I clenched my eyes shut as I slipped the damning evidence in my bag, my mind a fuzzy mess of fog and forgotten dreams.
A flash of me sliding the bra off through the sleeves of my silk slip—the slip I’d awoken in this morning—fizzled behind my eyes. The reason for doing so? Totally a blank. As was the rest of the night.
My wedding night, apparently.
And I knew from the lack of soreness between my thighs and my perfectly untouched lipstick that nothing worth remembering had happened—despite waking up beneath the sexiest and most infuriating man I’d ever set eyes on. I’d thought I’d been dreaming when I’d felt his delicious weight atop me, his lips caressing my neck, his strong thigh between my legs. Thought it was one of my most creative dreams yet until…well, until we both realized we were awake.
My fingers trembled as I gathered the rest of my things, the only lack of composure I’d allow to show. Because I was Persephone VanDoren and I’d be damned if I gave control to the gathering panic coiling in my chest.
Cannon spoke on the phone in the sitting room attached to the hotel’s bedroom, and his deep tenor skittered over my body, leaving a warm chill in its wake. I sucked in a sharp breath and once again tried to recall the events of the night prior.
The plane ride had been pleasant, a quiet sort of comfortable as Cannon read his book. Nathan Noble and his twin brother Nixon had offered a subdued source of constant chatter on the plane’s opposite side, Nathan’s fiancé, Harper content with her research on her laptop. And Nixon’s date, Liberty—the auction winner—seemed more than happy to simply stare at him with an awestruck sense of disbelief as he’d chatted with his brother.
I did remember the headache Sterling had mentioned, and the pain pills which both Cannon and I had obviously assumed were harmless.
But after the plane ride?
Nothing.
Blank.
A thick, wet blanket of darkness buried the memory.
Once again, that cold, building panic pulsed in my chest, threatening to break my composure. How could I have let myself get into this situation? What would my father think? And my mother—
My cell phone rang from my purse on the nightstand, and I hurried over to it. As if I’d conjured her out of thin air, my mother’s picture flashed over my screen. For a few seconds too long, I debated not answering. But she was my mama, and I’d never shut her out.
“Hello, Mama,” I answered, forcing warmth and grace into my tone. “How are you feeling? Everything all right?”
“It most certainly isn’t all right, Sephie,” she said, her voice anything but unhappy. “How could you possibly elope and not tell me?”
My blood ran cold.
“What? How? I—” For once, words spewed from my mouth in a shocked state of confusion.
“Well, darling, it’s all over the media. And, naturally, I must say. What with your status and the popularity of that hockey star of yours.”
He’s not my anything.
“He’s—”
“Honey, I’m not upset,” Mama cut me off.
“Well, I damn sure am!” my father’s voice shouted in the background.
“Oh, hush now,” Mama scolded him before returning focus to me. “Darling, I am so thrilled, honestly.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed, still unmade from our abrupt awakening this morning.
“What?” It seemed to be the only word capable of leaving my mouth this morning.
“You know I probably don’t have much time left on this earth,” she said, her voice softening. My chest constricted, tears biting the backs of my eyes. “And, well, it’s always been a dream of mine to see you walk down the aisle. To see you truly happy.”
The truth of the situation clogged my throat, choking my airways. The joy in her tone, the compassion in her words stilled my tongue.
“Happy?” my father surged in the background. “She’ll be happy when I approve of the son of a bitch! The nerve! What kind of coward doesn’t—”
“Harold!” Mama used the tone only proper southern women could conjure—the one that could silence and scare the living daylights out of any person on the planet, including ones as hardheaded and strict as my father. “Come by the house when you return, please? We have so much to talk about. And bring that man of yours!”
The line went dead with more grumblings from my father, and it took me a few seconds to realize I didn’t need to hold the cell to my ear anymore.
Cannon stomped into the room, his massive presence like a vacuum for all the air in the room, not to mention my lungs. My heart raced as I watched him, tracked his movements as he pocketed his cell and hurriedly shoved shirts and slacks and a hardback into his bag. “Spoke to my lawyer,” he grumbled, not even bothering to meet my eyes. “We’ll annul this thing on Monday.”
A sharp, hot something stabbed the center of my chest.
Not that I wanted to be married to Cannon Price, but the cold tone, his harsh words—God, was I so awful a mistake to wake up married to?
No, not going down that road.
Of course, we had to annul.
I knew Cannon only in the basest levels of acquaintances, and ninety percent of our exchanges were arguments. Sizzling debates that sparked life into my blood where I hadn’t realized I’d been lacking, but still.
I gripped the phone in my hand a little harder than necessary. Tears were inevitable, but I sure as hell wouldn’t cry in front of him.
He slid to a stop before me, finally noticing my lack of movement or response.
“Hey,” he said, the word sharp.
I refused to look up at him. I’d have to arch my neck from my seated position, and I honestly thought if I had to look into those dark eyes and see the utter rejection…well, I might very well crumble into a thousand pieces.
He dropped to his knees, forcing me to catch his gaze. “Are you in shock?”
The serious set of his features made a laugh rip from my chest, so fast and hard that he jolted a little before me.
“What ever would I be in shock for, Cannon?”
He cocked an eyebrow as if to say don’t test me, woman.
I blew out a breath, then straightened my spine.
He nodded, as if something had settled between us.
“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice dropping to that normal, irresistible tenor that made my blood heat. “Now.” He rose to standing, his gaze lingering on me for a few seconds where I remained seated. “Don’t worry. I won’t mar your reputation for long.” He grabbed our bags and hurried from the room like I might slap him or curse him or cry on his shoulder. I had yet to figure out which of those actions would unnerve him most.
What an absolute mess.
One I’d gotten myself into, sure, but for what? Because I couldn’t resist the tall, dark, and terrifying man? Because when I saw the other women bidding on him for the charity auction, something had snapped inside me? The thought of him with anyone else became a sharp, near unbearable pain I couldn’t possibly explain or soothe.
A passing flutter of unwarranted jealousy, of course.
A sting of loneliness and desire.
A mistake, certainly.
One made on instinct as opposed to composed thinking. And perhaps that was the crux of it. Because when it came to Cannon Price, I rarely thought rationally.