Apparently, she’d done what every other woman out there aimed to do and somehow landed a rich one. A rich pervert. She cursed herself that she didn’t find the idea as repulsive as she should. In fact, the thought of doing things with the infuriating stranger made things throb. The wrong kind of things and the wrong kind of throb.
She wrenched her eyes back to the shimmery puddle of fabric. She folded it this way and that and no matter how she pulled at it, it didn’t turn into a dress. Or even a skirt. Or anything at all.
“You- you ripped my dress apart?” She gaped at the man in the bed. She held up the scrap of fabric. “It’s ruined.” Now what the hell am I supposed to wear to do my walk of shame? Her eyes dashed about the room and landed on a dark black dress shirt. She stalked over and snatched it up. She didn’t hesitate before she pulled the shirt around her body.
The top two buttons were long gone. The beast obviously had a penchant for destroying his own clothing as well. She did the next one up and the one after that with fumbling, useless fingers. She nearly cried out at the stabs of pain that wracked her brain with each and every single one of her furious erratic movements.
“Looks to me like you wanted to get laid.” The beast had the nerve to cross his arms over his far too broad chest, a movement that made each and every single corded, bulging, rippling muscle bulge and ripple that much more. She wondered if it was actually humanly possible to bench press a car. “That dress says it all.”
“You’re disgusting,” June shot back. “Just like all those men that say a woman was asking for it… this is Vegas. Have you seen what people wear here?” She pointed to the puddle of black silky sparkles on the floor. “That there is long enough and good enough to wear to church in comparison.”
The beast rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Seriously. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry- I definitely didn’t mean it like that.” He trailed off and June almost felt sorry for him. The look on his face was so lost and helpless. Clearly, he was at a loss, just as she was. “I would never say anyone was asking for anything. You come to the worst conclusions. You make me sound like the devil.”
No. No, I will not feel sorry for the bastard. I don’t care that I’m making him feel bad by twisting all his words around. He’s the one making himself look bad by saying them in the first place.
June let out a long-frustrated sigh. She had no idea how she was going to get back to her hotel room. She did remember that she’d gone out with her two friends, Lacy and Mindy, the night before. They’d decided to take a girl’s trip to Vegas, driven down from San Diego where they lived, as a getaway. All because June’s fucking dick of a fiancé, Rob, decided to cheat on her.
With another dude.
If there was a humiliation of the year award, she might just win it.
Doubly so, now that she was in a hotel room with a beast of a man who may or may not be hot as sin if she was willing to admit it, a gold wedding band on her finger, and no memory of what happened. Also, currently, she had zero clothes to get from his place back to the safety of hers to figure out what the hell to do next.
If only she hadn’t let her girlfriends convince her that what she needed were a few wild nights, some good fun, a little gambling, some shows, and maybe, just maybe… a hot guy, to forget all about Rob.
June clenched her hands into tight, sweaty fists as her sides. She was in pain. Her heart ached like someone had just thrust a bloody knife through it and twisted. And twisted. And twisted some more.
She searched the recess of her foggy, painful mind for any recollection of the night before, but there was nothing there. She didn’t remember the guy in the bed even asking her if she wanted a drink. She didn’t remember anything about him at all.
June turned wildly to face the beast. He was sprawled out in bed like he owned it, his hands tucked behind his head, his bronzed skin, broad shoulders, rippling muscle, chiseled abs, hard pecks and perfect, dusky pink nipples on display. FML. Big time. She had a history for falling for the wrong guys. Rob was just the last in a long line of mistakes.
Yup. That confirms it. Failure of the year award, right here.
She had to get out of there. Give herself a chance to think. Put some space between them until she could get herself together and just breathe again. But where? It wasn’t like she could escape outside wearing only the guy’s dress shirt, which hung off of her like a bag since it was about six sizes too big. The bathroom.