9. What Happens in Vegas Doesnt Always Stay There
Chapter 9
What Happens in Vegas Doesn't Always Stay There
Neve lifted a scratchy eyelid, thought better of it, and slammed it shut—which only made her aware of her aching head. In between the thudding pulses, she marshaled her thoughts one at a time. Questions, actually. Why was her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth? Why was the air around her so hot and smelled of … she couldn’t place it, but it had a sour tang to it. Where was she? Why did her head—no, her entire body—hurt so much? And what was with the block of warm weight beside her? Was it the reason the temperature was on the Sahara Desert side of the gauge?
Said block murmured, its mouth so close she could feel warm breath cascading over her ear. A heavy, masculine arm snaked around her stomach, and it was … skin to skin. And beneath a layer of bedding. Quelling her rising panic, she took a quick inventory. Her body parts were all present and accounted for, but not her clothing. She was totally naked. If the hard chest pressing against her left arm was any indication, so was her bed partner. That theory was confirmed when a heavy, hairy leg slid over hers, pinning her in place.
Never mind trying to hold back her panic. She let it bloom into full flower as she shoved at the arm. A different, unfamiliar sort of weight dragged at her hand. It was hard, like metal. All these sensations coalesced and began bombarding her at once.
She pushed at the arm, but it didn’t move. Instead, the mouth that belonged to the arm muttered, “Chelse, don’t be like that.”
The baritone and the muscular arm left no doubt a “he” lay beside her. She pushed again, but the arm clamped down like an iron band and pulled her in. Lips and nose nuzzled her ear as a growing appendage made itself known.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” her companion rumbled.
That voice. It struck a chord of recognition deep inside her soul, and anxiety boiled in the cauldron that was her stomach. She turned her head. Despite the murky shadows, she could make out long dark lashes fanning across strong cheekbones. And tousled brown hair. She knew from a lifetime of looking at it that it was the color of walnut shells polished to a glossy sheen. The jaw was covered in a short, dark beard. She’d never touched it before, but now she knew. It was as soft as it looked.
She stared into the face of the man she had loved her entire life—who had never loved her back. God, she had to be dreaming! But did she really want to wake up right now?
She squirmed to get away, but his big, calloused hand swept up, covered her bare breast, and gently squeezed. The nuzzling grew more determined, and soft lips pressed against her throat. His tongue flicked out and made tiny circles against her sensitive skin. The man was on a mission she wanted no part of, but her body betrayed her when her lady bits tingled and her nipple tightened under his warm touch.
As he palmed her breast, he began a slow, decadent grind against her bare hip.
Oh hell! Had they …? And she’d missed it? Oh no, this was not good .
Mustering all her strength, she heaved off his arm and powered to an upright position. His eyes snapped open. “What the—”
My question exactly. She tumbled from the bed, anxious to cover up before he got an eyeful, but her ankles tangled in the sheets and she flopped forward, her cheek thumping on the carpeted floor and her ass sticking up in the air for him and the entire world to scrutinize. Yeah, she was as graceful as a dog on a frozen pond.
“Damn it!”
“What the hell’s going on?” His voice was a mixture of gruffness and confusion. To her mortification, he leaned over the edge of the bed. “Hey, are you okay?”
She kicked at the sheets wrapped around her feet, only intensifying her humiliation. If she tried really hard, called on all her manifestation powers, maybe she could press herself into the carpet and dissolve into its threads.
No such luck.
That same hand that had been fondling her mere seconds before landed on her calf. “Stop moving for a sec so I can help you out of this.”
So typical of him. Always looking to rescue someone , but this wasn’t the kind of rescue she’d ever imagined needing.
Can you rescue me from this mortifying situation? she refrained from asking. Instead, she let out a groan of embarrassment.
He tugged at the sheets wrapped around her ankle. “Almost there.”
And she was free. She popped up to her knees and crawled toward a door that had to lead to the bathroom, giving him an excellent view of her jiggling white ass. Opening the door, she flung herself inside. She had miscalculated; she was sitting in a closet. She yanked the door closed anyway, drew her knees up, and hugged them to her body. Resting her chin on them, she waited.
A soft knock, followed by a softer chuckle, sounded through the louvered door. “Hey, I’m just as surprised as you are. Want to come out of the closet so we can figure out what happened?”
The door cracked open, and she looked up at one half-lidded eye peering down at her. “I’m naked here,” she protested.
“With the way you’re balled up like a roly-poly, I can’t tell. And by the way, I’m naked too.”
She flapped a hand at him. “Then put some clothes on! And throw some in here for me, would you, please? ”
“Sure. If I can find them.”
The door snicked shut, and a light clicked on.
“Reece, where are we anyway? And what time is it?”
“Looks like we’re in your room. I have to find my phone before I can tell you what time it is. And to do that, I have to find my pants.”
She peeked through the slats and covered her mouth to hold back a giggle as she spied on him hunting for clothes, buck-naked and seemingly not bothered by that fact. And oh, the way he moved. He reminded her of a giant, sleek cat as he prowled the room, his muscles hard, long, and lean.
The urge to giggle had everything to do with nerves and nothing to do with how he looked. No, nothing about his physique was giggle-worthy. If she could have crafted the perfect male specimen, he would have looked exactly like Reece. A sculpted torso that started at wide shoulders and tapered to a trim waist, like a V, above a perfectly square butt. Smooth, tan skin.
His back was to her, so she couldn’t assess the man package, but judging by the way it had felt against her in bed, he wasn’t lacking in that department either.
He came to a stop and glanced over his shoulder. “You’re staring.”
She swallowed a yelp.
A slow grin spread over his face—at least the side she could see in profile. “You know what they say. You see mine, I see yours.”
“That’s so childish!” she spluttered. “Besides, you’ve already seen it, and so have I.”
“We were five years old, Neve. I think things have changed since then.”
Details . “Are you talking about the time at the creek? When you dared me to get in the freezing-cold water?”
“Yep. You shed your clothes and streaked in, and I thought you were going to drown.”
“Just because I couldn’t breathe from the freezing-cold water didn’t mean I needed you to jump in and rescue me.”
“Maybe not, but you were pretty blue when I hauled your butt out of there.” He had run in after her without regard to his own safety. Afterward, he’d had to strip so his clothes could dry. She might have fallen in love with him that very day .
She brushed at something tickling her shoulder and looked up. “They have robes in here. His and hers, judging by the sizes.”
“Good because I can’t find a single stitch. Throw one out, would you?”
Hoisting herself to her feet, she slid the smaller robe from its hanger and quickly pulled it on before handing him the other one through the closet door. As she passed it off to him, a dazzling prism of light caught her eye.
“Thanks.” Fabric rustled. “As much fun as it is talking to you through a closet door, I think it’d be much easier if you came out.”
“Are you decent?”
“Always.”
She opened the door and stepped out—and tried not to laugh, especially given the seriousness of their dilemma. The robe hit him at the knees, and the sleeves were halfway up his forearms.
“We need to figure this out,” they both said at the same time.
“Maybe there are some clues in here.” Reece loped toward their adjoining doors, which stood wide open, but before she could follow, he let out a strangled sort of noise from his bedroom.
“What is it?” She hurried through the doorway.
“Found our clothes.”
His bed looked as though a herd of elephants had tap-danced on it. Scattered around said bed were various bits of his and her wedding outfits. Her panties lay in a crumpled heap beside his boxers, and her matching strapless bra hung over a chair that sat cockeyed to the desk. On the nightstand stood two empty champagne bottles, along with a half-dozen martini glasses, also empty.
She gasped and tried not to hurl.
He held up his hands. “Don’t panic.”
Any words she might have mustered for a biting retort utterly vanished.
He traipsed over to the desk, switched on the lamp, and picked up a piece of paper. A groan punched from his lungs.
“What? What is it?”
He locked gazes with her. “You can panic now.”
A mere beat passed, and she was by his side, gawking at what he held in his hands. Her already-unsettled stomach plummeted to her toes. “That’s … that’s … ”
“A marriage license. Yeah.”
“It’s got to be a joke. Are those our real names?”
“Looks like. My brothers signed as witnesses, so maybe it is a joke. They could have faked this, but I gotta hand it to them, they went to a lot of trouble to make it look authentic.”
He plucked up what looked like a receipt and whipped his head toward her. His eyes dipped to her hand. “Holy Mother of …”
She followed his gaze, and her mouth swung open.
He pointed at her hand. “That is not fake.”
On her left ring finger was a big-ass diamond and a matching band.
Now she darted her eyes to his left hand. “Uh, you seem to be wearing what looks like the man version of mine. These must be fake! Right?”
“Don’t think so.” He held up the receipt.
She covered her mouth to hold back a choked cry. “Is that a six? With four zeros after it?”
“No, that’s an eight .” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Damn! I bought these!”
“And in Alma’s store, no less, which means you got gouged.”
He scanned the receipt one more time. “Well, not completely. Seems I got a Black Friday deal, so the price included our wedding bands.”
She inspected the ring, which was almost too big for her small finger. “It is beautiful.”
“I have great taste. Did you have a say in it, or did I just … buy it?”
“You’re asking me ?”
“You were there, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I was there, but I was as drunk as you, and everything’s a black hole.” Dear God, what had they done? And why? “Look, let’s just go back to Elvin’s and return these. While we’re there, we’ll find out if that license is real, and if it is, how we get it … undone. There has to be a law about drunk people getting married, right?”
“Neve, we’re in Vegas. Drunk people get married here all the time.”
“I’m sure we can unwind this,” she persisted. “We’ve got to get your money back, Reece.” And our lives .
Picking up her hand, he inspected the ring. Then he read from the receipt. “What we have here is a three-carat, emerald-cut center stone set in platinum, with diamonds totaling point eight carats on either side. The color and clarity ratings are I and VS2, respectively.” He glanced down at her. “I think that means it’s a really good diamond.”
“Are you joking right now?”
“I’m trying to bring humor into a confounding situation, yes.”
She tried to pull it off her finger, but it wouldn’t budge over her swollen knuckle. Alcohol had probably turned her fingers into sausages.
“No, Neve. Leave it on. Enjoy it until we straighten this out.”
“I can’t enjoy it. It takes up too much room on my hand!”
Reece dropped the papers back on the desk. “I think it looks good on your hand.” He tapped his chin. “And I kinda remember that part.”
“Which part are you talking about?”
“The ring. I kinda remember arguing about it. So that’s good, right? That my memory is trying to fill in one of the blanks.”
“You’re the search and rescue guy. Don’t you know?”
He touched the end of her nose. “And you’re the doctor. Don’t you know?”
“How can you stand there in a robe that’s too small for you and tell me the ring looks good?” Her voice slid up an octave or two, and she wanted to shake her head, but the pounding—which had grown more intense—made her stop.
“Should I find a bigger robe?” His lips twitched with a smile she wanted to scrub from his bearded face.
“Not funny.”
“Point taken. Why don’t we change out of these robes, grab some coffee, and then argue? I really need caffeine before we have our first fight.”
“I don’t understand how you can be so glib, Reece!” She threw out her arms, which made her robe gape.
His eyes flared.
“Stop that!” She yanked the lapels together and cinched the belt.
“Stop what?”
“Stop being a lech.”
“We’re married. Staring at my wife’s body isn’t lecherous. It’s showing appreciation.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh. My. God. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Not really. I’m just trying to keep it light so my head doesn’t explode. Hurts enough as it is. ”
“Yours too, huh?” A beat or three passed, and neither of them moved. “So you kinda remember the bit about the ring. Do you remember anything else?” She motioned toward the rumpled bed. “Do you know how we ended up naked?”
“I have no idea, except I sleep naked.”
“So do I.”
“Well, there’s your explanation.”
“But did we … you know?”
“If we did, and that license is the real deal, then we definitely can’t just unwind it.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“But do you remember any consummating? Because I sure don’t.”
“You also don’t remember exchanging I-dos, so I’m not sure we can trust your memory.” He leaned down, plucked his tuxedo pants from the floor, and slid his wallet out of a back pocket.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
He opened his wallet. “Nope, no consummation.” He held it so she could see two foil packets neatly tucked inside.
“Oh. Um, did you think you were going to get lucky last night? Twice?”
“No, they’re the same two I’ve had in my wallet for … a while. And I have two in case one breaks.”
That made sense, and it was typical Reece—safety first. She chewed on the tip of her thumbnail. “You don’t think we did it without protection, do you?”
“No.” He turned her so she faced him. “Neve, if we’d had sex, with or without protection, I would remember. That’s not a detail I’m likely to forget.”
Confusion and disappointment swirled inside her. Like him, she would have remembered if they’d had sex. Plus, there would have been evidence, and there wasn’t any. Yet somehow they’d ended up in bed together. But that wasn’t the part bothering her. It was those two condoms in his wallet. He was prepared at all times to have sex with a random someone. How often did those condoms need to be replaced?
She nibbled her thumbnail in earnest as she tried to pull order from a situation that had no order to it.
His hands still rested on her arms, and he gave them a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what the solution is until I have the whole picture, but I do know this is going to be hard to explain to Cantrell when he finds out you woke up naked next to me. If you let me, I’ll lay it out for him so he understands it was an epic mistake.”
“And what are you going to explain? That we got shit-faced and wound up”—she held up her left hand and pointed at the bling on her finger—“married?”
“I was thinking more of the we-didn’t-sleep-together part.”
“We did sleep together.”
“That’s way different than having sex, which we just determined didn’t happen.”
She looked up at him and no longer felt like laughing at the sight of him in the ill-fitting robe. “As long as we’re married”—she emphasized the last word with air quotes—“I need to know who ‘Chelse’ is.”