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Chapter One
Head pounding, Chloe drifted up through several foggy layers of sleep. Something was wrong. She knew it in her gut. Her head hurt worse than when she’d fallen off her bike at age ten and slammed her skull against the sidewalk. She was flat on her stomach with a pillow beneath her face. Weird. She always slept on her back.
She groaned and struggled to open her eyes. The lashes stuck together for a moment. When they parted, a wave of nausea hit her hard. She squeezed them closed again and prayed she wouldn’t vomit all over her bed.
Wait! She wasn’t in her bed. Nothing about it felt familiar. The sturdy piece of furniture felt way too large to be hers. She stretched out her arms on both sides and blindly searched for the edge. She stretched her fingers as far as they would go and found nothing but more mattress. Definitely not her bed.
After swallowing, she took a few deep breaths to keep from puking her guts up. The inside of her mouth tasted horrible. Dry as cotton, she longed for a sip of cool water. Maybe she could make it to the bathroom and splash some cool water on her face. Maybe brush her teeth.
She slowly peeked at her surroundings. Blond hair hung over half her face, blocking her vision. A memory surfaced. Just a flash. She was in Vegas for her sister’s bachelorette party, and everyone had ganged up on her. Drink... drink... drink!
Since she didn’t like the taste of alcohol, she rarely consumed it. But last night...
She groaned again. Why had she given into peer pressure after holding her own throughout high school?
When she got her hands on her sister, she vowed to throttle Kristina. Her sister’s friends were just as culpable, but she couldn’t strangle them all. Besides, it had been Kristina’s idea to go to the casino. Kristina’s idea to order round after round. It had definitely been Kristina’s idea for Chloe to ‘join the party’ and to stop being a ‘stick in the mud.’
Her sisters had also started the chant. “Drink... drink... drink!”
Kristina’s friends had been quick to join.
Chloe rolled over onto her back, careful not to upset her queasy stomach. The little drummer in her head went crazy with a wild drum solo. She covered her face with both hands and moaned. The sheet slid over the tips of her breasts when she moved her legs, and another realization hit her hard.
Her eyes flew open wide. For a second, she forgot her headache and bolted upright. The sudden movement sent an icy spike through her forehead, but there were more important things to worry about.
She was naked!
She glanced beneath the sheet. Why didn’t she have a stitch of clothing on? She was nude in a strange bed with a hangover. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe the hotel had upgraded them to a suite, and she’d been too drunk last night to notice. That was possible.
Wincing with every movement, no matter how slight, she scanned the large room. Luxurious. She was in the biggest bed she’d ever seen with the softest linens, cream or beige in color. Maybe they were tan. It was difficult to tell with the curtains closing off the morning sunlight.
There was an enormous fireplace, an empty bottle of champagne on a nearby table, along with a half-eaten box of chocolates, and the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Was it her imagination or was the shower running?
She went back down on the bed. Her throbbing head complained with every movement, so she rested the side of her face against the soft pillow and waited for the world to stop spinning. No mattress had ever felt so good. She allowed her eyelids to drift shut. Briefly. Just ten more minutes. Then she would get up and deal with the reality.
The shower snapped off, and her blood ran cold. She wasn’t alone. Someone else was in the suite with her. A nervous giggle floated up her throat. She admonished herself. Silly. The person in the shower had to be her sister or one of her sister’s friends. No big deal.
A baritone, distinctly male, sang an aria from some opera she was vaguely familiar with.
That was not her sister.
Panic catapulted her out of the over-sized bed. She gathered her dress and shoes so she could put them on for an emergency escape plan. If she didn’t flee the large suite before the stranger emerged from the bathroom, she’d drop dead from embarrassment. It was bad enough she undoubtedly had sex with a stranger. She couldn’t stand the further humiliation of meeting him before taking the walk of shame to her own room.
Too late. He came out of the bathroom, lean hips wrapped in a large white towel and another on top of his head, covering his face. He was drying his hair by roughly rubbing it with the second towel. She glimpsed golden skin over bulging muscle before she dove back into the bed. She covered herself with the sheet to keep him from seeing anything.
They looked at each other at the same time.
He grinned, and her jaw dropped.
“Nikolas?!” His name burst past her numb lips.
Older, but just as drop-dead-gorgeous as ever, Nik Andropolis had changed over the past six and a half years.
Short cropped hair? Gone. His previous haircut had been replaced by longish dark locks that curled at the ends while wet. When he tilted his head, those ends brushed against his broad shoulders.
His naked broad shoulders.
Chloe swallowed. Hard.
