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Brooklyn stabbed a finger toward the bright pink plastic ring on his finger. Shaped like a diamond so large it would’ve given the Crown Jewels an inferiority complex, the ring claimed all her attention. Why in the world was that toy gumball thing on Patrick’s finger?
Even as she asked the question, the awful, inconceivable truth yawned wide inside her.
Only it was all too conceivable.
Vegas. Waking up hungover. And naked. A plastic diamond on his left ring finger.
Nope. No way. She refused to accept what stared her right in the face—literally. Things like this only happened in Harlequin books and rom-coms starring Drew Barrymore. Not in real life.
Not toher.
She didn’t do impulsive. Didn’t do foolish.
Methodical, circumspect—that was her.
Yet, here she stood in her hotel room, naked under a robe, staring at her sister’s ex who wore a bubblegum toy on his ring finger.
And goddamn, Elvis still hadn’t shut up.
Though the truth loomed over her like a dawning zombie apocalypse, she still scowled and stabbed a finger at him.
“Patrick,” she ground out. “What is that on your hand? And why is it there?”
He lowered his arms and silently stared at his finger. Long seconds passed, and the air in the room seemed to throb with the tension that slowly stiffened his body until he could’ve passed for one of the marble statues in the hotel lobby.
Finally, he shifted his scrutiny from the ring to her, and it struck her hard, like all the drinks she’d undoubtedly imbibed the night before. If not for her leg braced against the edge of the mattress, she would’ve swayed from the impact of that pretty and powerful gaze.
“You want to explain why I’m in your bed wearing nothing but a Blow Pop ring?”
“I wish I could. Actually, I was hoping you remembered more about the last eight hours than I do.”
He lifted his hand again, peered at it as if the plastic jewelry would evaporate if he stared long enough. But yeah, that wasn’t happening.
“Are you kidding me?” he breathed, scrubbing his bejeweled hand over his head. “Brooklyn...”
A train of emotions raced over his face, too fast and way too enigmatic for her to properly decipher. And God, she wished she could. What she would give to know what tracked through his mind right now. Horror? Shock? Anger? Confusion?
Because all of those emotions stomped through her.
Horror over being in this situation with her friend, her employee,her sister’s ex.
Shock... Well, see horror.
Anger at herself for being so foolish and irresponsible that she’d not only jeopardized a valued relationship, but also a comfortable and safe work environment. Hell, if anyone else witnessed their actions, she could’ve threatened the reputation of the company she and Kat had sacrificed so much for these past seven years.
Confusion over how she’d allowed herself to end up in this predicament.
Confusion over why she couldn’t tear her damn gaze from all that bare golden skin and taut muscles.
A new ache announced itself in that moment. Now that the headache had abated a little, the soreness between her thighs decided to make itself known. A sensual, delicious soreness that assured her it didn’t matter if she couldn’t remember Patrick being deep inside her; he had been. And yes, the alcohol-clouded blank space in her head didn’t allow her to recall if the sex had been as amazing as that beautiful, big body promised. But the deep ache informed her she’d been well and truly stretched and branded by a cock that was probably as gorgeous as the rest of him.
Only with Patrick could she ever assume that a dick was pretty. It would be a damn shame if it wasn’t, given that perfect bone structure, stunning eyes and the sculptor’s work of art that was his body. God, if she could only remember how he’d worked that...
No, no and hellno. She refused to go there. Well, technically, she’d already beenthere. And neither her mind nor her body were taking a return trip.
“The last thing I remember is that fourth round of Patrón shots and someone suggested walking the strip,” he said, sitting up. “And...” He frowned. “David Copperfield?”
The covers dipped to his waist, exposing more of him, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. But nothing could erase the sight of him from her mind. It only flickered across the backs of her lids like a slideshow on repeat. Dammit.
