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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 even in the room, could she perhaps really have done it? Could she have married him in an endorphin-fuelled high?
She used his lemon-scented body wash and scrubbed her hair with the masculinely-branded shampoo. Feeling at least a little better, she switched off the water and stepped out the shower. The towels felt even fluffier and softer than they looked. Whoever Demi-God was, he could afford one of the best hotels in town that was for sure.
Whether he’d won it all in the casino last night, or earned it the regular way, she didn’t care. Either way, she hoped she hadn’t signed a pre-nup.
She shook her head. Focus, Phoenix.
She needed clothes, but hers were strewn across the floor of the suite, and getting to them would mean having to face Demi-God again. She wasn’t ready for that.
Beside the door hung a cotton bathrobe. This was Vegas. As long as she wasn’t running down the street naked, she could probably still hail a cab without getting arrested for indecency. She covered herself and faced the mirror again. Much better.
Now she had to figure out an escape route, preferably one that didn’t involve having to get past her new husband first. Morning After small talk was bad enough without having to throw in ‘Who the hell are you?’ too. Not to mention, heaven only knew what her endorphins might do if she had to face him again.
The window.
There was only one, high up over the massive spa bath. She climbed up on the bath ledge and wrestled with the latch. With an ominous and over-loud squeak it finally gave way, and she shoved it open as far as it would go.
Damn. Regulation four inches.
“Are you okay in there?” Demi-God’s voice sounded very close to the bathroom door and her heart hammered.
“I’m fine.” Insane, crazy, desperate, but just fine.
Phoenix looked back at the window. It was high. It was extremely narrow. But as long as she didn’t breathe, she could do this. She hoped. Arms, head or legs first?
She’d only done this once before, but if she could do it once, she could do it again. All she needed was a ledge to stand on once she was out and a drainpipe to shimmy down. This time should be even easier, since she was barefoot.
As there was no curtain rail to hoist herself up with, she opted for arms first. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the window frame, and pulled herself up. Then carrying her weight on her arms, she leaned through the gap to look out. And wished she hadn’t.
No frickin’ way. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but this was high. And this certainly wasn’t anything like that three storey boutique hotel in Miami she’d escaped from. Even if she could squeeze herself through a four inch gap, there was nothing but a thirty storey fall on the other side. Give or take a few storeys.
Four inches was a whole lot smaller than she remembered. Her arms were scraped by the time she managed to wriggle backwards onto solid ground.
Okay, re-group.
She sat on the cold toilet seat and wiped her arms down with a damp facecloth.
One bonus. At least now she knew it was morning. Probably tomorrow morning. Which meant she hadn’t just lost a few hours, but had a whole day and night to account for. And at least one bottle of champagne.
Well, she couldn’t change what was past, so she would focus on the here and now. Since escape wasn’t an option, she should unbolt the door and go out there, get her clothes, tell Demi-God ‘That was fun. Have a nice life’ and leave the traditional way.
Or she could sit right here until the maids came in to make up the room and use them as cover to duck out?
Option B it was. She stuck her hands between her knees. Had the bathroom shrunk? The walls seemed to be pressing in.
“You still in there?” The voice on the other side of the door sounded concerned now.
“Sure. Where else would I be?” Spread across the asphalt thirty storeys down?
“The coffee’s getting cold.”
At the thought of coffee, her mouth watered.
“You want to talk?”
No, she didn’t want to talk. She twisted the ring around her finger. The craftsmanship was certainly awe-inspiring. The carved silver roses even had petals. Nope, the producers of Pranked definitely weren’t that imaginative.
“I hope you’re not having second thoughts this morning.” This time Demi-God didn’t sound at all concerned. He sounded amused, confident no woman wouldn’t want to be married to him.
I’ve got news for you.
“I know it’s sudden, but see this as just another fun adventure,” he said.
Sure. Like root canal was fun.
“You know I thought I’d be the one needing time to adjust to the idea. Are you sure you’re okay in there? Is there anything I can get you?”
He wasn’t going to let her be, was he? If she didn’t go out there and face the music, he’d probably call Security to bang the door down. Actually, that could work…
But if she had to sit still another moment longer, she’d go mental. “I’m fine. I like my coffee black, one sugar.”
When she heard the clatter of coffee cups in the distance, her stomach growled. Maybe staying for coffee wouldn’t be so bad. She could explain this was all a big mistake, get dressed and leave like any rational person. She could do rational.
But if she was going to do this, she wanted a rough idea of who her host was, where she was, and how to get home.
She rummaged through the bathroom cupboard. There was nothing there except the usual hotel branded toiletries. At least now she knew where she was. The Mandarin Oriental.
Talk about getting lucky. She’d always wanted to spend a night at the Mandarin.
Next, she tackled the leather toiletry bag beside the sink. Jackpot!
A small container of headache tablets with the name Max Waldburg and the contact details of a pharmacy in Napa.
Mrs. Waldburg … no, that definitely didn’t sound like her. Hell, Mrs. Anything didn’t sound like her. She was a tumbleweed, an adventurer, not a married woman tied to some man she barely knew.
She swallowed one of the tablets, combed her hair, then found a complementary airline toothbrush and toothpaste in the bag, and brushed her teeth.
Okay, she was as ready as she was ever going to be. Sucking in a deep breath, she headed for the door.
The first thing to assault her senses as she emerged from the bathroom was the scent of bacon. Her stomach flipped in ecstasy. She was starved. Maybe coffee and bacon, and then she’d get away.
The suite was decorated in a slick Asian design, in soft creams and browns, but what grabbed her attention was the panoramic cityscape beyond the floor to ceiling windows. It looked a whole lot better from this angle, when you weren’t dangling over the drop.
Max sprawled on the sofa, reading a newspaper. He grinned up at her, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Ready to eat?” He waved at the dining table that had been set for two. Including polished silver cutlery and a crystal vase full of yellow roses.
He set aside the newspaper and moved to join her at the table. “The flowers are for you, to make up for the ones you didn’t have at our wedding yesterday.”
Did he know they were her favourites? She shook her head. She didn’t want to know how much he knew about her from yesterday. And she hadn’t even been able to remember his name. Guilt and shame crowded her, but she pushed them aside. Life was too short for regrets.
And with her stomach doing some serious complaining, life was also too short to reject a good meal, no matter how awkward the circumstances. Who knew when she was ever going to afford to eat at the Mandarin again?
Pulling on her metaphoric big girl pants, she sat across from Max at the table and spread the real linen napkin across her lap. No paper napkins here.
And the bacon was every bit as good as it smelled. Like a good girl, she drank the glass of orange juice Max handed her. He was right about one thing; she felt a whole lot better with the food and juice inside her. It certainly beat her usual bowl of cereal, eaten standing up in her elbow-room-only kitchenette. And the view was way better, without looking at what lay beyond the windows. Wasn’t it just her luck that she pulled the most gorgeous man she’d ever met, and she couldn’t remember any of it?
When they were done, Max cleared away the plates and poured the coffee. Fresh, full-roasted coffee with cream. Phoenix couldn’t help but lick her lips in anticipation.
Max rocked his chair back as he sipped his coffee. “So what shall we do today?”
“I need to get to work.” Or anywhere but here. Besides, if this was really tomorrow, then she was supposed to switch to the day shift today.
“No, you don’t. Khara offered to take your shift today, remember? After all, we’re on honeymoon.”
Khara was in on this? Phoenix was going to wring her neck as soon as she got back to work. Friends weren’t supposed to let friends drive drunk. Or get married while drunk, either.
She swigged down a mouthful of fortifying caffeine. “Well now, that’s kind of the problem. I don’t remember.”
Max’s forehead furrowed. “What don’t you remember?”
“Everything. Anything. The last thing I remember was you offering to buy me a drink in the pool hall.”
She wished she had a camera for the expression on his face. Floored didn’t even begin to cover it.
Then a smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. He obviously smiled often, because the crinkles deepened so naturally. “I guess I’ll have to remind you, then.”
With a grace she could only hope to emulate, he rocked his chair forward and grasped her seat with both hands, yanking her closer.
He wasn’t even touching her, yet his proximity sent a rush of static heat through her. And when he slid a rough hand up her thigh, parting the robe … now she understood why she’d married him. Endorphin city. The sex must have been the best of her life. She damned well hoped her memory returned soon, because there wasn’t going to be a repeat performance anytime soon.
She pushed his hand away and clamped the front of her robe closed. Clamped her knees shut too, but that was more to ward off the sudden wave of desire shooting through her. He had her wet and needy and all he’d done was touch her leg.
She shifted her chair away from him, far enough away that she could breathe again, and reached for her coffee cup. “So tell me about yourself.”
His brow furrowed again. “You seriously don’t remember anything from last night?”
She shook her head.
He blew out his breath, grinned and stuck out his hand. “Hi, my name is Max. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…?”
“Ms. Montgomery.” She couldn’t help but smile back. He had that kind of infectious grin that was really hard to resist. “But you can call me Phoenix.”
“Interesting name. Is it your real name or a nickname?”
“I’m not telling. At least not until we’ve dated at least six months.” And none of her relationships ever lasted that long.
“Okay. But if you prefer, I can always call you Georgiana.”
She flushed all the way down to the roots of her hair. How much had she told this complete stranger yesterday? She never told anyone her real name. “Since I’m obviously at the disadvantage here, I don’t suppose we could speed this up a little? Like full name, place of birth, age, job description?” The reason why I married a complete stranger?
He eyed her for a long moment and she resisted the urge to squirm. For a mad second she thought he was weighing something up and deciding how much to tell her. God, she hoped he wasn’t a con man. That would be awkward if she was left with the bill for this fancy suite. She didn’t think her life savings would stretch to breakfast, let alone a night in this hotel.
Then he smiled, mouth wide, eyes crinkling, and her heart thundered against her chest. With a smile like that, it was amazing he was still single. Well, single enough to marry her, of course.
Assuming he wasn’t some Mormon with three wives back home. Was bigamy legal here in Nevada?
“Max Waldburg. I was born in a tiny principality in Europe you won’t have heard of, my age is on our marriage contract, and I work for my grandfather on his farm.”
Farm. Napa. Something clicked. “A vineyard. You make wine.”
“I’m a vintner, yes. Five years of studying viticulture, and a whole lot more as an apprentice to my grandfather, and the critics say I’m getting quite good at it.”
He reached for her hand, and this time she didn’t push him away. His touch was more than a caress; it was as if she stood in a rainbow, in a shaft of sunlight on a cold day.
“You’ll love it there. The farmhouse has a wrap-around veranda and a kitchen the size of forever. You can stand at the front door and look out over the entire valley and see nothing but vines and trees. At sunset, it’s truly magical.”
She’d married a poet. That figured. She always managed to attract men with very little grasp on reality. “You were born in Europe, but your family’s American?”
“My mother’s family is American. My father was from Europe, but he’s dead now. He died a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry. My father died recently too.” And this was the first time she’d thought of him all morning. She’d been awake nearly an hour and not once had the familiar grief overwhelmed her. Max might have his uses after all.
He squeezed her hand. “I know. That’s what drew us together in the first place.”
She didn’t need to ask what drew them together in the second place. The delicious static buzzing between them spoke for itself. And if she didn’t put a little space between them very quickly, she was going to find out first-hand how good the sex had been. She wasn’t usually a girl who slept with a guy she didn’t know. At least, not when she was sober.
She pulled her hand out of his and slid off the chair, away from him. Pacing the floor was preferable to being seduced by the deepest, darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin. He would make a good surfer boy if he ever decided to give up farming.
“So we signed a marriage contract?”
