Then I turned to the last.

The last box I knew what it was by the size. And when I opened it, I saw I was right.

A diamond engagement ring, princess cut, stone not even close to small, white gold, the stone elevated, double rows on an open curve guiding up to it set with an array of much smaller diamonds but a whole lot of them.

I stared at it thinking that Ty Walker was not fucking around.

I held my breath as I slipped it on, lost my breath when it caught on my knuckle, deep breathed as I panicked that it would be too small then it slid over my knuckle and down where it sat at the base of my finger snugly. It wouldn't ever fall off. Perfect fit.

"Shit," I whispered, staring at the beautiful ring that looked really fucking great on my finger.

Then a knock came at the door. I jumped then hurried to the door to find a man stood there holding a hanger on which was a zipped-up suit holder and he was balancing four boxes in his other hand.

"One hour tailoring," he announced.

There you go. In Vegas, you could get anything.

I smiled at him and let him in, he put down the boxes on the top of the cabinet unit, hung up the hanger in the closet, I gave him a ten, he smiled and hustled out. I went to the boxes, white cardboard sides but clear plastic top. I sifted through them. Four dress shirts. One deep gray, one deep lavender, one deep blue and the last a light, dove gray.

The shower went off but Walker didn't come out so I stopped sifting through his stuff and went about my final preparations, in other words, perfume, deodorant, lip gloss and shifting things I needed from my purse to my new satin clutch with the rhinestone clasp that matched my shoes.

I was sitting in a chair putting on my spike-heeled, deep blush, satin, open-toed sandals with the wrapped heel and ankle strap that had a rhinestone buckle when he came out.

Then my fingers arrested on the buckle when my head came up and I saw my new fiance wearing nothing but a towel.

I was right. All muscle. Lots of it, all of them big.

I was also right. Perfect skin as far as the eye could see.

That was, the skin not inked but even the inked skin was perfect because the ink was awesome. He had a lot of tats. Lots of them. Or, more to the point, he had two tats but one that curved, slanted and swirled doing all of this while covering a lot of space, from the top of his left forearm, up, covering his upper arm, up, curving over his shoulder and up his neck, curling around his shoulder to his back and across his left lat, at the front snaking across his chest, pec, midriff, abs, most of this halfway across his massive, muscled torso, some of its awesomeness slithering even further to invade the right side of his upper body, more going around his left side to lead to more on his back and even more meandering down to disappear tantalizingly into the towel. The other tat was a line of intriguing symbols that ran from his inner right wrist curving around to end at the top of his outer forearm.

The big tat was amazing, a work of art. The smaller tattoo was not as cool but still fascinating. That said, I was too overwhelmed by all that was him and how beautiful every inch of it was to pay discriminating attention to the tats.

He was digging into the bag Shift packed and pulled out a pair of black underwear.

When the underwear appeared, my head dipped straight back down to my shoe. It took awhile to get them fastened because my fingers were trembling. By the time I looked up, he had on a pair of dark gray suit pants and was shrugging on the dove gray shirt.

"I need your help with the bracelet," I said and my voice sounded funny, scratchy.

His eyes came to me and he jerked his chin up but kept buttoning his shirt.

"Uh... just wondering," I went on as I stood. "What's with the bling?" Then I lifted a hand and touched the diamonds at my neck.

"Man in the lobby?" he returned.

I nodded, knowing who he was referring to.

"Watchin' me. Watchin' you."

I nodded again. I knew this though his confirmation of it still made my gut get tight. I also figured it explained the circuitous route we took to Vegas. That man was tailing us, Walker knew it and was either trying to shake him or play with him.

"Knows me," he continued.

I nodded again.

"Knows how I am with my women."

I nodded again but at this news I felt my chest expand so much I was finding it hard to breathe.

"He'll expect bling," he finished.

Learning this, for the first time in my life I had to make a conscious effort to suck in air.

I searched for then found my voice. "This is a lot of bling and I don't know "

"Signing bonus."

I blinked then asked, "What?"

"Yours to keep. Signing bonus."

My chest deflated but I felt a strange warmth invading my insides.

"Ty," I whispered.

He finished buttoning his shirt, went to the bed, tagged the bracelet and came to me. He bent low, grabbed my wrist and lifted it. I held it up as he clasped it on, all business and he did it like he'd done it before. Often.

Then his hands went away but his eyes came to mine.

"My business is important to me. You're facilitatin' me gettin' on with that. I appreciate it. Signing bonus."

Then, without another word, he walked to the desk and rifled through a bunch of bags there that I hadn't noticed, what with diamonds and impending nuptials and all. He pulled out a glossy, distinctive colored bag, the same as the boxes still scattered on the bed and out came two more boxes. One, he opened then unearthed cufflinks and put them in his cuffs. The other, he opened, pulled out whatever was in it and then put it in his trouser pocket. I would find out later that was our wedding bands.

Then he went to the duffle, pawed through it and pulled out socks.

Five minutes later, he was adjusting his collar under his suit jacket as we walked out the door.

Twenty minutes later we were at the Liberace chapel of love.

A little over five minutes after that, Walker was handing over cash for a wedding, a bouquet and photos.

One minute after that, his hand came to my elbow, fingers curling around, that strange, intense heat hit my skin where his fingers touched and he led me to an open corner, a small space but the only space void of happy, soon-to-be linked for eternity (maybe) lovebirds.

His hand dropped and my mind centered on the touch that still burned the skin around my elbow. Then my eyes caught on something and I forced myself to focus.

Across the way, there was a silver gild framed, full-length mirror and in it, Walker and I were reflected.

I was wearing a blush-colored, silk crepe, to the knee, snug fitting, sleeveless dress, the bodice a wide vee that showed lots of chest and hints of cleavage, the material skimming over the points of my shoulders to dip into another vee that exposed my back to the bra-line. My hair was down and I'd curled it in chunky curls so there was a lot more of it than normal and normally there was a lot of it. My shoes were fantastic. My diamonds, more so. Much more.

Even being such a big guy, he wore his suit well. The one hour tailors had done a good job. The suit wasn't shit, not at all. And it fit him perfectly. It was fabulous, it was expensive. Maybe not top-of-the-line Italian but nothing to sneeze at including the shirt, the material of which was very fine, the tailoring, for one hour, spectacular.

My heels were four inches. I was five nine so my heels put me at six foot one. He still towered over me. I had ass, I had tits. I was not petite or slender, not even close. His mass still dwarfed me.

The bouquet I held looked like it was made for my dress. The shoes I'd found, the same (I had a sixth sense when it came to shoes it took me an hour and a half to find the dress the two pairs of shoes I found, tried on and purchased in twenty minutes).

I couldn't help but think we looked good together. If you had showed me his picture and told me to build his perfect mate, I would have said, first, lithe, graceful African-American with a long neck, slender arms, elegant hands and a short-cropped afro that exposed her perfect skull. Second, I would have said a California girl, tan, blonde who looked like she spent her days surfing and her nights fucking his brains out.

But seeing us, we worked. And seeing us in that mirror, I couldn't help but think we not only worked but we worked in a big way.

I turned to him and tipped my head back.

"Thanks for the signing bonus," I whispered. "And the bouquet."

His eyes dipped to mine. Then he jerked up his chin. Then he looked over my head and scanned the room.

Thirty-seven minutes later, we were in the chapel with Liberace.

Ten minutes after that, Walker was rumbling at Liberace to stand aside as the photographer angled for our picture, a picture he wanted Liberace to have no part in. Liberace looked crushed. I gave him a dazzling smile to help with his despondency and was pleased to see this worked. Then Walker yanked me into his side with an arm around my shoulders and pointed his blank stare at the camera. I wound my arm around his waist, tilted the front of my body, pressed it into his side and aimed my dazzling smile at the photographer. Then the photographer snapped our photo.

Ten minutes after that, rhinestone lady handed us the folder with our photos and our marriage certificate.

A minute after that, we were in my car.

Which brings me to now. Married. With a bouquet in my hand and wedding photos and a marriage certificate resting on my thighs.

And I was thinking, the minute Ronnie had his scholarship yanked and copped a plea; I should not have been the girlfriend who stuck by her man.

I should have dumped him and moved on.

But I didn't.

And now I was married to a man I didn't know who had a gun, a history where he was in the position for Shift to owe him big and was the kind of man who casually bestowed what had to be very expensive diamonds on "his woman".

But even though all this was irrefutably true, there was also no denying Ty Walker and I just had one kick-fucking-ass wedding.

The Charger growled up the front of our hotel, we did the valet gig then I followed Walker into the hotel. I clocked the bag of bones guy the minute we entered. He was hanging around, waiting, watching and he clocked us about two seconds after I clocked him.

That tightness took hold of my gut and instantly, without me telling it to do so, my hand transferred the folder, envelope and my clutch to press them between my arm and my body, freeing my hand so I could take hold of his. I shoved my fingers between his, lacing them together and I edged closer to him.

His chin tipped down even as he carried on walking and his fabulous, arched eyebrows went up half a centimeter.

"Bag of bones," I whispered, pressing into the side of his body even as we moved.

"Come again?"

"Bag of bones dude. Your shadow."

His fingers tightened in mine and he stopped us in front of the elevator, leaning forward and hitting the button but not looking around.

He came back and I got even closer.

He stared at the elevator doors but muttered, "You tagged him."

"You didn't?" I muttered back.

"Yeah. Just surprised you did."

"He's hard to miss."

"Part-idiot," he mumbled.

"Hmm," I mumbled back.

You'll be my wife, you'll act like my wife and you'll do it until this is done.

That's what he'd said.

That was the deal.

That was what I needed to do to get clean and free.

And that was why I curled into him, letting his hand go but moving mine to his chest and sliding it up, up, up until it curved around the side of his neck.

That neck bent and his eyes hit mine.

I went up on tiptoes but needed more inches so he was going to have to help.

"We just got married," I whispered.

He stared into my eyes but said not a word.

"I'm carrying a wedding bouquet."

More staring and more silence.

"Ty, he's watching."

He continued to stare into my eyes, silent but his hand hit my waist, gliding around in a touch so light, if it didn't trail a burn I could have convinced myself it wasn't there. Then he pressed me into him and bent his neck giving me the inches I needed.

Then his mouth was on mine.

And when it was, I flashed back to our wedding kiss. Something, after it was done, I promised myself I would bury. Something, with this flashback, I knew I never would.

Our wedding kiss wasn't chaste. It wasn't removed. It wasn't void of emotion.

It was an arms crushing me to his body, heads slanting, mouths opened, tongues invading, toes curling, knees weakening, bones dissolving, deep, wet, hungry, carnal kiss. It seemed to last forever but that forever was not near long enough.

Just then, that memory fresh, sharp and resurfacing in a surge even though I tried to bury it, his warm, sleek skin under my hand, his lips hard on mine, my fingers tightened on his neck, my front pressed tight to his and my mouth opened of its own volition.