скачать книгу бесплатно
She hadn’t taken something in the bathroom, had she? Some sort of drug? It was a crazy idea, and one Marshall dismissed. She didn’t seem like the type.
He touched her face. She was warm. Her skin was smooth. His eyes ventured a little lower, over her thighs and down her legs. At the silver sandals on her delicate feet.
Wow, she was gorgeous.
And she was an enigma. Why had she kissed him? Oh, he had no complaints. Not until she’d said that whole thing about scoring and giving him what he wanted.
She had no clue what he wanted, and he wondered why she had judged him so harshly.
“Tamara?” He lightly tapped her face and still got no response.
It was clear to him that she wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Marshall didn’t know if he should leave her on this sofa and go to find Nigel. He was about to do just that, then considered the fact that Nigel had told him that the boys were staying with the babysitter for the evening. It wouldn’t exactly be the best thing for Nigel to bring Tamara back there, possibly have her son see her in this state.
Marshall would take her to his place. He would watch her, see if her vital signs changed and act accordingly if they did. But he suspected that the alcohol had simply caught up with her and all she needed was to sleep it off. Then, in the morning, he would bring her home.
Yeah, that seemed like the best thing to do. Besides, the reception was still in full swing, and he didn’t want to take Nigel or Callie or any of the family away from the festivities. His cousin had already left, so there was nothing keeping him here at this point.
Tamara moved against him, snuggling her head against his shoulder a little. A smile touched Marshall’s lips. Did she have any clue what she was doing? That she was with him now? At least she appeared content.
A sleeping angel.
Marshall reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone, and he sent Nigel a text explaining what he was going to do. He told him not to worry, that he would handle the situation and that Tamara would be returned safe and sound in the morning.
For good measure, he added: Don’t worry. She’s in good hands. I’m heeding your warning.
Then Marshall pulled Tamara’s delicate body onto his lap and secured his arms beneath her legs and around her shoulders. He began to walk with her toward the establishment’s main doors, garnering some stares from a few people nearby.
Marshall grinned at an older couple and said, “Don’t worry, folks. I’m a police officer. I’m making sure that this young lady here gets home.”
“Is she okay?” the older man asked.
“Yes,” Marshall answered. “Just a little too much to drink. Nothing a night’s rest won’t cure.”
As he looked down at the sleeping beauty in his arms, he thought again about the way she had kissed him.
And how he was very much looking forward to doing it again.
Chapter 4
Tamara awoke startled. Her eyes flew open, suddenly registering that something wasn’t right.
She wasn’t in her bed. She realized that even before her eyes started flitting around the room. No, this four-poster bed was most definitely not her own. Just as panic was about to set in, she remembered that she was in Cleveland, not Fort Lauderdale. Of course she wasn’t in her bed.
But even as she remembered that, the sense that something was wrong persisted. Because she couldn’t remember ever stepping into Callie and Nigel’s house, much less getting under the covers.
And something else was strange. By the way the bedsheet was skimming her body, she could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d been so exhausted that she had taken off her clothes and climbed into bed without even putting on her nightgown?
It was as if her brain had gone blank. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to concentrate. She was in Cleveland. She’d been at Deanna’s wedding, which had been last night. Yes, that was right. Callie had forced her onto the dance floor to participate in the bouquet toss.
Tamara’s eyes popped open. The bouquet. Marshall. Their dance.
Then she’d gone to the restroom, and he’d followed her.
And then, a kiss? She gasped. Oh, God. No, that couldn’t be right.
As her stomach fluttered with the wisp of a memory, she wondered why the house was so quiet. The clock on the night table told her it was 9:18 a.m. Shouldn’t Michael and Kwame be up and making noise?
Tamara surveyed the large bedroom, with its pale green walls, dresser with mirror and...fireplace? Nigel and Callie had a spare bedroom with a fireplace? The TV mounted to the wall was at least forty inches. There was a leather love seat beside the window, and through the sheer drapes she could see a sprawling tree outside.
The room boasted polished hardwood floors. But nowhere upon them did she see her suitcases.
She looked around the room again, this time with a sense of desperation. It was minimalist in terms of the furnishings and the decor. Spotting a framed photo on the far corner of the dresser, her eyes soon widened in alarm.
Was that Marshall?
Where was she?
The next second, her stomach filled with dread as she added up the reality in her mind. Marshall’s picture, the lack of suitcases, the absence of any voices...
No, it couldn’t be...
She couldn’t actually be in Marshall’s bed!
Her brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. The wedding. The reception. Flirting with Marshall.
“Oh, God,” she uttered in horror. She remembered the kiss again. She had kissed him. Oh, yes, that had definitely happened. She remembered her mouth connecting with his full lips. It hadn’t been the longest kiss, but she felt it throughout her entire body.
What had happened after that kiss?
And why was she in his bed without her clothes on?
“God, please tell me I didn’t. Please tell me I didn’t do something incredibly stupid!”
But she was beginning to fear that she had. If she had come into this bed merely to sleep, wouldn’t her dress be neatly draped over that rocking chair? She couldn’t see it anywhere.
Finally, she bent her head to look over the side of the bed. And her mortification intensified. Because there was her dress, in a heap on the floor. As though it had been discarded haphazardly.
“I can’t possibly be...”
And then for some reason, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. And on the wall she saw a photo of Marshall with his parents and brother. A family portrait.
There was no longer any doubt. She was in Marshall’s house.
In his room.
In his bed.
Her horror level reached a 10.0 on the Richter scale.
Oh God, oh God, oh God! What have I done?
The house was still quiet, and Tamara prayed that Marshall was in a bathroom somewhere. If she could get up quietly, she could sneak out of the house.
She threw the covers off of the queen-size bed and slipped her legs over the side. As her feet came down on the floor, the hardwood squeaked. She winced, hoping that she didn’t get Marshall’s attention—wherever he was in the house. Because she had to get out of there without him knowing.
She didn’t even know where he lived in relation to Callie and Nigel, but she would find her way somehow. Maybe Marshall was the type who had to work out every morning, and that was where he was now. If so, all the better.
She couldn’t face him.
She’d been in his bed. And she knew what Marshall did with women in his bed. Even if she hadn’t heard the salacious stories, the fact that her dress had been tossed onto the floor spoke volumes.
But why couldn’t she remember anything? Somehow, she had lost time. She remembered... She remembered nothing. The kiss, yes.
But certainly not a hot night between the sheets.
She quickly scooped her dress up from the floor and slipped it onto her body. Then she reached for the zipper on the side and pulled it up. The mauve dress with swirls of white had looked incredibly sexy on her when she’d put it on, and that had been what she’d needed. As a newly divorced woman, she’d wanted to look feminine and desirable.
And she had—to Marshall. Had this very dress led her down the path of temptation and into this dilemma? She had wanted to reclaim her womanhood. Had she done that and more?
And with Marshall, of all people?
Tamara opened the bedroom door and peered into the house at large, finding that she was in the hallway. On the opposite side she saw that the door to another bedroom was open. It was much larger, with a king-size poster bed, and far more photos on the wall. Clearly, that was Marshall’s master bedroom.
Realizing that she hadn’t been in his bed should have given her comfort. But it didn’t. Because his bed was immaculately spread and didn’t look as though it had been slept in last night.
She swallowed and then stepped to her left, toward the top of a staircase. The staircase opened up to a two-story ceiling, with a large skylight. Sunlight flooded into the house, almost like a spotlight on her as she made her way down the stairs. The steps creaked, and she tried to tiptoe without making much sound but it was pointless.
Where was Marshall? In another bedroom? She didn’t hear the shower.
The house appeared massive, with a huge great room off of the foyer. She could see the brown-leather sectional, with decorative throw pillows, in front of a wall that housed a television that looked to be sixty inches. As she stepped onto the first-floor landing, she could see part of a dining-room table in a room that sprang from the left of the foyer. The wood was black, probably black maple, and the room had majestic gold-colored curtains topped with cream swags. It was the kind of house Tamara would love to explore, but given the circumstances, she just wanted to get out as quickly as possible.
Tamara’s feet were cold on the marble floor, but thank God her silver stiletto sandals were neatly sitting on a mat near the door. And she saw her purse on the table in the foyer. At least she would have her phone to call for a taxi and money to pay for it.
A house like this would have an alarm, and she only prayed that it wasn’t currently set. The small alarm panel was closer to the door, so she hurried over to it and perused it, determining with relief that it didn’t appear to be activated.
She bent over and slipped her bare foot into one shoe. She was putting on the second shoe when the door began to open. Her heart spasmed.
In walked Marshall. As though he had walked into his house to greet her in the morning countless times, he smiled an easy, charming smile. Was that the smile he had used last night to get what he wanted?
“You’re up,” he said. And then a little frown marred his face. “Where are you going?”
“I—I have to leave. My son—Michael—he’ll be... God, I can’t believe this.”
She was flustered, and she couldn’t form coherent words. The last thing she wanted was to be heading back to Callie’s place the morning after some sort of scandalous night with Marshall. Her son would wonder where she had been, and what could she tell him?
Lord, this was a nightmare.
“I picked up some breakfast,” Marshall told her. “I didn’t have anything decent in the house. I bought some egg sandwiches from a local deli. A few varieties, since I didn’t know what you liked. I got coffee, too.” He lifted the tray in his hands, in case she somehow hadn’t seen it.
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’s never a good idea to skip breakfast,” Marshall said.
“Thank you for...” She stiffened. For what? “I—I need to get to my son.”
“You can’t take a few minutes to eat breakfast with me?” His eyes narrowed slightly, saying he was more than a little confused as to why she wanted to get out of his house so fast.
She supposed she could understand why he was confused. Most women probably didn’t run screaming from him the morning after a night spent in his bed.
But she wasn’t most women. And clearly, she wasn’t even herself. She had no memory of what had happened at all, which made it much worse.
“I’m sorry,” Tamara said. “I’d rather just leave.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I need to get to my son. This is not how I planned our first night in Cleveland to be.” She was flustered. She stared up at him, her chest rapidly moving with each breath. “But thank you. Thank you for the coffee and the breakfast sandwich.”
“Are you okay?” Marshall asked.
That was a loaded question. How could she be okay? She didn’t know what she’d done with him, but she could only imagine the worst. She didn’t dare ask him, like some fool who ended up in a man’s bed with no recollection of it. Obviously, she’d had too much alcohol and had somehow passed out.
She forced a smile but barely met his gaze. “I’m fine. I’ll take the coffee and sandwich with me for later, if you don’t mind.”
Marshall nodded. “Sure. Though I’m a little disappointed that you want to get away from me so quickly this morning.”
Again, the smile. This time a little devilish. Tamara’s stomach sank.
She’d slept with him. It was obvious now. The look in his eyes, she knew she had.
Oh, God.
Tamara took a coffee from the tray. “I’ll just call for a taxi. No need for you to take me to Callie and Nigel’s place.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”
Tamara felt a bout of anxiety. She wanted to escape Marshall, not be confined in a closed space with him. “It’s perfectly fine. You’ve already...done enough.”
“Their house is in Shaker Heights, about a fifteen-minute drive,” he told her. “Honestly, how long will it take a taxi to get here when you call? I’ll just take you.”
Tamara hadn’t thought of that, and certainly it didn’t make sense to sit or stand inside or on the porch for possibly ten minutes or longer for a taxi to arrive. She would love nothing more than to simply flee, start walking anywhere, but she’d caught sight of his sprawling circular driveway when he’d opened the door. Heck, it would probably take her five minutes to get off of his property—where on earth would she walk to?
As much as she wanted to be away from Marshall, taking him up on his offer for a ride seemed the best thing to do.
“As long as you don’t have anything else to do,” Tamara said, resigned to her fate.
“I’m all yours.”
Tamara cringed at the words, wondering if they held special meaning for him. Then she opened the cutout in her coffee lid and sipped it.
