held her breath, commanding her body to stay still so her spinning head could add up all the facts.
Fact one. She’d flown to Reno for her friend’s coed bachelor/ette party yesterday. This was definitely the room she’d checked into because her fuchsia cheetah-print suitcase was haphazardly propped on the luggage rack at the foot of the bed. So at least she was where she was supposed to be. That was good.
Fact two. She remembered meeting up with some of the wedding party and having one or two cocktails in the casino bar. She normally didn’t drink much, so it couldn’t have been more than a couple. Could it? She spotted three plastic oversize souvenir cups by the TV stand. That wasn’t so good, but it explained the throbbing at the base of her scalp, her queasy stomach and her lack of memory.
Don’t feel, she commanded herself. Just think and solve the problem.
Fact three. There was a dyed-blue carnation bouquet next to an instant photo in a cheesy cardboard frame from the Silver Rush Wedding Chapel that read Hitched in Reno on the bedside table next to her. The image was too grainy—or maybe her eyes were too fuzzy to see—but she was definitely the one holding up the ugly flowers in the picture. She carefully stretched out her arm, trying to bring the photograph closer and into focus without waking the sleeping Adonis beside her. She squinted at the photo. Had they gone to some sort of Wild West–themed bar last night? Maybe that was where she’d met the guy next to her, because he was in the picture, too.
She let out a quiet breath while she carefully studied the shot for more clues. She and Mr. Adonis looked as if they were sitting in a covered pioneer wagon. Next to them sat two people wearing costumes reflecting Nevada’s silver mining heritage. At least she hoped those were costumes. This was really weird, unless...
She glanced over her bare shoulder. The perfectly formed male snored softly away in her bed, and, as she let her gaze drift past the golden features of his face, she rethought her earlier angel appraisal. There was nothing cherubic about the man from the neck down. Had some of the bachelorettes ended up at an all-male revue show?
Oh, no. What if this guy next to her was a male stripper and she’d hooked up with him? Her parents would be mortified. They’d raised her to be a strong woman with an even stronger sense of self-worth—one who would never get taken advantage of by a man.
She dropped the photo and wiped her damp palm on the sheet. Kylie was a certified public accountant and she needed an explanation for this situation that would add up, one that would make sense. She had to stop jumping to conclusions and get back to her usual analytical approach to problem solving.
Besides, his body might look as though it could grace the cover of one of her historical romance novels, but his relaxed face looked too innocent to work for tips.
She rubbed her eyes before scrutinizing the picture again. Regardless of where they were or who else was in the photo with them, they’d both looked pretty darned pleased with themselves last night. Obviously, they’d had a fun time. She didn’t know if that was good or not.
Fact four. She was still dressed in her matching blue lace panty and bra set—but nothing else. What did that mean? Had they or hadn’t they...?
Again, she looked at her bedmate. She had no idea what he had on underneath the covers, but on top, he was wearing nothing but an impressive array of bronzed muscles and a smile. The heat of embarrassment shot up her cheeks.
Even though most people thought Kylie dressed too flashy and went out on more than her fair share of dates, the reality was that in all of her thirty years, she’d never let a man get past second base. And now she couldn’t remember who the batter was or whether he’d hit a home run last night! She didn’t need to be sober to come to the conclusion that winding up half naked and in bed with a stranger couldn’t be good at all.
Before she could move on to fact five, the blond Adonis snuggled closer and wrapped his overdeveloped biceps around her waist. His warm strength sizzled against her taut skin, and it took every fiber of her normally calm demeanor to not leap off the bed and run away from him. She no longer had time to be analytical. If she tried to appraise the situation any more, she’d end up waking him. Maybe she could just sneak out quietly.
Wait. This was her room.
She might bite her tongue when some of the more gossipy women in town mocked her, but having grown up the only girl with four older brothers and an opinionated father, she was used to establishing her independence and her individuality. She was no wallflower. Kylie had learned early on that in life she needed to stand up for herself in order to stand out. She’d also learned how hold her own with men. Even gorgeous, naked ones.
She shoved at his shoulder. “Pssst.”
His only response was to grip her tighter.
“Hey,” she said louder as she tried gracefully to extricate herself from his embrace.
His full pink lips nuzzled against her neck, and a shocking tingle raced down her spine.
The intimate contact both aroused and startled her. She used her bare leg to shove herself away from him. Unfortunately, her heel nailed him in the shin and, just as she was pushing away, he yelped and scrambled backward. The force of his retreat timed perfectly with her launch, and she lost her momentum, collapsing to the patterned carpeted floor in a pile of long limbs and blue lace.
“What in the hell?” she cried out, trying to pull the sheet down to cover herself.
“Where am I?” he asked.
With the sheet finally wrapped around her, Kylie got to her feet so she could confront the equally confused stranger sitting up in her bed. She caught sight of her makeshift toga in the dresser mirror and lifted her chin higher. Her friends always told her that with her tall, curvaceous body, she looked just like an auburn version of Wonder Woman. Yet right now the resemblance was more similar to the superhero’s secret identity, Princess Diana, who needed to defend her Amazon kingdom from unwanted males. “I’ll tell you where you are if you tell me who you are.”
“I’m Andrew.” He rubbed at his close-cropped haircut, and she took comfort in the fact that his head must be pounding just as badly as her own.
Andrew didn’t sound like a stripper name—not that she had any point of reference when it came to exotic male dancers.
“Well, Andrew, you’re in my room at the Legacy Casino in Reno. Don’t ask me how you got here, because I’m still pretty fuzzy on the details.”
The man looked at the disheveled bedding, then back at her, his eyes traveling the length of her body before settling on her heated face. He blinked a couple of times before his hand fumbled on the nightstand and lifted a pair of wire-framed lenses to his eyes.
“You’re Kylie,” he said, recognition apparently dawning on him.
“Well, at least one of us knows...” She faltered as a flashback from last night triggered her own memory bank. “You know, with those glasses on, you kind of look like that military friend of Cooper’s...”
His nod confirmed the sudden fear she couldn’t even bear to say aloud. Oh, no. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
“Oh, my gosh.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him while he looked around the room sheepishly, probably in search of his holy vestments. Or at least his pants. “You’re the minister who’s performing the wedding. You’re Drew Gregson!”
