Page 137 of Desert Rain
Not romantic.
Not planned.
Not safe.
But real all the same.
She looked up and caught me staring.
For the first time all night, she didn’t look away.
The men were still yelling. Vegas was still pulsing outside. The world was still ugly and dangerous and full of men who wanted her silent.
But she stood there in white satin and leather, wearing my ring, holding my stare like she wasn’t sure whether to fight me or trust me.
I could wait for her to decide.
I’d wait as long as it took.
CHAPTER 17
MASON
The chapel emptiedfast after the paperwork was signed. Regan hugged Sienna like she was welcoming her into the family for real, then pressed a small black gift bag into her hands with a wicked little smile. “Sexual voodoo spell,” she whispered loud enough for half the room to hear. “Two bottles of that fancy scented lotion I swear by, three candles that smell like sin, and the tiniest white lace thing that’s going to make your new husband lose his damn mind. Use it. Or don’t. But you’re married now, babe. Might as well make it fun.”
Sienna’s cheeks went scarlet. She tried to shove the bag back, but Regan was already gone, laughing as Tank hauled her out the door.
Twenty-eight hours later we were still in Vegas, and the marriage was no longer on paper.
We’d driven straight from the chapel to a suite Regan had booked on the top floor of a casino hotel the club had ties to—private elevator, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Strip, and a massive private terrace with a hot tub big enough for six. The brothers had cleared out after the first bottle of champagne, leaving us alone with two more chilling in a silver bucket, the candles already lit and flickering low on the widemarble ledge, and that damn gift bag sitting on the counter like a dare.
Sienna stood at the terrace railing in the white dress Regan had somehow produced—simple, knee-length, but cut low enough in the back that the smooth line of her spine made my mouth water. The new diamond on her finger caught every neon flash from the Strip below, throwing tiny sparks of light across her skin.
I stepped up behind her, close enough that the heat of my chest brushed her back, but I didn’t touch her yet. Not until she was ready.
“You were going to run,” I said, voice low against her ear. “I felt it in the chapel. The way your fingers kept flexing like you were calculating the exact second you could bolt.”
She shivered, but she didn’t pull away. “I still might.”
“No, you won’t.” I brushed her hair off one shoulder, letting my lips hover just above the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Not tonight. Not while I’m standing here promising to keep you safe with my body, my name, my hands… my mouth.”
Her breath hitched. I felt the little tremor run through her.
I reached around her and popped the second bottle of champagne. The cork flew off into the night with a soft pop, and I poured the cold, bubbling liquid straight into two flutes. Instead of handing her one, I took a slow sip, then pressed the rim of the glass to her lips.
“Drink,” I murmured.
She parted for me, eyes locked on mine over the flute as the champagne slid down her throat. A tiny drop escaped the corner of her mouth. I leaned in and licked it off with the flat of my tongue, slow and deliberate, tasting the sweet fizz mixed with the salt of her skin.
A soft sound escaped her—half protest, half need.
I set the glass down and turned her in my arms. The white dress was already slipping off one shoulder. I hooked a finger under the strap and tugged it down, exposing the delicate white lace bra Regan had picked out. The cups were sheer, her nipples already tight and dark against the fabric.
“Fuck, Sienna,” I growled. “Look at you. My wife. Standing here in lace like you were made to ruin me.”
I dropped to my knees right there on the cool tile, pushing the dress the rest of the way down until it pooled at her feet. The matching thong was nothing but a scrap of white lace that barely covered her. I pressed my mouth to the front of it, breathing hot against her through the fabric, feeling her tremble.
“Mason…” Her voice was already wrecked.
