by Piper Rayne
Wild Steamy Hook-Up
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2019 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Photo: Wander Aguilar
Cover Model: Travis S.
Cover Design: Mad Hat Covers
First Editor: Joy Editing
Second Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer
Wild Steamy Hook-Up
He’s the quiet brooding guy who’s owned my heart since I was sixteen but has refused to claim it.
* * *
I’m the naïve woman who believes that someday our time will come.
* * *
I just didn’t realize that someday would include waking up in Vegas with a raging hangover and a ring on my finger.
* * *
If we believed in fate, maybe one of us would’ve trusted that something more powerful than ourselves interceded because our love is one of tangled vines. As twisted and frayed as they’ve become over the years, they’ve never broken.
* * *
An annulment seemed like the easy way out. We should’ve known it wouldn’t be fate that intervened, but our Italian Mamas. They can deliver Oscar-worthy performances when heaping on the guilt.
* * *
We thought it’d be easy to pretend to be a happily married couple in front of our families for three months and then say we gave it our best shot and go our separate ways.
* * *
But nothing is easy when it comes to Dominic Mancini and me. Nothing
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings
About the Author
Also by Piper Rayne
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* * *
Chapter One
Dominic
* * *
The sound of thumping in my head continues and I roll over, throwing my hand over my face before it suddenly stops. I groan. Thank God. But then it starts up again, and though it takes me a minute, I realize it’s not actually coming from my head.
I push up on my elbows, and though the sound might not be coming from inside my head, the throbbing sure as hell is. I look at the unfamiliar room, and it takes me a second to remember that I’m in Vegas for my cousin’s bachelor party.
I push up off the bed and trudge to the door. When I swing it open, I find my youngest brother, Carm, in the hallway.
“Jesus, bro, I don’t wanna see your dick. Although I am happy to know mine’s bigger.”
I glance down to find that I am indeed naked. Ducking into the bathroom, I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist.
“Fuck off. What’s going on?” My voice is rough, and I realize now that my mouth tastes like ass.
“You’re late for bungee jumping. Everyone is waiting. Where’d you disappear to last night anyway? One minute you’re sulking at the bar and the next you text us to say you’re out.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out the answer to his question. He uses the opportunity to slide to the side to look inside the room. I run a hand through my hair and down my face, blowing out a breath and trying to get myself together.
“What the fuck is that?” Carm points at my finger.
I lower my hand, staring at a silver ring around… shit… my left ring finger.
What the actual fuck?
“Holy shit!” Carm laughs hysterically.
I cough on the bile shooting up my throat.
Carm weaves to the side of me to look behind me at the bed and the woman who might be my… God, I can’t even say the word. There’s absolutely no way I got married last night, no matter what’s on my hand.
I take my brother by the shoulders. “You can go.”
He fights me, his head swiveling to try to catch another glimpse.
I don’t know why I got married last night, but I do know who I hooked up with and Carm cannot find out unless I want a call from Mama. Everyone knows that out of my two brothers, he’s the last one to trust with a secret. He doesn’t mean any harm. He just can’t help himself.
“What about bungee jumping?” he asks.
We’re in Vegas for my cousin Luca’s bachelor party, which was supposed to be a fun weekend away—something I rarely allow myself. Instead it’s turning into a colossal fuck up.
“Make up an excuse for me. And do not tell anyone what you saw. Just say you can’t find me, or I’m puking, or—I don’t really care. You’re a good liar, do what you do best.”
His feet halt on the carpet. “Low blow. I don’t lie about stupid shit anymore, just ask Bella.”
His pitiful tone, the one he’s used his entire life when the truth hurts, says I’ve hit a sore spot. Usually I’d smooth over my comment, but today I’ve got more pressing shit to do than make sure Carm’s ego stays intact. “Go.”
“But what—”
“Bye.” I click the door in place softly, though I want to slam it.
But the last thing I want is to wake the woman sleeping in my bed. I need a minute to sort this out and try to figure out what it means, what the repercussions are. I don’t need to worry about our lack of a prenup because she’s not the kind of woman who’s after me for my money. Quite the opposite actually. Most of the time, I think she resents it.
I strip off the towel and pull on my boxers before sitting in the chair by the window.
What the hell have we done?
I weave my fingers through my hair and blow out a breath, looking at the bed.
Her long tan legs from half a summer spent in the Hamptons only brings back memories of last year. But last year hurt like a bitch. I had to say goodbye to her then, so why would I have willingly gotten together with her now?
Grabbing my phone, I pull up her alias, Marge, (just in case my brothers ever saw) and check what happened last night. Damn, I initiated the conversation.
Me: Hope the dance competition is going well.
Then the memory floods in like a tidal wave. The innocent text exchanges once I saw her dance studio was in town for a competition. Each of us mentioning where we were staying. Her asking me out for a drink and my stupid horny ass accepting. Going to her hotel bar, gambling at blackjack, drinking some more. Her studio won the competition and she was excited to celebrate, and I, of course, took any excuse to be with her.
I’m an
idiot.
She stirs under the sheets, her dark wavy hair sprawled on the pillow. I examine her while her eyes are still closed and see the matching silver band on her left hand. Then I spot a few crumpled up papers on the floor near the edge of the bed. I must’ve taken them out of my jacket or pants last night when we returned.
When I open them, the reality of the situation comes crashing down on me like a crumbling building.
One of those papers is a marriage license, and the two names listed have me squeezing the bridge of my nose.
Dominic Anthony Mancini and
Valentina Daniella Sommerland
I can’t help the small smile that forms on my face when I think of how we all used to make fun of her name when she was younger. No one said her first name without also using her middle and her last—though it was Cavallo back then. To the grade school kids, using her whole name was fun, and it stuck all through high school.
Now, she’s Valentina Daniella Mancini, though I don’t hold my breath—she’d probably expect me to become Dominic Anthony Cavallo. Doesn’t matter that Cavallo isn’t even legally her last name anymore.
Why the hell is my mind heading in a direction this situation is never gonna go?
As I’m wondering whether we’ll qualify for an annulment, her eyes pop open. She smiles at me, her naked body sliding across the sheets. She’s always been slow to wake up, though I only know that from the rare occasions she let me sleep in bed with her.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi.” She wiggles up to rest her back on the headboard, making sure to keep the sheet over her.
“No need to be shy. I am your husband, after all.” I raise my hand, the stream of light coming through the curtains making the silver band shine.
Her breath leaves her in one rush and her mouth hangs open. She snaps her head down to look at her perfectly manicured hand, with red polish that matches her toes and plucks the cheap wedding band we must’ve gotten along the way as though it’s a piece of foil. But it’s not foil. It’s the real deal.
I pick up the marriage license from the side table and toss it on the bed next to her. “Do you want breakfast, Mrs. Mancini, or should we each call our attorneys first?”
No sense in pretending this situation is anything other than what it is—a mistake.
Her plump pink lips that have always turned me on dip, and she twists the sheet in her fingers.
Yeah, figured as much. Attorneys it is.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” I say, walking around the bed, and picking up my pants and shirt from last night. Anything goes in Vegas, no one will give me a second look.
“Dom,” she sighs.
But I put up my hand, hurrying to get the hell out of here before I ask more questions like why, drunk or not, she’d agree to marry me. “No worries. Not sure how we got ourselves in this predicament, but I’ll handle it.”
I slide the ring off my finger and put it on the nightstand. Then I walk out the door, and this time, I do let it slam shut.
Valentina isn’t meant to be mine. She’s always belonged to someone else. This time, I’m determined to remember it.
Chapter Two
Valentina
* * *
I pull back the sheet once the door shuts with Dom’s departure. The ass didn’t even let me get a word out before he assumed he knew what I was going to say.
He always assumes.
I pick up the paperwork he tossed beside me. How the heck did we end up married? When his text came through last night, I was still on a high from the kids at my studio winning the competition and figured one drink couldn’t hurt. We drank, we danced, we gambled… and from there, everything goes fuzzy.
When I attempt to get out of bed, my head spins and I have to sit back down. After a few deep breaths, I push my hair out of my face and notice how silky it is. That means I must’ve showered when we got back here last night.
A hazy memory surfaces. I touch my lips and sure enough, they’re tender—Dom is a biter. I stand again, and this time my brain doesn’t swim in my skull, so I head to the bathroom. I don’t have to remember every detail of our night to see how much we enjoyed one another. Small nibbles mark the tops of my breasts and down my torso, evidence of Dom’s attentions.
No man has ever enjoyed mapping out my body like him. And that’s probably why I answered that text. Dom and I might not be a good fit long term, but in the bedroom? That’s where we’re a perfect fit.
Somehow, even with his easy dismissal of me and pissed off attitude, I crave him again. To have those big hands unlatch my bra only to hear the groan that escapes him as though it’s the first time he’s seen me nude.
I shake my head. My demented head, which refuses to accept that Dominic Mancini does not care about me. The only person in this world he cares about more than himself is his mama, just like any good Italian boy. And after that comes money.
Moving around the room, I pluck up my garments one by one. The small skirt I changed into when he said he’d meet me at the hotel. The skimpy panties I hoped he’d strip me out of. The push-up bra and tight shirt I wanted to entice him with.
Lastly, I snag the marriage license off the bed because I won’t allow him to go all caveman and take charge of the divorce. When I stuff it in my clutch, a picture falls out and flutters to the floor.
I pick it up, all my energy depleting when I stare at the photograph. I fall back on the bed. We’re both clearly glossy-eyed and sloppy. I can’t believe they let us get married. Isn’t there some sort of law against that? The wad of cash the officiant holds makes me think Dom paid him off, but who knows?
It’s the two of us and I’m leaning against him with my arm around his middle smiling at the camera. Instead of his eyes being on the camera, he’s looking down at me with an uncharacteristic warm smile on his face.
How come getting that man to smile makes me feel like Wonder Woman?
Later that evening, I’m walking through the lobby of my hotel—which is two down the Strip from Dom’s—thankful there’s no way I’ll bump into him again. Maybe we can get a divorce without having to interact.
Since the dance competition is over, most of the parents and kids from my studio have headed back to New York. I opted to stay an extra night, knowing how drained I am after nationals. I figured I’d have a spa day and spend the day relaxing. And thank God I thought ahead, because if there was ever a day I needed to relieve some tension, it’s today.
After a day at the spa, the dull ache of my hangover is almost a distant memory. Nothing a shot of caffeine won’t fix at this point. I debated not keeping my appointment but freaking out by myself in my hotel room did seem like a good idea. At least at the spa I stood a chance of finding some peace.
With a fresh glow to every inch of my skin, I feel confident that I’ve scrubbed Dom from my consciousness. Okay, that’s a lie. But like I always tell Ryder, success and effort go hand-in-hand.
I smile politely at the gentleman serving customers at the Starbucks. My plan is to kick this hangover then veg out in my hotel room until my flight tomorrow.
“Valentina Daniella Cavallo?”
Hearing that name raises the hairs on my neck. It means they’re from my old neighborhood back in Brooklyn. The fact that the voice sounds eerily similar to my new husband’s has dread forming in the pit of my stomach.
I glance over my shoulder and the dots connect. “Enzo Mancini?”
I really hope I feigned surprise well and he believes that I don’t already know he’s here for his cousin’s bachelor party. Or that as of last night, I’m his new sister-in-law.
“I thought that was you, but then wondered what the chances were that both of us are in Vegas?” He hugs me briefly and kisses my cheeks. “Sorry, just got back from bungee jumping with the guys.” He glances down at his roughed up athletic gear. “Our cousin, Luca—you remember the Biancos from Chicago?”
I nod.
“He’s getting married, and they’re havi
ng their bachelor and bachelorette parties here.”
He’s speaking, but all I can concentrate on are his similarities to Dom. Enzo goes on and on about how one of the guys with them today threw up as he was free-falling because they got a little crazy last night. He and his brother share the same nose and smile. Then again, Dom doesn’t smile very often, so maybe I’m imagining it. Enzo was pretty serious back in the day too, whereas Carm was always the live wire.
“So you’ll come then? Dom and Carm will both be there, and it’s totally casual.”
I’m flustered, so I step up in line. “I’m sorry, I must have zoned out. I’m just coming from a day at the spa. What were you saying?”
What I really want to ask is what Enzo’s doing here at my hotel, rather than the one they’re staying at.
“Dinner. Tonight. It’s just a small group of us. It’s our last night before we head home tomorrow. Join us.”
I’m able to delay answering by ordering my coffee. If I join them, it’ll ruin Dom’s mood.
Before I can pay, a twenty slides across the counter to the cashier. “No, Enzo, I have it.”