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She Woke Up Married
By Suzanne Macpherson HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2007 Suzanne Macpherson
All right reserved. ISBN: 9780060517694
Chapter One
Heartbreak Hotel
Paris groaned and forced one eye open by an act of sheer redheaded willpower. Only one eye opened because the other one was stuck shut with a false eyelash. It was hard enough opening the one, because she'd really, really, had too much to drink last night, and it hurt to move her eyelids. She didn't want to try moving the other parts of her body.
What a crappy, stupid way to start the second day of being thirty. Her brain felt like it had cotton balls glue-gunned to the inside of her skull. Come to think of it, the inside of her mouth felt the same way.
A horrid light pierced through a six-inch gap in the hotel curtains. She saw the distorted out-line of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. She knew damn well she wasn't in France; she was in Las Vegas. A fuzzy sort of Vegas at the moment. What had she done last night?
A deep and extreme need arose in her. She needed coffee. Java. Mud. Hot and thick. Right now. For a minute she wondered if room service might just this once read her mind so she wouldn't have to move any more of her body until a nice big cup of hot coffee was within reach.
The horrid light from the window kept glinting into her open eye. Actually it was glinting off something else in the room, causing a sort of disco-ball effect, which only made things worse. Paris wondered ifshe'd been so stupid as to wear that red sequined dress last night. Sequins made anyone look fat -- and that dress had practically been sprayed on, like Ponytail Barbie's Moonlight Serenade dress. She should throw it out, but sometimes a girl needs to put on red sequins -- like maybe on her thirtieth birthday.
She blinked at the glittering disco light, and her sight focused on a white jacket hanging on the hotel desk chair close by. What the hell had she bought now? She raised her head an inch off the pillow and moved her hand up to the stuck together eye, pulling at the false eyelash. All of that was extremely painful, and her need for coffee increased tenfold. She groaned. She sat up partway and flopped her head forward, a curtain of her own red hair blocking the view. Paris lifted her head slowly and parted the hair curtain, but something got stuck in her long curls. She yanked and freed her hand and looked down to see a very large, square-cut diamond ring on her left hand. When did she buy that?
Her two eyes refocused across the room to that white thing on the chair. It was an Elvisstyle jacket with a big-ass collar and broad shoulders, and it was dancing in the sunlight.
Her eyes moved to the floor below. There sat one pair of men's white cowboy boots, complete with silver cording and silver studs to match.
What the hell had she done this time?
"Good morning, Mrs. Pruitt."
Paris moved her head painfully, quickly, to her right. She sucked in a quick, searing breath and let out an involuntary, long, loud scream, clutching the sheets against her naked breasts and scrabbling herself to the far edge of the bed.
Beside her in the king-size bed was The King himself. Elvis incarnate. His sexy Elvis mouth was smiling at her. He was buck-naked, his head propped on his elbow, a hunk of his wavy black hair curled down on his forehead.
And speaking of hunks, at least he was a hunk a hunka burning love Elvis -- the early years, instead of a hunka big ol' later Elvis.
"Who the hell are you?" Paris croaked. Her voice was still asleep. She wished she were too.
She knew full well she'd gotten herself into this mess, but she needed some facts, fast.
"Now, darlin', that's not the words a man wants to hear from his wife the morning after their wedding."
"Wedding? What wedding?" Paris screeched. She looked down at that big-ass ring on her left ring finger again and screamed out loud -- again.
"Let me order up some breakfast for you, dear. A big ol' pot of coffee will help you remember."
"Don't call me dear. I'll take that coffee, though."
Hunka Love got out of bed and rose to his full six-foot-four-inch naked glory. Paris actually got hot staring at him. She felt a flush of heat run up her neck and into her face.
"Well, at least you remember the package, if not the name. I guess that's a good start. My, oh, my, you are a mess, woman. There's an eyelash on your right breast, you know."
She looked down at her exposed right breast vaguely, still lost in a lustful thought. He leaned back over the bed and reached for her. She flinched with surprise.
"Hold still now, this won't hurt a bit." His eyes were deep chocolate brown -- almost black -- and he stared into her eyes as he peeled the offending eyelash off the top of her breast and handed it to her. "There now, you just sit tight. I'll ring up some grub."
Grub? There was no way she'd actually married this cowboy Elvis dude, drunk or not. But she had to admit that she could see clearly why she'd seduced his gorgeous behind into her bed. As he walked away and gave her a terrific view of that behind, she had some scattered memories of unzipping that white Elvis jacket off his incredible body.
It dawned on her that since her birthday had been March 31, this was April Fool's Day. Someone must have put this guy up to this. What a grand joke, really. It sort of reeked of Anton's style ...
Continues...
Excerpted from She Woke Up Married by Suzanne Macpherson Copyright © 2007 by Suzanne Macpherson. Excerpted by permission.
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