light and the clamour of rain. If only her head would just explode and get it over with.
At least the pillow seemed softer this morning. And it smelled nicer than normal too. A fresh citrus scent that quickened her blood.
Hang on a minute. Rain? In Vegas?
She peeked out from under the pillow. Oh my…
Not her room.
This room was at least twice the size of her entire motel apartment, and way better furnished. Correction: this wasn’t just a room; it was a palatial hotel suite. Through the double doors she spied a living room.
She sank back on the pillows, which seemed to be dusted in gold glitter. Perhaps she’d already died and this was heaven. Though she highly doubted heaven would want Phoenix Montgomery. Not that she’d been a particularly bad girl, but she’d never made much effort to be particularly good either.
And she’d certainly seen and done a few things a more conventional person might quail at. This being one of them.
She covered her eyes. Blocking the sunlight streaming in through tall windows at least helped the ache in her head.
Sunlight? Then that wasn’t rain…
Instantly awake, she turned her head and identified the source of the sound of running water: not rain, but a shower running.
She wasn’t alone.
Terror clutching her heart, she lifted the crisply starched sheet. Oh hell…
Beneath the sheet, she was stark naked, aside from yet more gold glitter. And not alone, in a room she didn’t recognize.
What the hell had happened last night?
Through the aching blur, she fumbled for memories. She and Khara had got off work not long before dawn, and they’d gone out for a drink as they often did at the end of a shift. They’d chosen a pool hall away from The Strip, the kind of place that wasn’t in any tourist brochure. With the sedatives the doctor had prescribed to help her sleep, Phoenix hadn’t had that much to drink. Besides, she could handle alcohol. Unless…
There was only one thing that could get her drunk.
She closed her eyes, grasping for the memories. They’d danced to music from an old-fashioned juke box and played a couple of games of pool. She’d even won a little money off a guy with tattooed arms who couldn’t believe he’d been bested by a girl.
And then there’d been a man who bought her a drink…
The bathroom door opened. Phoenix sucked in a breath and opened her eyes.
Yeah, that man.
God, but he was drool worthy. Especially wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel wrapped around his hips. He definitely worked out. Until now she’d believed six packs like that were the results of air brushing in magazine spreads. This set of abs was one hundred percent real.
She forced her gaze higher, over the tanned chest, broad shoulders, up to meet a pair of startling blue eyes in a face framed by overlong fair hair.
“You’re awake. Good. I’ve ordered breakfast.”
She was so not hanging around for breakfast. She cleared her throat. “Where are my clothes?”
He pointed toward the living room. Clothes lay strewn across the floor and, yep, there it was, the only thing that could get her truly and embarrassingly drunk… a bottle of champagne, empty and lying on its side on the floor.
“How are you feeling?” The demi-god’s voice matched his face; deep, masculine, with a hint of amusement and a faint Germanic trace.
He perched on the edge of the bed. He smelled as good as he looked, clean and slightly lemony. Just like the pillow. Her blood all rushed south again.
She could only imagine how much fun he’d been up close and personal. Pity she had absolutely no memory of it.
“Did we really…?” She waved a hand at the bed, and her naked body beneath the sheet that she now held clutched to her breasts. And her heart stopped.
Was that a ring on her finger? On her left hand?
She clutched her head in her hands and groaned. “Please tell me we didn’t…”
She shook her head. Sex with a virtual stranger was one thing, but there was no way she’d done the M word.
He laughed a low, throaty chuckle. “Yes, of course we did. It’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it? Who’d have thought we’d meet our destiny in Las Vegas?”
Destiny? He had to be kidding, right? There must be hidden cameras in the room. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny. Whoever the pranksters were, they’d better be paying her a lot of money. She rubbed her temples. “I need coffee.”
“I’ve ordered coffee and fresh orange juice with breakfast, but you should drink the juice first.” A knock sounded on the distant door to the suite. “Great timing.”
As soon as he turned his back to let the room service waiter in, Phoenix made a mad dash for the bathroom. One look in the mirror was all she could bear. While Demi-God had that tousled, fresh-out-of-bed-and-can’t-wait-to-get-back-in-it look, she just looked as if she’d fallen asleep drunk.
She bolted for the door and rubbed her throbbing temples. Think, think. What the hell had she done? And more importantly, what the hell was she going to do now?
Steeling herself, she turned and checked her reflection in the mirror. Glitter? Seriously? She was so not a sparkly, gold glitter kind of girl.
First things first. Shower. Clothes. And then she was getting the hell out of here.
She turned on the shower as hot as she could bear and stepped under the stream. Then she leaned her forehead against the cool, tiled wall. Okay memory, you can come back now.
The ring on her finger was bigger than a wedding ring, a masculine thing, more signet ring than wedding ring. A pattern of stylised roses wove around a blue stone carved in the shape of a dragon’s head. She was no jewellery expert, but she guessed it was made of silver and lapis lazuli, and was very, very old. It was the kind of ring one used when one married on the spur of the moment without any planning.
Not the big, flashy diamond ring the producers would no doubt supply if this were an episode of Pranked.
She groaned aloud. She couldn’t possibly have agreed to get married last night, even on a bad mix of sedatives and champagne. Though Demi-God sincerely seemed to think they had.
Demi-God also needed a name. She thumped her head against the tiles, but that didn’t help. One memory sprang to mind, though. They’d gone dancing in some swanky nightclub. And boy, could he dance. A sudden clear image surfaced, of his hands on her waist as they slow-danced, locked in their own little bubble on a dance floor, surrounded by grinding, gyrating bodies.
Desire flashed through her, so strong her knees threatened to buckle. If that was her reaction when he wasn’t
