Chapter One

The relentless pounding in her head was what finally woke Lydia Cross from a sound sleep. Her mouth felt like she had been chewing on a dirty gym sock and her eyes were glued together so tightly it took several attempts for her to pry them open. She lay in a darkened room, attempting to get her bearings. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table had her sitting up too quickly—which turned out to be a big mistake. Her stomach immediately staged a revolt and she struggled to free herself from under the covers—then promptly smacked into a hard surface. What the hell? Who’d moved the wall in her bedroom? She rubbed her smarting nose and inched along with half-closed eyes until she reached a doorway. She fumbled before locating the light switch and flipped it up. The bright glare that filled the unfamiliar bathroom temporarily blinded her.

After blinking a few times, she was able to focus on her surroundings. Then it finally hit her that she was in Vegas. Her co-worker and good friend, Crystal Webber, was getting married to Mark DeSanto in a few days and their friend Mia Gentry had insisted on throwing the bachelorette party at the Oceanix–Las Vegas. Luckily, Danvers was a big company and they were all able to find temporary replacements so they could take a few days of vacation together with no problem.

   The nausea that had temporarily abated while she was hunting for the bathroom returned in full force. She barely made it to the toilet before the contents of her stomach came back up in horrifying fashion. She was doing her best to remain upright when her hair was suddenly pulled back and someone touched her back. She jerked in shock, nearly falling into the toilet, before strong hands steadied her. A masculine voice rumbled, “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you.”

Lydia managed to shrug out of the hold long enough to spin around and look at her mystery bathroom guest. “Sweet Jesus,” she exclaimed at the sight of Jacob Hay, clad only in snug boxer briefs, towering over her with concern etched on his face. She couldn’t help herself—she drank him in from head to toe. Who in the world could possibly blame her for taking advantage of this screwed-up nightmare to check out the man she’d lusted after for months? In all her fantasies, though, she’d never quite imagined him in this scenario. “Wh—what are you doing here?” she asked in confusion, before belatedly realizing that she was also quite nude. She grabbed a robe off a nearby hook and fumbled to put it on.

Jacob raised an amused brow at her. “After last night, I wouldn’t have guessed that you had a shy bone in your body, gorgeous.”

Oh shit, what’s he talking about? Did I wrap myself around him and beg him to come to my room? “You’ve got three seconds to tell me what in the hell you’re doing in my hotel room,” she snapped. Thank God, she’d finally gotten the damn robe tied. Laying down the law was rather hard when your boobs were hanging out.

   Instead of answering right away, Jacob walked calmly around her and flushed the toilet. He then moved to the sink, unwrapped a toothbrush, and filled a glass with water. He motioned her over and she cringed as she realized he was trying to get her to brush her teeth. Maybe she could pause for a moment to take care of her breath before she continued her inquisition. Lydia quickly took care of business before putting her hands on her hips. “Well?”

   He looked as if he was biting back a smile. “Could we possibly take this conversation into the next room?”

She resisted the urge to childishly stomp her feet as, once again, he made her feel like an idiot. Naturally, he didn’t want to stand around and chat in the room she’d just tossed her cookies in. “Oh, all right,” she grumbled as she stalked past him. Wait, I don’t remember my room being this nice.

He moved over to the bedside table and picked up the phone. Despite her glare, he calmly placed an order for coffee and Danishes from room service. Then he turned back to face her. So hot, she thought to herself. He studied her for long enough that she began to fidget. When he finally spoke, the deep rumble of his voice in the quiet room had her jerking. “Do you not remember anything about last night?”

Was he nuts? Would she be standing here looking like a complete train wreck if she knew what was going on? But instead of opening her mouth to unleash a sarcastic comment, she took a breath and admitted, “I have no idea. I vaguely remember going dancing at some club with Mia and Crystal.” She rubbed her throbbing temple as she attempted to re-create the events of the previous evening. “Didn’t Mark and some of his friends show up at some point?”

   He had the look of a proud teacher as he nodded his head encouragingly. “That’s right. I flew here with Mark and the Jackson brothers. We met up with you ladies sometime during your club crawl.”

   Images exploded in her head as jumbled memories came rushing back to her. Dancing. The taste of his lips. Our tongues tangling. Hands touching. My new husband. Wait, what? Lydia stared at Jacob in dawning horror before looking down at the glittering diamond on her ring finger.

   Holy. Fucking. Shit.

   “We got married,” she whispered, then promptly staggered over to the bed and dropped down onto it.

* * *

   Just the reaction every man hopes to see from his new bride, Jacob thought as he took in Lydia’s shocked demeanor.

   He sat down on the side of the bed and held her hand, sitting quietly with her for a couple of minutes. Then he placed a few fingers on her forehead and caressed her gently, asking, “Feeling better?” He had no idea why he was checking her for signs of a fever when he full well knew it was the alcohol and the shock that had gotten to her.

   Her earlier panic seemed to have receded, leaving a look of helpless confusion in its place. “Did we really . . . get married? I’m imagining that whole thing, right?”

   She looked so hopeful that he hated to burst her bubble, but he couldn’t lie to her. He rubbed in what he hoped was a soothing pattern on the back of her hand as he said, “No, it actually happened. The king himself performed the ceremony.”

   “The king?” A helpless giggle escaped her luscious lips. “That’s right . . . We were married by Elvis Presley—or at least someone loosely resembling him. God, I still remember the—‘Thank you . . . thank you very much.’”