She watched as his jaw worked, as if he were trying to swallow the concept of not speaking up. Eventually, he gave a terse nod. “Fine.”
Now her stomach was all clenched in knots. She took another swig of wine, feeling the pleasant burn move through her body.
“The more I learn about her, the more I’m horrified,” Cade said in a low voice. He shook his head. “She’s really not the girl I thought she was. I don’t know how it took me so long to see it.”
“It’s . . . not an easy situation. She’s in a fragile state of mind, and I think a lot of people let her get away with things simply because it’s easier than arguing with her. And if you make her upset? The repercussions go on for days.” Heck, Marco was still in the doghouse because Daphne was convinced he’d given her bad drugs. He’d been her favorite boy toy up until that point. It wasn’t hard to fall from Daphne’s favor lately. Things changed in the blink of an eye, and the entire tour felt a little uneasy around the star.
“Perhaps I should step in, then,” Cade said, his look grimly determined. “If she won’t listen to me, she won’t listen to anyone.”
“I think”—Kylie poured more wine into both of their glasses—“that we need to drink up and stop talking about Daphne while we’re together.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, and his foot nudged hers.
She took another sip of wine and then gave him a teasing look. “Was that your foot? Are you playing footsies with me under the table, sir?”
“I’m not.”
“Pity,” she said, and eased off one of her flip-flops. She rubbed her bare foot against his leg, curious to see how he’d react. Maybe it was the wine—okay, it was probably the wine—but she suddenly wanted to flirt.
He closed his eyes and groaned low. “You know I want more than just your foot on me.”
“Yes,” she teased. “But my foot’s all you get. Now drink your wine.”
He clinked his glass to hers again.
ELEVEN
Next door, a maid started a vacuum, and Kylie’s head throbbed in crescendo with the sound. She groaned and pressed a hand to one aching temple. Even the pillow against her face felt too hard. Wasn’t it too early for noise like a vacuum? Surely that was against the rules somewhere.
God, her head hurt. Too much wine. Nothing got her toasted quite like wine did. Smacking her dry mouth, Kylie pulled the pillow over her head.
Something on her hand caught on the pillowcase at the same time a warm arm wrapped around her waist.
And slowly, these things didn’t add up. Through the pulsing of her head, Kylie forced herself to roll over in bed, which was harder than she’d anticipated.
It put her nose to nose with a sleeping Cade Archer.
Kylie jerked backward in shock. Oh, shit. Shit, shit shit.
Cade kept sleeping, though. He apparently was a heavy sleeper. Thank God for some things. He was also gorgeous, his full mouth slightly slack, tanned skin—tanned naked skin—peeking out from under the white sheets. While sleeping, she got a great view of his sinfully long blond lashes and the perfection of his nose. What on earth was he doing with a girl like her?
Then again, what was she doing in bed with a guy she was supposed to be avoiding? She carefully slid off the side of the mattress, tugging a sheet around her. She was naked. Oh, sweet Jesus, this was what she got for not wanting to waste a five hundred dollar bottle of wine. She should have sipped one glass, said thank you, and left it at that. Instead, she had vague memories of licking melted chocolate off of Cade’s fingers, staggering back to the limo drunk, and . . .
All right, she was pretty much a foggy blank after that. A big, slutty, foggy blank.
Seriously, though, had she walked under a ladder recently? Broken a mirror? Why on earth was she so damn unlucky? She padded to the bathroom. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, she told herself. Maybe they both got really damn drunk and naked, but no one had sex. Sure, that was entirely plausible . . . if you were twelve. Still, she clung to the hope, heading into the bathroom.
When she got there, though, the hickeys on her skin told a different tale. Kylie put a hand between her legs and groaned. Damp and sore. Definitely not the trademarks of someone that hadn’t had sex. There was a bruise on one of her breasts, too, and she reached up to touch it, wincing . . .
And noticed the huge honking ring on her hand.
She nearly passed out at the sight of it.
Dear sweet lord, what the hell was that?
Kylie stared at her hand. Just stared. There was a huge double-ring on her ring finger, big enough to cover her entire knuckle. The stone was a bright red square surrounded by dozens of tiny sparkly yellow stones that she sincerely hoped were fakes. The band was silvery with more of the yellow stones, etched designs swirling over the thick band. It looked . . . really expensive and not fake.
Oh God. Oh God. Her breathing sped up.
Bad enough that she’d slept with Cade again after vowing to leave him alone. Bad enough that she’d apparently gotten drunk and climbed him like a tree despite knowing that he was putting her job in jeopardy.
But seriously—how fucking drunk was she that she’d married him?
Clutching the sheet close to her body, she headed back out to the bedroom, noticing for first time that this wasn’t her hotel room. It was too big, too opulent. Where was she? She ran to the nightstand and read the label on the phone—the Belaggio. Okay. Okay. Okay. The clock read eleven thirty, so she had time to get back to her own hotel, check out, and head to work as if nothing had happened. She just needed a shower, something to cure her pounding headache, and to get rid of the ring and the husband she’d magically acquired overnight in a drunken bender.