Body frozen in panic, she flicked her gaze downward.
A man's hand cupped her breast, the necklace with her parents’ wedding rings twisted around his fingers.
Holding her breath, she realized her butt lay nestled against someone's morning wood.
Heart thundering inside her chest, she inched her head around to get a peek at the man whose bed she shared. Her foul morning breath whooshed out of her mouth when she came nose to nose with Hank.
Oh shit.
“Go back to sleep, darlin’. We're on vacation,” he mumbled in a horse, half-asleep voice.
Turning her head away from him, she stared at the thumb only a millimeter away from her fast-hardening nipple. This was not good. Not good at all.
Desperate to understand how all of this had happened, Beth rewound the previous night in her head. She'd gone out to dinner with other conference attendees, where she'd had ginger ale. After dinner they'd gone to a club at one of the other hotels on the strip. She'd had a glass of champagne. Only one. Always only one. Everyone else ordered martinis. That's when things got jumbled up in her mind.
She remembered everything had felt funny and her desperation to go back to her hotel room. Then Hank had appeared by her side. There was a cab. Elvis had shown up. A very short Elvis.
What had happened with Elvis? Oh yeah, Elvis had told Hank to kiss the bride and he'd turned and kissed her.
Ice spread through her veins. Dear sweet baby Jesus.
Unable to move anything else, she blinked her eyes. Fast. Her lungs began to ache, reminding her she needed to breathe. Gasping for air, she bolted upright.
“Good morning,” Hank drawled as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How are you feeling?”
Despite the fact that he’d held one of her boobs only minutes before, Beth reflexively grabbed the white sheet, pulled it up to her neck and kept her gaze locked on the maroon-and-gold striped wallpaper. “Fine and dandy. Perfect. Never better.” She slapped her hand over her mouth to shut herself up.
“Yeah? Good because you were in rare form last night.”
Rare form? What had she done that could be worse than marrying him? Looking down, she didn't see a ring on her left finger. She let out a sigh of relief. But the feeling was momentary because in the same moment realization dawned that she was wearing only her panties.
In bed.
With Hank.
“What happened?”
He laughed, a low rumbling that made her stomach do triple flips and turned her body to jelly. She didn't want to turn back and look at the source of that bone-melting sound. But running at full speed out the door wasn't an option, especially since her dress was hidden somewhere in this room. At least she hoped so.
Curling her knees to her chest, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Hank, tell me right now what happened.”
The bastard had the audacity to wink at her from beneath his chestnut hair. Damn her wandering eyes, she couldn't help but look lower to his bare broad shoulders and his muscular chest covered in darker brown hair, which narrowed as it traveled south. Lounging against the pillows, clad only in black cotton boxer briefs, his long and thick salute to a new day stood at full mast in his lap.
If she'd gotten to enjoy that last night and didn't remember, she sure as hell was going to be pissed off.
Hank cleared his throat, drawing her gaze upward.
“My eyes are up here you know.” He wriggled his eyebrows at her and a wicked grin spread across his face.
Her stomach dropped to her
toes. She was a respectable, boring estate attorney who lived in a small town in Nebraska. She didn't have sex on the first date, let alone drunkenly marry her best friend's brother. The same brother who'd refused to be her first lover, saying he didn't have sex with virgins. Embarrassment burned her cheeks.
“Um, did we…” She waved a hand over the bed, unable to bring herself to say the words.
“I'll leave it to your imagination while I go take a shower.”
He curled forward and dropped a quick peck on top of her head before getting out of bed. After a quick full-body stretch that showed off every muscle in his toned back, he strutted to the bathroom, his form-fitting boxers highlighting his hard ass in all its glory.