Chapter Four
An ice pick seemed to be stabbing at Kade’s temple. Sucking in a deep breath, he made a valiant effort to pry one eye open. The morning light beaming through the crack in the curtains had him slamming his eyes shut again. Not the best idea he’d ever had.
Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head in a vain effort to clear his mind. Regret for moving his aching head shot through him as sharply as the prick of that ice pick. Where the heck was he?
Once again lifting his lids, slowly, he took in the wall in front of him, a massive flamingo painting on one side of the curtains.
Beside that a standard issue corner chair and lamp.
A hotel. He was definitely in a hotel. The bright light shining into the room meant—morning.
His flight. Crap. He must have missed his flight.
Wiping at his forehead with both hands, a muffled moan startled him.
Turning toward the sound, his gaze landed on the lump beside him. Aw, hell. He wasn’t alone.
Two slender, firm arms stretched out from beneath the sheets.
Blinking, he focused on the swath of dark hair fanned across the pillow.
Another moment and the lump shifted, giving him a birds eye view of a beautiful sleeping face.
Cassidy. Blast. He didn’t need X-ray vision to know that she wasn’t wearing much, if anything, under that sheet.
Scraping his hands down his face, he heaved a deep sigh.
What had he done? She was a nice girl. Most definitely younger than him.
According to his calculations, by almost a decade.
He hadn’t known her long, but any fool could see she wasn’t the sort for waking up in hotel rooms with near strangers. Damn it. Now what?
Sitting up, he spun around, setting his feet on the ground, his gaze falling on the nightstand.
Or more so, a sheet of beige paper with ornate blue scrolling, large print and a golden stamp.
Blinking to focus, he stretched out one hand, closed his fingers on the corner and bringing it closer, carefully read: Cassidy Anne Barker.
Kade Eric Sweet. No one but Uncle Sam used his middle name.
His gaze shifted to the key words underneath their names.
Like a bolt of lightning, a shock ripped through him.
In large, bold, black letters the words Marriage License might as well have been in pink neon.
Holy hell. At least now he knew what he’d done. Oh, lord.
Some serious conversation needed to happen and he wasn’t going to do it sitting in bed stark naked.
Or without caffeine. The ache in his head and fog in his brain would require lots of caffeine.
Easing off the bed, he inched slowly toward the bathroom door in search of…
where were his pants? The bathroom was empty.
Still in the doorway, he turned to scan the bedroom, his gaze drifted to the other side of the bed. Her side.
Like bread crumbs to the witch’s cottage, a line of clothing—pants, shirts, boxers, panties, a bra—made a trail from the front door to the bed.
Good heavens. Unless they’d both passed out upon collapsing on that massive bed, logic told him any chance of an annulment had flown out the window long before sunrise.
Quietly crossing the carpet, he grabbed what was his in one arm, and picking up her things, he set them on the chair in the corner. Taking a moment to look at Cassidy—she seemed so peaceful, so content, like a sweet angel—his chest constricted. How the heck was he going to fix this?
Shaking his head, he used the pain to snap his attention away from the woman that he had no business staring at, legal wife or not, and returned to the bathroom. Door closed behind him, he finger-brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and donned his clothing as quickly as possible.
Now all he had to do was remember what the heck happened.
How had they gone from a drink at a fun piano bar to a marriage license in a Vegas hotel room?
He had very vivid and clear memories of dancing in the street, singing along with the piano players, laughing, ordering another one of those addictive fruit flavored beverages. Or was it two more?
Raking his fingers through his hair, his gaze fell once again on Cassidy.
This was so not like him. He never gets memory-erasing drunk, and he doesn’t do one night stands, not even when his buddies were out and about de-stressing with the local ladies.
He liked to know his companions for more than a few hours.
Like the tip of your tongue repeatedly drawn to the empty spot where a tooth had been lost, his gaze kept returning to that piece of paper.
Married. Apparently, he still didn’t do one night stands.
A prickly feeling at the back of her neck drew Cassidy from the nicest dream. Not that she had any idea what she’d dreamed, but she felt so good, it had to have been wonderful. So why did she have an uneasy feeling, like she was being watched, which was ridiculous since she lived alone.
Ignoring the unease, and enjoying that unexpected morning feeling of utter contentment, she stretched her arms and opened her eyes.
Thankful for the day off and not needing to hurry, she frowned at the ceiling.
Where were the stains from last year’s roof leak?
Squeezing her eyes shut then open again, she stared harder.
That was not her ceiling. Springing up to a seated position, her eyes almost bugged out of her head.
Across from her, in an upholstered chair, his hands folded and resting on his knees, Kade sat watching her.
Instinctively, she grabbed the edge of the sheet, pulling it up in front of her to cover her nightgown—that she wasn’t wearing. Holy hell. What had she done?
“It’s not what you think.” His expression was flat, unemotional, and unreadable.
Her gaze drifted down to the sheet pulled up to her chin, around the room, then back to him. “I don’t see how it can be anything other than what this looks like.”
His head tipped to one side. She turned to follow his gaze, her own landing on a sheet of paper on her nightstand. Shifting her grip on the sheet to her right hand, her left stretched out to retrieve the page. Her jaw dropped and her head snapped up to face him.
“You don’t remember either?”
Immediately, her gaze fell to the page. Marriage License. “I’m going to say no.”
“Your clothes are on the chair over there.” Kade pointed to the corner of the room, pushed to his feet, and strode to the window, his back to the bed—and her. “If you’d like to get dressed.”
If the entire scenario weren’t so…unsettling, she would have laughed. The evidence at hand indicated that he’d already seen pretty much all of her, yet chivalry had him turning away to allow her to dress. Or was it remorse? Either way, despite whatever this was, she really did like this man.
Still clutching the sheet to her front, she stood, dragging the sheet off the bed and kicking it around her like a Grecian robe.
Hurrying to the chair, she snatched up her clothing and shuffled to the bathroom.
Door closed behind her, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her mind struggled to put together the pieces of last night.
Splashing water on her face, she washed up quickly even if she had to wear yesterday’s clothes, and wondered how could she possibly not remember getting married?
She wasn’t a drinker, that was no secret, and she might have gotten giddy a time or two, but she’d also never drawn a complete blank on what she’d done the night before.
“Married,” she muttered to the empty room.
Fully dressed, she faced the closed door, sucked in a deep fortifying breath. Hands a little shaky, she turned the knob, swinging the door open.
The sound of the door had Kade turning around to face her, the slightest of smiles teased at the corner of his mouth. She really wanted to smile back, but somehow, fear had her barely able to remain standing. What was a person supposed to do when they woke up married to a stranger?
“You look lovely.”
Now she laughed. “Are you always this charming?”
Thankfully, he chuckled too. “It helps when it’s the truth.”
Heat instantly flooded her cheek.
His smile widened. “And even lovelier when you blush.” Crossing the room to one of the two vacant chairs, he took a seat. “I ordered us breakfast. Didn’t know if you liked coffee or tea, or both, or cereal or eggs, so I ordered it all.”
She felt one brow rise high on her forehead.
He may not know it, but yes, the man was always charming.
“That was thoughtful. A hot cup of tea would be really nice about now.” Though the thought of eating actual food made her stomach turn, she suspected that nourishment was at least one of the things she needed.
An escape route might not be a bad thing either.
Following his lead, she walked to the other chair and sat down.
Silence hung for several long seconds that felt more like hours.
“What do you remember?” he finally asked.
Her cheeks tugged at her lips as her mind played back most of yesterday. “I remember you rescuing me from an obnoxious drunk. I remember eating at the taqueria.” Her smile widened. “I remember dancing in the street. By the way, you are a really good dancer.”
“Thank you. So are you.”
“That’s news to me.”
“You followed my lead easily. I actually thought you might have had dance lessons or something.”
She shook her head. “That was the first time I’d ever done more than sway on a dance floor.” She threaded her hands together and tried not to fidget. “I remember going to the piano bar, ordering a Punchbowl, singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ over and over.”
“So far, I’m with you.” He leaned back in the chair. “I think I remember ordering a second Punchbowl.”