“This isn’t your room. It’s Free’s.”
Chapter Six
Freedom
Voices.
They’re close, yet seem so far away. Through the fog and clouds, a ray of sunshine peeks through, beckoning me awake, yet making me want to hide and pull away at the same time. I bury myself under the thick comforter, trying to grab on to any piece of recollection I can find.
Las Vegas.
Dinner.
Drinks.
Dancing.
More drinks.
More dancing.
There was a guy. I remember his light hair and bright eyes. He couldn’t really dance, but I’d had enough drinks I didn’t care. The beat in the club was deep and heavy, much like the beat in my head right now. We swayed to the music, laughter from my friends settling around me as they did the same.
Eyes. I felt them on me the entire time, drinking in my moves like a fine scotch that’s aged to perfection. Savoring. Tasting.
Hands. Not the ones from before, but a different set. Familiar hands that not only touched my skin, but my soul. I can still feel them sliding against my arms, his long legs moving in time to the music as he pressed his body to mine.
And that body. A flush spreads over me as pieces of the night before start to slide together like a jigsaw puzzle. That torso, surprisingly rippled with hard muscle, and those arms, strong and steady as he held me close. He could move, I recall, as we danced to the thick pulse at the club.
It wasn’t the only thing…thick. I definitely remember that as he pressed against me, hard and ready.
More booze.
I should have stopped, but I didn’t—I couldn’t.
Like courage, I needed it to advance my night to the next phase. There was only one thing I wanted, and I wanted it with this man. This stranger. Who danced like a god and enticed me, drawing me in with his magnetism and ease.
And yes, it was familiar. His scent, his touch, his everything.
I remember leaving the club, my hand tucked securely in his. We walked, laughed, and…kissed. God, so much kissing. He pressed me against every wall, every doorway, every hard surface as we made our way to our destination. We stopped along the way, another club with a harder beat. Rap music filled the air, but I didn’t seem to care. Neither did the mystery man.
We danced, our bodies so close I didn’t know where I ended and he began. His lips were soft, yet firm, as they skimmed my hot skin, leaving me completely breathless. We drank from shot glasses a warm amber liquid that was smooth, yet potent. Then, we danced some more, our bodies mimicking sex. Hot, sweaty, stinky sex.
I don’t recall what happened next, really. I needed air desperately, my body craving it as much as it was the man. We stumbled outside, giggling and kissing the entire way. I recall…the lights. So many lights, which I guess, is pretty common when you’re on the strip in Vegas.
And then there was music.
It was different.
It was low and intimate.
It was…recognizable.
My brain struggles to piece it together, slivers of the beat refusing to connect or make any sense. I stay buried beneath my blankets, struggling to remember the end of the night. Or early morning? Hell, it could have been any time. Obviously, I met someone and enjoyed the hell out of my evening. I’m currently hiding in the darkness, completely naked, and listening for those voices.
An odd sense of awareness seeps through my pores as the voices grow loud—or at least, one particular voice.
Harper.
Suddenly, it all comes back with the intensity and shock of a twelve-car pileup.
The walk in the night.
Kissing.
The jewelry store.
Elvis.
A hummingbird.
I sit up, my hair hanging in my face like a protective shield from the onslaught of sunlight. My hand shakes as I slowly bring it to my face, the ruby and diamond ring shining like a spotlight in the night. A gasp is heard, but I’m not really sure it’s from me. No, definitely not from me. I couldn’t form coherent sounds if my life depended on it. I’m too busy trying to figure out how the hell I managed to get married in the last ten hours and barely remember it.
“Free?”
I slowly raise my head to face my best friend. Sure, Harper looks like she’s seen a ghost, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief, but it’s not really her I’m focusing on right now. No, my eyes are riveted to the man standing beside her. He’s wearing a towel and nothing else. His hair is in complete disarray, a look I’m definitely not used to seeing, yet turned on by that image all the same. It’s also the first time I’ve noticed the length of his hair. It’s definitely a little longer than usual, like he missed a cut or something. His jaw hangs as low as his sister’s as he stares back at me with big distressed eyes.
Samuel.
I fucking married Samuel Grayson last night.
Or this morning.
Whatever. Semantics.
His eyes drop as he stares at…my chest. I pull up the blanket, the starch white comforter that’s slightly tangled around my legs. “Holy shitballs,” I mumble, falling back onto the pillow, my brain jarring and my vision blurring.
“Holy shitballs is right!” Harper hollers, completely inside my hotel room now.
“Can you quiet the noise a little, please?” I ask, my brain trying to crawl from my skull.
“Did you two… Are you… Oh my God, Samuel, what is that on your finger?” she bellows, trying to keep her voice down but failing miserably, as she points at his hand.
I glance up and watch as he tries to hide his left hand behind his back, but I already know what she’s referring to. I put that ring there. I have no clue how we were able to stand up straight, let alone long enough to speak
