The question tilts inside my mind as my stomach and my vision settle. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the gentle glow of candlelight that casts flickering reflections on the walls, softening the lavish room into a warmly inviting space.
My gaze lifts in a slow curve, taking in the ruby-red velvet covering the walls and the gold-framed paintingsof seascapes and garden cottages. A giant armoire dusted with gold leaf stands in the far corner, and I can’t imagine any of my clothes being deserving enough to hang inside. Rain slides down the large window cut into the velvet-coated wall,, the gilded mullions separating the view into small square panes of wavy glass that blur the dark landscape beyond. Beneath me, the deep-crimson rug cushions my knees, spilling in a plush circle against the shiny parquet floor that disappears under the window’s drapes, so thin and silky, they dance like ghosts in an unfelt breeze.
A huge piece of furniture looms in front of me, and I pull myself to my knees. Intricate carvings swirl beneath my fingertips as I move my hand along the large bed’s rich mahogany frame. A line of circle-wrapped stars is stitched in gold along the border of the deep-scarlet silk dressing the bed. Gently, I trace the embroidery. Recognition nudges the corner of my mind, but I can’t place the image through my muddied thoughts and the dull ache in the back of my head.
Oh my god.My hands smooth down the front of my open coat and rumpled dress, searching for any signs that someone didsomethingto my body. The past minutes…hours…are nothing but a blur, and the more I try to remember, the sharper the pain between my temples. My fingertips graze the swollen knot on the back of my head, and I wince. I’ve read about this, another half article, but I got the point. I hit my head hard enough to black out…to lose time.
The card in the snow.I press my clammy palm to my forehead in an attempt to force my thoughts in order.Then the world went sideways. I must have passed out.
“But where am I now?” The question quakes against my lips.
“Currently, you’re on the floor.” A man’s voice hums through the room, each word precise and clear.
I jump to my feet and spin around, anchoring myself against the bed frame. The moment I see him, time stalls, the room around us fading back into a black-edged blur. He’s tall and solid. Night-black hair sweeps across his forehead and falls in shaggy, messy waves against his broad, thick shoulders. His eyes are piercing, dark wells of ink I want to surrender to, drown in. I stare, open-mouthed at his…manliness,the sharp angle of his jaw and the rough stubble that brings goose bumps to my flesh with the simple thought of it brushing against me.
Holy shit he’s gorgeous.
My knees go soft, my legs literally trembling as my gaze moves from his perfect mouth to his chest. And I swear I whimper as he crosses his arms over his torso, the muscles rippling and tensing beneath his linen shirt.
I press my fingers into the carved mahogany as he approaches, bringing with him the scents of woodsmoke and pine. He peers down at me, a question etched into the crease between his brows, but my gaze is back on his mouth, the delicious bow of his lips, which are moving almost in slow motion as he speaks.
“Are you febrile, woman?”
Febrile?I frown. I don’t even know what that means.
Candlelight dances across his tan skin and casts a sculpture-like shadow on the velvet wall behind him. This place is like a palace. Way, way out of my price range.
I bend over and snatch my purse and the fallen card from the edge of the rug. “Which hotel is this?” I ask, shoving the card into my bag. I blink and hug it against me as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock me back to the ground.
He lets out a puff of sarcastic laughter and tilts his head. “As if you don’t know.”
From this angle, he looks so familiar, so…
“You’re the guy from the elevator! The one with the hankie.” My cheeks flame. The scene in the elevator, plus dry heaving over an expensive rug… This is by far the worst first impression I’ve ever given.
Though not completely unlike you, Hannah.
I shove my inner critic aside and dig through my bag for my phone. “I can Venmo you for—”
He holds up his hand, commanding my silence as voices echo outside the room.
“But I—”
“Quiet!” he barks, and I bite my lower lip.
My hand gropes the inside of my bag, coming back with my self-help book, wadded up receipts, gum wrappers, and empty ChapStick tubes. “Where’s my phone?” I ask.
But he’s walking away from me, crossing the room in two silent strides to listen at the closed door.
My pulse speeds up, blood draining into my toes as reality hits.
This guy brought me here…passed out…and now we’re alone…in a bedroom.
“What’d you do with my phone?” The question squeaks against the panic tightening my throat as I frantically search my pockets.
My fingers find cold aluminum, and there’s a moment of relief before I yank out my phone. No service. “How long—”
“Bequiet.” He narrows his onyx gaze on me, his jaw ticking with frustration.
