Inconveniently Wed!

In addition to more substantial topics, such as his reasons for running for public office and her plans to open her own cake shop, their conversation had leaned toward the ridiculous. They’d hashed out the lyrics to The Flintstones theme song, agreed on which Stooge was the funniest—Curly, by far—and debated the merits of “innie” bellybuttons versus “outies.”

Yet Jonas was perfectly serious now when he said, “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

“I’ve enjoyed talking with you, too.”

“This isn’t like me.” He fiddled with the edge of his cocktail napkin, rolling it up until it stayed curled. “I don’t usually strike up a conversation with a stranger in a bar, much less kiss her.” He glanced up. “It’s nuts, but I feel like I know you so well, and I don’t even know your last name.”

“It’s Warren.”

“Mine’s Benjamin.”

“Well, Jonas Benjamin, for the record, I don’t normally let strange men kiss me in a bar.”

“I’m glad you made an exception.”

The creases in his cheeks reappeared when he smiled, and her stomach took a funny tumble. “Same goes.”

A long moment passed before he said, “Technically, we’re no longer strangers. So, if I were to kiss you again…” He left the thought unfinished, but his gaze was now focused on her mouth.

Anticipation began to build. Their last kiss hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity, or anything else.

Just as Serena started to lean forward, a hand slapped a little black folder down on the table between them. She and Jonas sat back abruptly. Their waitress had appeared from nowhere.

“I’ll take your bill up whenever you’re ready,” the woman said.

“Gee, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Serena murmured, realizing for the first time that the bar was nearly empty.

“It’s almost closing time. You probably should be getting back to your hotel,” Jonas said. He pulled out his wallet and laid some bills on the table. Afterward, he stood and pulled out her chair—a gentlemanly gesture the likes of which she’d rarely experienced. But then the whole evening had been a trek through uncharted territory.

Once they were outside, instead of heading in the direction of McKendrick’s, Jonas stopped, stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He looked nervous—hopeful when he said. “You know, I’m kind of hungry.”

Her heart fluttered. “Now that you mention it, so am I.”

“Maybe we could grab a bite before we call it a night? I know this great retro diner within walking distance of here that makes the best cheeseburgers around.”

“I love cheeseburgers.” She slipped her hand into his. This time she was ready for the sparks the contact generated and she reveled in them.

“Crazy, huh?” he said.

Serena didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Outrageous—and, believe me, I know outrageous.”

The pair of them were so different—he classic Brooks Brothers and she unapologetically offbeat. Yet they were in tune with one another. So much so that a couple of hours later, when they started back from the diner, their strides matched and their arms swung in unison.

They stopped in front of the Bellagio’s illuminated fountains. Back where it all began, Serena mused. Somehow she knew her life was never going to be the same. As they watched the water shoot up Jonas turned. He’d kissed her several times since first leaving the Bellagio, each kiss longer and more enticing than the last. Even so they’d left her yearning for more. She couldn’t get enough of him, and not just physically. This went beyond being turned on.

Instead of kissing her now, he took her in his arms and danced with her in the moonlight, ending with a dip that left her nearly parallel to the ground. His unexpected turn as Fred Astaire charmed her, and left them both laughing, but afterward, when he held her in his arms, his grasp was just this side of desperate. She understood perfectly. Over his shoulder she watched the water arc in the air, every bit as enchanting as their time together.

“Tonight has been magical,” he said, as if he could read her mind.

Serena hummed in agreement. “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

“Does it?”

His answer surprised her. She pulled back far enough so she could see his face. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” The way Jonas frowned gave the impression he rarely found himself without an answer. Yet he struggled for one now. “You…us…on the surface it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not much, no. But someone recently reminded me that appearances can be deceiving.”

Serena laughed, but he was still frowning. “When I saw you I had the strangest feeling that I knew you—that I’d been—”

“Looking for you,” she supplied as her heart bucked out a couple of extra beats. “What happens now?”

“Normally I’d say goodnight, give myself a few days to think and put things in perspective.”

“I return to San Diego in less than twelve hours.” She pulled out of his embrace and despite the evening’s heat felt chilled immediately. “Got another idea?”

He frowned again. “Yes, but it’s…” He shook his head and looked a little dazed. “It’s crazy.”

A grin tugged at Serena’s lips. “I’m always up for crazy.”

He didn’t smile. He swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. “This qualifies as insane, even if in a totally weird way it makes perfect sense.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

He inhaled deeply. “You could stay.”

Serena barely heard his words over the pounding of her heart. “Stay? In Vegas?” she said, to be sure she hadn’t imagined the offer. After Jonas nodded, she asked, “For how long?”

He did smile now, and his expression was that of a gambler letting his fortune ride on the roll of the dice.

“How about forever?”

Chapter Two

WHAT had she done?

Serena woke in the strange hotel room with a start. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she jackknifed to a sitting position and turned her head. Even knowing what she would find, she felt her mouth gape open at the sight that greeted her.

Oh. My. God!

It hadn’t been a dream. Jonas Benjamin was splayed out on his side of the bed beside her—shirtless and then some. Since his eyes were closed, she allowed her gaze to follow the length of his spine down his nicely muscled back. The sheet interfered with her view when it reached his hips, but what she couldn’t see now she clearly remembered seeing—and touching—last night. With her memory working overtime, Serena became uncomfortably aware of her own nakedness.

It wasn’t the vivid recollections of their passionate lovemaking that had her panicking. It was what had happened just prior to it. Jonas’s right hand was tucked beneath the pillow, but his left one was clearly visible, and the third finger sported a cheap band identical to the one on hers.

They were married!

The magic of the previous night leaked away, leaving stark reality in its place. She, the woman who couldn’t commit to anything, had stood in a tacky Vegas chapel and promised to love, honor and cherish for a lifetime a man she hadn’t even known for a day.

It was only in the past year that she’d committed to a hair color, going back to her natural red after trying out shades that ran the gamut from Goth black to punk purple. Or that she’d committed to a job. She’d worked full-time decorating cakes at the upscale Bonaventure Creations in La Jolla for a solid eleven months—a record on her part, especially since she still loved it. But marriage? She couldn’t do marriage—even if for a brief time last night it had seemed like a really good idea.

Serena smothered a groan with her hand. She’d done a lot of bone-headed things in her life. Leaping without looking was a specialty of hers. But this wouldn’t be as easy to fix as the bad neon-green dye job she’d sported two St Patrick’s Days ago. Nor would it be as easy to hide as the dragonfly tattoo that hovered low on her right hip—the result of one too many margaritas on her twenty-first birthday.

What was she going to do?

Her gaze followed the trail of their discarded clothing back to the room’s door. The only thing that came through loud and clear was she needed to leave. Now. Before Jonas woke. Before he smiled and said something sweet or funny. Before he was able to change her mind. Because maybe he could…for a little while anyway.

His tie caught her notice. It hung from the corner of the headboard. Serena frowned as she studied it. They were so different. Too different. Likely upon his waking reality would smack the professional and very put-together Jonas Benjamin upside the head, as it had her, and he would be as eager as she was to extricate himself from this situation.

Pride demanded she be the one to leave first. Serena slipped from the bed and gathered up what she could find of her clothing. A few minutes later she was dressed, minus her bra and one of her earrings. She heard him stir as she bent to slip a hastily penned note of explanation into one of his size-eleven wingtips.

“Who…who’s there?” he called sleepily.

He didn’t even recall her name! Her heart sank even as her resolve strengthened.

“Nobody worth remembering,” she whispered, and closed the door.

The lock snicked shut before Jonas made it off the bed. Cursing, he flopped back on the mattress, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to get his bearings. The events of the previous evening came back to him with the force of a fast-moving freight train and made him grateful to already be prone.

Serena. His wife.

He’d only gotten a peek at her pale face before the door closed, but he knew this much for certain: she wasn’t going out for coffee and bagels. She’d bolted.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how he felt about anything. He’d married a woman he’d known for a handful of hours. Talk about acting out of character. He preferred his Is dotted, his Ts neatly crossed. Tidy and well-ordered—that was how he liked his life. Every move he’d made since graduating from law school had been planned out carefully and methodically. Or every move until he’d walked into that lounge the previous night and spied a vivacious redhead. For a handful of stolen hours she’d been his sole reality. He hadn’t lost himself in a woman like that ever. As thrilling and baffling as he’d found the sensation the evening before, right now he felt confused and oddly vulnerable.

A cellphone trilled and pulled him back to the present. The ringer was low and muffled, and came from beneath his wrinkled trousers.

“Benjamin here,” he said, after retrieving it.

“Where are you?” Jameson Culver demanded by way of a greeting. “We agreed to meet first thing this morning at campaign headquarters, to go over the radio spots you’ll be taping tomorrow. It’s after nine.”

“Ah…right. Sorry. I’ve been…tied up.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he decided as he recalled one of the inventive uses Serena had found for his necktie. His campaign manager, however, was far from mollified.

“Well, get untied,” Jameson boomed. “This is important, Jonas.”

As if he needed reminding. “I know my lines forward and backward. That’s the benefit of speaking from the heart.”

“I want to be sure you punch the right words. Now that former Mayor Cloverfield has endorsed you, Davenport is going to pull out all the stops to discredit you. You need to come across as confident and authoritative. He’s going to keep hitting on your youth and relative political inexperience. He’s going to make it seem as if you’re trying to cash in on your family’s name recognition with voters in this region.”

“This election is about me.” Jonas had gone out of his way to keep his father out of his campaign. All of his life he’d lived in his father’s shadow. He wanted to win on his own merit.

“Maybe you should ask Corbin to do a commercial spot. His public endorsement could sway some of the fence-sitters,” Jameson said.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You’ve pulled ahead a little in the polls after last week’s town hall debate, but it’s still anyone’s race.”

“I know that.” The words came out sharp.

Jameson wasn’t deterred. “There’s a strategy for winning elections. Hand-shaking and babykissing only get you so far. Your father is political gold, Jonas.”

“My answer remains no.”

His campaign manager sighed dramatically. “Fine, but keep this in mind. Voters say they want change, but when it comes right down to it they often go with what they know. Davenport’s work on the council makes him less of a mystery. You’re untried, Jonas, which means they want to know anything and everything there is to know about you.”

A lead weight settled in the pit of Jonas’s stomach as he spied the white envelope sticking out of one his shoes. “About that…” he began.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure.”

After ending the call, Jonas dressed. His clothes were a little the worse for wear, though not in as sorry a state as the lacey lavender bra he discovered under his shirt. It hooked in the front. He remembered helping Serena out of it and helping himself to…

He closed his eyes, groaned, and lowered himself to the side of the mattress. Unfortunately he misjudged his proximity and found himself on the floor instead. Appropriate, he decided. He’d been off-balance since meeting the woman.

“Might as well get this over with,” he muttered. Wedging the tip of his index finger beneath the flap, he unsealed the envelope and sealed his fate.

Dear Jonas,

I don’t know where to begin.

“Yeah, join the club.” He snorted, bemused to find them once again in perfect agreement.

Sorry doesn’t seem the right word, but it’s the only one I can come up with. I had a lovely time last night. An amazing time, in fact. But I got carried away. I think we both did. Marriage!

Of course, this is Vegas. I’m sure we’re not the only two people to ever find themselves caught up in the moment. Since you’re a lawyer, I assume you will know what to do to remedy the matter. I will pay half of any legal fees, etc.

I am returning to San Diego today as planned. Forgive me for not waking you up to say goodbye. I thought it would be easier and less embarrassing for both of us if I just left.

Thanks seems as awkward a word as sorry, but it fits here. You are a very special man and I wish you nothing but the best.

—Serena

She’d listed her contact information at the bottom of the page, along with a postscript:

I’m returning the ring. I know it wasn’t expensive, but perhaps you can get your money back.

He fished the band out of the envelope. It was a cheap piece of metal that had probably already caused her flesh to turn green. He slipped off the one on his finger and, on an oath, flung them both into the wastebasket on the opposite side of the room.

Still sitting on the floor, he rested an elbow on one raised knee and stared at the note. Serena’s penmanship was as eclectic as the woman: a collection of capital and lowercase block letters with some cursive ones tossed in. The dots for the “i”s were misaligned or missing. The “t”s were half crossed. He should have been pleased that she didn’t want to stay married to him, grateful that she was making this so easy for him. No tears. No demands, financial or otherwise, and God knew he’d left himself wide open to those. No repercussions of any sort.

Jonas let his head fall back on the mattress and closed his eyes as he waited for the relief to come. Any moment a huge wave of it would wash over him and cleanse the last reminders of Serena Warren from his memory.

More than a dozen hours later, when he collapsed on the bed in his downtown condo, he still wasn’t completely sure relief was among his tangled-up emotions.

Chapter Three

SERENA woke late on Monday morning. According to her sorry excuse for an alarm clock she was already forty minutes behind schedule. Even so, she sat on the side of the bed and contemplated the state of her life. The day before she’d awoken in a deluxe Vegas honeymoon suite next to a virtual stranger who was also her husband. This morning she was alone on the lumpy bed of her San Diego studio, but the man in question was very much on her mind.

How was Jonas?

The question sneaked past her defenses and brought along a couple of friends. Was Jonas angry with her? Or was he relieved that she’d offered him an uncomplicated way out?

Serena was relieved, or so she told herself. Maybe she was a little disappointed that she hadn’t heard from him, but only because she wanted to know his plans. Still, it made sense that he hadn’t called yet. It had been barely twenty-four hours, and even in Vegas she doubted the courthouses were open on Sundays. Surely first thing today Jonas would go and file whatever paperwork needed to be filed to get the ball rolling to dissolve their marriage.

Maybe she should call him and make sure they were of the same mind. The office where he practiced law would be easy enough to locate through directory assistance, or she could always ask for the number for his campaign headquarters.

As she picked up the phone, Serena imagined a well-mannered receptionist asking, And who may I say is calling, please? She set the receiver back in its cradle with a click. She didn’t have the time or, she admitted, the courage to talk to him right now. What she did have was someplace to be. And she needed to get there before her boss, the highly regarded but annoyingly high-strung Heidi Bonaventure, blew a gasket.

Twenty minutes later, with a silver travel mug of high-octane java in hand, Serena flung open her apartment door, intending to make a mad dash for the stairs. She didn’t make it past the welcome mat. Indeed, she stopped so abruptly that despite the mug’s protective lid some of her coffee spewed through the small opening. It hit Jonas Benjamin in the center of his sedately striped tie. Counting the silk number she’d mutilated in her haste to undress him two nights ago, this made two she’d ruined.

She grimaced. “What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to have the conversation we should have had yesterday morning,” he replied. He didn’t look happy.

They eyed one another from opposite sides of the welcome mat. Neither one of them moved.

Serena cleared her throat and broke the silence. “You came all the way to San Diego to talk about our…our…”

“Marriage,” he supplied.

Annulment was the word she’d been thinking.

“About yesterday—sorry for taking off like that, but I…I…” In lieu of an excuse Serena motioned with her hand.

Unfortunately it was the one holding the travel mug. More java splattered out. Jonas jumped back in the nick of time, and the welcome mat was the only casualty. She pushed at one of the brown marks with the toe of her faux snakeskin flat. It was easier to concentrate on the stain than the man whose head had rested on the pillow next to hers twenty-four hours earlier.

“Can I come in?” Jonas asked.

“I’m just on my way out. To work.”

“Can you be late?”

“Actually, I already am.”

“Can you be later?” Jonas tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. The pose took away some of the formalness the pricy suit added to his persona. “This really can’t wait, Serena.”

“I know.” She stepped back to allow him inside and motioned toward the couch. This time she remembered to use the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee. “Make yourself at home. It will just take me a moment to call my boss.”

While he took a seat on the couch, Serena stationed herself in the kitchen and pulled out her cellphone. Her apartment measured just over four hundred square feet. It was basically one room, with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and bedroom areas. This created some separation, as well as a degree of privacy, for her boudoir from the door. But from Jonas’s vantage point he could see everything—including the pile of dirty clothes that was heaped next to the still-down bed with its rumpled sheets and her discarded cotton nightie.

She hadn’t worn a nightie, cotton or otherwise, in Vegas. Even if she’d had one with her in the honeymoon suite, what would have been the point? None of their clothes had remained on for long. They’d been too hungry, too eager, too desperate to touch flesh.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“No. It’s Heidi Bonaventure.” A woman’s crisp voice shot through the phone line like a bullet.

“Mrs. Bonaventure, hi. It’s Serena.”

“I hope you’re not calling to say you’re ill.”

Her boss was a whiz when it came to crafting lifelike fruit from marzipan, and her piping work was unrivaled, but no one would accuse Heidi Bonaventure of being warm and fuzzy.

“No. I’ll be there. Just not for another hour.” Serena glanced over at Jonas, who sat on the edge of her red leather sofa. One wingtip tapped impatiently on the floor, and he hadn’t so much as loosened his stained tie. “Or so.”

Heidi’s voice no longer sounded like a bullet. It boomed with the force of a bomb as she reminded Serena, “You have an appointment with a client at eleven o’clock. Katherine Bloomwell requested you specifically to create her daughter’s sweet-sixteen cake.”

“I won’t miss the appointment,” Serena promised. “But something important has come up.”

“What could be more important than your job?”

She glanced over at Jonas again. This time their gazes met and, just as she had in Las Vegas, she felt that wild jolt.

Heidi’s voice snapped her back to the matter at hand. “Given your serious lack of experience and formal training, I took a huge chance when I hired you.”

Actually, she’d hired Serena as a glorified gopher slash receptionist. She’d only given Serena her current responsibilities out of necessity nine months ago, when her assistant had quit without notice, leaving Heidi in the lurch. Serena had shown promise and an eagerness to learn, staying late without pay if it meant acquiring new skills. Indeed, she was still paid the same lowly amount she’d made coming in. She wisely chose not to point any of this out as her boss’s tirade continued.

“Since then I’ve offered you the sort of opportunities that many a culinary arts student would kill for. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“See that you don’t.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, and I promise I’ll arrive before the client does.”

Heidi snorted. “See that you do. In the meantime, I suggest you rethink your priorities.”

“Everything okay?” Jonas called from the couch as Serena dropped her cellphone on the counter.

“Fine. Just my boss.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s better at making me squirm than my mother is. And, believe me, that’s saying a lot.”

His smile was awkward. Because he’d gotten her into hot water at work? Or because she’d mentioned the woman who was, for the time being at least, his mother-in-law? Serena wasn’t sure which. She only knew she felt awkward now, too.

“So…” She took a seat on the thick-armed chair that was perpendicular to the couch, discreetly brushing aside a stray popcorn kernel.

“So…” he repeated, and folded his hands over one knee.

Two nights ago the conversation had flowed endlessly, seamlessly. Now neither of them could string together a complete sentence. Clearing her throat, Serena attempted it again. “How long…um…will it take to, you know, undo what we did?”

Though the question was far from eloquent, she figured her meaning was clear. Jonas frowned, though, as he repeated, “Undo what we did?”

“Yeah. Undo the…um…the ‘I do’ part.” She laughed nervously.

He studied her a moment, before rising to his feet. Then he paced to the sliding doors that led to the studio’s small balcony. When he turned to face her he was no longer frowning, but his expression was far from pleased.