Seven Years to Sin(98)

She stared at it like she’d never seen one before. In all fairness, she hadn’t. At least not on her hand.

From her right came a bellowing snore. She scrambled off the bed and stood staring down at Damien, tousled and wickedly naked.

What the hell happened last night?

She didn’t remember a thing.

She rubbed her temples. Think, think, think.

Okay. She went to work, bribed the fairy, practically mauled Damien. That part had been a lot of fun. She’d felt her power flow out of her in an amazing orgasm and then … nothing.

Just a cheap hotel room, a hot man and a diamond ring.

She yanked at the gold band. It was big enough to slip off easily, but it refused to budge. The obnoxious diamond clung as if it were welded onto her.

It glinted in the morning sun, mocking her.

She couldn’t be married. Succubi didn’t get married. Ever.

Her eyes stung and she rubbed at them. Even if she wanted to get married, she couldn’t marry a client from the Lust floor. It didn’t matter that he was the best sex she’d had in a thousand years.

And how dare Damien sleep at a time like this?

“Get up!” She crawled across the bed and yanked him onto his back. Her heart stuttered when she saw that he wore a gold band on his left finger too. Oh Hades. She’d been afraid of that. “Wake up. This is an emergency!”

He threw his arms up over his eyes. “What’s the … ?”

“Damien”—she yanked his arms down—“what did you do to me?”

He gazed at her with bleary eyes, confusion tumbling across his features. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gravelly and a bit too indignant for her taste.

She smacked him with her pillow. “That’s what I want to know.”

He sat up faster than she expected. She could see he was still woozy. “Don’t touch me,” he warned.

“You sure didn’t mind it last night,” she shot back, pleased when a flush crept up his neck. Bull’s eye. “Now fess up. What did you do to me?”

With the grace of a cat, he was out of bed. He strode toward a shiny silver suitcase on a luggage stand, displaying his frustratingly perfect butt.

He yanked the case open, his eyes on her the whole time. “I didn’t do anything to you.” He reached inside with one hand and grabbed hold of something she couldn’t see.

Frankly, she didn’t care. “You made me pass out. Want me to show you what happened next?” Maybe he had some memory of it. She shoved her obnoxiously ringed hand at him. “You married me.”

He blinked twice and slowly removed his hand from whatever was in the case. “I couldn’t.”

She planted a hand on her hip. “Check your hand, sweetie.”

He lifted it out of the case and went white as he stared at the gold ring on his finger. “I can’t be married,” he said to his hand.

She had to smile. Briefly.

Oh, who was she kidding? This was a mess.

Shiloh stalked toward the window, wanting to get as far away from him as she could. This was too much. It had to be a mistake. Getting married meant giving her power away. Seducing only one man for the rest of her life. She couldn’t do that. She had a job. A career. Her boss was going to kill her.

She stumbled over an empty champagne bottle as she scanned the room, trying to make sense of what had happened the night before. A gigantic pink teddy bear with an I Heart Vegas button sat next to a half-empty room service tray and what appeared to be her wadded up dress.

He slammed his suitcase closed. “What did you do to me last night?”

She turned to find him glaring at her, menace in his eyes.

“You were the one with the fancy shot, you jerk. You drugged me.” Which proved he was a fool because drugs didn’t work on her.

“You were the one who drank it,” he said, yanking a pair of jeans from the closet.

Did she ever. She watched him pull on a pair of worn Levi’s and remembered just how she’d drank the cocktail off of him. She felt a delicious tightening between her legs. “Fess up. What was in it?”

He sighed and drew a hand through his hair. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you now.” He placed his hands on his hips, which only made his abs look better, damn him. “I gave you truth serum. It was supposed to make you cooperate.” His jaw flexed. “Instead, you seduced me.”

“That’s my job!”

“You made me pass out,” he accused.

“Me too. I don’t remember anything after our screaming orgasm.”

He looked like he could grind marbles with his teeth. “Don’t say that word.”

“Orgasm?” she asked, watching him flinch. “What are you? A prude?” She felt something slippery below her foot. “Oh,” she gasped as she realized she was stepping on a photograph of her and Damien posing with a minister.

She snatched it off the floor.

There she was, radiant in her gold dress, smiling like it was her wedding day. She had both arms wrapped around Damien, who had a hand on her hip and a rose in his teeth. They stood under a trellis with a red and gold sign that read The Hitching Post Wedding Chapel.

“Yeek.” She tossed it back on the floor.

He’d found photos too. Stomach tumbling, she hurried over to where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping through a stack of pictures. She gasped at the proof of their post-wedding limo ride. Shiloh and Damien kissing underneath the Las Vegas sign. Shiloh and Damien pretending to be tigers outside the MGM Grand. Shiloh and Damien inside the limo, kissing like the ship was about to go down, while long-haired, painfully skinny members of a rock band cheered and toasted them with bottles of Captain Morgan. He squinted and studied the last picture closer. “Who are these people?”