“So, what, am I supposed to get married now? To who, a fucking showgirl? Maybe a lady of the night?”
There was another bitter bark as I glanced down at my ring-clad hand, now clutching the sheet around me like one of the toga-clad robots at Caesar’s Palace. Well, that answered one of my questions—he didn’t remember last night any better than I did.
Or maybe he did, and it was just another joke to him. Though I wasn’t sure if the man on the other side of this door was capable of real humor.
I didn’t like that feeling. Growing up, I’d been the butt of enough jokes as the kid with a heart condition, listening to the nasty peals of laughter that followed weak insults from immature teenagers.
There goes the pacemaker.
Move, Flatline!
Watch out for the ambulance chaser.
I wasn’t that girl anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. I wasn’t going to start now just because of one night of poor decisions.
I grabbed the knob and opened one of the doors to the rest of the suite.
“Liza, I need to think—” The man lounging on the sofa in the middle of the room turned at the sound of the door, phone still pressed to his ear. Razor-sharp eyes met mine, gleaming with intelligence and suspicion.
For a second, neither of us moved. I couldn’t. Somehow, he was even better looking than in my memories of the club. Even better than the pictures on my phone.
My stranger—even now, the possessive pronoun came easily—was dressed in nothing but tight black boxer briefs. Lean, powerful legs stretched across the cushions. Muscled shoulders with a few curious scars leaned against the arm. One hand casually yanked on soft russet curls, which, now freed from gel, had gone completely wild.
My fingers itched to comb through them like they remembered something I couldn’t.
He looked like a Greek god.
He looked like my husband.
Oh,God.
“Liza, I gotta go,” he mumbled.
Even from where I stood, I could hear the protest through the speaker of his phone. The man ended the call without responding, never taking his eyes off me. Something like humor danced through them. And yet… it wasn’t entirely friendly.
Then again, I wasn’t sure I had found him friendly last night either.
Mysterious, yes.
Bewitching, certainly.
But friendly?
No, this man was not my friend.
I wasn’t sure if he was anyone’s.
“Hi.” I pulled my sheet even tighter around my body.
It was the wrong move. His sharp gaze traveled all over me, then back to my face. In a millisecond, I felt as though I’d been undressed completely.
That mouth curved into a sly grin. “Hi.”
He stood. Crap. No. That made it worse. Those broad shoulders carved to a sinewy chest dusted with dark curls thatnarrowed to a trail over the flat bricks of his stomach. With every step, the muscles of his thighs shifted visibly as he sprang lightly off the balls of his feet. It was what my father, a dedicated boxing fan, would have called a fighter’s physique—lean, powerful, and obviously quick.
Just before he reached me, I stuck out my hand, as much to keep him literally at arm’s length as anything else. I wasn’t sure what I would do with that energy so close again. Especially without tequila. Certainly, I couldn’t afford to lose another twelve hours, and God knew my heart couldn’t take anymore abuse.
The gold caught the light, and the stranger froze.
