Page 11 of Hitched to My Enemy
Easton moved closer, and I could feel the warmth of his body against my back. "Curious about getting married by Elvis?"
"Curious about being the kind of person who would," I said, then hiccupped slightly. "God, I'm drunk."
"Very drunk," he agreed, but his voice was gentle. "We should probably get you back."
"No." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "I don't want to go back. I don't want to be responsible Harlow who makes sensible decisions and follows all the rules." I turned to face him, and the movement made the world spin pleasantly. "I want to be the kind of person who does crazy things. Just once."
Something shifted in his expression, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made my breath catch. "What kind of crazy things?"
I stared up at him, this man who had been my professional nemesis and was rapidly becoming something much more complicated. The neon lights painted his face in shades of pink and blue, making him look like something out of a fever dream.
"Dare me," I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could think them through.
"Harlow—"
"Dare me," I repeated, pointing at the chapel with its flashing "Open 24 Hours" sign. "Dare me to be somebody different for once in my life."
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes—caution battling with desire, responsibility fighting against the same reckless impulse that was driving me.
Finally, his mouth curved in a smile that was part challenge, part invitation, and entirely dangerous.
"I dare you, Investigator Clarke."
The words hung in the air between us, loaded with implications neither of us was sober enough to fully consider. All I knew was that I was tired of being careful, tired of always making the smart choice, tired of being the woman who let life happen to her instead of grabbing it with both hands.
Without giving myself time to think, I grabbed his hand and started walking toward the chapel doors.
"Harlow," he said, but he didn't resist as I pulled him along. "Are you sure about this?"
I paused at the threshold, looking back at him. His tie was crooked, his hair mussed from the night air, and he was looking at me like I was either the best or worst decision he'd ever made.
"No," I said honestly. "I'm not sure about anything right now except that I'm tired of playing it safe."
And with that, I pushed open the door to Little Chapel of Love, pulling Easton Hardwick—my former enemy, my current obsession, and quite possibly my future husband—into themost spectacularly irresponsible decision of my entire carefully planned life.
Chapter Four
Easton
Consciousness returned like a sledgehammer to the skull. Merciless Vegas sunlight streamed through uncovered windows, my mouth tasted like concrete, and my head throbbed with relentless percussion.
None of that compared to discovering I wasn't alone.
Dark hair spilled across my Egyptian cotton pillow. Bare shoulders rose and fell with gentle breathing. Skin warm as honey in the morning light.
Harlow Clarke. In my bed.
The woman who'd dismantled my empire three years ago was sleeping beside me like we were lovers instead of enemies.
Broken memories surfaced through the alcohol haze. The chapel's neon glow. Her fingers intertwined with mine as we stumbled through doors that should have stayed locked. Elvis's gravelly voice pronouncing us husband and wife while she laughed like this was an adventure instead of career suicide.
Christ. What did we do?
I sat up too fast, and the room spun. My left hand moved toward the nightstand, and the simple gold band around my ring finger froze me solid.
"Fuck."
The whispered curse stirred the woman beside me. Harlow's eyes fluttered open—those hazel depths that had haunted my thoughts for three years. For one unguarded moment, she looked soft, vulnerable, beautiful. Then awareness hit.
