“You should give the prenup agreement I asked my attorney to draw up to your own attorney before you sign it,” Jackson said.

“I trust you,” Lori said, her red-high-heel-clad foot vibrating in a staccato rhythm as she sat beside Jackson in the SUV. She wore designer jeans that molded to her every curve and some kind of red top with pink lace that showed just a hint of cleavage. Enough to keep him glancing at her every third second.

Jackson rolled his eyes at the same time his gut tightened. He was driving toward the nearest airport to catch the next flight to Vegas. Or to Insanityville. Or both. Once Jackson made up his mind, there was no going back. This time, however, even he’d had second, third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. Ultimately, he knew the agreement was more than fair, and some part of him was dead-ass certain he could help Lori. Unless he was just using that harebrained idea as some kind of crazy justification for marrying her.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone,” he told her. “Not with that amount of money.”

“I can always sue you if you do something dishonorable, because you’re still my accountant,” she said, her foot still pumping.

He had to restrain the urge to put his hand on her thigh for her to stop, but Jackson knew touching her thigh wouldn’t be enough. He knew he could get totally sidetracked thinking about her thighs and how good she would feel if he…

Focusing on the road, he shook his head and tried a softer approach, even though it went against the grain. “It will make me feel better if your attorney reviews this before. I already instructed my attorney to e-mail a copy to yours. You can call your attorney and tell him to review it during our flight.”

She sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll call him.”

Jackson listened as she took a moment to go through the contact list on her cell phone, placed the call, and talked with her attorney.

After she finished, she turned to Jackson. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when you’re more responsible with your inheritance.”

“Is that why you put that clause in there about consulting with you if I was planning to spend anything that hit six digits?”

Surprised she’d actually read the agreement, he shot a quick glance at her. “Partly,” he said.

“I noticed the agreement didn’t give you the power to veto my spending. I would have told you to take a flying leap if it had.”

His lips twitched at the heat in her voice. “I don’t want to stop you. I just want to help you… pause.”

“If I’m really determined, discussing anything with you won’t make a bit of a difference.”

“I know that,” he said. “And if you’re not really determined?”

A long silence followed. “Okay. I may not follow all my impulses.”

“Is that bad?”

Another silence followed. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

He felt her gaze on him. “You may find out after your attorney looks at the agreement and you sign it and we both make it to the justice of the peace,” he said. This was such a wild card that he still wasn’t counting on anything.

“Is that why you’re making us fly commercial?”

He nodded. “Until we’re married, you’re still broke.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and shook her head. “That’s an exaggeration. I’m not broke.”

“Unless you want to slash your budget, you’re broke,” he said bluntly. “If you want to give up your job as philanthropist to every imaginable cause on God’s green earth and get a real job, then you’re not broke.”

Her toe started to pump again, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Just drive, please,” she said.

Six hours later, Lori stood in front of the concierge at the Bellagio Hotel, feeling as if she were going to jump out of her skin. The flight had seemed interminable. As soon as the jet landed, she talked with her attorney, who began the conversation by telling her not to do anything rash. During the drive from the airport, she boiled down all his concerns about the premarital agreement to essentially none.

Luckily Tim, the concierge, was also a notary. He witnessed her and Jackson ’s signature on the agreement. “There you go,” he said. “I’m happy to be of service.”

“Can we get married now?” she asked him.

“I’ll have to check availability,” Tim said. “We’re usually booked. If we can’t accommodate you, I can help you find a chapel.”

“For tonight,” she said.

“I’ll try to find something,” he said and picked up the phone on his desk.

“You’re tapping again,” Jackson murmured into her ear.

She curled her toes inside her shoes. His closeness only made her feel more jittery, but she didn’t want him to know that. “I just want to get it done.”

“If you’re this nervous about doing it-”

“I’m not nervous about being married to you.” She bit her lip, trying to compartmentalize her thoughts and feelings. “I know you’ll keep your end of our agreement.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get a dress or pick out some flowers? I thought women spent their whole lives dreaming of being dressed like a princess on their wedding day.”

“The princess thing is way overrated. I’ve been doing that most of my life.” Without invitation, a vision of what she had pictured for her wedding day slid through her mind. In her fantasy world, Harlan had walked her down a garden aisle, and her mother, visiting from the hereafter, sat in the first row of white chairs with her half brother. Lori’s two sisters would be bridesmaids.

Lori had always been so infatuated with the idea of having all her loved ones alive, in the same place, and not screaming at each other, that she hadn’t spent much time thinking about her Prince Charming.

This wasn’t a real marriage, she told herself. She couldn’t deny, however, that the notion of making lifelong promises with no intention of keeping them seemed creepy.

She couldn’t let sappy, emotional thoughts stop her. She needed to think like a man about this. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “What we’re about to do is business. I understand-”

Tim lifted a hand as he held the phone against his ear. “I can get you an Elvis wedding in thirty minutes. Will that work?”

Elvis was just over five feet tall and appeared to be approximately three hundred years old. Lori hoped he’d make it through the ceremony. He wore a jet black toupee and a white suit that hung on his skinny body as he warbled “Love Me Tender.” Lori quickly walked down the aisle, carrying a bouquet of artificial white roses. Based on Jackson ’s grim expression and her own sense of facing the gallows, Lori thought “Jailhouse Rock” would be more fitting, but she hadn’t been given a choice. Apparently this Elvis had a very limited repertoire. The hired witnesses, an older woman and young man, sat on the front row of the chapel. The young man was texting on his cell phone.

Clutching the white rose bouquet in her hands, she tapped her foot as she waited for Elvis to finish the song. Jackson moved closer and put his arm at her back, startling her. He lowered his head. “You’re tapping again.”

She tried to stop. She really did. But tapping was better than wrapping her hands around the skinny throat of Elvis and asking him to get on with it.

Elvis finally finished. Adjusting his thick eyeglasses, he looked at Lori and stretched his mouth in a denture-filled smile. “You’re a beautiful bride,” he said, then turned to Jackson. “Isn’t she a beautiful bride?”

Jackson met Lori’s gaze, and she felt an odd dipping sensation. “Yes, she’s beautiful.”

“Every bride needs to hear that she’s beautiful,” Elvis said, pretty much negating the compliment. “We’re gathered here to unite this couple in joyous matrimony. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”