Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 3

  The air in the club was thick with body heat, and it was a relief to finally make my way outside of the casino and onto the sidewalk along the strip. Even though the temperature outside was still nearly 100 degrees, I could finally think straight once the overwhelming fog in my head started to clear. The sidewalks were packed, but I didn’t have far to walk since my hotel was the next one over. Jamie and Seth were happy to slum it and stay in hotels off the strip, but I had standards. And those standards included a room at the Bellagio and the most perfect fucking pillows on the planet. They could waste their money on call girls; I’d happily take a comfortable bed instead.

  As I neared my hotel, I could hear music begin, signaling the start of the water fountain show. I was about to continue following the sidewalk up to the lobby when I caught sight of her. Even in the dark, I could see that her hair was dark and that it spilled down her back in long curls, hiding all the bare skin that I could just barely see that her sparkly top neglected to cover. She was leaning on the railing, her face expectant and beautiful under the weak light that filtered through the darkness.

  The bed could wait.

  I squeezed into the empty space next to the girl and noticed she was breathing heavily as if she’d just run several blocks. The water show had just started and she didn’t even turn to see who had stepped up so closely to her. She was captivated as the water danced to the sounds of a female opera singer. Instead of watching the fountains, however, I was watching the girl. Every time the woman’s voice hit a high note, the girl jolted slightly as if the sound was touching her somewhere deep inside.

  I leaned forward onto the railing, knowing that my body was well into her peripheral vision, but she still didn’t look my way. After a few more seconds, I spoke. “What’s your name?”

  “Shh!” The sound was sharp and quick, her hand instinctively reaching to the side, to push against my arm, silencing me as easily as if she’d put her hand over my mouth. The girl didn’t move her hand or look at me as she continued to watch the fountains. Her fingers were warm on my skin, and I could smell the sweet fragrance of fruity alcohol lingering around her. When a male voice joined the music, she took a deep breath in, the air stuttering through her as she inhaled. How many times had I passed the fountains oblivious to the show? Ten? Fifteen? I’d never cared to stop and watch before.

  Then again, I’d never seen her before.

  I could hear the explosions that forced the jets of water into their choreography, and I was vaguely aware of lights that flashed in time to the music, but I was focused on the girl next to me. She wasn’t just watching the show, she was experiencing it—every note, every twirl of water, every flash of light—she was soaking it all in as if she needed it to live.

  Soon, the male and female voices were singing together, and I could see that the girl’s eyes were shining like she was on the verge of crying. The water shot high into the air on the final notes of the song and the hand that wasn’t touching me abruptly left the railing and flew to her chest, lying flat against her skin. It was almost as if she was trying to keep her heart from escaping. The lights faded with the music as the last of the water fell from the hot Vegas night in large droplets that scattered across the dark expanse of the Bellagio lake like pieces of broken glass. The immediate area fell into sudden darkness for a few moments before the street lamps flickered back on with an announcement that the next show would start in fifteen minutes.

  “I used to love when my mom sang that song.” The words were little more than a whisper, but I heard them just fine. She continued to stare at the dark water, and I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to me, or herself.

  “After a song like that, I feel like I should be asking you to marry me,” I said.

  Her head whipped around, her gaze finally tearing away from the water as her eyes widened in confusion. Just as I had intended, that got her attention.

  “What?”

  “Will you marry me?” I asked, attempting seriousness.

  She finally noticed her hand still on my arm and she withdrew it, her chin tilting to the side as she studied me for a moment. A smile finally tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Very funny.”

  “What makes you think I’m joking?”

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and studied me, her eyes making a deliberate path from my head to toes and back again to my eyes. “You’re cute, but I’ll have to decline the whole shotgun wedding offer. I don’t even know you,” she explained.

  “Well, we’ll just have to change that.” I leaned against the railing, and her eyes seemed to fight some sort of battle to stay on mine. To not take a good look at me again. When I didn’t continue, she raised her brows and tilted her head.

  “When I saw you, I was going to ask you to have a drink with me,” I admitted, “but then I figured there was no way you could say no to a drink once you felt guilty for turning down my marriage proposal.”

  “Is that what you figured?” she asked, a flirty smile gracing her lips.

  “That’s what I proposed,” I corrected.

  “To be honest, it wasn’t much of a proposal, Romeo. I bet you’ve used that line on a hundred girls tonight.”

  “Are you saying no, Juliet?” I pushed off the wall to move a little closer to her and I could have sworn her body leaned in toward me. Interesting.

  She shrugged her shoulder. “I’m really tired, I was heading up to bed.”

  “Bed? I can work with that.” I could do more than work with that.

  She laughed, the sound soon swallowed by the chaos of people pushing past us. “It wasn’t an invitation.”

  That’s what her lips said, but her body said something different altogether. She moved closer to me still, and her gaze settled on my mouth, willing me to give her a reason to say yes to something...anything. I knew that look well enough—she was interested, and she would say yes...if I managed to ask the right question.

  “No marriage and no bed? You’re breaking my heart, Juliet.”

  Her eyebrows raised in challenge. Not nearly good enough.

  “The least you can do is hang out with me for a bit. You owe me. For the broken heart and all. Let me buy you a drink,” I begged, nodding my head toward the Bellagio. Forget going to bed at a decent time, I’d just found a good reason for being in Vegas. Spending time with a beautiful girl who was in touch with her sense of humor had just become my number one priority. It didn’t hurt that she was hotter than a Vegas afternoon in August.

  She glanced up at the hotel briefly, biting the inside of her lip before she finally answered. “Okay. One drink, Romeo. Just until your heart feels a little less broken.”

  I blew out an exaggerated breath. “I don’t know, Juliet. You were pretty harsh; it might take two or three drinks until I feel better. My heart is a pretty fragile thing.”

  “I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, but she was still amused. “Let’s start with one and see how it goes.”

  “Fair enough. Ready?” I asked her, finally moving my hand to her lower back to guide her up the sidewalk. There was no mistaking it when she leaned into my touch.

  “My name is Harlow by the way.” She offered her hand for me to shake.

  “Trace,” I responded, lightly grasping her fingers and lifting them up to my mouth so I could press a kiss to the back of her hand.

  What? I wanted a taste, so sue me.

  She looked at my mouth on her skin and her lips parted as if she was going to say something, but she only continued to stare.

  “Just a warning, Harlow, after a few drinks with me, you might want to change your mind about the whole marriage thing,” I warned. “I can’t be held responsible for my irresistible charm.”

  She regained her composure and laughed again. “I have to warn you, Trace, I’m immune to charm.”

  We’ll see about that.

  “I’m also not really the marrying kind,” she added.

  Even better.

  ***

  Dancing. Alc
ohol. Heat. Lips. Laughter. Flirtatious touches.

  Harlow naked in my bed.

  I had no idea what time it was, but it was late. She said just one drink. She said there would be no bed in our future. She said she was immune to my charm.

  All lies.

  I’d lost count of how many times we’d fucked. All I knew was each time we reached the end, our lips and fingers greedily held on until it started all over again. I knew every inch of her. I’d had my mouth on each spot at least once. I wouldn’t be happy until I’d conquered every fucking inch of her.

  I was sore and tired and spent, but in the best goddamn way.

  The bed was still in one piece, and that was more surprising than the fact that Harlow was in it. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if we fucked it into a pile of rubble if it meant that morning never came. I had a feeling when the sun rose, it would all end. She would fade away just like the dancing water at the fountain where I first saw her.

  I growled at the thought and worked my fingers into her long curls, for some way to hold on.

  Her body was slick underneath me as I pushed up onto my knees, sliding in and out of her. Her limbs were wrapped around mine, holding me close. I could smell the sweet scent of alcohol and sex as I dipped my head to taste her neck. I devoured the tender skin along her throat, my teeth and tongue making her breath catch. Her slim body bucked up against me, and my fingers dug in, trying to tame the wild roll of her hips before she pushed me over the edge too soon. I kissed across her jaw until my mouth found hers and when she kissed me back, it became punishing. She teased her lips against mine, accepting the wild plunge of my tongue, and then pulled away until I was begging for more.

  “Faster,” she demanded against my mouth. She dug her fingers into my skin and pulled me flush against her, pushing up into me recklessly. Soon my body was grinding and pounding against hers. Hard into soft. Over and over again. She was under me, but she was riding me, urging me with every tilt of her hips, daring me to go harder. Deeper.

  And I was so lost in the sensation. My touch was frantic trying to sear everything about her into my memory.

  When I thrust into her, my knees dug into the mattress and the headboard knocked against the wall. She moaned into my mouth with every rock of our bodies and it just made me want to do it again. To hear her beg my name. To feel her grab onto me. To feel her come around me.

  I pulled my lips away from hers so I could look down at her. Thick lashes lifted and all I could see was green—the deep emerald of shiny bottle glass, gazing back at me. Burning for me. Her hair was spread in copper tangles across the mattress, the pillows and blankets shoved to the floor hours ago by her wild hands. Her pale skin was flushed pink and shiny with sweat. The fingers of one hand were still fisted in the sheet beneath her, yanking so hard she was pulling it free from the corner of the bed. The other hand was pressed against my ass, both of her legs wrapped around mine to keep me close.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. “It’s so good.”’

  “I told you I’d make it good for you.”

  Thrust.

  The thump of the headboard spurred me on.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she panted. “You’re a stranger. I’m never reckless. I’m always in control. I never break rules.”

  “Rules are no fun unless they’re broken.”

  Thrust. Thrust.

  Her eyes closed. She made a sexy sound in the back of her throat as she ripped the sheet free from the edge of the bed. I ran my hand up her side, cupping her breast before leaning down to take her nipple in my mouth.

  “Maybe I should marry you,” she moaned across the top of my head as her hand clutched my hair, holding me to her chest. “Then we could do this every night.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled around the smooth skin of her breast.

  Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

  I let go of her hair and reached between us, stroking her. Making her body tremble. She clenched her teeth as if to hold her moans inside, like she could keep the pleasure all to herself.

  Fuck that. Those moans belonged to me.

  My fingers explored, sliding along the sweet spot where I sunk deep inside her. On the next stroke in, my finger followed, stretching her, filling her more.

  Her eyes flew wide open. The wordless shape of her mouth and stuttered gasps were all I needed. She held my gaze as she arched up into me, chasing her release, racing me to the end. Again.

  They say you can’t become an addict after just one hit.

  They lie.

  One night. One girl. And I could feel it deep in my bones. I was addicted.

  — HARLOW —

  3. THE PROMISE

  July 30, 2016

  MARRYING A STRANGER IN VEGAS NEVER GETS OLD by Harlow Ransom

  Harlow Ransom can check one more thing off her bucket list now that she’s gotten married in Las Vegas. But first, she’ll have to add “spontaneous marriage to a stranger” on her bucket list. Perhaps she can just write it in under her previous goals of “Win a Pulitzer Prize” and “Become the next Anderson Cooper.” Ms. Ransom’s list has definitely gotten more diverse in the last twenty-four hours. She can probably even add topless, drunken, table dancing to the list as well. Who knows? Probably most of the people in the Bellagio, but not Harlow. Last night was a complete blur for her, and topless dancing was a definite possibility. There were a lot of other things that might have occurred that she’d prefer not to think about.

  One thing is for sure, what happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas. Harlow woke up the morning after her twenty-first birthday to discover that she was wearing a wedding band she didn’t recognize, and was lying next to a nearly-naked man that she could only identify by first name. And with the crippling hangover she was suffering from, she was hard-pressed to remember even that much.

  “Harlow has never really bent the rules,” said her sister Willow. “She’s that kid in your class that sits in the front row and raises her hand constantly because she knows the answer to every fucking question. She’s a goody-two-shoes through and through. I have no idea how this happened. It’s kind of nice to see she makes stupid choices just like the rest of us.”

  “I’m kind of jealous,” her other sister Marlow admitted. “Her new husband is so freaking hot.”

  When asked what she planned to do, Ms. Ransom was unable to answer the question and merely stared at the man passed out next to her. This reporter’s guess was that she was just trying to remember what her new last name was.

  =========================

  That was my sorry story. Harlow Ransom, little miss perfect, had screwed up big time.

  I’d been awake only long enough to discover my plight and imagine the scathing story that went along with it. According to my phone, it was almost three in the afternoon and I had about 943 text messages from my sisters and one from my dad.

  I spared a brief glance at my left hand and the silver band on my ring finger. It looked so innocent. I spared another glance at the half-naked man lying on his stomach in the bed next to me. He was the exact opposite of innocent. At least, that’s what I assumed. Honestly, I didn’t know. The sheet barely covered his ass and if his clothing condition was anything like mine, a peek under that sheet might reveal even more than what I saw at Thunder Down Under last night.

  I won’t lie. Despite my fucked-up situation, I was tempted to sneak a peek.

  I tore my eyes away from the sexy mountain of muscles beside me to glance back at my phone, panic nearly paralyzing me as I flicked my finger across the screen to read the most recent group texts my sisters sent.

  Willow: Your last text said you were going back to the room, but we just checked your room, and you’re not there! You didn’t sleep at our place last night, did you?

  Marlow: Are you okay?

  Marlow: Where the fuck are you?

  Willow: If you don’t write back soon, I’m going to call the police.

  Marlow: I won’t let her call the police, don’t w
orry. Your father would have a litter of kittens.

  Marlow: Seriously, though. Text back, bitch.

  Willow: I’m dialing 911 now.

  Marlow: No she’s not, she’s drinking a Bloody Mary.

  Marlow: Oh shit, she got pissy I told you that. Now she thinks you think she doesn’t care. She’s trying to dial now. I don’t know how long I can hold her down, Harlow. Get your ass back here.

  Marlow: Fuck it. I broke a nail and she elbowed me in the tit. Never mind, I’m letting her call the police.

  Willow: I’m not calling the police.

  Willow: Yet.

  Willow: And I didn’t elbow her tit. Her tits were in the way. You know how huge they are.

  Marlow: True. My tits are fantastically huge. I can’t believe you left us at the club while you went and pulled an all-nighter skankfest. You suck.

  Marlow: Unless you’re dead in a ditch somewhere. If that’s the case, I’m sorry you’re dead and I’m really sorry I threw up on your hoodie. You shouldn’t have left it in the bathroom.

  Willow: Please tell us where you are. I’m worried.

  Marlow: I’m worried too. I hope you aren’t in a ditch somewhere. I’d hate for skankfest, tit, and puke to be some of the last words I ever said to you.

  Below that last message from Marlow was a text from my dad this morning. It was a picture of him holding a swaddled, infant version of me. His message said: I can’t believe this was twenty-one years ago. It feels like yesterday. Don’t forget to send in your internship applications. I’m so proud of you.

  My heart flickered with guilt knowing how disappointed he’d be if he knew my current situation.

  I needed to get out of here.

  My head was killing me, and nausea hit me like a freight train the second I sat up. But nothing compared to the dread I felt looking at the ring on my finger and the unknown man beside me. What the fuck had I done last night? I remembered meeting the handsome guy at the Bellagio fountains, and I was fairly confident he said his name was Trace. I was hoping that’s who was in bed with me. Otherwise, things were even worse than I feared. Memories flashed of drinks with him and sweaty dancing, even naked skin…but the rest was lost to me. At some point after I started the forget-about-mom-enjoy-your-birthday tequila shots, I must have gotten seriously wasted and stupid. I couldn’t remember how the silver band got on my finger, or how I ended up in a bed that wasn’t mine with a man I didn’t know who was wearing a silver band too.