Priscilla tapped her shoulder. “Your turn, dear.”
Moving as if she were swimming in a fog as thick as honey, Steph placed the ring on Branson’s finger and repeated Priscilla’s words. “With this ring, I thee wed, and promise to love, honor, and cherish you, with all that I have, and all that I am, as long as we both shall live.”
“By the authority vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Would he complete the farce, sealing it with an empty kiss? For two years, she’d fantasized about this moment, never believing it would happen. He was everything she’d ever wanted. Every muscle coiled in anticipation, though she attempted to tamp down her expectations. It wasn’t like a single kiss from the lips of Branson Knight could wipe away the pain and humiliation of the sham wedding ceremony.
Branson’s hands rose in slow motion, cradling the sides of her face, tilting her chin up. Blood drummed in her ears, as his eyes closed and his mouth moved toward hers. His lips brushed against her own, only for a second, sparking a thousand nerve endings. Those lips returned, soft and tentative, a gentle caress that left her wanting more. Then his mouth slanted across hers. Colors erupted inside her head. Her hands locked around the back of his neck, to pull him closer. His demanding lips took possession of her mouth, as he stole her breath and stopped her heart in its tracks. She responded with a force born of years of unfulfilled desire. When his mouth wrenched away, he left her panting for air.
It was everything she’d dreamed it would be, and more. It was also an illusion. A mirage, taunting her with false promises. Fresh tears stung her eyes. Her insides hurt like salt on raw blisters. Even in a haze of pain, she recognized the weakness she’d exposed and hated herself for it. She was so hopelessly devoted to Branson Knight that she would replay the entire agonizing ceremony for another taste of his lips.
I’m such a fool. Like a wounded soldier who’d lost a battle, she limped outside, leaving Branson to collect the package that would become Ellie’s gift. Maybe she would throw away every mocking reminder and buy a pair of furry dice instead.
Five minutes later, she was back inside the limo with a solemn Branson. As they motored back to the hotel, he handed her an envelope. Inside was a flash drive and two signed photographs.
“Stephanie?”
“Branson, don’t. I can’t talk about it.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I thought maybe you…” He didn’t complete the sentence. Perhaps he sensed the feeble wall she’d erected around her emotions.
He was sorry. He regretted the ceremony as much as she did. He probably regretted the kiss as well. Everything was ruined. How would she be able to work for him, after this?
He knows. Steph balled her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. He knows I love him, but he doesn’t love me. He only needs me.
“I know you’re upset.” His voice broke into her thoughts. “But here’s something to make you laugh. George found that marriage license on the floor, and guess what… Priscilla signed it.” He pulled the license out and passed it to her. “So I think this means Finn and I are legally married.”
He snickered, shaking his head, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. When it burst from between her fingers, the dam broke. Stephanie laughed with Branson until they were both in tears and gasping for air.
“I’m just glad I didn’t have to kiss him,” Branson quipped. “I warned him about that.”
His comment sobered her as she, once again, relived their own shared kiss. No doubt, he hadn’t wanted the intimate contact, yet he pretended enough enthusiasm during the moment. Perhaps, with his experience and skill, a kiss felt no more personal than driving a car. More likely, her thrill at finally kissing the man she loved had simply blinded her to his reticence.
She was glad when the limo stopped at the hotel. With any luck, she could escape upstairs and leave Branson under the watch-care of his friends. Her pounding head would welcome the respite from the lights and noise of the casino.
The car door opened. “Welcome to the Grand Laurencia, where good times are had by all.”
Good times. Ha! Not even close. Steph’s eyes fell on the paper resting on her lap. All at once, the world tilted on end.
“Branson.” Her hand grappled toward him, clenching a wad of his tux coat, while she tried not to hyperventilate.
“Steph. What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t you and Finn.” Cold sweat broke out on her neck. “It’s you and me.”
CHAPTER 16
Branson sat on the couch in his suite, his fingers toying with his wedding band, as Stephanie paced in front of him. She hadn’t stopped moving for the past ten minutes, broadcasting from one side of the room, gradually coming closer, then moving to the other side of the room and back again, like a huge fuming pendulum.
“What’re we going to do? This is a disaster.”
Bran wasn’t really listening. He was still reeling from that kiss. From the moment his hands touched her face, his heart had turned inside out. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers. The electric charge building in his gut. Her lips… so soft, so responsive. It took every bit of his power to maintain an appearance of control, while desire raged inside him. Not simply to possess her physically, but to meld with her for eternity. The emotions he’d been denying for the past two years had come rushing in like flood waters from a broken dam. He knew the truth, without a doubt.
I love her.
His soul already belonged to her, and he yearned to have hers. When he spoke those wedding vows, he’d never meant any words more in his life. While Stephanie had been shocked and horrified to discover what Finn had done to the marriage license, Bran had fought an impulse to shout for joy and kiss her senseless. At the moment, he couldn’t even drum up an ounce of anxiety about Carina and losing his opportunity to gain a controlling share of the stocks.
Her tirade continued. “I’ll lose my job. You’re going to hate me. Divorces are ugly, you know. Not that I would ever want anything from you. I just want out, that’s all. I know you want out, too. What’re we going to do?”
She wants out. Could she be afraid of commitment? Carina had intimated the divorce was her fault, rather than her husband’s desertion. No, he refused to believe something like that about Steph.
Why didn’t she want to be married? She’d freely admitted she wasn’t repulsed by his prosthetic eyes, and she’d responded to his lips. He’d felt her tremble at his touch, heard the soft moans when he kissed her. Yet she seemed terrified of the idea that they would remain married. He couldn’t force her into a relationship she didn’t want.
“Stephanie?” he interrupted her ongoing speech.
“What?” She spewed the word out with a burst of air, like a relief valve on a pressure cooker.
“I don’t hear your crutches. Are you walking on your sprained ankle?” He kept his voice low and even, hoping to soothe her frazzled emotions.
“We have bigger problems on our plate than a stupid sprained ankle. Who cares about my foot at a time like this?”
“I do.” He rose to his feet, leaving his cane behind. He reached her in four strides and placed a hand on her shoulder.
She flinched. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing this.” He bent to sweep his left arm behind her knees, scooping her off her feet and cradling her against his chest. She let out a squeal. She felt good in his arms—as if she belonged there. A fresh scent wafted from her hair.
