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Squeezing the soft sheets in her fists, Beth managed not to move until the bathroom door clicked shut. She waited a beat then tumbled out of the bed, hampered by the sheets twisted around her bare legs.
Frantic to get the hell out of there before he got out of the bathroom, she searched the room for her dress. When she heard the shower turn on a few minutes later, she had to concede defeat. Neither her dress nor purse was there. No cell. No hotel key. No money. What in the hell was she going to do now?
Needing a clearer head than hers, she reached for the room phone. Fingers shaking, she dialed Claire's cell. Together, they'd figure out what to do next.
It took forever for Claire to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Claire, I think I'm in trouble.” Panic tightened Beth's voice as she gripped the phone receiver.
“Where are you? What's happened?” Claire hollered over the sound of beeping and revving motors.
“I'm still in Vegas.” Beth couldn't think of how to break the news to her best friend. Where should she start?
“What's wrong? Did you gamble away your hotel money? Do you need bail? What is it?”
“Oh shit, Claire,” she mumbled.
The blaring horn of a truck sounded over the line. “What? I can't hear you, Beth. Speak up!”
“I can't talk louder. He's in the bathroom. I had to wait for the shower to come on before I could call you.” She tried to rein in the nervousness playing havoc on her mind.
“Who's in the shower? Who's he?”
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. The best solution was to put it all out there. “Claire, I think I married your brother.”
“What?”
Beth yanked the receiver away from her ear, ringing from the hollered question. The sound of running water stopped. She gulped and twisted the phone cord in her hand. “Oh God, the shower just turned off. What am I going to do?” Apprehension vibrated through her tense body.
“Beth, which brother?” Claire screamed into the phone.
Hunching over the phone, she whispered, “Hank. I think I married Hank.”
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam.
“Who you talking to?” Hank strolled out, a towel slung around his hips.
Flashing him a tight smile, she dropped the phone receiver onto the cradle. “Uh, no one. Room service, but I changed my mind.”
“Uh-huh.” Hank wandered back into the bathroom.
Flopping back onto the bed, she tried to figure out how she'd get herself out of this mess.
As much fun as it was to see Beth squirming, Hank had to tell her they weren't married. It wasn't going to be pretty. Not that pretty was a word she inspired right now. He wasn't sure if the green-around-the-gills look was from the idea of having him as a husband or the after-effects of her night out on the town. Either way, she looked like hell, with her hair shooting out in all directions and some black goop dotting the underside of her eyes.
So why did he still feel like tumbling her over and burying his face in that rat's nest on top of her head?
Giving in to the inevitable, Hank grabbed her dress from where it had fallen behind the chaise lounge and tossed it to her. “We're not married.”
Hope lit her eyes. “We're not?” Beth jumped up from the bed and wiggled her lace-clad ass in celebration.
Damn, what was he, some kind of an ogre?
Annoyed with her obvious relief, Hank grumbled to himself. “Women.”
“Okay, so if we're not married, did I just dream about a really short Elvis?” The smooth material of her dress muffled her words as she pulled it over her head.
