only a short walk away.”
“We’ll do a bit of research—but thank you for your help.” Rakin flashed her an easy smile.
“Some of the hotels on the strip are mighty expensive.” The clerk gave Rakin a once-over. Then she gave a wistful sigh. “But maybe that won’t matter.” The look she cast Laurel held a glint of envy. “Have a wonderful wedding … and good luck.”
Laurel smiled back. “Thank you.”
They exited through smoked glass doors.
Laurel caught sight of the signboards for lawyers and paused. It started her thoughts down a path not easily stopped. What would her family make of her impulsive wedding? Before she’d told Eli she couldn’t marry him, she’d spent months talking to her family’s attorneys negotiating a prenuptial agreement that the lawyers were confident protected both her and The Kincaid Group. Eli’s lawyers had worked equally hard to ensure that the prenup was fair to him, too.
If her father were alive, he’d be having a stroke at the thought of any of his daughters marrying a man the family hadn’t inspected, without a prenup, exposing The Kincaid Group to all manner of risks. No prenuptial agreement was a sin worse than unprotected sex—and that was calamity enough—in her father’s opinion.
So she slid Rakin a sideways glance. What did she really know about him—beside the fact that he was Eli’s friend? And she liked him. A lot. He could be a gold-digger—a gigolo—for all she knew. Quickly, she checked her thoughts. Told herself she was being ridiculous.
Rakin Abdellah was clearly a very rich man. Even the clerk had noticed the patina of wealth that glossed him, separating him from the average romantic swain who turned up in the marriage license bureau.
But the lessons of a lifetime caused her to say, “We should’ve signed a prenup. My family will kill me when they find out….” Her voice trailed away as Rakin took her elbow. “Where are we going?”
“To see if we can find a lawyer. I don’t want you having any sense of guilt, or any reservations about this.”
“I must sound like the biggest party pooper ever.”
“Never.” He was smiling down at her, and it eased the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. “How could I think that? I admire you for being so clear-sighted—for thinking about protecting your family—and their livelihood.”
In some childish, hidden corner of her heart, Laurel wished that he’d dismissed the caution she’d voiced, and swept her up in his arms, then charged into the Little Red House of Love to rush through their temporary vows.
At least, that way, she wouldn’t be held accountable for what happened next…. That way she could blame him for whatever the outcome was.
And maybe the disturbing little niggle of doubt that had taken hold would’ve evaporated in a puff of smoke….
They caught the lawyer closing up his offices.
The slight, dark-suited man started to object, but one glance at Rakin’s determined face convinced him to welcome them instead. A raised hand stayed the last-remaining paralegal who was about to slip out a side door.
With the recent negotiations with Eli so fresh in her mind, it didn’t take Laurel long to explain what she needed. Rakin took even less time to get his requirements across. It reinforced what Laurel was starting to realize—under the handsome, charming facade lurked a tough negotiator.
A tiger, rather than a pussycat. With a tiger’s feral instincts. Something she would do well to remember.
“You need to be aware that a prenuptial agreement entered so near in time to a wedding date can be held to be void for duress,” the lawyer told them once they were seated around a conference table with plush, padded chairs in the privacy of his offices.
It was hardly the time for Laurel to confess that Rakin had proposed a temporary marriage—a mad adventure for her with some fringe benefits for her family’s business thrown in—and a sane solution to Rakin’s problems.
Laurel got the feeling that if the lawyer knew about the reasons for their marriage he’d consider them both a little mad—and advise them they were headed for trouble.
“Do you want to wait?” Rakin’s murmur, loud enough for her ears only, broke into her speculative thoughts. She turned her head and looked into eyes that mesmerized her.
“Wait?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Take some more time to think it through.” He gave her a tender smile that probably convinced the lawyer seated across the polished conference table that this was a love match.
Laurel almost grinned back. The misgivings that had settled over her began to lift. In their place, recklessness danced a wild waltz through her. She’d made her decision—she was ready for the adventure of a lifetime.
She was done being careful.
“No need to wait.” Who was this stranger who had taken up possession inside her skin? With a defiant toss of her head, she spoke directly to the lawyer, “No one’s forcing me to do anything I don’t want.”
“Laurel wants to make sure we both understand exactly where we stand—especially given that we both have family businesses to consider,” said Rakin.
“Very wise.” The lawyer pulled his yellow legal pad closer and uncapped his pen. “It may not seem like a very romantic thing to do, but it certainly shows you both agree on many basic things—very important for building the foundations of a lasting marriage.”
When the lawyer suggested that each of them might want their own counsel, Laurel waved his concerns away. She’d been through all that once already with Eli. She knew what would be said, the cautions, the ifs and the buts that she’d considered so carefully the last time round. She knew the pitfalls, what safeguards were required.
It didn’t take him long to make a note of what those concerns were. Or for the paralegal to reduce the terms to a draft both she and Rakin perused. Once the agreement was executed and the lawyer had arranged where to send the bill, the meeting was over.
“I wish you the long and happy marriage I am sure you will enjoy.”
Laurel decided to leave their adviser with his illusions. Clearly, he’d concluded this was a love match. A meeting of true minds. And who was she to disabuse him of that romantic notion?
Entering the hotel suite a short while later, Laurel kicked off her shoes and sank into the welcoming comfort of a plush L-shaped sofa with a breathy laugh. “Well, I’m glad that’s done.”
“Soon you will be Mrs. Abdellah.”
Rakin extracted a bottle of champagne from the depths of the bar fridge.
“I’ll help myself to a cola in a little while,” Laurel said quickly. “Otherwise you might railroad me into more propositions.”
He gave her a wry smile. “You’re never going to let me live that down.”
“Never is a long time.” Lazily, she stretched her arms above her head. “I should take a shower.”
“Relax for a few moments, there’s still plenty of time to get dressed.”
Dressed? Laurel gulped as her thoughts homed in on one overwhelmingly feminine worry. A dress. A wedding dress. She didn’t have a dress. What was she to wear? With dismay she thought about the strapless black dress she’d worn to the casino last night. Black wouldn’t do for a wedding. Even if it wasn’t a marriage for love—there should still be some element of romance about the occasion.
“I don’t have anything remotely suitable for a wedding,” she confessed as Rakin closed the door of the bar fridge.
“Have no fear.” He gave her a smug smile. “It’s all been taken care of.”
“All been taken