The Cowboy's Bride
A trickle of daylight seeping in through the nearby window fell across Amy's face, pulling her from sleep. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, only to become more fuzzily awake. Her forehead throbbed as if someone pounded a hammer inside her head.
Slowly she became aware of the mattress beneath her. It felt firmer. Somehow she didn't ache as much as she normally did after a night on her too squishy mattress. And where was the worn quilt she loved to snuggle under? Why didn't the sheet smell like her favorite dryer sheets, all nice and flowery?
She sniffed again to make sure her nose wasn't just having an off day. Musk. Something else, too. Something wasn't right. No, many things weren't right. The mattress...the musky smell...and she was naked! She never slept naked, except when...
Oh God! She wasn't alone. How could she have been unaware of the large, warm body tucked behind her? Her heart pounded even worse than her head now. There was a warm, fully aroused naked male next to her. Fortunately he didn't appear to be attempting to do anything about the intimate situation.
Now that she was fully awake, eyes open, she stared at the muscled forearm draped over her chest. How could she not have noticed that? A man's arm was...
Wait! She knew that arm. Lee Grayson. Tingles of anticipation spread through her. He was a woman's wet dream. Not hers, of course. He wasn't her type.
Forcing the knowledge of who she was in bed with aside for the moment, she realized that, oddly, she didn't feel quite so panicked now.
Barely breathing, she looked around the strange bedroom. It was easily at least twice the size of the travel trailer she lived in at the RV park just outside of Denver. No, three times the size. Irrelevant. Totally.
Where was she--where were they? Why were they here? She wished more of the fuzziness in her brain would go away.
She elbowed the man lightly snoring behind her. "Get off me."
The big lug didn't do more than grunt.
Annoyed, she took the time to glance around her. The bed was massive but it seemed smaller because the man behind her was taking up more than his share of the mattress. Thick beige carpet covered the floor of the large room. The dress she'd worn last night to a celebratory party at the home of her best friend Molly's brother lie in a discarded wad a dozen feet from the bed. There were no undergarments next to it because the expensive designer gown Molly had loaned her had been too tight for them. But her also-borrowed Manolo Blahink heels were scattered one shoe after the other from just inside the closed bedroom door to her dress. What had she been thinking?
She squirmed, trying to wriggle free from the behemoth behind her, only managing to make him latch firmly onto her right breast. She sucked in a breath, which made her breast push out against that warm hand. To her disgust, the nipple hardened and a shiver of awareness moved through her. Her clit pulsed almost in time with the pounding in her head. Oh, perfect, traitorous body!
"Wake up!" she hissed at the man she'd had too many dreams about in the years since she'd met him. "Come on, Grayson, wake up!"
Another grunt. Another breast squeeze. More ridiculous tingles moving low in her body.
Trying to calm her reactions, she attempted to focus her thoughts on more than her bed mate. How had she gotten here with the infamous quarterback for the Denver Mustangs? He was a playboy the media claimed took a different woman to his bed every night. She was not that kind of woman. At least she hadn't thought she was. In some of the dreams she'd had about him she might have been pretty daring, definitely naughty. But in the light of day she was not like that. Yet here she was in bed with him.
Darn it all, that hand felt good clamped against her aching breast. Focus. And not on him.
She remembered talking to him, being handed a drink she hadn't wanted, and then... Nothing. Her head throbbed again, her memories were still vague.
She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to concentrate harder. They'd talked about... what? Probably something to do with football, since he lived and breathed it. They'd walked to the staircase. Then what? She couldn't remember walking up the stairs, or ending up here in this bedroom. His bedroom!
Her eyes flashed open with that realization. She knew in her gut that this was his room. She bristled in fury, so mad she couldn't move and could barely breathe. How dare he bring her up here! He never paid much attention to her partly because of her close relationship with his sister. Partly because...well, she wasn't the type of woman he chased.
His thumb played her nipple like a guitarist strumming strings with a pic, distracting her. This time she latched onto his arm and shoved it away. Then she scooted to the other side of the bed, tugging the sheet with her. The rest of the covers had been shoved over the footboard.
She'd just started to crawl off the bed when her progress was stopped by a firm pull on the sheet. "Let go!" she squeaked, attempting to get free again. Her stomach lurched. Her head felt light, dizzy. Something was really wrong. She'd had a hangover before but this didn't have that kind of feeling.
"Where are you going, sweetheart?" Lee asked, sounding sleepy, puzzled. "Give me a couple of minutes and--"
"Not happening, you jerk." She wasn't just any woman who crawled into bed with him! She was his sister's best friend. He should have respected her, not...
Frustrated, she tossed the sheet away and scampered off the bed, surprised when she swayed dizzily. She'd felt like this once before when she'd been in the bow of a boat on a rough day at the lake. Something was definitely odd.
She slumped onto the side of the bed and put her head in her hands while the world righted itself. Her long hair fell around her, another annoyance. She usually wore it in a braid at night.
The heat from a vent overhead blew across her, reminding her that she was naked. What did it matter? He'd obviously seen her that way last night. Although the how, when, and why were pretty indistinct.
She'd never been able to handle liquor, which was why she didn't usually drink anything more than a rare glass of wine, a small glass. She was the type who had a hangover after only two drinks. But she must have gone well beyond that limit. Odd, though, she didn't remember it. The last drink she remembered was...?
She did recall someone she couldn't quite place handing both her and Lee glasses before they left the room of raucous partyers. He'd laughed when they'd attempted to refuse, telling them to "lighten up" and accept the drinks in the good spirit they were given.
She blinked, remembering more. They'd chitchatted about football until her eyes had all but glazed over. She'd asked if they could go someplace quieter and he'd agreed. She'd wanted to talk to him about Molly, about a charity gig that Molly really wanted his help with. He'd said something about them going to talk in his den. They'd hastily swallowed the drink they'd been handed, put the glasses on the tray of a waiter passing by, and headed out of the room. But they'd been walking by--not up--the staircase...
Tears threatened. How had she--they--ended up here in his bedroom? This was so not her. Still, here she was.
She stood up again, bent down to scoop up her dress, and the world tilted. She nearly toppled over face first. Steadying herself, she held the dress in front of her, then turned to glower at him. "Did you give me something last night?"
A crooked grin tipped up one side of his mouth, his eyes barely open. "Honey, I sure hope so." He rolled to his side and swept his heated gaze over her. "I'd like to do it again, too." Then his eyes widened as if he'd finally recognized her. "What the hell?"
She glowered at him. "Believe me, Lee Grayson, I'm every bit as thrilled about the situation as you obviously are." She clutched the dress tighter. "I meant did you slip something into my drink?"
Now he sat up, frowning in indignation, his collar-length dark brown hair sexily mussed. "I don't need to drug a woman to get her into my bed." He rubbed his forehead with a thumb and a finger. Then he narrowed his eyes at her. "Maybe you gave me something. Maybe you were so desperate to--"
She stomped back to the bed, picked up a pillow and hit him with it. "You are so not my type," she protested. "I like a man who..." She stopped mid-sentence when she caught him staring at her, flashing a teasing grin. That's when she realized she'd dropped her dress in order to attack him with the pillow.
Her face heated and, annoyingly, so did nearly every inch of her body. He might not be the kind of man she usually dated, but he was definitely all man and a very sexually appealing one. And she'd had far too many dreams about him. Hot dreams.
Blowing out a deep breath of irritation, she glanced at him again. Mistake. He might be just as confused and frustrated with the situation as she was, but it was also clear that he wanted her. His long--oh wow kind of long--cock stood thick and ready for round two. Or maybe it was round three or four. She honestly had no idea. She had no memory of making love with him at all. Having sex, she firmly reminded herself. This man wasn't capable of making love, that would involve at least a hint of caring. She didn't think the great Lee Grayson cared for anyone other than himself. Well, maybe he cared about Molly and possibly one or two of the other adopted Graysons.
"I've never been into sassy women or brunettes." Still, the grinning idiot winked at her, clearly willing to overlook her close relationship to his sister. "But I'm willing to..."
She ground her teeth, ignored the pounding in her head, and marched back to scoop up her dress again. This time she jerked it on before looking back at the man now tossing his long, muscled legs over the side of the bed to sit up. His ruggedly handsome face paled, tightened with pain. He put an arm across his firm abdomen, grimaced. He looked as bad as she felt.
Had they both been drugged? Why?