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No, she wasn’t okay. She pulled the shirt over her knees and tightened herself into the smallest ball she could make.
Maybe it was just her. She’d gone back to see Nathan at the jewelry store. She’d gotten crazy with the girls. She’d bought the damn ring.
But wouldn’t she have put Snake’s ring back on her left hand? The sapphire wasn’t for left hand wear. It was too much like a—
No.
Not that.
It wasn’t that.
The doorknob rattled. “If you don’t open this goddamn door, I’m going to break it down.”
Ask it. Talk. “What’s on your left hand?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“What?” The voice was deep and hoarse. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your hand!” Her voice came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Check your left hand.”
“Have you lost your— What the fuck?”
Fear cramped her belly. He’s going to laugh. Please? Please laugh. She was just being stupid.
“I don’t fucking wear gold. Why do I have a gold ring on my hand?”
Chapter 11
He’d woken up with a pair of gorgeous breasts in his palms, and now, not ten minutes later, he was pretty sure he was sterile.
Michael leaned against the jamb of the closed bathroom door and cupped his aching dick. It matched the raging pain in his head, and the churning in his gut.
Hangovers freaking sucked.
At least the hellfire in his groin had started to subside enough that he could think. But thinking wasn’t helping him to understand why he was wearing a gold ring.
For one, he didn’t wear them. His idea of jewelry was his eyebrow piercing and his watch. He had a couple of ear piercings but he usually didn’t bother with those.
He definitely wouldn’t be wearing a ring on that finger. Not unless—
“What the hell happened last night?” he roared, louder than he’d intended.
His response was precisely nothing.
He rattled the doorknob, knowing it was a futile gesture. She’d locked him out.
Chloe. He’d spent the night with Chloe Adams.
Had they had sex? Actual full penetrative sex? Normally, he could kind of tell, especially if he’d gotten especially, uh, vigorous, but his cock and sac were currently feeling so abused he wasn’t even sure he could still pee.
Damn, that girl had some legs on her.
He already knew she had an incredible ass, as he’d had it in his hands several times the night before. He remembered that much. Recalled fuzzily that he’d gotten her off while she sat on his lap in the club. Dancing, drinking, talking. Her tipping her head back to laugh at him, her big eyes shimmering like brown velvet.
Obviously the alcohol was still talking, because she was just a chick. Pretty eyes, gorgeous hair like a sunset. Or like the fireball that had swept through his crotch and left only embers behind.
But still, just a woman.
Just a woman he’d married.
