Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER THREE

Shea

I open my eyes, head pounding, my throat a desert. What the frig happened? I bolt up in a strange bed, my wild bed hair tumbling across my shoulders. As the crisp white bedsheet slips down to my waist, I slap a hand over my mouth.

I’m...naked.

Grabbing the sheet to cover my bare breasts, I glance to my right, looking for a nightstand. The unfamiliar furniture unfurls before my eyes, and my panic deepens. Oh God, where the hell am I?

Something stirs next to me.

No, no, no!

Holding my breath, I glance toward the movement.

Trace Quinlan sleeps on his side facing me. The sheet lays lazily on his tattooed hip, his sculpted chest bare. He’s covered in gray skulls, red roses, and green scrolling sentences that look like bible verses etched into his golden skin.

“Please, no,” I whisper, peek under the sheet, and gasp.

Yep, he’s naked, too, his chest rising and falling, peacefully asleep. Man, that body is even more amazing with all his clothes removed. Thankfully, he doesn’t budge.

Oh, this is bad. So bad. I had sex with my brother’s best friend. Being hell-bent for a night of wicked flirting to get even with Archer sounded like a good idea last night amidst the haze of dirty martinis and the dinging of slot machines.

But I have no memory of what happened after. Clearly, we came to this hotel room, I’m guessing his, and fucked.

I check under the sheet again. God, the size of that thing. Even soft! And my center is... I reach between my legs and see stars.

Sore and still wet.

I search my brain for the memory of Trace’s touch, but nothing forms. Maybe it’s for the best. No, I don’t want that memory. A man this good-looking with a dick that big, and I’d be ruined for anyone else.

Like...Archer. My boyfriend. Who more than likely cheated on me. At least, I’ve evened up the score. Trace is going back to Ireland, and I’ll never see him again. Perfect.

I slip from the bed and my throat goes tight, seeing my clothes strewn all over the floor. The thick, printed carpeted floor that I recognize from... From the bridal lounge yesterday.

A napkin on the nightstand under an empty rocks glass says Millennium Plaza .

Oh God! Cormac is staying here , too! He and Trace must have booked separate rooms. If I know my brother, he’s in the penthouse ten stories up and made Trace get a regular room.

Or Trace, being a proud Irishman, wanted to pay his own way. That’s classy. I like that.

But it doesn’t matter. I’m out of here. Cormac cannot find me here. Not like this. Not disheveled from being fucked. By a Quinlan. Trace’s cousins are sworn allies of my brothers.

I tug my dress over my head. Finding my purse, I shove my undergarments into it. I can’t deal with this.

Dressed with shoes in hand, I creep toward the door and gently open it. When it softly closes behind me, I bolt toward the elevator but run into a wall.

“There you are!” Soren, my guard, grabs me, sweating and shaking. “I’ve been looking for you all night. Do you know what Lachlan would do to me if he found out I lost you? I had to call a friend back in New York to track your phone. It took hours.”

I freeze. That means at any time Balor, the hacker, could do that, too. And it would take him mere seconds.

“I’m fine. Cormac is staying here. What time is it?” I stroll to the elevator, playing it cool, and pray Trace’s hotel room door doesn’t open. That he didn’t just hear the bellowing of my guard.

“Seven-twenty,” Soren huffs.

Our flight is at ten. Christ, I’ll just make it. “Do you have a cab waiting to take us back to the villa?”

The elevator pings and the metal door slides open.

“Yes, Miss.” He steers me inside.

We get in, and when I turn around, I gasp as the elevator starts to close. Trace stands there with a sheet around his waist. His eyes, those haunting golden orbs with green flecks, stare at me.

His lips, full and red, lift into a smirk.

He doesn’t pry the door open, though. Those eyes settle on Soren, who’s too busy on his phone making sure the plane is ready. When the door finally closes, I melt against the back panel.

I think I’m having a heart attack. I dig into my purse to make sure I have my phone. Seeing it, I’m relieved, but a wad of papers sets off alarm bells. I unfold one corner and find what looks like some kind of official-looking document.

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE

What? I don’t remember taking the couple’s marriage license from them yesterday. How did it get into my purse?

I shove it back in with a sigh and scrub my fingers through a tangled mess of sex hair, thankful Soren didn’t notice or comment on.

“Ouch,” I yelp when strands get caught and pull on my scalp .

Untangling my fingers from my hair, my heart nearly stops when I see the glint of shiny metal on my hand...

A wedding band.