Water running in the shower was the first sound Soleil actually cataloged, then voices and the roar of a motorcycle. Her body felt so relaxed and sated she almost turned back over and went to sleep, but then images began to seep in as awareness blossomed, little bits and pieces floating into her mind.
That gorgeous man with the teardrops dripping down his face. Crystalline blue eyes. Hair, thick and wild, so blond it was almost platinum. A body to die for. His mouth between her legs. Bending her over a pool table.
“Oh my God,” she whispered aloud. She chanted it as more images drove through her brain. It didn’t matter that she tried to stop them, the floodgates opened. Kneeling on the floor of a shop, the most amazing cock in her mouth. Looking up at him as she knelt, and her entire body going into the most amazing sensations she’d ever experienced. His body moving in hers.
She groaned, turned over onto her back again and flung one arm up to cover her eyes, trying to push away reality. She’d done some stupid things in her life, but this . . . She would have to call Kevin and confess. He would tell her what to do. This was on her. Completely on her.
What had she done? Guilt assailed her. She’d seduced a very sweet man because he was perfect. Everything she’d ever wanted. She’d trapped him into marriage. She’d gotten him drunk. She’d seduced him in every way a woman could. Deliberately. Boldly. It didn’t matter that he’d been attempting to do the same to her; she knew she had made a choice to keep him for selfish reasons, and she would have to confess to him and let him go. The thought made her want to cry. She’d have to call Kevin and make this right for Ice.
It suddenly came to her that she didn’t have Kevin. He was gone. An accident . . . She had a fiancé . . .
“Oh my God,” she whispered again. Only this time it wasn’t about whatever insanity she’d done after meeting the hottest, sweetest man in the world. That she’d take responsibility for. This was about Winston and his pack of rabid killers out to murder her.
She sat up, dropping her head in her hands, pushing at the hair spilling around her face and down her back. She lifted her head and met piercing blue eyes. Crystalline eyes. Her heart clenched hard. Those eyes held amusement, although he wasn’t smiling. He just sat in a chair opposite the bed and stared at her.
Something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t feel right. She was certain she’d connected to him in a way she’d never connected with anyone, yet she didn’t feel that way now. She just felt awkward. What did one say to a man they’d spent the night with? Not just spent the night but had the most amazing, mind-blowing sex ever with? She forced herself to focus because no matter how hard she tried to make this man the one who had given her that very first orgasm, and then a hundred more, something wasn’t right.
He didn’t have those three teardrops dripping from his eye. The drops were tattoos. One couldn’t just get rid of them so easily. A chill went through her. This wasn’t the same man. They were twins. She stared at him in horror.
“Oh my God.”
“You keep saying that.”
She became aware that she didn’t have a stitch on. Not one. The blankets were pooled around her waist and her breasts were very much on display. She knew because she looked down. There were smudges on her breasts. Red marks. Faint strawberries. She yanked the blankets up to her chin.
“Who are you? I didn’t . . .” She gestured, unsure what to say. What to ask. “Not both of you.” That would be the most humiliating thing she could imagine.
He drew back. “I wouldn’t ever touch my brother’s wife.”
For a moment her brain froze. Her body froze. She couldn’t move or think. She just stared at him. It was all true. She’d really done that despicable act. The worst thing a woman could do to a man. She’d trapped him into marriage.
“Nice wedding in the chapel. Party at the bar. Pictures. Ice couldn’t keep his hands off you or you him. I didn’t think the two of you were going to make it to your room before the official consummation.”
He sounded totally amused. He was laughing at her, and she couldn’t blame him. She lifted up her left hand and sure enough, there was a ring. It was laminated paper with a very intricate drawing, but it was there. She remembered the ring he’d slipped on her finger and she wanted to cry. She loved that silly ring. That he’d thought to do that for her.