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She rolled her eyes at him. “Couples’ jewelry like, say, wedding rings, jackass?” She flung herself on the bed and rolled off the other side without displacing her sheet. Then she bent to root around on the floor again.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m looking for my clothes. Like my skirt. Like my top. Like my freaking panties!”
Lazily, he glanced around. “Don’t see ‘em. Sorry.”
For that matter, he didn’t see any traces of Ryan either. Their suite was pretty ginormous, and Ryan had his own bedroom and bathroom and all that, but he usually popped over onto Michael’s side on the regular. Which meant his buddy had shacked up somewhere else for the night.
Hopefully he hadn’t gotten married too, unless it was a pandemic.
Come to Vegas, see a hot girl, find a fake Elvis, get a marriage license and boom.
Trauma for the rest of your life, all thanks to one night of potentially incredible sex you don’t even remember.
“Marriage license,” he muttered, grabbing his pants off the floor to dig out his wallet.
If he didn’t have that little piece of paper, all of this would be solved. Because of course they wouldn’t have gotten a marriage license. Not possible. There were waiting periods and all that, right? Maybe not in Vegas. Possibly faux Elvis got special dispensation from the Pope or something.
He sat on the edge of the bed and flipped open his wallet, then paused. Once he’d ascertained he didn’t have a marriage license—as it naturally would be his job to hold on to all important papers as the male—he wouldn’t have a chance to ask her more questions. So it was better to do so now while she was distracted pushing aside dust bunnies to find her panties.
“So, I was good, right? I mean, you enjoyed yourself.” He cleared his throat. “I’m assuming your reaction isn’t because you weren’t satisfied. That’s never happened, I’ll have you know. Not even one time.”
She straightened and pushed a hand through her hair. “I would ask you the same question, but I’m known as a goddess in bed, so no need.”
“Really?” He glanced behind them at the obviously messed up sheets. Hell, they might already be married. A calamity and all to be sure, but if he’d never had legally-sanctioned sex before. “Sucks I don’t remember. We could always—”
“No.” She held up a finger as if she was speaking to a small, possibly non-English speaking child. “You are not going to suggest we get back in bed.”
“Okay. I won’t. But the offer is on the table if—”
“I won’t. I can assure you, if you were the last man on this planet, I wouldn’t have sexual intercourse with you.”
“Again. You mean again, because we clearly did it once. Or two or three times. What’s your take on the situation?”
She was getting redder by the minute. He wasn’t one to pull out Annie jokes—and she certainly hadn’t resembled the movie heroine the night before when she’d been all vamped up—but with her makeup worn off and her freckles on full display, there were some definite comparisons. There wasn’t even a need to check to see if the drapes matched the curtains with this one, because even her eyebrows were pale red.
“My take?” she demanded. “Is that crude insinuation your way of asking if I can tell we’ve had sex?”
He shrugged. “Normally, I can tell too, but my dick was nearly crushed so I can’t. It’s not anything personal.”
“You’re asking me the current state of my—my—and it’s not personal?”
“We’re in this together, right? Might as well make the best of things. We definitely were last night.” He gave in to the urge to look her over from the tips of her just fucked hair—pity he didn’t know if that was a true statement—to the red toenails peeking out from under the sheet. “You look good in my shirt. If you can’t find your stuff, I’ll let you borrow something.”
She nodded quickly. “Okay. Yes. Thank you. I’ll have my Dad drop them off once I’m back home.”
The tickle in his throat made him swallow hard. “Your dad?”
“Yes.” She was already heading toward the suitcase spread open on the small settee on the other side of the room. “We’ll make sure the clothes get back to you soon.”
“I’d rather you return them to me yourself. Better yet, I’d like to take them off of you in the shower before I soap you up.” He rose, forgetting for a second he still hadn’t put on his pants.
But she hadn’t. Her gaze dipped to his slowly waking cock before lifting to his face, her pupils blowing wide. “The shower is the most dangerous place in the home,” she said distantly as he eliminated the space between them.
The marriage thing? Yeah, that was a load of crap. It couldn’t be real. Rings were one thing. An actual ceremony? No way he could forget that.
This, on the other hand, was coming back to him nicely. Alas, he didn’t remember all the steps they’d taken in their dance last night—at least not yet. However, the sense of anticipation, the sizzle of arousal in his blood, the drumbeat in his dick…all of those things solely belonged to Chloe.
