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.
He’d bought her a dress worth nearly twenty thousand dollars. She’d let him do that. All that money. The chapel. A party with a wedding cake. She’d really done it. She’d gotten him drunk enough that he’d signed her prenup and married her.
His twin sat there thinking it was a huge joke when poor sweet Ice had been taken such advantage of. She dropped her pounding head into her hands. Her head hurt so badly, but she knew she hadn’t gotten drunk. Tipsy, maybe, but not drunk. She couldn’t even claim drinking as an excuse for her behavior. Fear for her life, maybe, but not alcohol. Guilt overwhelmed her. She didn’t have Kevin to sort things out.
She peeked through her fingers, her gaze searching the room. There was a leather jacket over the back of a chair. It said “Torpedo Ink” on it and had a tree, skulls and ravens on it. Ice had that same tree, skulls and ravens tattooed on his back. She’d traced every bit of it with her tongue. It was beautiful on him. Not only had she married a stranger, she’d married a biker. Because when she screwed up, she didn’t do it by halves.
“I need to get up. Would you mind leaving?” She used her most reasonable voice. She didn’t dare show panic when inside she was shaking like a leaf and wanting to put the blanket over her head.
“Can’t do that, honey,” he said. “Ice asked me to look after you while he’s getting ready. We’re leaving soon. Need to get back home.”
That was such a relief. She felt like she could breathe. “I’m Soleil, but I guess you know that. You’re . . .” she prompted.
“Storm. Ice’s twin.”
The water went off in the shower, and her heart started pounding all over again. She touched her tongue to her dry lips. “I clearly didn’t drink enough water last night.”
“Ice left you a couple of aspirin and a bottle of water on the nightstand there.”
She glanced over, and sure enough, there was a cold bottle of water and a couple of white pills sitting on a tissue. She stretched her arm out from under the covers. “Where is home?”
He gestured toward the jacket. “Caspar. On the coast.”
She’d never heard of it. “I live in San Francisco,” she volunteered, because she couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.
“That’s about three and a half to four hours from us. You probably know Sea Haven. Little place but very popular.”