Chapter 1
PIECE OF KNOWLEDGE
Five Days Later
Nelson Carlisle turned over in the bed, blinked his eyes a few times, then popped one open slowly.
His head throbbed, his mouth felt stuffed with the biggest bag of cotton on the planet, and the sunlight slicing through the gap in the hotel curtains hitting him square in the face was doing nothing to help.
He let out a moan, his hand coming to rub across his jaw. The perfected five o’clock shadow he’d been sporting for weeks needed a trim badly.
When he turned his neck and opened his eyes, he saw brown hair on the pillow next to him, a bare arm covering her face and soft breathing filling the room.
Hmm. That was interesting.
Why didn’t he remember bringing a woman back to his room last night?
As soon as those thoughts hit him, his eyes widened as he looked around.
This wasn’t his room.
He was staying at the Bellagio. Or was it Caesars this time?
Why the fuck couldn’t he remember anything?
He tossed the covers back, noticed he was buckassed naked and reached for his underwear on the floor—next to an open condom. Shit.
Didn’t look as if it’d been filled though, so maybe he’d passed out? Just another thing to add to his nightmare.
He couldn’t believe two drinks did this. Or did he have more than that?
His head was pounding, but it was a dull ache that made him want to barf. He never threw up with a hangover.
He felt shaky as he looked around for the rest of his clothing.
He didn’t know the last time he got drunk. So drunk that he was trying to remember something. Anything about the night before.
Or thought a semi had run him over and he’d been left on the side of the road to pick up the pieces.
Once his underwear was on, he made his way to the bathroom, pissed, looked in the mirror as he flushed and tried not to cringe over the dingy room he was in.
He was splashing cold water on his face hoping to wake up.
The minute he turned the water off, something silver flashed on his hand.
What. The. Fuck.
It was a wedding band on his left hand.
Everything froze. He wracked his brain for some piece of knowledge. An inner voice telling him what could have happened.
Crickets.
His hands braced the counter, his head dropped, his eyes shut.
Inhale. Exhale. Again. Then again.
It didn’t stop the racing of his heart, the tingling down his spine, or the fear in his gut.
Now he was going to vomit for another reason.
West was going to kill him.
Then his mother was going to bring him back to life and kill him again... slower.
No reason to panic. A ring meant nothing. Or nothing legally binding.
He opened the door to the bathroom and moved back to the room, found his jeans on the floor and roughly yanked them up. In the process of fastening them, he noticed a piece of paper on the small table next to his cell phone.
Before he grabbed that, he felt his money clip in his front pocket and pulled it out. Still had some cash in it by the looks of it, and a few chips from the Bellagio. The keycard to his room was in the other pocket. Okay, getting somewhere now.
His eyes landed on the certificate on the table. A marriage certificate.
His head went back. A scream that wanted to rip from his throat stayed trapped as his fingers clenched into fists.
What the hell did he get himself into this time?
The bed squeaked, his head turned, and there was the woman he woke up next to.
Not a woman. His wife.
Brown tousled hair that almost had a hint of red in it, unless that was the sunlight hitting her now as she sat up clutching the faded blue comforter to her chest.
Her wide, innocent brown eyes locked on his, and his heart slammed hard against his ribs, each beat pulling him deeper under her spell.
Shit. Not good.
“McKenzie Raye?” he asked.
“Who are you?” she asked, her gaze wary, her knuckles white as if she was planning to escape. She was scared and he couldn’t blame her. He was right there with her.
Not that he could see much of her body, but her frame looked small. Much smaller than his six feet.
He was a stranger in her hotel room, half dressed. He wasn’t positive what she had on other than he saw straps on her shoulders, assuming it was her bra.
“Nelson Carlisle,” he said, turning the paper toward her. “Seems I’m your husband.”
“No,” she said. “No, no, no. That can’t be.”
The covers were flung back, then she realized her state of dress. More like undress, and yanked them back so fast they were ripped off the end of the bed.
He moved closer, she shrank back, he froze and put his hands up.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to figure this out. I’m only grabbing your shirt for you.”
“Oh.” He picked it up and handed it over, then turned his back to give her privacy. “Thanks.”
There were rustling sounds behind him while he gave her a few minutes to make herself presentable. He found his green T-shirt and pulled it over his head.
When he turned back, she was in jeans like his, but hers were high-waisted and wide-legged, skimming the floor. Her red T-shirt clung to her curves and stopped at her belly button, leaving just a hint of skin between the two.
Any other situation than what they were in, she’d be the type of woman he’d seek out.
Only she didn’t look much like a woman with her face clear of makeup, her hair a tumbled mess, and her bare toes peeking out from under the hem of her jeans.
“Do you remember anything from last night?”
“You don’t?” she asked, wincing at the sunlight. She walked over and tugged the gap in the curtains closed.
“No. Nothing. And that’s not like me. I know I’m not staying in this place.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Bellagio.”
She snorted. “Figures.”
He didn’t know what that meant, but if he wanted answers, he had to keep a tight rein on his patience. Trying to gather his thoughts when everything was jumbled wasn’t helping.
“Tell me what you remember? I don’t know how I ended up where this chapel is. I don’t even know if it’s legit.”
She moved closer, the floral scent clinging to her skin filling his nostrils and stirring more in his body than he was comfortable admitting.
“That’s the chapel Bethany and Joshua were supposed to get married at.”
“Who are they?”
“Sorry. I’ve got to use the bathroom. You won’t leave, will you? I mean we need to get this figured out and fixed.”
“Damn straight we do,” he said firmly. “And I need coffee. This room doesn’t have it.”
“I remember there being some at the front desk. Well, off to the side with their continental breakfast.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He pulled his phone out and looked to see if there were any messages.
Of course there were. Nonstop. It came with his job.
None from his family and that was all he was concerned with.
It was seven here, which meant ten in New York. At least his brain could do basic math.
The toilet flushed, water was running and he heard her brushing her teeth.
He’d kill for a toothbrush right now hoping that would calm his queasy stomach.
She came out and handed him a package; he looked down and saw the travel kit. One with a folded toothbrush not opened.
He took it and returned to the bathroom but left the door open. The first thing he was doing was returning to his hotel for a shower.
Second thing. First was coffee and then some damn answers.