My Quickie Wedding (Heartbreak Hotel Book 3) Read online

  The older woman swung around, took in the newcomer, and reached for the devices in her ears. “Yes?” she said, smiling at the young man.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was just wondering if we could get a couple of extra towels.”

  Aunt June nodded. “Of course. My niece Jojo will get them for you.”

  “Sure,” Jojo said, beckoning. “This way to the linen closet.”

  “Cool place,” the guy said, glancing around as their footsteps clattered on the worn wooden floor.

  “It’s been in operation since the 1890s. First a boardinghouse and now a B & B.” Farmhouse-style, three stories, with a gravel, horseshoe-shaped drive that led right to the steps and deep front porch.

  He nodded. “A family enterprise?”

  “Yes.” She’d stopped by for a brief visit with her great aunt before her parents’ big anniversary celebration week at the Hathaway at Dragonfly Beach. After waking up in Las Vegas, it had popped into her mind and she’d dashed for her car and sped west.

  Handing over a couple of folded lengths of terry, she pasted on a smile. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  “It’s a great location,” the young man said, “though a little hard to find.”

  “Mmm.” Peaceful, quiet, out of the way. It had seemed the ideal setting from which to initiate her next divorce. A remote divorce. Surely that was possible in the digital age.

  What was impossible was that she’d done something so truly preposterous as marrying Connor Montgomery.

  “Thanks again,” her aunt’s guest said with a wave and she watched him go, tucking the towels under one arm.

  She wondered if he’d be back downstairs soon, asking about the Wi-Fi password. But the B & B didn’t have Wi-Fi or even halfway reliable cell service, which made her notion of moving forward on her remote divorce a bit more problematic than she’d originally figured.

  Sigh.

  She made her way to the kitchen, mentally rehearsing the speech she intended to make to Aunt June when her “ears,” as she called them, were turned on. I’m taking off now. I have some important business to attend to. That little marriage I confessed to when I knew you couldn’t hear me. I’ve got to make it go away ASAP.

  But Aunt June wasn’t standing at the counter as before. It took a moment for Jojo to realize the old woman hadn’t vanished into thin air but was instead crumpled on the worn, honey-gold floor.

  Rushing forward, she felt some relief to see her aunt’s eyes open but her face drawn into pained lines. She crouched beside her. “What happened?”

  “My ankle,” Aunt June said, rising up on an elbow. “I turned to reach the oven and stepped wrong or something. It just turned over.”

  Jojo shifted to push up the hem of the older woman’s knit pants. The joint was already swelling. Glancing back at the septuagenarian’s face, her stomach clenched.

  Blood trickled from her aunt’s hairline down her wrinkled cheek.

  It wasn’t a lot, but it might as well have been a bucket’s worth. Jojo’s vision sparked with stars before her ass thumped to the floor, her leg muscles wet noodles. She felt a cold sweat mist her face as she tried holding back the five-year-old images that spread across her mind. A damaged car. A windshield shattered. Blood on the glass.

  She wished she’d never seen those accident scene photos on the internet.

  Heavy footsteps clomped nearby. Jojo blinked rapidly and lifted her head.

  “What’s going on here?” a male voice said. “Do you need help?”

  She jolted, blinked some more, and wondered if she was hallucinating.

  But even with still-dim eyesight she couldn’t mistake Con Montgomery for anyone else. That was his low voice, his clean, woodsy scent, his big body that now settled near hers.

  His body.

  Long-legged, broad of chest. He was built like a man who could carry the world on his shoulders.

  Right now he seemed intent on carrying Aunt June.

  As he scooped up the old lady, Jojo scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  “That ankle needs elevation,” Con said, then shot her an assessing glance. “You capable of making an ice pack?”

  She bristled, because who wouldn’t bristle at the man she’d married by mistake? It was all his fault. That woodsy scent and those wide shoulders held an unfair appeal. “Why would you say—”

  “You’re looking a little pale, kitten.”

  She glared at him, because who wanted to be called a kitten? Well, she wanted to be called a kitten, that’s who! Every traitorous girly cell in her body melted at the thought of being referred to as a cuddly little animal by this big, sexy, man’s man. Gah!

  “I’m fine,” she muttered.

  “I’m June, by the way,” her aunt piped up, looking inquisitively between Jojo and Con. “You two know each other?”

  “Acquaintances,” Jojo hastened to say, then flung out an arm. “Aunt June’s bedroom is that way. I’ll bring the ice.”

  She breathed easier when he exited the kitchen. Despite the urge to stall, she quickly wrapped frozen cubes in a worn kitchen towel and headed for the older woman’s bedroom with it and a first aid kit in hand.

  Not for anything would she express the relief she felt when she saw Con had deposited her aunt in bed, propped her foot up on a couple of throw pillows, and had already wiped away the blood with a dampened washcloth.

  Careful not to glance at the stained fabric, Jojo gently deposited the ice pack on her aunt’s joint. “How did you hurt your head?”

  Con hovered like an oversized, testosterone-fueled angel and her aunt smiled at him as she brought her fingers to her temple. “I think I must have hit it on a cupboard handle on my way down. Con says it’s nothing to worry about. Just a little bump is all.”

  Jojo frowned. “We should get you to a doctor.”

  “Con says the sprain is just that and the head injury is minor.”

  “I’ll bind up the ankle and she’ll just need to keep off of it for a few days,” the big man said.

  He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of boots that looked like they’d taken him through the Sahara. Her first husband had been Gallic—short and wiry with a head of dark curls. Hubby Number Two couldn’t be more different, a rugged all-American type who should have a career building log cabins or driving cattle to the market.

  She realized she didn’t know what he did for a living. “Are you a doctor? Paramedic?” Then she blushed, ashamed that she’d married a guy without a clue as to how he put cash in his wallet.

  His eyes gleamed and one corner of his mouth kicked up. “That’s right, we didn’t talk all that much upon first acquaintance.”

  Another wash of heat ran over her body. You’re beautiful, he’d said against her ear and chills had raced down her neck and tightened her nipples. That was all she’d needed to hear to know she—or at least her good sense—was a goner.

  “I’m no doctor or paramedic,” Con continued, “but I’ve seen enough on the football field and out in the world to know your aunt is going to be okay.”

  “Just a few days off my feet,” Aunt June said, then her brows drew together. “But I don’t know how I’ll get everything done around here.”

  “There’s Regina,” Jojo said, naming her aunt’s part-time helper.

  “Left today to assist her daughter in Redding during a house move.” June’s liver-spotted hand rubbed the handmade quilt covering the mattress on the iron bedstead. “I’m on my own until next week. But with you here…”

  Oh, no. No no no no no.

  Jojo needed to get back to civilization and divorce attorneys. Cleaning rooms was not going to clean up the messiness of her personal life.

  Staring down at the older, injured woman, Jojo swallowed a sigh. There was no way out of it, was there?

  She could only hope that didn’t go for her marriage as well.

  “Certainly I’ll stay, Aunt June,” she said, reaching out to pat her hand, “until you’re up and ab
out again.”

  “Oh, sweet girl. That would be wonderful.” The old lady beamed. “And first order of business is to get those sugar cookies into the oven. They’re needed for afternoon tea.”

  “Right,” Jojo said. “I’m on it.”

  Her aunt closed her eyes. “Then I think I’ll take a little rest,” she said. “Would you mind closing my door on your way out?”

  Jojo complied, bustling out of the bedroom then hurrying along the narrow hallway.

  Of course the irritating man followed, as if unaware of her just-this-second hatched plan to ignore him until he went away with the same lack of fanfare with which he’d arrived.

  Upon reaching the kitchen, she whirled to face him. He’d been right on her heels so he was right in her face now, his handsome features too close to hers, his chest just a heaving breath from her breasts.

  They tingled, remembering his touch, his mouth, his tongue.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice a low whisper.

  He smiled, lazy and arrogant, because why wouldn’t he smile in just that manner, considering how little effort it took for him to get her into bed?

  “Jojo,” he said in a fond, yet chiding tone. “Is that any way to greet your beloved husband?”

  Chapter 3

  Con didn’t know why he referred to himself that way—your beloved husband. But Jojo was so damn cute with her hair mussed and fire in her eyes that he couldn’t resist teasing her a little.

  Today she wasn’t wearing figure-hiding overalls like in the photo Alec had sent, but a tank top and a pair of painted-on jeans, knees ripped to reveal slices of her golden skin.

  Christ, just that minor show of flesh and feminine curves was enough to get his dick twitching.

  She spun away from him and took the few steps necessary to shove a metal sheet into the oven. Then she went about preparing another from the dough rolled on the counter. Con stared as she continued to work in silence for several minutes.

  Wait—was the woman pretending he wasn’t there?

  Did she actually think that was going to work? He wanted to laugh and then haul her into his arms and kiss her until she moaned his name. Over and over.

  But then he saw her body freeze as her attention shifted to the floor to the right of her feet. Con’s gaze caught on the few drops of blood scattered there and he recalled Jojo’s reaction to her relative’s bleeding wound. Without a word, he tore a paper towel from a roll, wet it, then bent to wipe up the evidence.

  Jojo cleared her throat as he threw the sheet away and he glanced over to see her face was flushed and that she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “You probably think I’m foolish.”

  “Hey, lots of people get squeamish at the sight of blood. Even at the mere thought of it. A three-hundred-pound behemoth on my college football team couldn’t eat pizza and avoided spaghetti for just that very reason.”

  Her eyes went squinty. “A college athlete who didn’t eat pizza?”

  “Would I invent a story like that just to make you feel better?”

  She continued to study him. “You used the word behemoth.”

  He let that sit. A lot of women thought a guy like him was more brawn than brains. It didn’t sting that his wife apparently was one of that particular camp.

  “Well, thanks for the cleanup,” she said. “That was…nice.”

  He cocked his head. “You wouldn’t marry a mean guy, would you?”

  An odd expression crossed her face, but before he could interpret it, the oven’s timer dinged.

  She made a big show of tending to the baked cookies, using a spatula to move them to a nearby rack, then sliding another sheet into the oven.

  Next, she picked up a rolling pin, seemingly completely absorbed in the domestic task.

  Huh. Now he got it. She didn’t want to talk about their marriage. Of course he was certain she wanted to end their marriage, but there was an air of embarrassment about her, as if she blamed herself for what happened. Yet Con knew it had taken two to dance that particular tango.

  “How did you find me?” she finally asked.

  “Your brother suggested you might be here. I tried to make it up yesterday evening but I got lost in the dark.”

  He was watching her profile and saw a little smile play over her mouth. “It’s why people like to book a room here in the mountains. It’s out of the way.”

  “So it’s a bed and breakfast?”

  “Yes, my great-aunt has been running the place for years.”

  “Hospitality must be in the Hathaway genes.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You know—”

  “That you’re related to the Hathaway family of many hotels and resorts including the one at Dragonfly Beach? Yeah, I just learned that.”

  “My mother’s maiden name is Hathaway. My cousins all work at the Dragonfly Beach location.”

  He nodded, then sucked in a breath. It was time to get down to business. “Jojo—”

  “I don’t know anything about you.” She sent him a sidelong look. “This situation seems more…I don’t know…fantastical because of that.”

  He had to grin. “Fantastical as in fantasies? Sexual fantasies?”

  The timer’s bell saved her once again. Without answering him, she busied herself with cookie-related tasks. Hiding his amusement at her obvious fluster, he scooped up one of the hot treats and tossed it back and forth between his hands.

  “Good,” he said, after biting into it. “Tastes almost as sweet as you.”

  Her spine snapped straight and he thought he should feel some guilt for teasing her again. But damn it, she had tasted sweet and somehow he’d guessed she would—and married her even before confirming that fact.

  The compulsion would never make sense, but it had been there from the instant he’d seen her, driving him to a rash act despite the fact he’d put himself firmly on a straight and narrow path.

  “I have to bring in the sheets,” she muttered, and then she hurried out a back door with a reed basket on her hip, probably intent on putting distance between him.

  So, naturally, he trailed her.

  Linens hung from a contraption sort of shaped like a tree in the neat side yard with its closely cropped grass. Around them, though, the mountains rose, craggy peaks and steep slopes covered with chaparral, sage scrub, and pines. From here he could see hiking trails snaking toward higher ground but couldn’t see another sign of civilization—though he knew the region was famous for its wineries and avocado ranches as well as celebrity estates.

  Jojo was back to ignoring him and he watched her expertly unpin white cotton lengths and fold each sheet and pillowcase into a neat packet.

  “How many guests do you have at a time here?” he asked, curious.

  “There’s a max of thirty-four in the main building,” she said. “This time of year Aunt June keeps pretty busy.”

  “Does it have a legend like Dragonfly Beach? That Heartbreak Hotel thing?”

  Jojo added another folded piece of fabric to the pile in the basket. “Not really. But there’s a motto. Aunt June gets many return visitors so she uses the slogan ‘Don’t Be a Stranger.’”

  At that last, she glanced over at him.

  “That’s what’s bothering you the most, isn’t it?” he asked. “About our situation, I mean. You said you didn’t know anything about me.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Her task completed, she lifted the basket but he was there in five strides, taking it out of her hands.

  “I’ve got this.” He headed for the door leading into the kitchen.

  “I guess I can list ‘gentleman’ as one of your qualities now,” she said, with just a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

  “You know I’m no gentle man, Jojo,” he said softly, glancing at her over his shoulder.

  She was blushing again, and sue him, he liked to disconcert her. Because, damn, he was disconcerted, completely disquieted by the way she’d bowled him over from the very start.
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br />   Then his own words echoed in his head. I’m no gentle man.

  “I didn’t hurt you,” he said, suddenly alarmed by the idea. “Did I?” Because the sex had been vigorous and gone on throughout the night. Maybe that’s why she’d asked for space in the morning. She’d experienced pain or something. Soreness.

  The thought made his stomach clutch. She’d been with him all the way, he’d swear to it, but he was a big man. Everywhere.

  “Of course not,” she muttered, following him into the kitchen.

  He dropped the basket onto the table there. “Jojo.” Turning around, he caught her shoulders. They felt delicate under his big palms and a small tremor worked through her body. Instantly, he lifted his hands, stepped back. “I did hurt you,” he said, appalled. No wonder she’d been so skittish.

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said, scowling, a kitten showing its claws.

  “Yet you’re nervous around me.”

  “Because, like you said, like I said, you’re a stranger.”

  “I’m thirty-one years old. Single—” At her smirk, he stopped. “Okay, newly married. Gainfully employed.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Employed doing what?”

  “Employed at Montgomery Energy—our family company. We specialize in sustainable energy, particularly wind farms.”

  “Those turbine thingies,” she said, one finger tracing circles in the air.

  He smiled. “Yeah, those turbine thingies. For the past five years I’ve been traveling around the world for the company and doing some consulting with other businesses, determining the best locations.”

  When she didn’t look as if he was putting her to sleep, he continued. “I mostly scout for the ideal places to establish offshore wind farms—”

  “Like in the ocean?”

  He nodded. “Though ‘offshore’ in this case includes inshore waters such as lakes and fjords too.”

  “You travel,” she said, perking up a little. “Spend most of your time not in the US of A?”

  He could tell she liked the idea. Probably because it signaled he’d be eager to put this inconvenient predicament behind him in order to resume his wandering life.