What I Did For Love Part 5

"d.a.m.n it!"

She jumped as Bram appeared. It took her a moment to reconcile the overs.e.xed youthful jerk she remembered with the healthy, full-grown jerk walking toward her. He wore a matching hotel robe, and his hair was wet from his shower. More than anything, she wanted to avenge her eighteen-year-old self.

He looked uncharacteristically grim as he gave the robe's sash an extra tug. The clock registered two, which meant this miserable day was already half over. "Did you happen to spot any condoms in the trash?"

Hot coffee splashed her hand, and her heart stopped. She rushed into the bedroom and began searching the trash basket, but she only found her panties. She dashed back out into the living room. He pointed his coffee cup at her head. "You better tell me you've been tested since the last time you slept with your sc.u.mbag ex-husband."

"Me?" She wanted to throw another shoe, but she couldn't find one. "You'll nail anything that walks. Hookers. Strippers. Pool boys!" She wanted to throw another shoe, but she couldn't find one. "You'll nail anything that walks. Hookers. Strippers. Pool boys!" Eighteen-year-old virgins with misplaced fantasies. Eighteen-year-old virgins with misplaced fantasies.

"I've never nailed a pool boy in my life."

Bram was notoriously heteros.e.xual, but considering his hedonistic nature, she figured that was merely an oversight.

He went on the counteroffensive. "I keep my engine in top working order, and I happen to be clean as a whistle. But then, I never slept with Lance the Loser and whatever candy-a.s.s boys you replaced him with."

She couldn't believe this. "I'm the tramp? You haven't seen single digits since you were fourteen." the tramp? You haven't seen single digits since you were fourteen."

"And I'll bet anything, you're still in them. Thirty-one years old. Have you been to a shrink?"

Thanks to her father's overprotection, she'd only slept with four men, but since Bram had been her first so-called lover, and, apparently her last, the overall total hadn't changed. "Ten lovers, so you can keep the tramp trophy. And I'm also 'clean as a whistle.' Now get out of here. This whole thing never happened."

But he'd been distracted by the food cart. "They forgot the b.l.o.o.d.y Marys. s.h.i.t." He began taking the covers off the serving dishes. "You were an animal last night. Your claws in my back, your moans in my ear..." As he sat, his robe fell open over a muscular thigh. "The things you begged me to do to you." He speared a chunk of mango. "Even I was embarra.s.sed."

"You don't remember any of it."

"Not much."

She wanted to beg him to tell her exactly what he did remember. For all she knew, he could have attacked her, but somehow that didn't seem as horrible as the notion that she'd willingly given herself to him. She felt woozy and sank down at the table.

"You called me your wild stallion," he said. "I'm sure I remember that."

"I'm sure you don't." She had to figure out what had happened, but how could she get him to tell her what he knew? He began eating an omelet. She tried to settle her stomach with a piece of hard roll.

He reached for a pepper shaker. "So...you're on the pill, right?"

She threw down her roll and jumped up. "Oh, G.o.d..."

He stopped chewing. "Georgie..."

"Maybe nothing happened." She pressed her fingers to her lips. "Maybe we were so out of it, we fell asleep."

He shot out of the chair. "Are you telling me-"

"It'll be okay. It has to be." She started to pace. "What are the odds, right? I couldn't possibly be pregnant."

He'd started to look wild around the eyes. "You could be if you aren't on the pill!"

"If it-If it happens, we'll-I'll-I'll give it away. I know it'll be hard to find a person desperate enough to take a baby with a forked tongue and a tail, but I'm sure I can find someone."

The color returned to his cheeks. He sat back down and picked up his coffee cup. "A stellar performance."

"Thanks." Her small retaliation might have been juvenile, but it lifted her spirits enough so she could eat a strawberry. But a second berry was beyond her as she imagined the warm, solid weight of the baby she'd never hold.

Bram poured another coffee. Antagonism clawed away at her, the first time in forever that she'd had strong feelings toward anything except the collapse of her marriage.

Bram tossed down his napkin. "I'm going to get dressed." His gaze drifted toward the open collar of her robe. "Unless you want to..."

"Not in this lifetime."

He shrugged. "It seems a shame, that's all. Now we'll never know if we were any good together."

"I was fabulous. You, on the other hand, were as selfish as ever." A momentary stab of pain reminded her of the girl she'd been.

"I doubt that." He pushed away from the table and headed into the bedroom. She studied the strawberries, trying to convince herself she could eat another one. A loud curse interrupted her thoughts.

Bram stormed back into the living room. His jeans were unzipped and his dress shirt hung open, the French cuffs flapping. She found it hard to relate those solid chest muscles with the bonier body of his youth.

He thrust a sheet of paper under her nose. She was used to his sneers and his mockery, but she couldn't remember ever seeing him look genuinely upset. "I found this under my clothes," he said.

"A note from your parole officer?"

"Go ahead and enjoy yourself while you can."

She examined the paper, but what she saw made no sense. "Why would someone leave their marriage license here? It's-" Her throat closed, and she started to choke. "No! This is a joke, right? Tell me this is one of your sick jokes."

"Even I'm not this sick."

His face was ashen. She jumped up out of the chair and s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from him. "We got-" She could barely say the word. "We got married?"

He winced.

"But why would we do that? I hate hate you!" you!"

"Those c.o.c.ktails we drank last night must have had enough happy pills in them to make both of us overcome our mutual loathing."

She was starting to hyperventilate. "This can't be. They changed the law in Vegas. I read about it. The marriage license bureau is closed at night so exactly this kind of thing can't happen."

His lips tightened into a sneer. "We're celebrities. Apparently we found someone willing to bend the rules just for us."

"But...Maybe it's not legal. Maybe this is a-a joke certificate."

"Run your fingers over the official seal of the state of Nevada and tell me that feels like a f.u.c.king joke. joke."

The raised b.u.mps sc.r.a.ped her fingertips. She rounded on him. "This was your idea. I know it."

"Mine? You're the one who's desperate for a husband." His eyes narrowed, and he shoved his index finger in her face. "You used me."

"I'm calling my lawyer."

"Not before I call mine."

They ran for the nearest phone, but his legs were longer, and he got there first. She made a dash for her purse and dug out her cell. He punched the b.u.t.tons. "This should be the easiest annulment on record."

The word "record" sent a chill through her. "Wait!" She dropped her cell, rushed to him, and grabbed the hotel room phone out of his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Let me think for a minute." She shoved the phone back on the cradle.

"You can think later."

He started to reach for the phone again, but she jammed her hand over it. "The marriage-the annulment-will be a matter of public record." She plowed her free hand through her tangled hair. "Within twenty-four hours, everyone will know. There'll be a media circus complete with helicopters and car chases."

"You're used to it."

Her fingers were icy, her stomach nauseated. "I'm not going through another scandal. If I even stumble on the sidewalk, somebody reports that I tried to kill myself. Imagine what they'll do with this."

"Not my problem. You brought it on yourself by marrying The Loser."

"Will you stop calling him that?"

"He dumped you. What do you care?"

"Why do you hate him so much?"

"I don't hate him for me," he said caustically. "I hate him for you, since you don't seem to be able to do it for yourself. The guy's a mama's boy." Instead of pushing her away from the phone, he bent down and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his shoe, then started looking around for his socks. "I'm going to find that b.i.t.c.h who drugged us."

She followed him into the bedroom, still not quite believing that he wasn't on the phone with his lawyer. "You can't leave until we come up with a story."

He found his socks and sat on the side of the bed to pull them on. "I have my story." He yanked on the first sock. "You're a desperate, pathetic woman. I married you out of pity, and-"

"You will not say that."

He yanked on the other sock. "-and now that I'm sober, I realize I'm not cut out for a life of misery."

"I'll sue you. I swear."

"Get a sense of humor, will you?" Displaying not even a trace of humor himself, he shoved his foot into one shoe and went back into the living room to get the other. "We'll make a joke out of it. Say we had too many drinks and started watching Skip and Scooter Skip and Scooter reruns. We were swept away by nostalgia, and it seemed like a good idea at the time." reruns. We were swept away by nostalgia, and it seemed like a good idea at the time."

That would be fine for him, but not for her. No one would believe her if she told the truth about the drugged drinks. For the rest of her life, she'd be branded as both a loser and a loony. She was trapped, and she couldn't let her bitterest enemy see that she was at his mercy. She shoved her fists into the pockets of her robe. "We're going to retrace our steps from last night. There have to be some clues about where we were. Do you remember anything?"

"Does 'Give it to me, big boy' count?"

"At least pretend to be decent."

"I'm not that good an actor."

"You know all kinds of shady characters. Surely you know someone who can make the record of our marriage disappear?"

She expected him to brush her off. Instead, his fingers stalled on a shirt b.u.t.ton. "There's this guy I met a couple of times. A former councilman. He loves hobn.o.bbing with celebrities. It's a long shot, but we can pay him a call."

She didn't have a better idea, so she agreed.

He dug into his pocket. "Apparently this belongs to you." He opened his palm and held out a cheap metal ring with a plastic "diamond" solitaire. "You can't say I don't have taste."

As he tossed it at her, she thought of the two-carat engagement diamond locked in her safe-deposit box. Lance had told her to keep it, as if her engagement ring was something she'd still want to wear.

She shoved the plastic diamond in her pocket. "Nothing says 'I love you' like fake jewelry."

She'd hitched a flight to Vegas on a private jet, so they needed to use Bram's car. While she showered, he arranged a discreet exit from the hotel. She pulled on her gray cotton slacks and a wraparound white top, the least conspicuous clothes she'd brought with her. "They have my car waiting in the back," he said when she came out of the bedroom. flight to Vegas on a private jet, so they needed to use Bram's car. While she showered, he arranged a discreet exit from the hotel. She pulled on her gray cotton slacks and a wraparound white top, the least conspicuous clothes she'd brought with her. "They have my car waiting in the back," he said when she came out of the bedroom.

"We'll take the service elevator down." She rubbed her forehead. "This is like Ross and Rachel all over again. The exact same thing happened to them at the end of season-"

"Except Ross and Rachel don't really exist don't really exist!"

Neither of them spoke while they rode the elevator to the first floor. She didn't even bother telling him that he'd b.u.t.toned his shirt wrong.

They entered a service hallway and headed for the exit. As Bram held the door open, a blast of afternoon heat swept over them. She squinted against the sun and stepped outside.

A camera snapped in her face.

Chapter 5.

Mel Duffy, the Darth Vader of the paparazzi, trapped them in his lens. Georgie experienced the odd sensation of floating out of her body and taking in the whole disaster from a spot somewhere above her head. Duffy, the Darth Vader of the paparazzi, trapped them in his lens. Georgie experienced the odd sensation of floating out of her body and taking in the whole disaster from a spot somewhere above her head.

"Congratulations," Duffy said, clicking away. "In the words of my Irish grandmother, 'May you be poor in misfortunes and rich in blessings.'"

Bram just stood there, his hand on the door, his shirt b.u.t.toned wrong, and his jaw wired shut. He was leaving it up to her. This time she wouldn't let the jackals get the best of her, and she plastered on her Scooter Brown smile. "It's nice to have your grandmother's blessing. But what for?"

Duffy was overweight, with ruddy skin and an unkempt beard. "I've seen a copy of your marriage license, and I talked with the guy who performed the ceremony. He looks like a seedy Justin Timber-lake." Duffy continued to shoot as he spoke. "It'll be all over the wires within an hour, so you might as well give me the story. I promise I'll send you a great wedding present." He shifted his angle again. "How long have you been-"

"There's no story." Bram whipped an arm around Georgie's waist and yanked her back into the building.

Ignoring trespa.s.sing laws, Duffy caught the door before it closed and followed them in. "Have you talked to Lance? Does he know about this?"

"Back off," Bram said.

"Come on, Shepard. You know the score as well as I do. This is the biggest celebrity story of the year."