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Pity she wasn’t reacting the same way she had last night.
She kicked off her lone sock. “I need to get going. I can’t stay. I have a family.”
That word slowed him down. Family. Right. She had a son.
His wife had a frigging son.
Not your wife, twit. Your lover, who you happened to
buy some bling. Much less hassle.
“Yeah. Okay. No problem.” He gripped the back of his neck and cleared his throat. Maybe he’d wait to look in his wallet until she was out of the room. Now wasn’t the time to deal with female hysteria.
His own hysteria was hard enough to contend with when he was hungover and still limping from his near de-balling.
“Thanks for the night though. We had fun. I mean, what I remember was fun.” She went scarlet again, right up to her hairline. “I’m sure the rest was too.”
He shouldn’t tease her. What was the point? She wasn’t feeling it, and he was just delaying the inevitable by not looking in his wallet or making a few phone calls to ascertain he wasn’t a complete jackass.
But damn, she was beautiful, and she still smelled like cinnamon, and her breasts had been so fucking soft in his hands. Those small pink nipples were meant for his mouth, and he didn’t even know if he’d had the pleasure of tasting them.
Stranger, my ass.
“Sure you don’t want a reminder or two?” He trailed his finger over one of her springy curls and she sucked in a breath. “Something to help you bring it all back until you walk out of here and you know.”
Her dark eyes flashed up to his. “Know?”
“Yes. You’ll feel me inside you when you walk. When you’re not panicked and in denial, there’s no way you won’t feel the imprint of this from last night.” He rocked against her gently and she gasped.
He had barely an instant to rejoice in her reaction before she shoved him back. “I don’t feel a damn thing, so I guess you aren’t packing as much as you think.”
Before he could reply, his bedroom door opened and Ryan poked his head in. “Um, Michael, hi, sorry to interrupt, but Lila is calling an emergency band meeting.”
“You aren’t interrupting shit.” Spying her shoes, Chloe slid her feet into them before randomly grabbing something from his suitcase. She plucked her phone off the nightstand and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the fussy French renaissance-style paintings on the wall.
Ry whistled. “Who’s that?”
Heart careening in his chest, Michael finally opened his wallet. He thumbed through the first couple of slots, finding nothing. Nothing in the billfold. And nothing in the ID window except his driver’s license. The only place left to check was the slot on the other side.
The slot containing a crisp folded piece of paper that he’d never seen before.
He hesitated, his hand turning damp.
Just open it up and see. Reassure yourself. Everything is fine.
Pulling it out, he unfolded the paper. All he needed to read were the two words on top.
Marriage license.
“You okay, dude?” Ryan questioned. “I asked who the chick is.”
Michael shut his eyes. “My wife.”
Chapter 12
Her hand shook as she tapped the elevator button for her floor. At least that one thing made sense. She could get to her floor. Chloe clutched her phone. She found two messages from her father.
One voicemail.
