I stare at Kami’s porcelain skin, so soft my hands crave to touch it. I can’t help the thought that snakes through my mind like a forbidden creature from the Garden of Eden, holding out an apple, tempting me to sin.
I wonder what a man would have to do to prove himself worthy of a woman like Kami. She’s a prize. I wasn’t lying when I told her that. She’s the kind of girl a guy would be proud to bring home to meet his mother, the kind I’d be proud to bring home. And she’s been dropped in my lap. But I have to remember this marriage isn’t real. She isn’t mine. It’s all just pretend. And no matter how badly I want to kiss her again—or lay her out on that bed, climb on top of her, and make my way slowly down every inch of her sexy body with my eager mouth—she’s off limits. And she always will be.
“Get some sleep.” I run a hand through my hair and stride across the room.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower.” A long cold one, I mutter to myself.
When I finally come back out, Kami’s in bed facing the window away from me. I move quietly, hoping she’s asleep. If she’s not, she’s doing a damn fine acting job, and it’s just as well.
I crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling with an arm under my head. I try to think about the club, but all I can think about is the curve of her hip under the blanket. The urge to turn and spoon her is overwhelming. I curse silently and turn to face the door. My dick doesn’t seem to care about the twenty-minute cold shower I just gave it. It wants action, and I don’t blame it.
If I’m in bed with a woman, it’s for one reason only. Usually, they get gone the minute I’m finished with them. Not that there have been that many. Hell, who has time when you’re living the life of a prospect, always at the beck and call of the club, and there’s always some patch who needs something. Day and night, they blow up my phone for all sorts of bullshit reasons… someone’s old lady is craving ice cream, or somebody has run out of beer. I’ve taken it all in stride, because my desire to be a King far outweighs my aggravation level with the bullshit they throw at me.
So, what the fuck am I doing married to this girl and bringing her back with me? Have I lost my friggin’ mind? The club hears what I’ve done; I may lose any chance at that patch.
CHAPTER TEN
Kami—
I wake up and for a moment I’m unsure where I am. It only lasts a split second. But for that split second every morning I blessedly forget that everything is destroyed.
Then it all comes flooding back like a tsunami, the scandal, the humiliation, the trial, and my mother’s prison sentence. And now this morning I have another thing to add to it. This morning is the first morning I wake up married.
I stare down at the ring on my finger. My grandmother’s.
I twist to look over my shoulder, expecting to find my groom, my husband, but that side of the bed is empty. It’s absolutely quiet.
I scramble up and look in the bathroom, but its empty. I scan the room. The keycard is gone off the dresser. The denim shirt he’d slung over the chair last night is gone, and so are his jeans and boots. I search the room, the small closet and even the bathroom again looking for his backpack but it’s gone, too.
I fall to my ass on the mattress, stunned still.
He’s left me. He’s left me in a hotel room in the middle of nowhere.
Oh my God. What am I going to do?
I turn my head slowly, as if in a trance, and stare at the window. Then, like a sleepwalker, I move to it and pull the curtain aside. It’s a bright sunny day. The only reminders of the storm are the puddles in the parking lot. I search the vehicles, looking for Santos’ pickup. I crane to see the back lot, my forehead pressed to the glass, but I can’t see it. I drop to the bed and stare at the hotel phone on the nightstand. I don’t even know who to call. How do I call home and put this on my mother the day before she has to go to prison? All my friends have deserted me. There’s not one who’ll come and get me. My mother’s attorney maybe?
It’s Sunday, and I only have her office number.
I jump up and pace. I’ve got that money mother gave me. Or do I? I dash to my bag to see if he’s taken that, too. I dig to the bottom, but its still there, buried under my clothes in the pearl inlaid jewelry box. I sigh in relief. Perhaps I can stay in this room until Monday, until I can figure out what to do.
I’m only seventeen. Will the desk clerk allow it?
Will I have to tell him my sad pitiful humiliating story? Sorry, my groom left me on our wedding night. Can you do a girl a solid and let me stay until Monday when my mother’s attorney can come pick me up? No, I can’t call my mother; she’s on her way to prison.
I huff out a laugh, even though I feel stricken inside. I should have seen this coming. Why didn’t I see this coming? Did I really think I could trust him?
I check the time on my phone. 8 a.m. Check out’s at 11 a.m., so I’ve got three hours.
I hear a keycard insert in the door and I panic thinking it’s the maid. The door swings open and Santos enters juggling two coffees and a bag.
“Good, you’re up. You hungry?”
I stare at him. “You came back.”
“Yeah. I got us donuts from the gas station down the road.” He pauses, my words apparently sinking in. “Did you think I left you?”
“I woke up and you were gone. Even your bag is gone. What was I supposed to think?”
“So, the only possible explanation was that I abandoned you?”
I stare at him.
“Kami, why the hell would I go through marrying you, if I was going to dump you the first chance I got?”
I shrug helplessly, tears welling up. “I don’t know.”
He sets the coffee and bag down. “Come here.”
I move to him woodenly, and he gathers me in his arms. I sag against him, relief flooding through me. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.”
He strokes a hand down my sleep-tangled curls. “I won’t leave you, Kami. Promise.”
I nod against his chest.
“You’re hair is pretty. You should never comb it.”
I push out of his arms, a trembling smile on my lips. “So where’s your bag?”
“I carried it down to the truck. I’d have loaded yours up already, too, but I knew you still needed it.” He grabs a coffee and holds it out. “I guessed and loaded it up with French vanilla creamer.”
I take it. “Thanks.”
“Are you a Boston Cream or a Glazed girl?”
I dig in the bag he holds out and pull out the Boston Cream. “What makes you so disgustingly cheerful this morning?”
“Just lookin’ forward to gettin’ back on the road, I guess.”
“Or maybe marriage agrees with you,” I tease.
He chokes on his coffee. “Nope. Pretty sure that’s not it, brat. Pretty sure that’ll never be it.”
I grin, and he scoops a dollop of chocolate frosting off my donut and dabs it on my nose.
I arch a brow and slug him in the arm. “Now who’s the brat?”
“You. Still you.”