“Ah.” I took a seat next to her on the couch and tried not to take it personally when she slid as far away as she could. “You Googled me.”
“My friend told me.” She waved her phone like evidence in a trial. “She said you’re the son of some big-shot investment banker. Niall Black, the owner of Blackguard Holding. Is that true?”
“Well, technically, shareholders own Blackguard. My family just happens to be the majority holders.” I ran a hand through my still-damp hair, which was already starting to curl into ringlets over my forehead. “It’s boring, actually. A lot of paperwork and stock chitchat, and?—”
“Megan said you paid the entire bill last night at the club. Table service and everything for her whole bridal party.”
I shrugged. “I don’t really keep track of?—”
“The ring.” She held up her hand, and there it was, the pretty piece of gold that matched the band on my hand. “How much did this cost?”
“I don’t know.”
Technically, that was true. I honestly didn’t remember buying the rings, so, sure, there was the possibility I purchased them at the same Elvis-run chapel where we’d apparently promised to love each other for eternity. Then again, I had also purchased enough pretty baubles during other benders that I had a local jeweler on speed dial.
“Does it matter where we got it?” I said instead.
At that, Laney finally exploded. “Yes, it matters! I woke up with an incredibly beautiful ring on my finger, a husband who looks likeyouwho apparently has a billion dollars?—”
“Well, more like twenty-two, but that’s just my shares?—”
“—and I don’t even know how I got here!”
By the time she was finished, her hands were flying all over the place, and her sheet was so tantalizingly close to falling from around breasts that I had to sit on my hands not to yank it the rest of the way. Unfortunately, she caught it just in time and tugged the fabric back into place, covering even more than before.
Damn. So close.
“We’re legally married.” Laney started pacing in front of the couch. “I found an actual marriage license on the desk over there.” She threw an elegant hand toward the little desk while the other pressed the sheet to her chest. “Oh, God. OhGod. We’re married, and you’re some billionaire playboy with a bedpost a mile high, and now I’m probably pregnant or infected with some horrible STI?—”
“Oh, definitely not. I’m a rubber or die kind of guy. Plus, I get tested all the time?—”
“And now I have totellmy friends what—” Unable to finish, she bent over the arm of the couch, face turning ashen.
“Laney.” I crossed to her in three strides, took her shoulders, and turned her to face me. “Look at me. Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
Those green eyes speared right through my guts. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to help her.
“I can’t—” The hand on her chest clawed like she was trying to pull the air out. It wasn’t coming.
“Yes, you can, baby. Look at me.” I bent so we were eye level. “In, two three four. Hold your breath now. Good. I got you. Keep doing it while I count.”
We continued like that for several minutes, and though I could feel the rest of her body relax under my grip, her eyes still had that deer-in-the-headlights look.
“How did you—how do you know that I need to—” Her breath hitched before she could finish.
“I have a brother. In through your nose now,” I prompted, thumbs stroking her bare skin. “He has PTS. Now, out through your mouth. Come on, Laney, do it for me.”
We breathed together, though hers hitched continuously.
“I need my—I need my pills—” She could barely get the words out.
“Sit down.” I guided her to the couch, but didn’t take my hands off her when we got there. Couldn’t seem to make myself do it. “Keep breathing, baby.”
“Don’t”—she took another gasp— “call me that.”
I grinned as I massaged her upper arms. “Pick your poison, then. Honey? Dearest? Snookums? Or should we be traditional and go with Mrs. Black?”
Absolute wrong thing to say.