chest tightened when she thought of Mike Lassiter. For once in her life, she’d like to do something to win her father’s love and approval, to be more than a major disappointment to him. But a stupid stunt like she’d pulled last night would only serve to widen the gulf between them.
Sobs racked her body, and when a wave of dizziness made her sway, she leaned her head against the tiled wall. She felt terrible. And not just emotionally.
Instead of washing away her remorse, crying only aggravated the head cold she’d fought for the past week. Now she had another sinus headache to contend with, as well as the embarrassment of spending the night with a virtual stranger.
Toweling herself dry, she threw on the hotel’s complimentary bathrobe, then rummaged through her cosmetics case for the capsules her doctor had prescribed. What had she done with them? She’d taken one last night before going to the banquet….
As she looked at herself in the mirror, Kristen’s eyes grew round.
At dinner, she’d ordered mineral water. Unable to taste anything, she’d drunk most of it before realizing the waiter had brought white wine. Could the wine, mixed with cold medication, explain last night being a complete blank?
“Maybe nothing happened.”
Get real, Kristen.
Chance Warren didn’t look the type to take a vow of celibacy. And the unfamiliar little aches she’d experienced since awakening in his arms supported that fact.
Devilishly handsome, he had enough charm to talk the birds right out of the trees. And that didn’t even take into consideration his killer smile and devastating eyes. Have mercy! A woman could lose every ounce of sense she’d ever possessed when caught in his hypnotic blue gaze.
Tall, broad-shouldered and damnably sexy in a pair of jeans and western-cut shirt, Chance Warren was every woman’s dream. At least every woman Kristen knew.
A heaviness settled low in her stomach when she recalled the feel of his hand caressing her breast, the strength of his arousal pressed against her thigh. She moaned at the memory of his nude body stretched across the bed.
How on earth would she ever be able to face him again without remembering his wide shoulders, the ripples of corded muscle covering his chest and stomach, the heaviness of his…
Embarrassment burned her cheeks, and shaking her head to chase away the image, Kristen hurried into the next room. She had to leave Las Vegas as soon as possible. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and Chance. There was no way she wanted to risk running into him again. At least not for a while.
Jerking clothes from the hangers in the closet and scooping underwear from the dresser drawers, Kristen stuffed the garments into her suitcase. But at the sudden, unexpected sound of someone pounding on the door, she sent a second armful of lacy underwear flying in all directions.
“Kristen, open up! We have to talk.”
Even before she looked through the peephole she knew it had to be Chance. She’d remember his sexy Texas drawl for the rest of her life. But why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Hadn’t she suffered enough humiliation for one day?
“Go away,” she shouted back. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “Now, if you don’t open this door by the time I count to three, I swear I’ll break it down.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Stand back and watch me, sweetheart.”
Kristen bit her lower lip. He sounded deadly serious, and she had no doubt he’d follow through on his threat.
“One…two…”
“Okay. Just stop shouting.”
Her trembling fingers fumbled with the locks. When she finally released the dead bolt and started to open the door, Chance shouldered his way into the room.
“How did you get up here?” she demanded. “Security—”
He waved a piece of parchment at her. “Didn’t say a word once I showed them this.”
“I don’t know what that is or why you think we need to discuss—”
“Once you take a look at it, you’ll have a fair idea,” he interrupted, shoving it into her hands.
Kristen watched him remove his hat and run an agitated hand through his dark blond hair. He jammed it back on his head. A muscle along his tanned, clean-shaven jaw worked while he waited.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Just read it.”
She opened the folded paper and scanned the document. Her eyes widened. “Is this some kind of joke?”
His expression grim, he shook his head. “I called the chapel and verified it. In the eyes of God and the state of Nevada, you and I are legally married. A video of the ceremony should arrive at the front desk any minute.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Seems we were so eager to start the honeymoon, we forgot to take it with us.”
Kristen’s ears began to roar and her headache pounded unmercifully, repeating the same message over and over. Married to Chance Warren…married to Chance…married—
As she stared at him, her vision closed in from the sides and she suddenly couldn’t draw a breath. She saw Chance start toward her, heard him call her name. But his voice sounded like an echo from a great distance. And when the tunnel closed in around her, the fog of unconsciousness became an escape too appealing for her to resist.
Chance watched Kristen’s cheeks color a deep rose, while the rest of her face bleached pure white. She swayed once, then wilted.
“Kristen!” Alarmed, he stepped forward and caught her at the same moment her knees gave way.
“Aw, hell,” he muttered, swinging her up into his arms. He hadn’t expected her to be any happier about the turn of events than he was. But he hadn’t figured she’d find the circumstances so appalling that she’d faint dead away.
He carried her to the bed, trying not to notice the enticing amount of breast visible through the parting in her robe or the feel of her soft body pressed to his chest. Married or not, they were still no more than social acquaintances. He could pretty much guess how she’d react if she came to and found him ogling her like a teenager looking at his first girlie magazine.
When he placed her on the bed, her robe gaped open even further, and not one, but two perfect breasts were exposed to his appreciative gaze. The air in his lungs rushed out in one big whoosh and his body tightened.
Chance closed his eyes and gallantly tried to concentrate on the unappealing task of digging a ditch—hard, back-breaking work that would exhaust a man and effectively wipe away all erotic thoughts.
It didn’t help.
He had a sneaking suspicion he could shovel a crater the size of the Grand Canyon and still not erase the memory of Kristen’s satiny, smooth skin against his palms, the feel of the dark coral tips begging for his attention.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He had to regain control of his traitorous body. Several very important decisions had to be made. And damned quick. He didn’t want, or need, the added complication of Kristen waking up to find him in an undeniable state of arousal. That sure as shootin’ wouldn’t help speed their conversation along.
Chance took another deep breath, opened his eyes and, with shaky hands, reached out to grasp the terry-cloth lapels and pull the robe together. He ground his teeth when his fingers brushed the silky slopes of her breasts. Turning, he rushed into the bathroom.
The cold water he splashed over his face brought back some of his sanity, and with it, a heavy dose of reality. He’d spent the night making love to his wife, and he’d