Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

I winced as Damon’s hands bit into my flesh. I tried to draw back when I saw the look on his face. I really thought he was going to slap me but instead, he dipped his head and crushed my lips with his. It didn’t take long for me to respond. I knew I was going to regret it and I knew I was going to wish he’d rather slapped me. But right at this moment, I needed this. I needed him and his lips felt so good on mine as they had that night back in college.

My arms wrapped around Damon’s neck when his arms wrapped around my body to pull me closer against him. I could feel his desire rising as our kiss deepened and a long dormant spark ignited between us. Damon’s hand started to drift up and down my back as he felt the contours of my body. I wanted him even closer than we already were as my body responded to his seductive touch.

But before we could sink any deeper into each other, the elevator jolted, the lights came back on, and we were moving again. Damon and I parted and we stood guiltily in our corners, not saying a word for the rest of the ride to our floor.

The electric current from our passionate embrace was still zinging through me as we awkwardly parted ways at our room doors and stiltedly confirmed our meeting in thirty minutes.

When I got into my room, I collapsed on the bed and tried to focus on what had to be done for the bachelorette party tonight. I had to put that kiss out of my mind. Damon was trying to calm me down, but I really did wish he’d rather have slapped me. Because now I knew things were going to be really awkward when we met in thirty minutes.

***

The first few moments of the meeting had been really awkward. But we’d managed to secure a room with a bar at the hotel as well as some last-minute catering and now we just had to agree on the decorations and music.

We finally had it all sorted out two hours later and then took another hour shopping for the supplies. After that, we rounded up the rest of the bride and groom party to help us decorate the room where we were going to have the mix party.

By the time I’d finished getting ready for the bachelorette party, I was both physically and emotionally drained. I took a shot of double espresso to wake me up before I brushed my teeth, put lipstick on, collected my gear, and headed out to go lead the bachelorette party.

As the party limo bus zoomed from the different venues I’d booked on the island, the alcohol flowed, the woman got more festive, and Hayley seemed to be having so much fun. I hadn’t seen her letting her hair down and having a good party like she was in a long time. As I was the host for the night, I had to keep a straight head so I mainly drank water in a frosted wine glass so no one realized I hadn’t been drinking.

The last stop on the trip was to a strip club for ladies. I’d arranged for a tasteful Magic Mike type evening. I dished out a wad of dollar bills to each of the ladies, warning them that when their money was finished, the show was over and it was time to head back to the last venue for the evening.

That little speech had me labeled as the captain of the party police. I spent most of the time that we were there peeling the drunk ladies I was responsible for off the stripper poles (you had no idea the germs that must be on those things) and from giving the male strippers lap dances. I warned Hayley that tequila was never a good drink for a night like this. It was hooligan juice that made people feel they could do anything they wanted. It was evil cactus juice.

But Hayley had insisted, and now a few bottles of tequila in, I had become a freakin’ babysitter to twenty-five-year-old and up teenagers. It was here I saw what would become of adults if someone found a drug that would flip the switch and make adults think they were sixteen again. I decided that if I ever had a kid, I would make sure they had a safe, but wildish youth, so there were no suppressed wild childs in them like this bunch of women obviously had.

Sylvia, a woman about a year older than me, who was always the perfect lady with not a hair or even an eyebrow out of place, had pulled a tongue and a raspberry at me. Twice! Another woman who rivaled Mother Teresa as a goody-two-shoes had given me the finger a few times when I tried to intervene with one of her antics. Eventually, I gave up and found a table to sit and have a quiet drink at.