What if this wasn’t what Remi had wanted? He tugged at his collar. A small backyard ceremony had sounded like a good idea at the time. It was easy to throw together. Neither of them wanted to wait, and the reception was at the Grand Hotel so there was still some fuss.

But what if she’d changed her mind? What if between having sex with him last night and putting her dress on this morning, she realized she didn’t want to marry him. What if—

“Psst!”

It was coming from above him on the second floor. Brick stepped off the porch and looked up to see Remi hanging out of a second-story window. Her face lit up when she spotted him.

“I’m not supposed to see you,” he called back, glancing over his shoulder toward the backyard where their closest friends and family were halfway shit-faced on Darius’s Wedded Bliss specialty drink.

“Then close your eyes.”

“What are you doing?” he demanded as she shimmied out onto the porch roof.

“I’m sneaking out,” she whispered back. She wadded the dress up around her waist and nimbly climbed off the roof, dangling her legs over the side in search of the porch’s banister, before he plucked her down.

She’d left her hair down in wild curls. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, green eyes sparkling. She looked like a mischievous fairy. Her dress was… Wow. She’d gone strapless with a fitted corset. There was lace and skin, which he liked very much. The full skirt billowed out in a pinky kind of wash, almost like watercolor.

“Wow,” he said out loud this time. There was no way he was lucky enough that this woman belonged to him.

She made a curtsy. “Thank you. You look pretty wow yourself.”

“If you run away, I’m just going to drag you back,” he warned her.

She slapped him in the chest. “I’m running away to you,” she clarified. “This is our last chance.”

“At what?”

“Unmarried sex.”

He relaxed. Only Remington Ford—soon to be Callan—would run away from her own wedding just to have sex with the groom before he became her husband. “You’re kidding me right now. I thought last night was our last chance at unmarried sex.”

“I figured we have fifteen minutes before the ceremony starts. This is our last last chance. Besides, I look sexy as hell in this dress and I don’t want one of your spectacular hard-ons stealing my bridal thunder in all our wedding photography. The flower girl is the right height to lose an eye.”

“Jesus, Remi,” he groaned. “What am I supposed to do? Pull up your skirts and fuck you right here between the azaleas?”

“Yes.”

He was instantaneously hard. It was the spell she had him under.

“See?” she said, pointing at his crotch. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We’re saving a little girl from an eye patch for the rest of her life.”

Who was he to argue? If his bride wanted a quick fuck against the house minutes before she became his wife, he would deliver.