Hot Commodity (Banks / Kincaid Family #1)(5)

Her companion watched avidly. When she set the empty cup down, his eyebrows rose. "Damn." Grinning, he pointed a finger at her and shook it a little. "See there. That’s exactly why I’m marrying you. You drink like a pro."

Olivia could only roll her eyes and turn away to stroll from the bar. She was pleased to notice he obediently trailed after her.

Once they were out on the sidewalk, he tripped and stumbled on a crack in the concrete. Olivia caught his arm. Since he continued to sway like a flimsy tree limb in the breeze, she kept her hand around his bicep as she hailed a cab. But as soon as one pulled to the curb and she opened the back door, he resisted.

"No cab," he said, holding his belly as his face turned a pale shade of green.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, fearing the worst. But he merely turned away as if the sight of the yellow taxi made him sick to his stomach.

"Motion sickness," he said and started down the sidewalk away from her. "Just need to walk."

Olivia sighed and shut the cab door. "Okay," she said more to herself as she chased after her stumbling groom. "We can surely find a wedding chapel somewhere close. We’re on the freaking Strip, for crying out loud."

Her intoxicated fiancé threw an arm around her shoulder, bumping into her as he walked a crooked line. "Are we really, really gettin’ married?" he asked, as if he suspected she was playing a prank on him.

"Yes," she said and slung his arm off her shoulder, scanning the streets for an all-night wedding chapel.

Her groom grinned at a passing couple. "We’re getting married," he informed them and once again wrapped his arm around Olivia’s shoulder, tugging her close. "Yes, we’re goooooooing to the chapel," he sang loudly and off key. "And we’re gonnnnna get mar-ar-arried."

Olivia sighed. She didn’t push him away this time, but slipped her hand around his waist and steered them in the direction she wanted to go. He followed where she led for a good two blocks, right up to the point where they passed a bar advertising "Karaoke Night."

"Karaoke!" he cheered and veered them toward the front door.

"Wait!" Olivia called frantically, grabbing after him.

All she caught was air.

He opened the door and headed inside. Unwilling to find herself another hunky and completely wasted groom, Olivia followed, grinding her teeth.

He’d already made his way to the stage and was talking to the emcee by the time she found him. When he caught sight of her approaching, he grinned and turned back, holding up bunny ears. "Two microphones please."

Olivia groaned. She didn’t want to sing, damn it. But as the strains of "Margaritaville" started and a microphone was thrust into her hand, she had a bad feeling that’s exactly what she was going to do.

Her singing fool of a fiancé motioned her closer and then looped his arm over her shoulder, swaying with her as he began. "Nibblin’ on sponge cake. Watchin’ the sun bake…"

Her shoulders wilted in defeat as he serenaded the cheering crowd. He didn’t seem to notice she hadn’t joined in until he reached the chorus. Tightening his hold on her, he grinned down and yelled, "Sing with me now. ‘Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville.’"

"I thought we were going to get married," she called into his ear.

Her groom waved that thought away with his hand. "Relax, honey. We’ve got plenty of time." Then he lifted his mike, and the room joined in with the rest of the chorus.

As everyone around them sang on, he leaned down to talk directly into her ear. "Know what your problem is? You just gotta loosen up. Hey, waitress!" he called to a passing server. "My fiancée here needs another drink."

Then he grinned at her and repeated, "Fiancée? Hey!" He brought his

microphone down to his mouth and hollered through the speaker system. "Yo, everybody. We’re gettin’ hitched tonight!"

Olivia blushed as the roar of applause exploded around them. What followed was a barrage of complete strangers buying them each a congratulatory margarita.

The man at her side was so busy singing his own slurring rendition of 'My Girl', he didn’t bother with his drink. So, wanting to settle her nerves, Olivia slugged back both cocktails. When her fiancé finally hauled her out the door, she felt good and buzzed. The idea of getting married no longer seemed like such a determined mission; it felt like a fun, exciting adventure.

*

They stopped at four clubs before making it to a wedding parlor. At each place, her fiancé ordered his first drink only to lift it over his head and loudly announce their pending nuptials. Then he’d set his glass aside, forgetting his own earlier motto that one should never let good alcohol go to waste, and pull her onto the dance floor.

The last place they hit hosted lively salsa music. The dance floor was full of hot bodies, and with the bongos, trumpets and saxophones pulsing through her bloodstream, Olivia wanted to stay there and boogie for the rest of her life. She wanted to slide her body against this man who was proving to be the best time she’d ever had—this perfect, wonderful man who made her sing, and dance, and laugh.

Olivia grabbed his arm and dragged him onto the floor. They were both too smashed to hit any good moves, but they had a blast trying. Olivia gyrated with her back to him while he slipped his hands around her hips and pulled her ass flush against his crotch.