Snare (Falling Stars #3) (43 page)

"Very well." I ended the call and hit the button on my desk intercom.

"I am expecting a messenger within the hour. I need the delivery immediately."

"Yes, sir," Mrs. Shaw quickly responded.

I settled back in my leather chair, unable to think about work. Vegas was the only thing on my mind.

The messenger arrived forty-five minutes later and Mrs. Shaw brought in the large manila envelope with a large smile on her face. I took it and thanked her. Once she closed the door behind her, I tore into the envelope. It was everything I needed. A plan began to form in my mind. I hadn't been to Vegas in years.

Olivia

Oh my good Lord, my head hurts. It's so heavy, like it's filled with cement. Yawning, I scrunch my face.
Did a rabbit climb on my face and stick it's ass in my mouth last night?
Thanks, Mister Cottontail. Opening one eye, my matted hair is all I can see.

How the hell did I get back to my room?
I'm gonna kill those two — Felicity for pushing the damn shots, and Mercedes for encouraging the drinking game.

"You need to loosen up, Liv."

"You just finished the biggest job and got paid! It's time to celebrate, so bottoms up!"

"Come on, give yourself one night. What's the worst that could happen? A hangover?"

"We've got each other's back, we promise."

Those lying bitches.

Groaning, I try rolling over.

"What the...?" My voice sounds rough, like I'd been yelling.

I can't move.
Why can't I move?
I test my arms, they move. Legs, they move, but I can't get up. A thick arm weighs down my body.
Shit. Time for an arm check. One, two, three…three?

Oh my God! I brought some strange guy back to my room! Those bitches let me leave with some random guy?
They are so dead.

Gently shifting, I try not to wake him. No such luck. His arm tightens around my waist and pulls me against him.
Well, this feels kind of…really, really, kind of…

"Rebecca…" he mumbles, his warm breath heating the back of my head.

Had I given a fake name? Sweet baby Jesus, I'm a slut. I don't do home wrecker.

Shame tingles over my skin as I work to pull free of his embrace. Gentle isn't working, so I shove at him, trying to push the toned arm from my body. Gripping his wrist, I finally lift, but pause before pulling myself free. The sight of the shiny band of gold on his left hand dissipates any sanity and composure I was desperately holding onto. He's married.

"Crap, crap, crap!" I shout.

His body jerks next to mine.

"Holy freaking crap!" Jumping out of the bed, I begin the slutty girl search for my clothes.

"What the hell?" A growl rumbles from the strange married man in my bed.

Unable to look him in the eye, I grab for the underwear and dress I finally find tossed about the room. With quickening steps, I rush for the cover of the bathroom.

"Olivia?" he calls out.

Freezing just before the bathroom door, it registers that he said my name.

He knows my name? Oh shit, he knows my name. Rebecca must be the wife!

Taking the last couple steps toward the bathroom, I slam the door and lock it. Sinking to the floor, tears stream down my cheeks.
I can't believe I've done something like this. His poor wife.
Pulling myself to my feet, I drag my shameful ass to the large mirror above the sink.

All of the telltale signs reflect back at me in the mirror. Swollen lips, bags under my eyes, and light red marks on my neck and chest, these are a few of my disgraceful things.

What the hell have I done? Why would I do something like this? I don't do this type of thing. I would've noticed the ring before it got this far. This isn't me — at all.

"Olivia?" The door handle rattles, drawing my attention. "Olivia, are you okay?" His voice is deep, commanding. Finding his voice pleasing only makes me feel worse.

Turning on the shower, I climb in. The water drowns out his voice. Unfortunately, it doesn't wash away the shame.

My bare skin, red from the force of my scrubbing, can't stand being in the shower any longer. I climb out and silence on the other side of the door greets me.
Is it too much to hope he left?
I quickly search for my toothbrush and scrub the filmy feeling from my mouth before grabbing all of my toiletries and stuffing them into the small bag.

Slipping the dress back over my head, I stare at my appearance in the mirror. My bright red hair clings to my skin. To avoid a straight, limp look, I twist and tuck the strands into a knot at the base of my neck.

Turning toward the door with my things under my arm, I reach for the doorknob, allowing my hand to linger for just a minute while I mentally prepare myself for what's to come. Taking a deep breath, I pull the door open and step out.

My eyes focus on the wall across the room in a weak attempt not to look at him, but I fail and glance at the bed.

He lies before me, vaguely familiar, in only boxer briefs clinging to his well-toned body. Long, lean, powerful legs stretch out on the bed. His flat stomach flexes as he sits up on the edge, his eyes studying me.

"Olivia, are you okay?" His dark, left brow raises over sparkling hazel eyes.

His familiarity feels strange. Shaking off the feeling, my only response is to nod.
I need to get my things and get the hell out of dodge.
I begin looking around the room, cataloging all of the items I still need to grab.

"Oh, really?" He stands. I tense and step back. "Then why are you freaking out?"

"Okay, so perhaps I'm not entirely alright. But I'll be fine. This doesn't need to be uncomfortable or discussed. I don't even remem—"

With the smooth prowess of a feline, he moves toward me. Knowing the look of a predator when I see it, I put my arms out in front to deter him.

"We don't have to talk about anything." Shaking my head at him only makes the pain in my head from being hung over worse. "I don't remember your name and even if I did, I wouldn't tell your wife, or anyone, so let's just go our separate ways and—"

He laughs a deep from the belly laugh.

I close my mouth in a tight line and stare.

"Trust me, she already knows about last night." Cocking one eyebrow in amusement, he comes closer.

My hands press against the warm, smooth skin of his broad chest.

Wow, he's really…uh, solid.

The urge to flex my fingers against his chest, to slide over it until I wrap my body around his, pulses through me, causing a brief memory of our bare skin pressed tight against each other to flare.
Crap!

He invades my personal space. Towering over me, the intimidation pouring off him brings my thoughts back above the waist. Backing away, in hopes to retreat to the bathroom again, I drop my hands and my toiletry bag. I hit the solid wall next to the bathroom door and realize I miscalculated my direction.

"I-I don't understand," I stutter.

Taking deep breaths to avoid an impending panic attack, I continue. "But it doesn't matter. I need to go."

"I think we should talk, discuss a few things you seem to be
unclear
about." Smiling, he grabs my hand — my left hand. Bringing it up to my face, he holds it alongside his. "See anything familiar? Perhaps something matching?"

"You've gotta be kidding me!" I exclaim. My eyes lock onto my very own matching band of gold.

"I'm afraid this isn't a joke." His intense eyes scan over my face.

"Oh, right, I'm so sorry. I don't know how this happened." Heat flushes my skin, the embarrassment and mortification doing their job well. "Well, I'm pretty sure the margaritas and shots had something to do with it, but I assure you, this isn't something I would normally do. I'll contact a lawyer and we can get this taken care of as quickly as possible." Swallowing back a tornado of emotions, I try to move around him.

His arm winds around my waist, pulling my back into his warm, solid chest.

"You aren't getting rid of me that easily," he whispers. The heat from his breath and the intensity of his words both panic and excite me.

His warm, soft lips press against the back of my neck, momentarily stunning me. Desire prickles across my skin. A brief memory of last night's activities flashes through my mind. His twinkling hazel eyes looking up at me as his tongue presses against my breastbone and slides across my skin. Snapping out of the erotic recollection, I pull away from his embrace. He loosens his hold just enough for me to turn and look at him.
He's serious.

"I know you don't do this often. It's done now." His arm tightens around my waist once more.

"But it can be undone," I whisper.

"If that's what I wanted. But I don't."

"You can't—" His soft, authoritative lips cut off my response.

For just a moment, I lose myself in the kiss. The feeling of his tongue against my lower lip before he sucks on it almost makes me ignore the warning signals going off in my head.

I turn my face from his, breaking the kiss. With deep, head-clearing breaths, I push at his chest.

"What?" I exclaim.

He smiles at my failed attempt for release.

"You're feisty, I'll give you that," he chuckles.

"I don't think this is funny,” I scoff, continuing my push at his arms and chest.

"I'm going to take a shower. Then we can discuss all of this over breakfast."

"Are you a psychopath?" I blurt.

He grins. "I assure you, I'm not a psychopath."

"Well, if you aren't crazy, you’d agree to an annulment." The overpowering presence of his proximity makes it hard for me to think. "You couldn't, as a sane person, want to remain married to a stranger."

Refusing to look back at his face, to get lost in his eyes, or another kiss, I continue to work against his iron grip.

"I'm not crazy and I will not agree to an annulment." His words are harsh and absolute. "I suggest you get used to being Mrs. Knyght." He releases his hold and steps around me toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

I stand, dumbfounded for a few moments. The sound of the shower turning on snaps me out of my haze and I start hauling ass. I grab all the things I'd cataloged in my head earlier and begin throwing them in my suitcases. At the door to the room, I remember my cell phone. I look around, find it on the nightstand, and snatch it up. I quickly text Mercedes and Felicity to see where they are and if they are ready.

Turning from the nightstand, his wallet catches my eye.
I need to know who he is before I can send him legal papers, right? Going through his wallet is completely justifiable.
I glance at the still closed bathroom door and listen. The water is still running, so I flip open the soft, black leather.

How many platinum, preferred, and black cards does a person need?

Looking deeper, I find his name. Damon Knyght. I close his wallet and smack myself in the head with the flat of my hand.
Christ, Olivia!
Technically, he's not a stranger. He's the CEO of B.I.G., my recent big client. The reason I’m in Vegas celebrating.

I groan and plop my ass down on the side of the bed, mentally berating myself. Suddenly, the room becomes silent. Completely silent. Hurrying to the door, I grab both suitcases and slip out of my hotel room.

In the elevator, I finally get a text back from Mercedes.

We R in restaurant downstairs. Waiting on U.

Stopping hastily by the front desk, I check out and make a beeline to the restaurant.

Ced and Felicity are calm and relaxed, chatting over waffles, fruit, and coffee.
Bitches.

"Hey, sweetie," Felicity greets.