Erin McCarthy - Full Throttle

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.