Chapter 1
His head was pounding like someone had stuffed a jackhammer behind his eyes and pressed on. He winced and rolled onto his back, blinking up at a cracked ceiling with water stains shaped like continents. The air smelled like stale cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and sweat. He groaned, swallowed back nausea, and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.
His mouth felt like he’d been licking sandpaper all night. He reached for the glass of water on the rickety nightstand and nearly knocked it over. That’s when he saw it.
A cowboy hat sat perched on the dusty lamp. Tan, wide-brimmed, with a braided leather band. He frowned at it, confused, and the movement pulled at something on his left hand. He squinted down.
A gold wedding band gleamed back at him in the early desert light seeping through broken blinds.
Lex jerked up so fast the room spun around him. He pressed his palm to his chest, heart thudding so hard it hurt. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He twisted the ring, feeling his breath quicken, lungs squeezing tight like they couldn’t fill properly. He scanned the motel room – thin brown carpet, stained armchair, duffel bag in the corner, his own designer shoes scattered by the door.
And there. Half under the thin floral bedspread.
A man’s leg. Tanned, with dark hair dusting his calves. A boot sat on the floor beside it, scuffed and mud-streaked. Lex followed the leg up to see a pair of worn jeans, unbuttoned, then a flat stomach with a faint line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband. His eyes kept climbing until they reached a bare chest. Broad. Strong. The man’s neck was sunburned, his jaw shadowed with stubble, mouth slack with sleep. His hair was tousled, golden brown and curling slightly at the ends.
He was… beautiful, in a rough, dangerous way. Like he belonged on the back of a horse in a Marlboro ad, not in this dingy Vegas motel with Lex, corporate strategist, billionaire, Yale graduate, man who did not make mistakes.
Lex swallowed hard. His hand shook as he reached for his phone, half-buried under the thin pillow. He winced as the screen light stabbed into his aching eyes. Notifications blurred in and out of focus. He forced himself to look at them.
Missed calls. Emails. His calendar reminded him of the board meeting in NYC at noon. The panic rose in his throat like bile.
And then he saw it. A blurry photo in his camera roll from last night. He tapped it open with trembling fingers.
There he was, grinning so wide his cheeks looked ready to split, his tie crooked and shirt half unbuttoned. And next to him… the cowboy. Wyatt Carter, the name read in loopy cursive on the marriage license Lex was holding up for the camera, his hand pressed to Wyatt’s chest like he couldn’t bear to let go.
His stomach swooped and twisted at the look on his own face in the photo. He looked… happy. No, not just happy. He looked lit up from the inside, eyes shining in a way he hadn’t seen in himself for years. Wyatt was smiling down at him with sleepy, warm eyes, his mouth parted like he was about to lean in and kiss Lex again. His hair was mussed, his lips slightly swollen. Lex’s chest burned with something he didn’t recognise.
He set the phone down on the bed, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream. What the hell had he done?
The cowboy stirred, letting out a low sigh. Lex froze as Wyatt shifted onto his back, blinking awake. His lashes were long and thick, brushing his cheekbones before he lifted his gaze to Lex. For a moment, there was confusion in his eyes, then something softer. A slow, sleepy smile curved his lips.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” he rasped, voice deep and rough with sleep.
Lex’s chest clenched so hard he thought he might be having a heart attack. The way Wyatt said darlin’… it felt like a hand closing around his ribcage and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. His mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out.
Wyatt reached out, brushing the back of his knuckles over Lex’s cheek. His skin was warm and calloused. Lex flinched like he’d been burned.
“You okay?” Wyatt murmured, brow furrowing slightly. His thumb traced the edge of Lex’s jaw, feather-light, like he was afraid Lex might shatter under his touch.
“I… I need to… I have a flight,” Lex stammered, voice cracking. He tore himself away from the touch and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The carpet scratched against his bare feet. He grabbed his phone again, heart thundering.
His assistant had texted four times. “Mr. Carrington, car is waiting to take you to the airport. The board is expecting you in person. Shall I delay your flight?”
Board meeting. NYC. His real life. His empire. His power.
He was Lex Carrington. He didn’t wake up married to cowboys. He didn’t spend the night in cheap motels with men whose entire net worth was probably the cost of Lex’s shoes. He didn’t feel things like this. Like his chest was splitting open and something wild and messy was spilling out.
He clenched his eyes shut. Behind his eyelids, images flashed.
The cowboy – Wyatt – pinning him to the motel wall, kissing him like he was starving. Lex’s hands tangled in Wyatt’s hair, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between them. Wyatt’s groan vibrating against his lips, the rough scrape of stubble on his throat, the taste of cheap whiskey and sweet mint on his tongue. The way Lex had gasped against his mouth, desperate and shaking, like he needed Wyatt to keep breathing.
Lex’s eyes flew open. He stared down at the ring on his finger, at the scuffed cowboy boots by the door, at the dusty hat on the lamp. His heart squeezed painfully. That memory… it didn’t feel like a drunken mistake. It felt like longing. Like he’d wanted it so badly it had ripped him open.
Wyatt sat up slowly behind him, sheets falling to his waist, revealing his sculpted chest dusted with sun-kissed hair. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and yawned.
“Lex…” he murmured, voice rough and tender.
Lex flinched at the sound of his name on Wyatt’s lips. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t feel this. He stood abruptly, knees wobbling. He snatched up his clothes from the chair – crumpled black dress pants, white shirt smeared with lipstick he didn’t remember wearing, his silver tie in a sad knot.
“I have to go,” he choked out.
“Wait—”
But Lex didn’t wait. He fled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. His chest heaved as he leaned against the sink, gripping the chipped porcelain so hard his knuckles went white. His reflection stared back at him with wild eyes, hair sticking up in every direction, tie hanging loose around his neck, the gold wedding band burning bright on his left hand.
He squeezed his eyes shut again. All he saw was Wyatt’s sleepy smile in that photo, the way he looked at Lex like he was something precious. Something worth holding onto.
His phone buzzed in his hand again, vibrating against the cold sink.
“Mr. Carrington, please advise. Flight departs in 2 hours. Shall I rebook?”
Lex swallowed hard, staring down at the text. His heart pounded against his ribs. The floor felt like it was tilting under his feet. His head spun with hangover nausea and panic and something else. Something softer, darker, warmer.
He slid down the wall to sit on the cracked tiles, knees pulled to his chest, wedding ring glinting in the dim light. He pressed his forehead against his knees, breathing in short, shaky bursts.
He didn’t know what terrified him more. The fact that he was married to a stranger… or the fact that some part of him didn’t want this to be a mistake.
Lex sat on the cold bathroom tiles for what felt like hours, though his phone told him only eleven minutes had passed. His stomach churned with bile and sour whiskey remnants. He pressed his fingertips to his temples, squeezing, as if he could force memory back into place. But all he got were flashes—Wyatt’s warm hands gripping his waist, Wyatt’s lips parted in a smile before leaning in, Wyatt’s husky laugh mingling with the pulsing bass of a Vegas club. Then nothing. Just black.
He stood shakily, rinsed his face with water that tasted faintly of rust, and stared at himself in the fogged mirror. Dark curls stuck up on one side of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, lashes clumped together with sleep crust. A tiny red mark bloomed just below his jawline, and Lex brushed his thumb over it. The memory of Wyatt’s teeth scraping that sensitive skin sent a sharp ache straight to his chest. He sucked in a ragged breath and closed his eyes, forcing the feeling down. He couldn’t afford this. Not here. Not ever.
Outside the bathroom door, he heard movement—floorboards creaking under heavy boots. Wyatt’s boots. Lex’s heart did a humiliating flip at the sound. He yanked the door open and nearly smacked into a broad, naked chest. Wyatt towered over him, shoulders filling the narrow doorway. His eyes were clear now, a striking pale brown flecked with gold, framed by thick lashes. They softened when they landed on Lex’s face.
“Hey,” Wyatt murmured, voice gravelly from sleep but laced with gentle warmth. “You okay? You look… a little sick.”
Lex bristled, pulling his dignity around himself like a tailored Armani coat. “I’m fine. Just… dehydrated.”
Wyatt tilted his head, studying him with eyes that felt too knowing. “Want me to grab you some Gatorade from the vending machine down the hall?”
Lex’s chest twisted. He almost laughed. Billionaires didn’t drink Gatorade from vending machines in dingy motels. They drank imported mineral water in crystal glasses delivered by room service at the Bellagio penthouse suite. But there was something disarming in Wyatt’s offer. Something sweet and casual, as if he was saying I’ll take care of you, darlin’, don’t worry about a thing.
Lex shook his head, throat tightening. “No. I have to go. I have a meeting.”
Wyatt’s brow creased. “Meeting? It’s barely seven.”
Lex ignored him, brushing past to grab his pants off the chair. As he bent to pick them up, the waistband of his boxers dipped low on his hips, and he felt the burn of Wyatt’s gaze tracing the exposed skin. Heat licked across Lex’s chest at the thought of Wyatt’s rough hands on him last night. He shoved the feeling down again and pulled on his trousers, ignoring the way his fingers trembled as he zipped them up.
“Where’s your ring?” Wyatt asked suddenly, voice quiet.
Lex froze. He glanced down at the gold band on his left hand. “Right here.”
Wyatt’s lips twitched into a sleepy smile. “Looks good on you.”
Lex swallowed hard, throat burning. He wanted to scream Don’t say things like that but the words lodged somewhere behind his ribs.
Wyatt bent down, rummaging through his duffel bag, and pulled out a crumpled flannel shirt. He shrugged into it, leaving it unbuttoned. His chest hair peeked through, sun-bleached in places, and Lex’s mouth went dry. Wyatt caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, that smile curling at the corners again. Lex turned away quickly, cheeks flushing.
“Do you… want coffee before you go?” Wyatt asked. His voice was soft. Hopeful.
Lex’s chest ached with an emotion he didn’t want to name. He shook his head. “I can’t.”
He grabbed his phone off the bed, ignoring the photo of them still glowing on the screen. Wyatt reached out, gently curling his fingers around Lex’s wrist. His grip was firm and warm, calloused palms rough against Lex’s skin. Lex went still. Wyatt’s thumb stroked once, just below the cuff of Lex’s shirt.
“Look… I know you probably don’t remember everything from last night,” Wyatt said softly. “But… I remember some. Enough to know… it wasn’t just the whiskey.”
Lex’s breath hitched. His gaze darted up to Wyatt’s face, searching. Wyatt’s eyes were tender, but shadowed with something—fear, maybe, or sadness.
“You kissed me like you meant it,” Wyatt whispered. “I kissed you like I needed it.”
Lex’s heart clenched so hard it hurt. He yanked his wrist away. “Don’t.”
Wyatt flinched, eyes flicking down, lashes trembling. He nodded once, jaw tightening. “Yeah. Okay.”
The silence between them vibrated with all the things Lex wouldn’t let himself feel. He turned away and gathered the rest of his clothes. When he reached the door, Wyatt spoke again.
“If you want to talk… or if you need anything… I’m at the Double Bar Ranch. Just outside town. Wyatt Carter.”
Lex paused with his hand on the doorknob. Wyatt Carter. The name from the license. The name he’d apparently taken as his husband, even if only for a night. Lex didn’t look back. He opened the door and stepped into the harsh desert sun, the motel sign flickering above him, a single buzzing bulb still glowing against the dawn.
The taxi driver took one look at his wrinkled clothes and cowboy hat—Lex hadn’t realised he was still holding it until he settled into the back seat—and raised an eyebrow.
“Rough night, pal?”
Lex didn’t answer. He pressed his forehead to the cool window as the neon lights of Vegas blurred by, fading into the gold and pink wash of sunrise. His phone buzzed again. His assistant. His board meeting. His real life screaming for attention.
But all he could think about was the way Wyatt had looked at him. Like he was something worth keeping. Like he was more than strategy and mergers and bottom lines. Like he was just… Lex.
His chest ached with a longing so raw it terrified him.
The taxi dropped him at the private terminal. He walked through security on autopilot, ignoring the sting in his eyes. The flight attendant greeted him by name, smiling her perfect smile as she guided him to his seat. Lex collapsed into buttery leather, staring out the window as the jet engines roared to life.
As the plane lifted off the runway, he closed his eyes. For a moment, just a moment, he let himself remember.
The way Wyatt had kissed him—slow and deep and claiming. The low growl in his chest as he’d pinned Lex to the motel wall, hands gripping his hips like he couldn’t bear to let go. Lex’s moan echoing off the cracked plaster, fingers digging into Wyatt’s hair, the scent of leather and whiskey and clean sweat wrapping around him like safety. The way Wyatt had whispered You’re mine tonight, darlin’ against his lips.
Lex’s breath shuddered out of him, ragged and broken. The memory faded, leaving a hollow ache in its place.
He opened his eyes as the city shrank beneath him. Vegas. Wyatt Carter. A gold wedding band on his finger. A cowboy hat on a dusty motel lamp.
He pressed his thumb to the ring, feeling its smooth weight. His phone buzzed again. His assistant, reminding him of his opening remarks for the board.
Lex turned away from the window, spine straightening, mask sliding back into place.
He was Lex Carrington. Billionaire. Strategist. Power broker. He didn’t believe in fairy tales.
But for one night… he almost had.
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