The Lost Journey

Chapter 1

One
Matthew Phillips, a player for the Milwaukee Growlers, believed that the best part about wearing his clan's plaid was the easy access it provided for a woman's wandering fingers. However, he was currently dealing with the unwelcome advances of his teammate, Calvin Hayes. Matthew swiftly took control of the situation, pinning the rookie to the floor before things could escalate any further.

"Keep your hands off me, Hayes," Matthew growled into Calvin's ear, allowing his Scottish brogue to slip through. "If you want to handle some balls, I suggest you hit the practice field and work on your skills. We can't afford any more mistakes like last week's."

His teammates erupted in laughter, thoroughly entertained by their place-kicker's use of his native tongue. The locker room was filled with optimism and camaraderie as the players prepared for practice, the season opener just around the corner.

Despite the jovial atmosphere, Matthew wasn't in the mood. The promotional department had forced him into an excessively long photo shoot, leaving him feeling drained. He leaned an elbow into Hayes's back, asserting his dominance. At least the rookie could take a hit, Matthew thought. Now, he just needed to prove himself on the field.

Hayes grunted under Matthew's weight. "If you don't want to get felt up, maybe you shouldn't wear a skirt to practice, Phillips."

Matthew jumped to his feet. "Only I can call it a skirt if I wear something underneath," he retorted smugly, earning more laughter from his teammates.

Russell Patterson, the star wide receiver, chimed in from across the aisle. "Word around town is that Phillips's balls are too big to fit into jeans, so he has to wear that wrap. Check out the size of his cup if you don't believe me."

Hayes reached for Matthew's locker, but Matthew quickly pushed his arm away. "I warned you about those wandering hands."

"No need to get testy, old man. I wouldn't steal your codpiece," Hayes replied, attempting a poor imitation of Matthew's accent, which only caused more laughter.

Shaking his head, Matthew turned away from the teasing and unwrapped his kilt from around his waist, revealing his backside to the room. The sound of cleats tapping against the concrete floor drowned out the lingering laughter as the players made their way to the field for practice.

Callum Davis Torres, the Growlers' quarterback, sat in the chair next to Matthew, gesturing toward his knee socks with tassels. "The skirt doesn't bother me as much as those socks do. Be careful not to wear them during a game, or you'll get fined for a uniform violation."

Matthew flipped him off playfully before putting on his compression shorts and running shorts. "I stole them from your last girlfriend. Her mom probably had to buy her a new pair for her school uniform."

Davis Torres chuckled, aware of Matthew's aversion to romantic entanglements. He was one of the few who saw through the quarterback's facade. But Matthew had his own reasons for avoiding relationships, so he refrained from passing judgment.

Patterson walked by Matthew's locker, daring him to wear his girly socks to practice. Matthew never turned down a dare, especially when it meant a contribution to his favorite charity. "You're on," he agreed, pulling on his cleats over the knee socks.

Davis Torres handed Matthew his helmet, jokingly suggesting that Patterson should have dared him to wear his kilt to practice. Patterson dismissed the idea, citing the presence of young kids visiting the practice. They didn't need to catch a glimpse of Matthew's unattractive bullocks.

As they made their way outside, Patterson's Scottish accent brought laughter to Davis Torres's lips as he secured his own helmet.The quarterback playfully slapped Matthew on the shoulder before jogging onto the field, asserting his dominance as the king of the jocks' kingdom.

With a wide grin, Matthew dropped down onto the turf beside Patterson, basking in the warm sunshine and the camaraderie of his teammates. The upcoming season held so much promise, and he couldn't imagine a better place to be than on this field with these guys. Football was his sanctuary, his escape from the exile he endured from his beloved Scotland.

The trainers and coaches led the players through stretches and conditioning exercises, dividing them into offensive and defensive units. Matthew found himself lined up behind the special teams' offensive line, practicing faking field goals and muffed snaps. Davis Torres held the ball while Matthew kicked it through the uprights multiple times. Then it was Hayes's turn. He worked on his punting with the team's long-snapper. After six weeks of watching Hayes punt, Matthew had to begrudgingly admit that the team hadn't wasted a seventh-round draft pick on the mouthy kid from Oklahoma.

As the scrimmages came to an end, the players and coaches dispersed into smaller practices within their respective specialties. Matthew and Hayes made their way toward the locker room, knowing they would reconvene later for some full-contact play.

While Matthew cherished the camaraderie of his Growler teammates, he found solace in the quiet solitude of the locker room. Growing up as the studious child of a math professor and a primary school headmaster, he never imagined becoming the highest-paid professional athlete in his position, playing a different kind of football altogether.

But fate had other plans.

"Legend has it you grew up in St. Andrews," Hayes said, taking out a Big Bertha putter from his locker and tapping a golf ball into a plastic cup. "The birthplace of golf." He sighed reverently, bending over the ball.

Matthew let out a weary breath, tearing his gaze away from the chess set in his locker. For six seasons, he and Hayes's predecessor had engaged in strategic battles over a chessboard while the rest of the team battled it out on the field. Hayes didn't strike him as someone who would sit still long enough to play tic-tac-toe, let alone chess.

Resigned, Matthew grabbed his iPad from his gym bag and headed for one of the leather sofas scattered around the locker room. Perhaps he could come up with some math drills for the high school students he worked with every week. Unfortunately, the rookie punter seemed oblivious to Matthew's need for solitude. Hayes followed him across the room, chatting away.

"Don't get me wrong, I love football, but golf is my true passion," Hayes said. "If I play my cards right, I can build my nest egg in the league and join the professional golfers' seniors' tour when I retire." He sank the ball into the cup from ten feet away. "Life is good when you can make a living playing a game, huh, Phillips?"

"I'm gonna earn my keep playing a game, Matthew. Ain't that pure dead brilliant?"

Memories of another young athlete, as boastful and arrogant as Hayes, flooded Matthew's mind. Niall, with his cheeky smile and incredible talent, had been the pride of St. Andrews. The familiar ache tightened in Matthew's chest. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the image, but it lingered. There was no escaping the past or the guilt that weighed heavily on his soul.

"Hey, Phillips," one of the trainers called from the locker room. "You've got a visitor in the lobby. A woman."

Hayes let out a teasing whistle before returning his focus to his putting. Matthew swung his legs off the sofa, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts of home and the people he could never face again. It was unusual for someone to visit him at the practice facility, especially a woman.

His mind immediately jumped to the high school students he tutored in math each week. They were kids facing difficult circumstances, and they served as Matthew's way of making amends for the mistakes of his past. A pang of unease shot through him as he wondered if one of them was in trouble.

Another wave of dread washed over him as he made his way out of the locker room, mentally reviewing all the women he had been with in recent months. He had been clear with all of them about his commitment level—a firm "no-strings-attached" policy. The seven, or maybe eight, women he had hooked up with had agreed. But history had shown that some women would say anything to get beneath his kilt.

Damn it.

Picking up his pace, he navigated the long hallway leading to the lobby. Relief flooded him when he rounded the corner and saw his personal assistant, Caroline, waiting near the reception desk. But then he noticed the usually composed older woman wringing her hands anxiously.The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on Matthew's mind. Thoughts of his distant family in Scotland, whom he hadn't seen in a decade, consumed him. When he finally reached Caroline's side, he could see the worry etched on her face.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she whispered, her eyes darting anxiously behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Tell me," he commanded, his heart pounding. "Is it my father? Or my mother?" Please, let it not be Luna, his little sister.

Caroline placed a comforting hand on his, her touch grounding him. "No, Matthew, your family is safe. It's not that."

Relief washed over him. The Phillips family had endured enough pain. Whatever trouble had Caroline so distressed, it couldn't compare to Matthew's biggest mistake.

He reached out and gently squeezed Caroline's shoulders. "Take a deep breath. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

She glared past him, her eyes filled with frustration. "I'm not so sure about that. This guy claims you're in trouble."

"What guy?"

"Perhaps I should explain." A slender man in a navy suit emerged from behind the display case, where the Growlers championship trophies were showcased. He extended his hand tentatively before withdrawing it under Matthew's fierce glare. "I'm Victor Figueroa. It's an honor to meet you, Matthew. Can I call you Matthew? I mean, I'm from Chicago, so the Bears are my team and all, but any football fan would be honored to meet you."

Matthew narrowed his eyes, growing more suspicious by the second. He had no idea what was unfolding, but the last thing he needed was an overzealous Bears fan invading his personal space. "And how exactly do you fit into this, Figueroa?"

"Actually, it's Agent Figueroa." He reached into his suit jacket and presented a leather ID holder. "I'm with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and I'm here to facilitate your deportation back to Scotland."

Jocelyn Adams had thought it was a good idea at the time. But now, sitting in the attorney's office, she was filled with regret. How had she allowed sweet Mrs. Jenkins to convince her to meet with her son? The man's annoyed glare was directed at both women, but luckily, a massive glass desk separated them. Jocelyn couldn't help but feel apprehensive about having her personal matters aired out in public. The embarrassment of her few friends finding out was bad enough, but this man, a lawyer who clearly possessed intelligence and common sense, would undoubtedly judge her. It was inevitable that he would see her as gullible, stupid, or worse, reckless.

And she was none of those things. Well, maybe a little reckless. But she was working on it. Really, she was.

"Mom, I've told you countless times, I'm not that kind of lawyer."

Beside Jocelyn, Mrs. Jenkins straightened her posture. "Of course, you're a lawyer, Russell. I paid for you to go to law school." She beamed proudly and turned to Jocelyn. "Did I mention he initially went to study opera? His voice is divine. It gives you goosebumps. Go on, Russell, sing something for Jocelyn."

"Mother!"

Jocelyn winced at his outburst. Goosebumps were definitely forming, though not exactly for divine reasons. She glanced sheepishly at the lawyer, whose face was flushed with frustration. An image of him wearing a Viking helmet with horns and yellow braids while belting out an indistinguishable song on stage flashed through her mind. Stocky and tall, he would make an intimidating Norseman. He was certainly doing a good job of intimidating Jocelyn.

His mother, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. She simply raised an eyebrow at him. With an anguished sigh, he ran his fingers over his bald head, as if hoping for some magical follicle that could rid him of both women. Just as Jocelyn was about to offer him an escape, Mrs. Jenkins's grip on her arm tightened, holding her in place. For such a small woman, she had the strength of a python.

"Russell," Mrs. Jenkins attempted to soothe him. "Jocelyn needs our help. It doesn't matter what kind of lawyer you are. I raised you to be kind to others."

Jocelyn had to give the older woman credit. She wielded guilt like a master chef at a Benihana wielded a knife. Her son caved instantly.

"Fine." He let out a resigned sigh. "Tell me your story, Jocelyn, and I'll see if I can find an attorney who can assist with your case."

"Jocelyn," both she and Mrs. Jenkins corrected simultaneously.

"My name is Jocelyn. Jocelyn Adams," she repeated firmly.

"Apologies." He studied her curiously. "How do you two know each other, anyway?"

It was a valid question, considering the significant age difference between the two women.

"She works at Shear Envy salon, dear."

Mrs. Jenkins absentmindedly touched her sleek ash-blonde bob, reminding Jocelyn that she needed to order more 9v color. Jocelyn wasn't the stylist responsible for Mrs. Jenkins's hair, but as the salon's receptionist and office manager, she made it her mission to ensure every client received top-notch service.

"You're a hairstylist?"

"No, I'm—" Jocelyn began.

"Jocelyn aspires to be an entrepreneur," Mrs. Jenkins interjected."She crafts these exquisite soaps with all-natural ingredients, you know. They're simply divine and so visually appealing. I actually gave you some for your birthday. Surely you remember? The lemongrass and lavender ones. They're meant to help you unwind and find some peace. I worry about you, you know. You always seem incredibly stressed," she confided in Jocelyn.

As if the tension etched on his face and the crimson flush in his cheeks hadn't already given that away.

"Oh, I'm well aware," Mrs. Jenkins continued, her voice laced with excitement as it soared a few octaves higher. "Once we resolve Jocelyn's legal troubles, maybe you could assist her in getting on Shark Tank." She turned to Jocelyn, eyes brimming with hope. "My son works with famous individuals all the time. But when you make your appearance on the show, don't let Kevin convince you to partner with him. Hold out for Laurie. She seems genuinely kind."

The lawyer groaned, annoyance evident in his tone, at his mother's rambling tale.

"I'm actually a senior at Marquette," Jocelyn explained, before he signaled for a security guard to escort her out. "I work at a salon during the day while pursuing my business degree at night."

"That's truly commendable."

"You might want to reserve that praise until after I finish my story."

His lips quivered, caught between suppressing a smile or a scowl. It was difficult to decipher. He possessed an uncanny ability to maintain a stoic poker face, which undoubtedly served him well in his profession.

"Your mother is correct. I aspire to establish my own company someday. That's why I've been diligent in paying for my education through grants and scholarships. It may have taken me a few extra years, but at least I won't be burdened with any debt upon graduation. My professor believes that the absence of loan debt will significantly enhance my chances of securing funding from a venture capital firm to kick-start my business."

That had been the plan, at least.

"Why do I sense a 'but' lurking?" he inquired.

"Because her ex is a complete jerk," Mrs. Jenkins interjected, chuckling at her own pun. "Quite clever, don't you think?"

Her son ignored her, keeping his gaze fixed on Jocelyn. He nodded, silently urging her to continue, but a wave of embarrassment constricted her throat. It was bad enough that she had been so easily deceived, rendering venture capitalists unwilling to lend her a single cent. Uttering it aloud in front of a complete stranger seemed to make the reality even more crushing.

"Tell him," Mrs. Jenkins encouraged. "He can't assist unless he knows the full story."

She doubted the man before her could truly aid her, but she had taken an hour off work to be here. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Beau, my ex-boyfriend, somehow managed to gain access to my financial aid account. He took out numerous student loans, both public and private, in my name, and pocketed the money for himself."

"How much?" 

These words caught in her throat, harder to utter than the rest. The sheer magnitude of her debt both infuriated and terrified her. "Seventy thousand dollars."

He emitted a whistle of surprise. "You don't need an attorney. You need a police officer."

"I've already been to the police. They took my statement, but since Beau fled the state with the money, they informed me that my case isn't a priority." That was after making her feel naive and deserving of being conned. Her jaw clenched at the memory of leaving the police station, mortified.

The lawyer's expression turned steely. "They should have referred you to someone who could help. Where did this Beau guy go?"

"Las Vegas." Her cheeks began to flush. "He boasted to a friend that he had been invited to participate in a high-stakes poker tournament. He managed to swindle his way in using my money, assuming he would be swimming in riches by now. But Beau has never had luck on his side."

"Well, that's a life lesson they can't teach you in business school."

Mrs. Jenkins gently patted Jocelyn's hand, an attempt to offer reassurance, but it only deepened her humiliation. Her son, like the police, had reached the same conclusion – she lacked the discernment to recognize when someone was taking advantage of her.

But she knew better.

She had simply chosen to ignore the warnings, basking instead in Beau's charm and the illusion that someone finally wanted her in their life. Both she and Beau had emerged from the foster care system, though his transition into adulthood had been far rockier than hers. False bravado and charisma could only carry a person so far. Jocelyn had assumed the role of caretaker and provider while he regressed into a sulking child. Yet, he was all she had, and she refused to relinquish hope that with a little love and guidance, he could succeed. Together, they would prove wrong all those who dismissed them as unwanted misfits. However, it didn't take long for her to realize that while Beau yearned to transcend his past, he wasn't willing to put in the effort required for true success. She pitied him, allowing him to linger and leech off her for far too long.

And now she was paying the price.

"Do you have any family who can assist you?" the lawyer asked.

"No. It's just me."

And she was more resolute than ever to keep it that way. People always disappointed you. That lesson had been ingrained in her since childhood. When the foster care system had discarded her, thrusting her into the "real world" at eighteen with nothing but a duffel bag provided by the state, she had vowed never to rely on anyone again. She had slipped up with Beau. There wouldn't be a second slip-up. From now on, she was a one-woman show.

Mrs. Jenkins's son scrubbed his face wearily before speaking. "Alright, here's the plan. First, I'll make some calls to the police to follow up on your complaint."Jocelyn shook her head, her eyes filled with resignation. She knew she couldn't expect to recover any of the money Beau owed her. But at least this man in front of her was willing to help clear her name and credit score. Her name was all she had left.

"Why can't you handle her case?" Mrs. Jenkins demanded.

"Because those famous people you're so fond of telling everyone I know are my clients. I'm a sports agent, Mother. Not a trial attorney!"

"It's fine," Jocelyn interjected before Mrs. Jenkins could ruin the moment. "I'm grateful for anything you can do for me." She patted Mrs. Jenkins's hand, trying to reassure her. "Really."

The attorney picked up his pen. "How do I get in touch—"

"You can't go in there," a voice shouted just before the office door swung open forcefully.

Ignoring the warning, a man stormed in, his hands clenched into fists.

"Oh, my," Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed.

'Oh, my' was an understatement. The man who barged into the room was compact and rugged, with broad shoulders and a swagger that would have been cocky if he hadn't seemed so distressed. His thick, dark hair was disheveled, standing on end. But it was his attire that made Jocelyn's jaw drop. He was wearing a kilt, revealing a pair of well-sculpted legs. He looked like an untamed Highlander from centuries past, with a wild edge that called to something deep within her.

The attorney shot out of his chair. "Declan? Is everything all right?"

"Hell, no," the other man shouted. "I'm being bloody deported!"

A flicker of desire ran down Jocelyn's spine at the sound of his gravelly voice. But his urgency caught her attention. His case was more pressing than hers. She began to stand, allowing the attorney to focus on the newcomer.

"Sit," Mrs. Jenkins commanded, chin held high. "We were here first."

The Highlander froze at the sound of the old woman's voice. He hadn't realized there were others in the room, consumed by his own troubles. When his gaze landed on Jocelyn, her breath hitched. His pale gray eyes, framed by dark lashes, quickly assessed her from head to toe. There was a look in those eyes that startled her—a fiery desperation mixed with a deep loneliness she recognized all too well. It mirrored the isolation she felt even in a crowded room.

Mrs. Jenkins waved her fingers at him. "Nice to see . . . so much of you again, Declan."

"Deported? What are you talking about?" The attorney's question brought the Highlander back to reality.

"An ICE agent showed up at the practice facility." He waved some papers in front of the lawyer's face. "He came to give me my final deportation notice in person. My bloody visa renewal paperwork was never filed. The notices weren't delivered to me. Damn it. I pay you handsomely to take care of that for me, Russell. Now I have three days to fix this or I'll be sent back to Scotland. For six whole months!"

The attorney frantically typed on his laptop. "This can't be. The paperwork was completed two months ago. I gave it to Nicole to file with ICE."

The Highlander gripped the back of his neck, anger evident in his words spoken in a language Jocelyn didn't understand.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Matthew," the attorney snapped. "Don't tell me you're the reason Nicole had an emotional breakdown and quit."

"Hey! I made it clear from the start that it was just one night!"

Mrs. Jenkins chuckled, her son groaned, and Jocelyn felt her cheeks flush. Her mind immediately conjured up images of the Highlander slowly unwrapping his kilt and strutting towards her with all his muscular glory. She took a shaky breath, resisting the urge to fan herself. She really needed to stop watching Magic Mike on cable.

The Highlander looked sheepish, running his fingers through his hair. "Now what do I do? The season starts in a week and a half."

The attorney sighed. "Let me make some calls. There has to be a way to work around this."

"Of course there is," Mrs. Jenkins chimed in, beaming with triumph. She turned to Jocelyn. "Matthew needs to get married. And lucky for us, we have the perfect bride right here."

Chapter 2

Two
Matthew recoiled at the suggestion, his body tense with unease. The idea of marriage sent shivers down his spine, reminding him of the pain he had caused Niall and the life he had destroyed. But Mrs. Jenkins, his agent's eccentric mother, seemed oblivious to his reservations.

"Problem solved," Mrs. Jenkins declared, punctuating her statement with a saucy wink.

Her companion, a woman with vibrant blue eyes that mirrored the color of cornflowers, remained wide-eyed and silent. Matthew couldn't help but notice the flicker of arousal in her gaze, quickly concealed. It wasn't surprising, he had grown accustomed to that look from women.

What did surprise him was the jolt of awareness that shot up his spine when their eyes met. This woman was the complete opposite of his usual type. With her petite frame, delicate chin, and pixie-like ears, she resembled the highland fairies his little sister often searched for in their garden. And yet, there was something intriguing about her, something that stirred his curiosity.

"Actually," Russell interjected. "That's not a bad idea. It could work."

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but the woman beat him to it.

"Whoa, hold on just one minute," she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "I came here for legal advice. My situation may be dire, but it's not dire enough to marry some washed-up boy band member."

Not dire enough to marry who? Matthew couldn't comprehend what she meant. Someone needed to inform this woman that women had proposed to him before. And what was this nonsense about a 'boy band' insult?

"What did you just call me?" he demanded.

She gestured to his plaid. "Arloloween is two months away, Jamie Fraser. If you're not in a boy band, why the skirt?" Her eyebrows raised slightly. "Unless you work at one of those strip clubs. In that case, I'm not marrying a man who spends more time getting waxed than I do."

A low growl escaped from Matthew's throat as he took a step closer to her. "How many times do I have to tell you Sassenachs? It's not a bloody skirt!"

Mrs. Jenkins clapped her hands together gleefully. "Fireworks already. This marriage is going to be passionate."

Russell stepped between them. "That's enough, Mother," he said firmly. "Both of you, sit down."

Matthew locked eyes with the pink-haired woman, Jocelyn. She stubbornly raised her chin but reluctantly sat as instructed. He begrudgingly followed suit, sinking into the chair Russell pointed to.

"Matthew," Russell began, "this is Annie Adams."

"Jocelyn," she snapped. "My name is Jocelyn. A. N. D. I."

Russell rubbed his temples. "Sorry, Jocelyn Adams. Jocelyn is a friend of my mother and she's facing some financial difficulties right now."

The revelation seemed to deflate Jocelyn's shoulders slightly.

"Jocelyn," Russell continued, "this is my client, Declan Phillips. Matthew is the placekicker for the Milwaukee Growlers football team. Luckily for you, he needs a temporary wife, and he has the means to solve your dilemma."

Matthew prepared himself for the usual fawning, but Jocelyn remained stoic. He couldn't decide if he was irritated or relieved that she didn't seem to care about his fame or wealth.

"So, just to clarify, he's not a stripper," she commented. "Just an overpaid professional athlete." She gestured to his plaid. "Who makes questionable fashion choices for attention."

Irritation won out over relief.

"He's Scottish, Jocelyn. The kilt is part of his heritage," Mrs. Jenkins explained in a loud whisper.

Matthew let out another growl. "For your information, there's a dress code clause in my contract," he said, glaring at his agent who looked sheepish. "I only wear the plaid for photoshoots. I don't parade around in it every day."

Mrs. Jenkins tsked. "Of course not. This is Milwaukee. Things could get very cold under there."

Jocelyn's lips twitched, Russell groaned, and Matthew felt like his head was about to explode. He couldn't take it anymore.

"I have three days to resolve this situation, Russell. Can we please find another room to come up with a solution that doesn't involve me getting married?"

Russell held up a hand. "Just hear me out, Matthew. Whatever solution we come up with will take longer than three days. And it will require a lot of favors and publicity. If you want to avoid going back to Scotland, a fake marriage is the quickest way. It will be a formality to keep your visa, and we can sort everything out at the end of the season."

"And this is the woman you choose to be my pretend wife? A tiny fey creature?" Matthew gestured to her pink hair. "Do you really think anyone will believe I'm foolish enough to marry some pixie fairy?"

Jocelyn rolled her eyes at his description.Mrs. Jenkins shot him a horrified look, her eyes wide with disbelief. Matthew's agent, Russell, tried to convince him of the benefits of marrying Jocelyn. "It's a matter of being in the right place at the right time," Russell argued. "Jocelyn needs you as much as you need her. All we need to do is draw up a prenup stating the terms, and you two can jet off to Vegas tomorrow, get married, and you'll be back in time for practice on Monday."

Matthew couldn't help but voice his concern. "She marries me to get out of debt, but what's to stop her from selling me out the next time she lands in 'a bit of a financial bind'?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Jocelyn declared fiercely, defending herself.

"The prenup will state she can't divulge any of this to the media or anyone else, now or in the future," Russell interrupted her. "Not to mention the fact that she'll be complicit in a federal crime."

Jocelyn shook her head in disbelief. "Wait, no one said anything about breaking the law. Yet another reason why I am so not doing this."

Matthew found himself relieved, at least she had good judgment. Whatever she'd gotten herself into, it likely wasn't illegal. It brought him a small measure of relief.

Russell stared Jocelyn down, determined to change her mind. "I'll give you seventy thousand reasons why you should do it, Jocelyn."

Matthew couldn't help but react. "Seventy thousand dollars! I'd say that's a wee bit more than a financial bind."

Jocelyn's shoulders slumped again, defeated.

"It definitely is," Russell added. "And getting out from under that kind of debt could take a lifetime for most people, Jocelyn. I'd think very carefully before I said no. I've known Matthew for ten years. He's a decent guy. You only have to play the part of a loving couple in public. The rest of the time, you can live your own life."

The room grew quiet as Jocelyn studied the floor intently, lost in thought.

"How long? How long would we carry out this ridiculous charade?" she murmured after a long moment.

"Six months should do it," Russell answered. "By then, the season will be over, and we can readdress the situation."

Mrs. Jenkins reached over and patted Jocelyn's hand, offering her support. "Jocelyn, honey, the law doesn't stipulate that the people entering marriage have to be in love. If that were the case, half the marriages in the world would be illegal at some point. You just need to look at this as a simple business transaction. Nothing more."

Matthew had to concede that the older woman made a valid point. If he looked at the situation as simply a means to an end, it could work. Too bad it wasn't in his wheelhouse to ignore all the other probabilities for failure.

"Can Tinkerbell and I have a few minutes alone?" Matthew surprised himself by asking, wanting to speak with Jocelyn privately.

She shot him a frosty look, clearly wary of being alone with him. But she remained seated in her chair. He still wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but it beat the alternative of returning to Scotland. That was something he could never do.

"Come on, Mom." Russell helped his mother from her chair. "Let's give them the room."

At the sound of the door closing behind them, Matthew slid back into the chair he'd vacated and stretched his legs out in front of him.

Jocelyn sighed wearily. "Surely, there are a bevy of women vying for the title of Mrs. Declan Phillips within your contact list. I mean, just those legs alone should be incentive enough."

"Aye," he replied, his Scottish accent slipping through. "Sadly, all of them are more interested in the fame and glamour that goes with being the wife of a professional football player. You just want my money."

She snorted, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. "Don't kid yourself. They want your money, too."

"True." He surprised himself yet again by laughing. "That's twice you've mentioned my legs, lass."

Damn. Now he was flirting with her.

Her nose twitched slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "They are your money makers."

She had him there.

"Have you no family to help you?" Matthew asked, genuinely curious.

She shook her head sadly. "It's just me."

Her eyes dared him to pity her, but he knew she wouldn't allow it. Little Orphan Jocelyn was stronger than she looked. She likely had to be. Perhaps this make-believe marriage could work after all. Given how she sparred with him, there was something more than air between those cute little ears. But then how had she managed to owe seventy thousand dollars? He was about to ask when she stood from her chair.

"Look, I need to get back to work," she said, trying to distance herself from the situation.

He stood, too, not ready to let her go just yet. "We haven't resolved anything."

Sweat began to bead on the back of his neck. Everything in his being told him not to let her leave. Without her, he'd be sent back home to face his past. Crazy as it sounded, a fake marriage to a pink-haired nymph he barely knew seemed the lesser of two evils.

"Do you really want to do this?" she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

He was surprised at his body's powerful reaction to her question. It was as if the universe was urging him forward.

"What choice do I have? What choice do you have?" he added, hoping to guilt her into agreeing.

Her eyes darted past him, taking in the breathtaking view of Lake Michigan. She was silent for several long heartbeats before responding.

"We'd get married in Las Vegas?"

"I believe that would be the most expedient, yes," he confirmed.

She nodded, her resolve firming up. "Fine. Have Mrs. Jenkins text me the details."And just like that, her supposed future bride walked right out the door.

"I can't believe you're actually going through with this," Johnny exclaimed, worry etched across his face as he peered at her from the front seat.

It was ironic how concerned he was considering she had spent their foster care years protecting him from the bullies who targeted him because of his homosexuality. Back then, he was known as Lenny, but now he had emerged from the system as a proud individual with a new name that suited his talent for hairstyling. With his scissors, razor, and knack for hair color, he had become a renowned stylist, attracting clients from all over, even as far as Chicago. And when he decided to open his own salon, he found more than just financing at the local bank - he found Edward, an investment banker who became his partner.

"I can totally believe it," Edward chimed in from the driver's seat, taking the exit for Mitchell airport. "Have you seen those eyes of his? They're absolutely stunning. And those legs?" He lifted a hand off the wheel to fan himself. "Damn, that man is sexy."

Jocelyn could relate. When Matthew smiled that slow smile yesterday, he transformed from a brooding Highlander to a heartthrob that could make anyone weak in the knees. She felt a flush creeping up her body, betraying her emotions, and she quickly left the lawyer's office before she did something foolish. Not that agreeing to a fake marriage with him wasn't already foolish enough.

Or reckless.

"Don't worry, Johnny. We're not actually getting married," she reassured, already breaking the terms of the contract she signed earlier by sharing the details with Johnny and Edward. But they were her family, in their own way. And if she was jetting off to Las Vegas with a complete stranger, she at least wanted them to know where to find her body. "He's probably found someone more suitable by now. Or maybe he's paid someone off to renew his visa."

She tried to mask the disappointment in her voice. After late-night Google searches of her fake fiancé, she confirmed her suspicions that he had a revolving door of arm candy in his life. Each of them would gladly be his wife, even if it was just for show, and they would come at a much cheaper price than Jocelyn.

"I doubt he'll even be on the flight. But I will be. I'm not passing up a free ticket to Las Vegas, where I can track down that sleazeball Beau and make him pay for what he's done," she declared.

She caught the look exchanged between Johnny and Edward.

"What?" she demanded.

"Sweetheart, that loser will never own up to his actions," Johnny said, leaving out the 'I told you so' that lingered in his tone.

Unlike her, he saw through Beau from the start. Jocelyn couldn't help but wonder if her inability to recognize the warning signs about her deadbeat ex was due to her jealousy over Johnny finding his own 'family' with Edward. Did the fear of being alone again make her oblivious to her friend's warnings? Apparently so. But it was a mistake she vowed never to repeat.

"Beau committed fraud," she insisted. "And somehow, some way, he's going to pay for it."

Edward pulled up to the kiss and ride section. "Las Vegas is a massive place. How do you plan on finding him?"

Sliding across the backseat, she tapped her phone. "He's all over social media, bragging about some big poker game tonight. Obviously, he hasn't lost all the money he stole."

Johnny opened her door for her. "There's no messing with you when you're on a mission. I almost feel bad for that chicken-shit."

"At least enjoy your wedding night," Edward teased from the front seat.

She blew him a kiss. "There won't be a wedding, Danny-boy."

Nerves that she had been desperately trying to hide began to bubble up as she turned to face Johnny. Her childhood friend saw right through her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered against her hair. "Edward is brilliant with money. Let us find a way to help you."

Shaking her head, she pulled away from his grasp. "I can't let you do that. I've been standing up for myself since I was ten. I'm not about to stop now."

Johnny smoothed down the sleeves of her ice blue Abercrombie blouse. She had paired it with dark jeggings and Steve Madden flats she found at a consignment store. The only piece of jewelry she wore was her grandmother's silver cross.

"I wish you'd let me dye your hair back," Johnny said. "You'd still have your pretty blonde color if it wasn't for that hair show last week."

"It's fine. Besides, if anyone compliments my hair, I can tell them it's your work. I even have a Shear Envy T-shirt I can wear in the casino," she replied.

He smiled cautiously. "Just don't do anything too wild, okay?"

"Promise." Gripping the handle of her borrowed carry-on with determination, she said, "I'll text you when I arrive."

With one last wave to Edward, she made her way inside the airport and followed the signs to security.The airport proved to be smaller in person than Jocelyn had anticipated. Before she could second-guess herself, she found herself at the TSA checkpoint. A surge of nerves fluttered in her stomach as she joined the line, only for it to plummet when a male voice spoke from behind her.

"I thought you might back out," the voice said.

Jocelyn spun around on her heel. Declan Phillips had inched closer to her in the line. With a Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap pulled low over his head and wire-framed glasses, he attempted to disguise himself, though it did nothing to diminish his allure. Not that Jocelyn wanted to see more of Declan Phillips's body.

"I didn't recognize you without the...kilt," she quipped.

The corners of his mouth turned up, but whether he was amused or annoyed, she couldn't tell. He stepped ahead of her in line.

"We need to hurry. Our flight boards in ten minutes."

Following the lead of other passengers, Jocelyn made her way through security, mimicking their every move. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself. Still slipping on her shoes, she watched as Declan's toned legs carried him towards the gate. Dragging her bag behind her, she had to trot to keep up.

She should have turned around and left, heading back to the kiss and ride. She had been so certain he wouldn't show up. That he would find another solution. But here he was, seemingly eager to whisk her away to Vegas and marry her.

Her conscience nagged at her. She couldn't marry him. But she couldn't afford to fly to Vegas to confront Beau either. And now that the opportunity presented itself, she hesitated to let it slip away.

The gate attendant announced that first-class passengers could board. Matthew approached the kiosk and scanned his boarding pass on his phone. Jocelyn's hand trembled as she followed suit. Her heart pounded in her chest as she trailed behind him down the jetway.

His attempt at a disguise didn't fool the flight attendant who greeted him with a smile, promising extra attention during their trip. Annoyance flared within Jocelyn, but dread quickly extinguished it. The cabin was smaller than she had imagined. He stopped at the first row, offering ample legroom but uncomfortably close to the door for Jocelyn's liking.

"Slide in," he gestured towards the seat by the window.

She hesitated. Every instinct told her this was a terrible idea.

"Hurry, before the other passengers start boarding and get a good look at us."

Someone greeted the flight attendant behind her. Summoning her courage, Jocelyn handed him her bag to stow and took her seat. He was beside her in an instant, his muscular body blocking her escape route. Her breath grew shallow, sawing through her lungs. A stream of passengers filed down the aisle. Matthew averted his face, but his pale eyes studied her intently. Guilt and fear waged war within her, causing her palms to sweat.

"I can't," she whispered.

"What do you mean you can't?" His face hardened. "You signed a contract this morning."

"I can't do this," she repeated.

"Can't? Or won't?"

A loud bang on the tarmac made the plane jerk slightly. Jocelyn stifled a shriek, her body trembling.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of flying?" Matthew exclaimed. "Why didn't you mention that before?"

"Because it's my first time on an airplane," she snapped. "It wasn't something I was aware of."

The flight attendant began the safety demonstration, discussing flotation devices and air masks. Thoughts of both made black dots swim in front of Jocelyn's eyes.

"Stay with me," Matthew pleaded.

His voice sounded distant, as if coming from a long tube. Suddenly, she was enveloped in a warm blanket. The armrest between them disappeared, replaced by his arm around her shoulders and his fingers cradling her face.

"You've got this," he murmured. "You've survived worse. I know you have. I won't let anything happen to you."

His reassuring words brought her back to the present, her eyes slowly regaining focus. But now, she felt lightheaded, unable to tear her gaze away from his lips as they moved, coaxing her to breathe.

"That's it. In through your nose and out through your mouth."

Embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but he held onto her shoulders tightly.

"Relax," his low voice sent shivers down her spine, far from relaxing her.

"We have an audience," he continued.

Peeking through her lashes, Jocelyn glanced around the first-class cabin. The flight attendant observed her curiously from the jump seat across the aisle. The plane began to pick up speed on the runway, matching the rapid pace of Jocelyn's heartbeat.

Matthew nestled her closer to his chest. "Just keep breathing."

Somehow, she managed to do just that. Before she knew it, they were airborne. A few dips and bumps later, the plane settled into a smooth ride. Jocelyn's pulse followed suit. And having his warm body wrapped around hers certainly didn't hurt."I believe I'll manage just fine now," she declared as the flight attendant began to make her rounds through the cabin.

He merely grunted in response, but his arm remained wrapped around her. She glanced over at him, noticing his closed eyes and pale complexion. It seemed she wasn't the only one who despised flying. And yet, despite his own discomfort, he had stayed by her side to offer comfort. Jocelyn's heart ached. What she was doing was so incredibly wrong. She needed to tell him that she couldn't go through with the marriage. He still had two days to find another solution.

"Matthew—" 

"Would you like something to drink?" The stewardess leaned in, providing him with a full view of her ample cleavage.

Unfortunately for her, he didn't bother opening his eyes, but he quickly pulled Jocelyn closer to him. "Two glasses of champagne, please."

The other woman shot Jocelyn a surprised glance before stepping away.

"We're supposed to be playing it cool, remember?" Jocelyn reminded him, attempting to free herself from his grasp to no avail.

"It would be suspicious if we didn't at least act like a couple."

He had a valid point. And likely a reputation to uphold. Jocelyn reluctantly accepted this reality and relaxed against his firm chest, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach.

"I suppose a weekend in Las Vegas is a typical outing for celebrity athletes like yourself."

His long lashes snapped open, revealing dark circles around his gray irises. Edward had been right; it was unfair for a man to possess such captivating eyes.

"I've never taken a woman to Vegas before."

Her stomach performed more acrobatic maneuvers than an Olympic gymnast. "Oh."

The flight attendant returned with their champagne. Matthew released his grip on Jocelyn to take both glasses. She immediately felt a sense of loss. Stop it, she scolded herself. Moving closer to the window in an attempt to create some distance, she took the glass from him and downed several large sips of the champagne.

"Careful there," he teased.

When she glanced at him, a lopsided grin adorned his face, causing her body to quiver with anticipation. She hastily finished her champagne.

"That's one way to conquer your fear of flying." He took the glass from her hand. "But surprisingly, you have to be sober to get married in Las Vegas."

She closed her eyes. He intended to go through with the wedding. With her as his bride. The champagne sloshed around in her stomach as she tried to gather the courage to tell him that she never intended to marry him. But when she opened her eyes and met his gaze, her tongue refused to cooperate.

"Tell me about yourself," he encouraged softly.

"There isn't much to tell."

"You didn't just appear as a fully-formed woman."

"Perhaps I am the pixie fairy you believe me to be."

His smile widened, and she almost moaned in delight at its intoxicating effect. She should look away. But foolishly, she couldn't tear her eyes from him.

"My parents passed away when I was young." She kept her childhood story brief, knowing that the pity people often expressed upon hearing it could be suffocating. Given his earlier kindness, she suspected his reaction would be even more overwhelming. "I lived with my grandmother for a while, but after she died, I went into foster care. It's not quite like Oliver Twist, but it's far from growing up in the Tanner household, too."

"And yet, here you are."

The admiration in his voice caused her chest to tighten.

"When I turned eighteen, I had to leave the foster family I was with to make room for another child."

His eyes widened. "Did you have anywhere to go?"

"I had friends who aged out before me. I stayed with them for the first couple of years. Right now, I rent a small garage apartment near the Marquette campus." Thankfully, she had Johnny and a small military survivor benefit account from her mother. "I attend school at night and work at a salon during the day." She gestured to her hair. "It's temporary. My boss needed a model last week."

"I'm actually starting to warm up to that pink hair. It suits you. Not quite fiery, but definitely unique."

She swallowed hard, surprisingly pleased by the unexpected compliment.

"And what about your family? How will you explain this—" She gestured between them. "—to them."

His expression suddenly hardened, and his eyes became guarded. "I won't. They can never know about you. About us." He mimicked her gesture with his hands. "Never."

A sudden chill ran through her. She clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Disappointment seeped into her bones. Of course he wouldn't want his family to know he had married someone like Jocelyn Adams, a nobody. Why had she expected anything different?

But the joke was on him because they weren't getting married. She would simply ignore her conscience and wait until they arrived in Las Vegas to break the news to him. When a fan approached Matthew for an autograph, she took the opportunity to turn towards the window and pretend to sleep.

Chapter 3

Three
Jocelyn gracefully spun around the expansive room, her movements deliberate and slow. She came to a halt in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the dazzling Las Vegas strip. Crystal chandeliers, undoubtedly crafted from the finest materials, shimmered above her, casting their light on the opulent gold fixtures and polished marble that adorned the surroundings. She couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of the bathroom alone, which surpassed the dimensions of her small efficiency back in Milwaukee. The contrast was astounding.

"This place truly lives up to its reputation as Sin City," she murmured, her words echoing softly in the empty space.

It felt somewhat childish to seek solace in the bathroom of the luxurious five-room suite, complete with its own butler. But Jocelyn needed a moment to collect herself, to catch her breath. The frenetic energy of the city, combined with the suffocating dry heat that hit her as soon as she stepped off the plane, had left her feeling lightheaded. However, she knew deep down that it wasn't just the external factors that were affecting her. It was Matthew's sudden change of heart on the plane that had stung her, and her emotional response to him only fueled her anger. This was all supposed to be pretend, a charade. Yet, he seemed to excel at keeping up appearances, while she struggled to mask her true feelings.

Not only had Matthew remained aloof throughout the flight, but upon their arrival in Las Vegas, he had led her through the extravagant lobby of the Wynn Towers, bypassing the reception desk with an air of ownership. Not a single word had escaped his lips. Instead, he had guided her down a mosaic tile pathway, flanked by lush tropical foliage, before ushering her into a gilded elevator. And just like that, he had disappeared, muttering something about "fetching the parson" before vanishing out the door.

Jocelyn found solace in the fact that she had her own bedroom and bathroom. She had no intention of prolonging her role as Declan Phillips's pretend partner. She was using him just as much as he was using her. It was a truth she had to ignore, the guilt that gnawed at her conscience. Las Vegas wasn't her destination for marrying the brooding Scotsman. His sudden abandonment provided her with the perfect opportunity to focus on her primary goal – finding Beau. At least now, she didn't have to concoct a flimsy excuse to venture out on her own.

After applying a quick swipe of lip gloss, she grabbed her purse and ventured out into the hallway. She was almost at the double doors when the butler materialized by her side, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Startled, she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Is there anything I can assist you with, miss?" he inquired with a formal tone.

"Oh, no. Thank you," Jocelyn managed to reply without stammering. "I'm just going for a walk."

"Very well," the butler acknowledged with a stiff nod.

As he reached for the door handle, Jocelyn's heart skipped a beat. Would he prevent her from leaving? Had Matthew instructed him to keep her confined until his return with the judge?

Her instincts screamed at her to make a break for it, to lunge for the door. But to her surprise, the butler slowly swung it open, his expression unreadable as he held it for her. Jocelyn mustered a weak smile, all the while chastising herself for entertaining such wild thoughts. Matthew may have appeared stoic, even mercenary, but there was a genuine kindness hidden beneath his Highlander facade. Unfortunately, it seemed he would only show that kindness sparingly to her.

The elevator offered respite in its emptiness as the doors slid open. Jocelyn descended to the lobby without encountering a single soul. If it weren't for her fear of running into Matthew, she might have taken a few moments to explore the exquisite hotel. However, she had a mission to accomplish. She had less than two hours to locate Beau before his poker game commenced.

Stepping out of the hotel, she braced herself for the onslaught of scorching heat this time around.

"Would you like me to call a cab for you, miss?" the bellman kindly offered.

"No, thank you," she declined, aware of the expense she couldn't afford. Instead, she pulled up a walking map of Las Vegas on her phone and set off towards the Bellagio hotel.

Twenty-five minutes later, she turned the corner and caught sight of the famous fountains. Having navigated the crowded sidewalks for over a mile in the desert heat, her blouse clung uncomfortably to her skin. The rush of cool air that greeted her upon entering the Bellagio was a welcome relief. Yet, it wasn't the refreshing breeze that took her breath away. Her attention was immediately captivated by the thousands of delicate blown-glass flowers sparkling above her in the ceiling. In that moment, she envisioned her own soaps and lotions packaged in vibrant bags and tissue paper, reminiscent of the artistry overhead. Lost in the spectacle, she narrowly avoided colliding with a family of tourists.

"You're not here to sightsee," she admonished herself, snapping back to reality. Checking the information in Beau's Facebook post, she made her way to the concierge desk.

"Could you please tell me where the poker games are held?" she inquired politely.

The man behind the desk eyed her curiously, undoubtedly finding her disheveled appearance, sweat-soaked and sporting vibrant pink hair, an unlikely fit for a high-stakes gambler. However, he had probably witnessed every type of visitor imaginable. He gestured towards the casino entrance. "Follow the path to the poker room. It's located in the back corner of the casino. Tables fill up quickly, though. If you can't secure a seat, be sure to put your name on the waiting list."

Jocelyn flashed him a grateful smile, opting not to disclose her lack of interest in playing or joining the waitlist. Her purpose was to stake out the room, to patiently await Beau's arrival. And when she finally found him, she would confront him for the criminal he truly was.After thirty agonizing minutes and an absurdly overpriced bottle of water, Beau was nowhere to be found. The concierge hadn't been mistaken. The tables were filling up rapidly, groups seemingly materializing out of thin air and occupying every available seat. But Beau was conspicuously absent. Her confidence wavered as she checked his social media account once more. According to his post, the game he had so boastfully mentioned wasn't scheduled to start for another half hour. Yet, all these people seemed settled in for the long haul.

Standing against one of the columns that encircled the tables, she surveyed the room one final time, her head snapping to the left as she noticed two tables roped off in the back. Both remained unoccupied. Encouraged, she maneuvered her way through the bustling crowd, only to be halted by a burly security guard as soon as she reached the rope.

"Sorry, miss." The guard raised his large hand. Despite possessing a velvety bedroom voice that matched his smooth, dark skin, the guy was no teddy bear. "This area is private. Invite only."

Her pulse quickened, beating an excited rhythm in her ears, drowning out the conversations of the players and the clinking of chips. This had to be where Beau was headed.

"Actually, I'm looking for someone who is supposed to be here." She scanned the room for a place to wait. "I'll just stand over there." She nodded toward another pillar situated beyond the tables.

The security guard shook his head. "Our players don't appreciate loitering around the tables." He gestured towards a woman leaning against a podium at the front of the room. "You need to put yourself on the waiting list and wait inside the casino until a seat becomes available."

"But--"

"No 'buts,' lady." He motioned for another security guard. "Walter will escort you to the casino."

Walter ambled over and began guiding her towards the entrance.

"Wait! Is there another entrance to this room?" If she positioned herself correctly, she could intercept Beau before he reached the security guard.

The burly guard narrowed his eyes.

Jocelyn sighed. "I told you, I'm just waiting for someone."

The two guards exchanged a knowing glance.

"Ma'am, I believe it's best if Walter accompanies you to the lobby."

"For Heaven's sake, I'm not some deranged stalker!" The shrillness in her voice betrayed her true intentions. She had come so close to achieving her goal, only to be pushed two steps back. It was beyond frustrating.

Walter drew closer.

"Fine. I'll wait in the lobby." With an exasperated huff, she spun on her heel and exited the poker room. Barney Fife tailed her all the way through the casino and out to the lobby. He spoke into a microphone concealed within his jacket as soon as she positioned herself just outside the casino entrance. The sight of him talking into his sleeve was as comical as she felt. Rolling her eyes, she noticed two uniformed women approaching. If they threatened a strip search, she would bolt from the hotel, Beau or no Beau.

But she didn't have to. Because in that moment, she spotted him amidst a group of men walking through the lobby.

"Beau!" she called out, startling both the officers and her prey.

The two women redirected their attention towards him, and the look on Beau's face was almost laughable. The men he was with wisely made a swift exit, leaving Beau stranded in no man's land between Jocelyn and the two advancing guards.

"Jocelyn, what are you doing here?" he asked sheepishly.

Seizing the opportunity presented by his shock, she gripped his scrawny biceps and tugged him towards the coffee shop tucked behind the reception desk.

"I thought I'd come and see what all the commotion was about," she replied through clenched teeth.

One of the female officers blocked their path. "Is everything alright here?"

Jocelyn squeezed Beau's arm. He nodded mutely.

"Just a little misunderstanding." Jocelyn forced a smile for the benefit of the woman scrutinizing them. She shamelessly played into their camaraderie as women. "My boyfriend here thinks he can win enough money in a poker game to buy an engagement ring. I'm perfectly fine with a modest ring we can afford."

The officers exchanged knowing glances.

"We'll leave you two to sort things out," one of them said.

The other woman gave Beau a stern look. "Gambling is no way to start a marriage."

Walter and his acquaintances faded into the crowd, leaving Jocelyn and Beau at the center of the lobby.

"I did propose to you once." He shrugged off her grip. "You said no."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes once more. "You just wanted the extra food stamps."

"So?"

She stared at her former lover, wondering what she had ever seen in him. He appeared worn down, frayed around the edges. His puddle-like brown eyes were rimmed with red, his blond beard unkempt, and his clothes looked like they had been slept in. Probably because they had been.

He's no Declan Phillips.

She shook herself slightly. Of course he wasn't. But that wasn't the point. She redirected her thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"So you found me. Now what?" he whined.

"Now, I want my money back."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Look, the bank wasn't going to give someone like me a loan. You have a job, a small annuity, and good credit."

"Had good credit," she snapped at him. "Until you ruined it."

"It's not ruined until you have to pay it back." He sounded like a petulant child. "You have two years after you graduate before you have to start making payments. I'll have plenty of money by then to repay the loans."

And pigs can fly.

"I don't want to wait that long.""I demand my money now," she declared, her voice filled with a mix of anger and desperation.

He flinched as if her words had physically struck him. "I-I don't have it."

Of course he didn't. No matter how much she had mentally prepared herself for this moment, her stomach still dropped at his admission.

"You stole from me, Beau," she managed to say, her mouth suddenly dry. "Do you realize that you've committed a felony?"

A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead. "Jesus, Jocelyn. It's not like that."

But it was exactly like that, and they both knew it.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police and have them arrest you," she challenged.

"Because you're the only one who ever believed in me," he stammered. "Because you love me."

She closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping under the weight of his words. Guilt and anger waged war within her. She understood what it meant to be alone in the world, to face an uncertain future. But she was taking steps to change that. Beau, on the other hand, seemed content to mooch off others. From the looks of it, he always would be. She needed to find strength in herself.

When she opened her eyes, she shielded her emotions, careful not to let him see any hint of pity. He was too skilled at manipulating her. He looked as if he was holding his breath, ready to flee at any sign of weakness in her eyes.

"Beau," she began, but he interrupted her.

"I can win it back," he pleaded. "My luck will change now that you're here." He took a step closer. "Please, Jocelyn. Believe in me. Come sit with me at the poker table. You'll see. Give me one night. I'll win everything back."

"You honestly think you can win seventy-thousand dollars in one night?" she asked incredulously.

He looked sheepish. "If I get into the high stakes game, I can," he boasted. "I just need to come up with another two thousand for the ante." His eyes widened as they landed on her purse slung over her shoulder. "Hey, you have a credit card. What's the limit on it?"

Jocelyn took a giant step back, flabbergasted. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Do you want your money back or not?" he snapped.

Beau was delusional if he thought she would give him any more money. He began closing the distance between them.

"Walter!" Jocelyn yelled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Beau demanded.

"What I should have done when I first met you. I'm calling security. Walter!" she called out again.

The guests in the lobby slowed their steps, curious about the commotion, but Walter was nowhere to be found.

"What the fuck?" Beau had the audacity to act like she had wronged him. "You'll never see your money now."

She opened her mouth to call for security once more, but he had already slithered away, disappearing into the crowd.

SHE HAD BEEN GHOSTED.

Night had fallen over the desert. Matthew stood before the wall of windows, gazing out at the vibrant lights of the Las Vegas strip. The expensive marriage license that Russell had paid for was still tucked away in his back pocket. The judge, bribed by his agent into performing a secret ceremony, had endured Matthew's awkward silence for half an hour before abandoning him. Now, Matthew was left alone with his thoughts and a bottle of whiskey. It was a testament to his despair that he had opened it despite the fact that it was Irish whiskey, a reminder of all that had gone wrong.

He should have known that his agent's plan was too good to be true. He had always suspected that the pink-haired fairy was unpredictable. The idea of a fake marriage had made him uneasy from the start. But he had to trust that Russell could find a way to quickly renew his green card. The Growlers couldn't afford to lose him, and they had the means to make this mess disappear.

Yes, it was for the best that she had stood him up at the metaphorical altar.

So why did he feel so disappointed?

Because he had touched her, damn it! When she looked at him with those piercing blue eyes, he had forgotten all the reasons why he thought he wouldn't be attracted to someone like her. Against all reason, he had pulled her close, his arm wrapped around her as if she belonged there. And when she snuggled against him, it ignited a firestorm of desire and possessiveness that scared him.

Swearing under his breath, he took a large gulp of his drink. It had been too long since he had been with a woman, that was all. Tonight, he would remedy that, right after he sent an urgent message to Russell. After all, he was in Las Vegas, the perfect place for a celebrity athlete to find willing bedmates. A tall blonde or a curvaceous redhead. He didn't need a petite woman with cotton candy hair and deep blue eyes.

She would have been too much trouble anyway, he reasoned with his bruised ego. No doubt she was messy. Or needy. Maybe both. Clearly, she had some bad habits if she owed so much money. He raised his glass in a toast, congratulating himself for dodging a bullet with Jocelyn Adams. She was probably in the casino, digging herself into an even deeper hole.

The thought made his gut twist. Damn it. Who would look out for her? A desperate woman could easily find herself in all sorts of trouble in a casino. Dark scenarios played out in his mind, each one more sinister than the last.

But it wasn't his problem.

A woman like her could bring nothing but trouble to his doorstep. Matthew had enough on his plate already. He had no business worrying about a fragile woman he had known for less than twenty-four hours.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.His attention was drawn to a movement in the window, causing his breath to hitch. As if his thoughts had summoned her, Jocelyn materialized in the living room behind him. Relief surged through him, though he refrained from turning around, instead observing her reflection while taking a sip from his glass. The confident façade she had displayed in Russell's office the previous day was nowhere to be seen; it had been replaced by an expression of weariness and desperation. Only when their eyes met in the window did she straighten her posture, mustering up a hint of bravery. He almost found himself smiling at her audacity before catching himself.

"I apologize," she whispered softly, catching him off guard. Slowly, he turned, bracing himself against the window to prevent any impulsive actions, like crossing the room to hold her as he had on the plane.

She glanced around the room. "The judge?"

"Gone," he replied, his voice heavy with resignation.

With a heavy sigh, she sank onto one of the sofas in the room. "Maybe it's for the best. I never intended to marry you anyway."

Matthew suppressed his rising animosity. After all, she had signed a contract. But the defeated tone in her voice cooled his anger. There was something more going on here.

"I came here under false pretenses," she admitted.

He raised an eyebrow in response. "This entire trip is built on false pretenses."

A desolate sigh escaped her lips. "I can't accept your money. It wouldn't be right to involve you in my messed-up life."

His fingers tightened around the glass, numbing his grip. His instincts had been correct; she was in deeper trouble than she had let on.

"I agreed only because I needed to come to Las Vegas," she continued.

Matthew strained his memory, attempting to recall any details Russell had shared about her. Specifically, the seventy-thousand-dollar debt and to whom it was owed. But he had been so consumed by his own problems that he hadn't bothered to inquire about hers. And now, a sense of foreboding settled within him.

"You don't say?" Could she be a compulsive gambler? "Tired of the casinos on Indian reservations?"

"What? No." She shook her head with a snort. "Gambling is for fools."

His chest relaxed at her words. "Actually, gambling is for those who possess a firm grasp of mathematics and probability. The fools are the ones who attempt it without those particular skills."

A fleeting smile danced upon her lips before she stifled it. She leaped from the sofa and began pacing.

"I came to find Beau."

"Beau?" Who in the world was Beau? Matthew held his breath, hoping she would say "my brother" instead of "my husband" or "my son."

"He used to be my boyfriend," she clarified.

He refused to acknowledge the emotions her words stirred within him.

"If he's such a fool and no longer your boyfriend, why search for him?" he asked.

"Because he's the reason I owe seventy thousand dollars. He's been gambling with money he stole using my identity."

Bloody hell.

Matthew cursed Russell for leaving out that vital piece of information. Breaking away from the window, he strode over to the bar and poured himself another drink before pouring one for her.

"Please tell me Russell is helping you bring this Beau guy to justice," he said, handing her the glass as they both settled onto separate sofas.

"It's not that simple," she replied, taking a sip of the whiskey. "Law enforcement doesn't consider it a priority."

"Meanwhile, you're left high and dry."

"Something like that."

"What was your plan if you found this Beau guy?" Matthew suddenly knew exactly what he wanted to do if he found the scoundrel.

She had gone from sipping her whiskey to taking a generous gulp. "In my heart, I naively believed he would simply give the money back to me. Even though my mind knew he had already lost it all."

Matthew leaned forward. "Wait? You found him?"

"Yeah. I wasn't joking about the fool part. He loves showing off on social media." She placed the glass on the table between them. "He claimed he would pay me back before the loans were due. Of course, that was right before he asked to borrow a couple more thousand so he could join a high-stakes poker game."

"Tell me you didn't give it to him," he growled.

Jocelyn huffed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Even if I had that kind of money lying around, I wouldn't give it to Beau. I didn't buy into his boast that he could win it all back in one night. There's no way he could win seventy thousand dollars, or even seven dollars, at poker in a single game. I doubt anyone could."

She was mistaken.

He was already calculating the probabilities. It would have to be an exceptionally high-stakes game. And he would have to play extraordinarily well. It seemed like the perfect challenge to distract him from his impending doom.

"Where exactly is this game?" he asked, ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to leave Las Vegas before he did something foolish.

"The Bellagio." A hollow laugh escaped her throat. "I wanted to go back and take a closer look at the artwork in the lobby, but Beau ruined even that for me."

Matthew retrieved his phone, scrolling through his contacts before sending a text. Downing the remainder of his whiskey, he rose to his feet.

"Come along, lass."

Her eyes widened like billiard balls. "W-where? I told you, I can't marry you."

"Relax," he assured her, though his ego took a hit every time she mentioned not marrying him. "We're going back to the Bellagio."

"To do what?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"You're going to admire the artwork. I'm going to play poker."

Chapter 4

Four
The city had cooled down with the arrival of nightfall, but Jocelyn still found herself perspiring. This time, however, it wasn't due to the heat, but rather anxiety. As they rode back to the Bellagio in a cab, she attempted to reason with Matthew, hoping to dissuade him from whatever point he was trying to prove.

"This is ridiculous. You shouldn't waste your night playing poker. Especially when you need to find a way out of your immigration mess," she pleaded.

Matthew shot her a side-eye glare, but remained silent.

Guilt washed over her. She was his way out of this mess.

Her.

"I'm serious," she persisted. "What makes you think your luck will be any better than Beau's? Sure, you may have more money to throw away, but kicking field goals isn't the same as playing five-card stud."

This time, an inarticulate growl accompanied his glare.

Exasperated, she gave up with a huff. "Fine. Go ahead and try to prove that you can outsmart a bunch of gamblers. What do I care? After this weekend, our paths will never cross again."

She turned to stare out the window, determined to ignore the disappointment swirling in her stomach. There was no reason for her to feel sad about never seeing Declan Phillips again.

No reason to miss the sensation of his voice murmuring in her ear.

No reason to long for his arms wrapped around her.

No reason to yearn for the sound of his heart beating against her cheek.

What in the world was she thinking?

They weren't lovers, for goodness' sake. They weren't even friends. Where was her mind going with this? Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her own silliness. The only thing she should be disappointed about was the two days of pay she was missing out on by traveling here to find Beau.

"Are you coming, lass?"

Lost in her own fantasy of a relationship with Matthew, Jocelyn didn't realize they had arrived at the Bellagio. The bellman held the car door open for her while Matthew stood on the pavement, wearing an irritated scowl. His attitude irked her. She was tired and hungry, and the enormous bathtub in their suite was calling out to her. She had no desire to spend the evening watching a kilt-loving jock throw away his hard-earned money on a game of chance.

Something must have shown on her face because, in an instant, Matthew leaned into the car and gently grasped her wrist.

"I won't force you to fulfill your end of our agreement, but the least you could do is keep up the charade while we're here," he said.

Guilt churned in her empty stomach. A corner of his mouth quirked up as her stomach growled audibly.

"Do this for me, and you can order anything you want from the menu. Please, Jocelyn."

It was the first time he had spoken her name, and the sultry sound of it rolling off his tongue sent shivers down her spine. It felt more intimate than the countless "lasses" he had called her since they first met. But it was his pleading "please" that made her acquiesce. This wasn't a man who begged, she realized. Whatever he had planned for the evening was important to him, just as her presence obviously was. She had come this far. With a nod, she accepted his help out of the car.

He released her wrist, only to place his hand on her lower back, guiding her possessively through the crowd of guests in the lobby. His touch sent electric currents through her nerve endings.

"Phillips!"

A man in a loud Hawaiian shirt emerged from the crowd. It was obviously a costume, as his pale skin and sunken eyes indicated someone who rarely saw the light of day, let alone a sandy beach.

"Arlo." Matthew extended his free hand to the man. "Thanks for accommodating me."

"Are you kidding? I've been trying to get you to join one of these games for years. I'm just glad you finally took me up on my offer."

Matthew glanced at Jocelyn. "Well, there are some special circumstances tonight."

A sly grin appeared on Arlo's face as he scrutinized Jocelyn. "The things we do for women. Although, you're the last person I'd expect to follow the whims of the fairer sex." He shrugged. "But if it gets you to a poker table, I won't complain."

Jocelyn's cheeks burned at the man's false assumption. "It's not—"

Matthew pressed his hand against her back, silencing her.

"Jocelyn, let me introduce you to Dr. Arlo Levin. Arlo is a math professor at UNLV. Arlo, this is Jocelyn Adams. She's only here for the food."

Arlo laughed. "I've heard that one before."

Before she could object further, Arlo led them through the casino towards the poker room.

"I suppose you wouldn't mind if one of my graduate students shadows you?" Arlo asked, maneuvering them through the maze of slot machines.

Matthew shook his head. "I don't want to draw any more attention to myself. Besides, tonight isn't about research. It's about winning."

Both Jocelyn and Arlo looked astonished.

"Research?" she asked.

"Winning?" Arlo echoed. "You haven't played to win since we needed beer money in grad school. In fact, I distinctly remember making a pact never to play for money again."

"I told you," Matthew replied curtly. "Tonight is different."

Jocelyn wanted to stop right there, in the middle of the casino, and demand answers.The circumstances were unclear, muddled in the haze of their tangled emotions. Did he truly believe he could swoop in like a gallant hero and teach Beau a lesson? Jocelyn's breath hitched at the mere thought of someone actually caring about her. The idea was both exhilarating and guilt-inducing. She couldn't help but feel remorse for dragging Matthew into her chaotic life. She needed to put an end to this madness. Yet, his hand remained steadfast against her back, its warmth seeping through the fabric of her blouse. Like a lovesick puppy, she allowed him to guide her forward.

Arlo, clearly a regular in the poker room, waved them in without a second glance, accompanied by Walter's friend. But then, Jocelyn's step faltered as the teddy bear security guard approached. Matthew instinctively slid his hand to her shoulder and pulled her closer to him, a silent warning to the guard. It worked, as the security guard backed off. Jocelyn scanned the room, hoping to spot Beau among the players, but relief mingled with disappointment when he was nowhere to be found.

Arlo led them to a table tucked away in the back corner of the room. He leaned down to whisper something to one of the players, causing the man to snap his head up and shoot a surprised glance in their direction.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man announced, gathering his chips and rising from his seat. "I hope you don't mind if I give up my place. I'm sure you'll enjoy playing with a real-life celebrity. Let's see if he can earn the title of leading scorer at the poker table tonight."

Matthew's arm around Jocelyn tightened briefly at the introduction, but his haughty expression remained unwavering. Whatever he had planned, he didn't seem to be enjoying it. Jocelyn found herself caught off guard by this realization.

"The ante is twenty-five thousand," the man continued, "but I'm sure that's chump change for you."

"Holy hell," Jocelyn murmured, her heart pounding. The amount was nearly equivalent to a semester's tuition. Whether it was chump change or not, she couldn't bear watching him gamble away that kind of money. The mere thought made her queasy.

She turned within the circle of his arm, about to voice her concerns, but Matthew seemed to read her thoughts once again. "Give me a kiss for luck, lass," he commanded, effectively silencing her protest with his words and his lips.

Caught off guard, Jocelyn had no time to react. And even if she did, she wouldn't know how. She was stunned. Or maybe something else entirely.

As his lips met hers, a whirlwind of sensations threatened to overwhelm her. The velvety firmness of his lips, the tangy hint of whiskey on his breath, and the electric sparks ignited by the touch of his fingers against her skin.

It was all too much.

And yet, it wasn't nearly enough.

Her body moved of its own accord, inching closer until she couldn't distinguish whether it was her heart pounding against her chest or his. She couldn't contain the sigh that escaped from the back of her throat as his lips coaxed hers apart and his tongue slipped into her mouth. His fingers tightened ever so slightly at the sound before abruptly releasing her.

It took a moment for Jocelyn to regain awareness of her surroundings. The slot machines pinged and the cards shuffled, blending into the hum of conversations within the casino. When she finally focused, Matthew still stood in front of her, radiating warmth and something she couldn't quite identify.

"Well done, lass," he murmured.

Jocelyn's gaze snapped up to meet his, her stomach sinking at his amused expression. Damn it. He was playing a role. This whole evening was some sort of act for him, and she didn't know the script. She had been foolish to think it was anything more.

Stepping back, she forced a smile she didn't feel. Jocelyn may not be as skilled a gamer as Declan Phillips, but she was a quick learner. She had to be. So she decided to play along.

Placing both hands on Matthew's chest, she stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to the corner of his. "Try not to lose it all in one go," she said loud enough for the onlookers to hear.

With a pat on his impressive pecs, she left him standing there, speechless, and made her way to find some food. And perhaps a large glass of wine.

Matthew, usually a lover of mathematics, found himself despising it in that moment. He thrived on calculations, but tonight, it only reminded him of the mess he had gotten himself into with the pink-haired vixen posing as his fake fiancé.

If touching her had been a bad idea, kissing her was the epitome of bad ideas. Unfortunately, his body seemed to be oblivious to this fact. Parts of him screamed to take her back to their hotel suite and continue what they had started. She was right; after this weekend, they would likely never see each other again. And judging by her reaction to their kiss, she was more than willing to take things further.

Or was she?

There was a nagging feeling that she might be playing him. Perhaps she had scammed both him and Russell by agreeing to a fake marriage in order to enjoy a free trip to Las Vegas. Her story about a shady ex could very well be a fabrication. And he had fallen for it, using the excuse of wanting to help her as a reason to spend the evening playing poker.

He picked up the cards dealt by the dealer, not bothering to look at them. Instead, his gaze remained locked on the cunning vixen who had captivated Arlo's attention. His married friend was already smitten, fetching her food and champagne. Matthew clenched his teeth, trying to suppress his frustration. Arlo had a wife and three children, for God's sake.In addition to his role as a math professor, Arlo also worked as a consultant for the casino's security team. He led a group of graduate students who were responsible for detecting any potential cheaters among the players. While it wasn't technically dishonest to use one's intelligence, casinos didn't appreciate players who had an unfair advantage due to their intellect. Matthew, with his MIT PhD, fell into that category. Normally, he avoided gambling altogether, but tonight was an exception. He just hoped he wasn't making a grave mistake.

"Are you in?" the dealer asked, snapping Matthew out of his wandering thoughts. He focused on his hand of cards and tossed several chips onto the table. "I'm in."

It took a few hands, but Matthew eventually found his rhythm, fully immersing himself in the game. The world around him faded away, leaving only the cards and the play unfolding before him. If the other players had initially seen him as an egotistical jock, he quickly proved them wrong.

After six hours, only two players remained. Matthew had already won back Jocelyn's money and then some. But he couldn't walk away until he won the final hand. Assessing the probabilities in his head, he calculated that the best hand his opponent could have was a straight, although the likelihood of that was extremely low. Glancing at his own cards, he made up his mind.

He pushed a stack of chips into the center of the table, leaving just enough to cover Jocelyn's debt. He raised an eyebrow at the man sitting across from him. His opponent studied the bet intently.

"I'll see your bet," he finally said, placing an equal number of chips on the pile.

The other players seemed to hold their collective breaths. Matthew motioned for his opponent to reveal his cards. To his surprise, the guy had a straight of spades, ace high. Matthew leaned back in his chair and grinned at the challenge.

Taking his time, he revealed his own cards one by one. Five hearts, forming a flush. A flush beat a straight, making him the winner. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

Arlo clapped him on the back. "You haven't lost your touch, Professor MacMath. Well played."

Matthew stretched his shoulders. "I assume you'll be discussing my strategy in class this week?"

"You bet. My students will be dissecting every hand you played." Arlo laughed. "Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, some poor coach will be doing the same with game footage. You're quite the mystery, Phillips."

Matthew chuckled at the irony. "Yeah, well, I think this was a one-time thing. Your students will have to be satisfied with tonight's performance."

"You're definitely a 'one and done' in my casino." Arlo scooped the chips into a deep plastic bowl and handed it to Matthew. "I only allowed you to join the game so that your brilliant mind could give us insights into the other players. But if you keep winning everyone's money, we might have to move you to tournament play."

A line of people had formed, all eager for a selfie with the victorious gambler. Despite his exhaustion and hunger, Matthew obliged for nearly ten minutes before Arlo intervened. He gestured toward a row of chairs against the back wall. "You should get her out of here."

Matthew realized that he had completely forgotten about Jocelyn in his excitement. She lay sprawled across the chairs, fast asleep with her earbuds in and her mouth slightly open. A strand of her hair danced in the air with each breath.

"How long has she been out?" he asked.

Arlo grinned indulgently. "She barely lasted an hour."

Regret pierced Matthew's chest. He had been thoughtless. He should have left her in the suite, but his ego had insisted that she come along. If he was going to rescue her, she could at least witness it adoringly. But nothing with Jocelyn went according to plan.

He crouched down in front of her. In her sleep, she looked younger and more vulnerable, far from the woman who had been playing him. She was just a girl who had fought for everything she wanted in life. His gut hadn't steered him wrong. He had made the right choice.

With a gentle touch, he tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear, tracing the curve of her jaw. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing soft blue orbs that studied him for a moment before recognition dawned. She sat up abruptly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Chuckling, Matthew took a seat beside her. "I apologize if the entertainment was lacking, lass."

"It—it wasn't. I just..." Her voice trailed off.

"You can't handle champagne. I figured as much."

She turned to argue, but something in his expression softened her features.

"How much did you lose?" she asked instead.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Lass, I never lose."

His words had the desired effect, causing a slight shiver to run through her before she suppressed it. Avoiding his gaze, her eyes landed on the bowl of chips.

"Are those all yours?"

Instead of answering, Matthew watched her closely, searching for any signs of deceit. But all he saw was genuine bewilderment. He placed the bowl of chips on her lap.

"No, lass. They're yours."

Chapter 5

Five
Jocelyn's eyes widened in disbelief. Had she misheard him? 

"Say that again," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He nudged the bowl on her lap. "You heard me right. You don't have to worry about Beau paying you back."

Jocelyn couldn't believe her luck. She felt as if she were dreaming, and she didn't want to wake up. Not when there was a handsome man sitting beside her, looking at her as if she held the world's greatest treasure.

And he truly was attractive, even in the early morning light. Stubble covered his jaw, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, giving him the appearance of a pirate rather than the knight in shining armor she had imagined. A pirate who had swept in to claim his prize and offer it to her like a precious flower plucked from a field.

But there had to be a catch.

There always was.

Emotion clogged Jocelyn's throat. "How much is this worth?" she managed to ask.

"By my calculations, it's worth seventy-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-three dollars," Arlo replied.

Dark spots danced in front of Jocelyn's eyes. "It's too much. I... I can't..."

"Hush," he said softly, reaching up to gently wrap her fingers around the bowl. "When someone is being generous, the least you can do is be grateful."

"But I can't take your money," she blurted out without thinking. "I'm not going to marry you!"

Arlo flinched beside her, and Matthew let out a low whistle.

"Um, you know what? It's late. I think I'll head home," Arlo said. "I'll text you later, Phillips."

Matthew didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on Jocelyn. She swallowed hard, feeling a pang of disappointment flash in his eyes before it disappeared.

"It's not my money, lass. It belongs to my opponents. And now, it's yours. Do whatever you want with it. If I had intended to force you into marrying me, I wouldn't be giving it to you, would I?"

The sharpness in his tone hit Jocelyn like a punch to the gut. She was being ungrateful. But she couldn't help it. She wasn't used to strangers showing her such kindness. Especially not nearly eighty thousand dollars' worth of kindness. But she was beginning to realize that Declan Phillips was not an ordinary stranger.

"I deceived you about the marriage," she said, shaking the bowl so forcefully that some of the chips spilled onto the carpet. "And yet you did... this! Forgive me if I don't believe it's genuine."

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry that people have let you down, Jocelyn. But I saw an opportunity to solve your problem, and I took it. Believe me when I say there are no strings attached."

He didn't have to sound so certain about that last part.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to..."

"Kindness?" he snapped, running a hand down his face. "Now I'm the one who's sorry. Forgive me. I'm hungry and tired." His steely gaze bore into her. "But listen, Jocelyn Adams. Everyone deserves kindness. Even you. And if it makes you uncomfortable, pay it forward someday. Trust me, it can heal many wounds."

Her chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe. The fact that she had experienced so little kindness in her life clearly troubled him. And it made her feel something she couldn't quite name.

With a groan, he stood up. "I'm going to find some food before we go back to the suite."

"Wait!" Jocelyn called after him. "What about your situation?"

He glanced at his watch. "It's too early to call Russell. Though it would serve him right if I disturbed his beauty sleep."

"Do you think he'll be able to resolve everything before it... before it ruins your life and career?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"Deport me, you mean? Jaysus, I hope so," he replied. A cocktail waitress shot him a flirtatious smile as she passed by. "Of course, I could always find someone else to fulfill your end of the deal."

Jocelyn didn't like the way he eyed the woman's toned figure. Or the burning sensation that welled up inside her.

"You'd just marry a stranger?" she asked.

The look he gave her made it clear that he thought it was a foolish question.

"Sorry. I'm a bit jetlagged," she mumbled.

He raised an eyebrow. "Lass, you just took a five-hour nap."

"In a casino. It doesn't count."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, making Jocelyn's insides flutter. He draped an arm over her shoulder. "Come on. Let's cash in those chips before you drop them out of exhaustion."

As much as she enjoyed his playful side, and the feeling of his strong arm around her, guilt still gnawed at Jocelyn.

"What if Mrs. Jenkins's son can't find a solution?" she asked.

He squeezed her shoulders. "Then I suppose I'll have to marry Mrs. Jenkins. I'm sure she'd be up for it. She strikes me as the adventurous type." He winked. "She's quite frisky."

Jocelyn stopped in her tracks, words failing her. He couldn't be serious. The idea was absurd. He must be delirious from exhaustion. But he was right, Mrs. Jenkins...Jenkins was the kind of person who never shied away from a good dare. So, despite knowing that the marriage they were about to embark on was utterly preposterous and would never pass any sort of inspection, she was determined to go through with it. The burning sensation in her chest was irrelevant at this point.

"No," she objected, feeling his arm tense against her shoulders.

"No?" he questioned.

"I'll do it," she declared.

He pulled his arm away and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The lightness in his eyes vanished. "You'll do what?"

Now he was just being dense. She quickly scanned their surroundings, making sure no one was paying too much attention to them.

"I'll marry you," she mumbled.

Leaning closer, he asked, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

She was fairly certain he had. "You don't have to call Russell. Or his mother. I'll hold up my end of the deal. I'll marry you."

Silence hung heavy between them, and she feared she might drop the bowl of tokens she was holding.

"Make up your mind, lass. You've said more than once that you wouldn't marry me," he finally spoke, his teasing tone replaced by tension. She could practically feel it radiating off of him. Summoning her courage, she made her decision clear.

"But that was different. This won't be some contractual arrangement. It'll be like one friend doing a favor for another," she explained, shaking the bowl of chips at him. "You did me a favor with no strings attached. I'll do the same. Like Mrs. Jenkins said, we don't have to be in love to be married. But if we're two people who respect each other, it's alright."

He stepped closer until only the bowl of tokens separated them. His narrowed gaze studied her face intently, as if searching for something. The world around them faded as she fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. Time seemed to stretch, and her heart raced. After all this, he was going to reject her. Tell her she wasn't good enough. That Mrs. Jenkins was the safer choice. She had heard it all before.

Preparing herself for the inevitable, she refused to acknowledge how deeply his answer would hurt her. It was absurd, really, considering they had only just met. But he had shown her kindness twice now, without any ulterior motives. Declan Phillips was an enigma, one that she suspected could wreak havoc on her psyche, not to mention her heart, if she spent more time around him. She should be relieved that he was about to turn her down.

"Then let's do it now," he surprised her by saying. "Tonight."

"R-right now?" she stuttered.

He snatched the bowl of chips from her hands, guiding her out of the casino.

"Yes, right now, lass," he said tersely. "I won't risk you changing your mind again."

Dumbfounded by his swift agreement, Jocelyn allowed him to lead her along, reminding herself that none of this was real.

OF COURSE, the judge Russell had hired was out of the question at this hour—or rather, in the early morning. That left them with the option of trying one of the famous wedding chapels Las Vegas had to offer. To Matthew's surprise, many of them were too crowded for his liking. Quickie weddings seemed to be a booming business regardless of the time. But the goal was to keep their marriage discreet. The only people who needed to know were those who wanted to deport him.

They wandered to the far end of the strip, eventually finding a small chapel tucked away in what appeared to be a gas station turned pizza joint turned wedding venue. The young woman at the reception desk barely glanced up from her phone when they entered.

"Can I help you?" she muttered half-heartedly.

"We'd like to get married," Matthew stated.

Her eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to whatever was so captivating on her phone. He wondered how she would react if he asked for a pepperoni pizza as well. The thought made his stomach growl.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"Seriously?" Jocelyn raised an eyebrow at the woman, gesturing to the empty lobby.

The receptionist sighed. "I guess I can make an exception. As long as you have a license."

The tone of her voice hinted that she hoped they didn't have a license. Matthew pulled the paper out of his back pocket, confidently opening it and placing it on the counter. He barely managed to suppress a smirk.

Barely.

The receptionist gave the license a quick glance before returning to her phone. "Princess, you're up!"

Matthew's mind wandered as he imagined various Disney princesses, remembering how his sister Luna used to dress up as them. He wasn't sure he could handle Belle performing his farcical marriage ceremony. Instead, an older woman emerged from the back of the chapel. She was dressed in a Princess Leia costume that was clearly too small for her. Braids coiled on the sides of her head, and a light saber dangled from her fingertips. Matthew failed to hide his surprise, earning a narrowed gaze from the woman."If you're on the hunt for Elvis," she chimed in with a voice that mirrored Minnie Mouse more than an intergalactic princess, "you'll have to come back another time. He's off this weekend. However, we do have a Star Wars special that's absolutely out of this world."

He couldn't help but admire the woman's spirit. "That sounds perfect," he replied.

The girl behind the counter wasted no time. "That'll be five hundred bucks," she stated matter-of-factly.

At the sound of Jocelyn's sharp intake of breath, Princess Leia added, "That includes photos and a video. Just give us a moment to set up the cameras."

"No pictures," he hastily interjected.

In that moment, he realized his mistake. The girl abandoned her phone and focused her full attention on him.

"Just a ceremony and a marriage certificate will suffice," Jocelyn jumped in, her placating smile aimed at both women.

Princess Leia's eyes darted between the two of them before shrugging. "Suit yourself. But the fee remains the same regardless. When you're ready to settle up, come on back. Russell Skywalker and Chewbacca will serve as your witnesses."

To their surprise, neither he nor Jocelyn reacted with the expected excitement about their unconventional witnesses. Princess Leia muttered something under her breath and disappeared into the back room. Matthew retrieved five one-hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over to the girl at the counter. She tucked the money away before sliding a worn three-ringed-binder towards him.

"Here's our selection of vows. Choose the ones that speak to you."

A bead of sweat formed at the back of his neck. He hadn't considered this part. Would he have to pledge his love for Jocelyn? Could he get away with crossing his fingers behind his back? He could certainly promise to respect and protect her, but love? Bloody hell, what had he gotten himself into?

Jocelyn was already flipping through the notebook. "No," she muttered, turning the pages. "No. No. No." She let out an annoyed huff. "How is the word 'obey' still in wedding vows these days?"

Matthew nearly burst out laughing. He worried about giving her the wrong impression by pledging his love until death do they part, while all she seemed to care about was the notion of obeying.

"Does it really matter?" he asked, trying to convey through his tone that none of this was real. Unfortunately, he was struggling to believe it himself.

Her narrowed eyes softened for a moment before she nodded in agreement. She pointed to a paragraph listed under the heading 'Short and Sweet Wedding Vows.'

"What about these?" she suggested.

He scanned the words on the page.

Promise to love you forever.

...falling in love a little more every day...

Love of my life.

Soul-mate.

Matthew slammed the book shut. "Isn't there something more generic we can use?"

The girl behind the desk responded with a sly grin. "Of course. Just let the Princess know you want the vows that come with the package."

"Perfect," he replied. Taking hold of Jocelyn's hand, he led her into the chapel. But as they crossed the threshold, they were met with a surprising sight. The room didn't resemble a chapel at all. Instead, it appeared to be the bridge of Han Solo's Millennium Falcon.

"I'm kinda bummed you said no pictures," Jocelyn whispered beside him. "This is too crazy not to document."

Her bright blue eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail. A bemused smile tugged at the corners of her lips when she spotted the Wookie standing at the altar. "She wasn't kidding about Chewbacca."

Despite being a lifelong Star Wars fan, Matthew couldn't summon the same level of excitement. "I can't imagine this is what you envisioned for your wedding day."

She lifted her gaze to meet his. "I never allowed myself to dream of a wedding."

Her matter-of-fact statement left him speechless. What kind of woman doesn't dream of her own wedding?

"No family, remember? No church," she shrugged. "Definitely no money. In fact, this is more than a girl like me could hope for. And it will certainly be memorable."

Once again, he was reminded that she wasn't like most women he knew. She hadn't spent hours with her friends, fantasizing about the perfect future. Instead, she had spent her life dodging the curveballs the world had thrown at her, doing whatever it took to survive.

"Sorry," he muttered, his single word falling short of the mark. He realized how callous he had been, and her nonchalant response stung even more.

A smirk formed on her lips. "Don't tell me you've spent your life dreaming of your marriage. Maybe picturing yourself proudly waiting at the altar in your kilt and one of those pom-pom caps?"

Her words hit him harder than any physical blow. The memory of standing at the altar, dressed exactly as she described, with Niall proudly by his side, caused a painful lump to form in his throat. "Men don't dream about their weddings," he managed to grind out.

"Uh-huh. Your face says otherwise," she retorted.

Before he could object, she cut him off.

"Save it. This is just a temporary arrangement. I don't need to know all your secrets."Hand in hand, she led him towards the front of the chapel. "Come on, Highlander. Let's do this," she said with determination.

She was right. This arrangement was only temporary, no longer just a business deal but more like a pact between friends. Both of them knew what they were getting into, eyes wide open. He decided to take a page from her book and go along with this absurd situation. Stepping up to the altar, he allowed himself to relax, if only for a moment.

But then, a pimply-faced Russell Skywalker interrupted their peace. "Do you have rings?"

Matthew winced at the question. He had made it clear that he wouldn't wear a ring. It would only draw attention to their fake marriage and go against the values instilled in him by his parents.

"We're planning on getting matching tattoos after the ceremony," Jocelyn replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked at him.

Her quick response caught him off guard. She was actually enjoying this whole charade. Her eyes dared him to do the same. If he wasn't careful, he could easily lose himself in those eyes. Thankfully, he was known for being cautious and sarcastic.

"Just as long as there are no nose rings involved," he quipped.

She smiled at his lame joke, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. She was breathtaking, especially when she wasn't burdened by anxiety. A dimple appeared on her cheek, daring him to kiss it. He found himself leaning in, ready to do just that, when Princess Leia spoke up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here tonight to unite Declan Edward Phillips and Andrea Faith Adams," Princess Leia announced, consulting the license.

Faith. That was her middle name. Matthew couldn't think of a more fitting name for the strong and determined woman standing beside him.

"This union will allow this couple to navigate through the galaxy of life and protect them from the Evil Empire," Princess Leia continued.

Jocelyn stifled a chuckle with a cough, earning a stern look from Princess Leia. Jocelyn cleared her throat and nodded, urging Princess Leia to carry on.

"Declan, do you take Andrea to be your wife?" Princess Leia asked.

"I do," Matthew replied.

"Andrea, do you take Declan to be your husband?" Princess Leia inquired.

"I do," Jocelyn managed to say between giggles.

Princess Leia's glare intensified. "Declan, please turn to face Andrea and take her hands."

Suppressing another fit of laughter, Jocelyn pivoted towards him, offering her hands. He took her small fingers in his, feeling a surge of warmth.

"Declan, do you vow to make Andrea your Queen as you travel the galaxy? Do you promise to stand by her side, comfort her, honor her, respect her, and protect her from the Dark Side for the rest of your days, until death do you part?" Princess Leia asked, emphasizing the word "love."

A bead of sweat formed at the base of his neck at the mention of the dreaded "L" word. Jocelyn, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, too busy fighting off laughter at the irreverence of the ceremony.

He cleared his throat. "I do."

"Andrea, do you take Declan to be your wedded husband? Do you promise to stand by him, comfort him, honor him, respect him, and protect his offspring from the Dark Side for the rest of your days, until death do you part?" Princess Leia continued, her tone slightly annoyed.

Jocelyn's eyes sparkled with mirth. "I do," she choked out.

Princess Leia sighed in annoyance. "By the power vested in me by the Force and the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you King and Queen, husband and wife. May your life together be filled with happiness and peace, and may the force be with you both always," she declared, nodding at Matthew. "You may kiss your Queen."

Jocelyn raised an eyebrow at the word "Queen," her body twitching with suppressed laughter. He pulled her closer, intending to give her a peck on the cheek. But the moment their bodies made contact, a storm of sensations erupted within him. Judging by the wide-eyed expression on Jocelyn's face, she felt it too. He told himself to keep it light, but he couldn't resist brushing his lips against hers. What was meant to be a perfunctory kiss turned into something entirely different as he felt her respond, her tongue tangling with his. In that moment, he forgot about everything else. His hands moved from her shoulders to explore the curves of her body, his heart pounding in his ears. It took the sound of a throat being cleared to snap them back to reality.

"We charge extra for a hotel room," Princess Leia announced.

Jocelyn jumped out of his arms as if she had been burned. Her eyes were unfocused, her lips swollen from their passionate encounter. She looked around the room, embarrassment etched on her face.

Damn!

How had he lost control so quickly? He was known for his self-discipline, both on and off the field. But when he was around Jocelyn, all his carefully constructed walls crumbled. That had to change, starting now. Because while he couldn't promise to love Jocelyn, he could definitely see himself liking her. A lot. And that could become a problem when their fake wedding came to an end.

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