re being childish.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you very much! But I don’t give a shit.” Huffing and puffing, she yanked and shoved and peeled the body shaper until it finally gave way and her entire body let out a huge sigh of relief. All her hills sprang forth like an army of flesh unleashed on the enemy. Instantly her stomach felt less queasy.

Balling the torture chamber of spandex up, she threw it into the corner, where it landed in Coconut’s lap.

Naked, she was stepping into a pair of panties when the door flew open, wood splintering as Rhett broke the lock and shoved his way in with his shoulder. She jumped about three feet and almost fell over, given that she was one foot in, one foot out.

“Are you fucking crazy?” she shrieked at him. “You just broke the door!”

“I’m well aware of that,” he said, echoing her words. “But I refuse to be shut out until we discuss what is bothering you.”

Hurriedly pulling her panties up and into place, she tried to figure out what the hell to do now. She felt vulnerable, her literal nakedness exemplifying her emotions. “I can’t do this,” she admitted. “I don’t want to do this.”

“What
this
are you referring to? This discussion or something more than that?”

“I don’t know. I think all of it. I feel like everything is spiraling out of my control, that everyone else is dictating what happens in my life. First my father by leaving, then my mother by being a flake, then my grandfather for the stipulations in his will, now you. I need to be the one calling the shots for a change.”

“If you wanted to go straight to bed tonight, you could have just said that. I would never force you to have sex if you’re not in the mood. It was a long day.”

Was he deliberately misunderstanding her? Shawn crossed her arms over her breasts and watched him unbutton his dress shirt and peel if off his shoulders. What the hell was he doing? “What are you doing?”

“Going to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower. Or undressing to go to bed.”

Okay, that had asshole written all over it. And he called her passive-aggressive? “Why are you so afraid to let me have some control, Rhett? Why is it so important to you?”

He paused with his fingers on the zipper of his dress pants. “It’s just a sexual preference, Shawn. Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“You called me a three-year-old.” Shawn turned her back on him to get herself a T-shirt out of the dresser.

He came up behind her and kissed the side of her neck. “I am not trying to control you. I told you I would be a model husband outside of bed, and I meant it. Just tell me what you need from me.”

Shawn shuddered, the agony of her emotions overwhelming her. “Maybe I need to slow down. Maybe I need you to give me some space.”

He stiffened, then his hands fell away from her arms. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch tonight?”

She nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

“I’m only agreeing to this because I know you’re tired. We’re not done with this discussion,” he warned her.

That was the problem. Her anger spiked all over again. “We’re done with it if I say we’re done with it!”

He didn’t even respond to her. He just zipped his pants again, then started toward the door.

“My lawyer says I don’t need to be married,” she hurled after him, because the secret was weighing on her like ten thousand tons of concrete.

He stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. “Is that true?”

“Yes. He said that I could contest the will and would most definitely win.”

When he turned around, his expression actually froze her in fear that she had just done something irrevocable. “Is that what you want?” he asked, and his voice was cold, even, devoid of any emotion.

“Maybe.” She was so deep in shit now, she didn’t know where to walk to get out of it.

Rhett slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. You’re either in all the way, or you’re out all the way.”

She swallowed hard, not sure what to say, not sure what she felt.

“I don’t believe in hedging my bets, or taking it slow, or living separate lives that we invite each other into on occasion. If you love someone, ‘me’ becomes ‘we.’ That’s it. One car, two drivers.”

Could she do that? She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t know. “I can’t . . .” She wasn’t even sure what she was going to say, but Rhett sighed.

“Yeah, I guess I know you can’t. But the truth is, I can’t do this if you can’t commit to me. I love with everything, Shawn, not in bite-size portions. And I do love you.”

Anxiety crawled up her throat. Shawn opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She just stood there in her underwear and made nothing but a tiny nonsensical sound.

Rhett nodded. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Tomorrow I can move out.”