First Comes Marriage

By Valerie Mann

Who agrees to an arranged marriage in the 21st century? Beth Malone can’t believe a date request with the 1Night Stand service morphed into an arranged marriage offer. But after a heartbreaking divorce and no knight in shining armor coming to sweep her off her feet, her desire to find that knight and have a family is looking more like a dream than a reality.

After filling out a 1Night Stand questionnaire worthy of the CIA, Christian Ramos is stunned when Madame Eve offers to arrange more than a date for one night: she suggests a wife! What the hell? After his best friend Jackson Castillo stops laughing, he advises him to consider the offer. Between the fortieth birthday looming on the horizon and his Latino upbringing, Chris is forced to take a hard look at his life. Reality check—time is running out for what he wants—a family and a woman to share his life.

First comes love, then comes marriage isn’t part of their matrimonial situation, but neither Beth nor Christian anticipated the immediate attraction and contentment that comes with saying, “I do.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Decadent Publishing
• Release date: Nov 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781613334188

Book preview

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First Comes Marriage

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Valerie Mann

ISBN: 978-1-61333-418-8

Cover art by Mina Carter

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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www.decadentpublishing.com

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Hey You

1Night Stand Series

To Feel Again

~Dedication~

To Jackson and Leah. Thanks for the memories.

First Comes Marriage

A 1Night Stand Story

By

Valerie Mann

Chapter One

Honey, you piece of crap!

The ancient car lurched and coughed. Just as the sage mechanic Beth had left behind in Los Angeles warned: Honey’s got two wheels on the pavement and two in the junkyard. Don’t drive her too far, Ms. Malone. You’re gonna regret it.

As usual, he’d been right on the money about Honey’s temperamental nature and ill health. Beth had certainly paid him enough over the years to get an honest prognosis.

Of all the days for Honey to slide her other two wheels into the junkyard, today had to be the worst. Beth gripped the steering wheel. Fuckity fuck.

A backfire jerked the car, punctuating her curse.

Even before the Triumph TR7 wheezed one final wheeze on the gravel shoulder and ground to a halt, Beth punched in the familiar number of roadside assistance. On the advice of the know-it-all mechanic Bernie, she’d put it on speed dial before leaving L.A.

Twenty minutes later, she sagged against Honey’s front left quarter panel and tried to ignore the metal burning her ass through the seat of her jeans. She cursed herself every which way to Sunday for not remembering to pick up a bottle or two of water and trail mix at the last rest stop. Both could do wonders for a girl stranded on the side of the road.

In the desert.

While buzzards with wingspans the size of commercial airliners circled overhead, looking for human trail mix.

She glanced down the long expanse of highway and frowned. A station wagon, circa The Brady Bunch, approached and stopped.

A man with a predatory, snaggle-toothed grin cranked the passenger window down. Stale cigarette smoke and tinny Dwight Yoakum drifted ahead of the words. Hey, sweet thing. Need some help?

His sparse comb-over couldn’t hide a freckled, shiny scalp, though he had the option of replacing it with some of the hair sprouting out of his ears and nose. The guy took cliché to the next level.

Fortunately a level Beth never ventured near.

I could be lying like a flattened lizard frying on that godforsaken pavement right in front of your Bradymobile, and there still wouldn’t be a damned thing I’d let you help me with. I’m good. I called for a tow.

Have it your way, he grunted, ground the transmission, and pulled away.

She crossed her arms and waited for real help, ignoring the greedy vultures overhead and the way the desert heat continued to suck her life essence.

When a large vehicle barreled over the shimmering asphalt toward her, she straightened hopefully, before it formed into a disappointing silver Hummer. Rolling to a stop, it cast welcome shade in front of her. The passenger side window slid down on a whisper and blessed cold air caressed her for a brief moment along with the spicy scent of expensive leather.

Out of the dim recesses of the driver’s side, a man leaned over and waved down at her from his lofty height. Car trouble? The sensual voice matched the sexy vehicle. She’d always been a sucker for big, bad road machines. And the big, bad men who drove them.

This particular big bad driver happened to be a handsome devil with black hair slicked back, dark eyes, and smooth, tanned skin. Do you need a lift?

She shook her head with a twinge of regret. I’m fine. Just waiting for a tow.

He grinned, his teeth a flash of white against brown skin. You sure?

A tempting offer she hated to refuse, especially when another arctic chill filtered down. No, thanks.

I can take a look at the engine if you want.

Common sense warred with appreciation for a good-looking