by Elle Wright
He hated this. Love was his best friend. They’d spent countless hours together, shared many a hotel room and even a bed—platonically. He’d never thought anything else about it—until now. “What’s that going to prove? Apparently, we’ve already seen everything there is to see.”
“That’s not funny.”
It wasn’t; he knew that.
“What if...it happens again?” she whispered.
His eyes snapped to hers. “It won’t. I’m never drinking with you again.”
She lowered her gaze. “You don’t have to say it like that,” she mumbled.
“How am I supposed to say it?” he asked incredulously. “You’re my home girl. We’ve never done anything remotely close to this.”
“We can’t say that anymore,” she muttered under her breath.
They exchanged glances before turning away. “I guess not,” he agreed.
“I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship.”
“It won’t.” As much as he hoped it wouldn’t, the very conversation they were having indicated that it might. Theirs was a relationship of comfort as much as it was one of respect and unconditional love, not marred by the hurt feelings and expectations that often accompany a love affair. Now, he couldn’t even make eye contact with her—a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.
“You can’t even look at me, Drake.”
“Neither can you,” he retorted.
Love sighed and stood up. “Maybe I should just hop in the shower.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe you can soak in the bathtub,” he suggested. “It’ll help with the soreness.”
Without another word, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Once he heard the lock click, he fell back on the bed. As he listened to running water, he ran a hand down his face. He needed Advil and quickly.
They’d had sex. But something didn’t seem right. What had made this time different from every other time? Why would they choose this trip to get busy? The sight of Love clutching the sheet against her breasts for dear life haunted him. She was scared and teary-eyed. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping to erase the image.
He hoped the bath would relieve her anxieties. Deciding to take a shower himself, he slid off the bed and walked into the second bedroom. The Bellagio was Love’s favorite hotel in Vegas and she’d insisted on splurging on the suite. There was a separate living room and two bedrooms—one for each of them. His en suite had a steam shower and hers had a soaking whirlpool tub.
He padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After waiting for the steam to fill the room, he stepped in. He placed a hand on the tile and let the water beat against his back, loosening his tense muscles.
His hand massaged her back as they burrowed into the mattress. Their lips touched in the softest of kisses. She caressed his face as he suckled on her bottom lip.
Drake shook his head as if to shoo away the vivid memories, and lost his balance. When he reached out to grab the bar, he slipped on the shower floor and landed on his ass. So much for relaxation. Taking a deep breath, he sat there and rubbed the water out of his eyes.
He brushed his mouth against her chin and trailed his tongue to the hollow of her neck.
He scooted back against the shower wall, letting the water drizzle over him.
When he looked at her, he felt like he was drowning in her eyes. He felt his stomach tighten as he smoothed his hands over her thighs. She moaned and murmured her approval. He traced the band of her underwear with his thumb before he slipped a hand inside. He parted her slick folds with his finger and she purred. He thought he would explode. He loved to hear her satisfied groans. Kissing her deeply and possessively, he lowered himself on top of her.
Drake leaned his head against the tile as more memories rushed back to him.
Love wrapped her long legs around his waist and they linked fingers, gazing into each other’s eyes. He wanted her unlike anyone else. He wanted to claim her and make her his forever.
“I want you,” he whispered.
She smiled. “Have me.”
He kissed her nose, then her chin. His mouth closed around her breast and he heard her gasp. His tongue swirled around her nipple until she dug her nails into his biceps. Releasing the nipple, he kissed his way over to the other one, taking it into his mouth and giving it the same attention. Her nails scraped against his scalp as he kissed his way down to her navel.
Drake closed his eyes as his body reacted to the memory. His heart pumped with excitement.
He began to enter her, and—
“Drake!”
He jumped and immediately registered the cold water pulsing down on him. Cursing, he stood up, pushed the shower door open, and stepped out.
The knocking continued. “Drake! Can you hear me?”
“What?” he yelled.
“The concierge is here,” Lovely told him.
Swearing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and yanked the door open, practically pulling her into the bathroom.
She tried to regain her balance by grabbing him. Her hair was wet, her face flushed. Her hazelnut-colored skin was still moist. Grabbing her waist, he steadied her.
When their eyes met, she pulled back. “He’s out in the sitting area,” she said, tugging on her robe.
“Did you ask him what he wanted?” The small opening in the bathrobe gave him a glimpse of her breast and he tried not to look. Really. He didn’t want to remember taking it into his mouth. He let his eyes wander over Love’s curves. If there was a contest for best female anatomy, she’d win hands down. Her skin was flawless; her hair was like an ebony waterfall. And she was all natural—no weave, no acrylics, no color contacts and no silicone.
“Drake, did you hear what I said?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“I said he asked for you,” she told him. “Said he had something to give you.”
Adjusting his towel, he secured the knot. “Can you...?”
“Oh.” She hurried out of the bathroom, bumping into the door on the way out.
He slipped his sweatpants back on hurriedly. When he came out of the bathroom, Love was sitting on the bed, shoulders slouched. Grabbing a T-shirt, he pulled it on. He wondered if she’d remembered anything. His thoughts drifted to his roaming hands...her flat, quivering stomach...the sultry moans coming from her full lips. Shaking his head, he strode past her and into the living room.
The concierge greeted him with a wide smile. “Good morning, Dr. Jackson. I trust you had a wonderful night.” He shook his hand.
“What can I do for you?” Drake asked.
Love appeared in the doorway. She folded her arms across her robe and leaned against the frame.
Drake shifted his attention away from her and back to the concierge, who was eyeing Love with interest. Drake cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”
The short man coughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t,” Drake told him.
“I just thought you might like this,” he said, holding out a small box.
Drake grabbed the box and examined it. “What’s this?”
The concierge laughed. “Very funny, Dr. Jackson.” He patted him on his shoulder. “We rushed this up as soon as it was sized.”
Opening the box, Drake gaped at the huge diamond ring. “Why did you bring me this?”
The man shifted. “You ordered it, Dr. Jackson. Last night.”
His headache suddenly grew worse. “I didn’t order this.”
“You and the missus were in the hotel store and you purchased it.”
Drake pretended he didn’t hear Love’s gasp or feel her body leaning up against his back as she gawked at the ring in his hand. “The missus? What the hell are you talking about?
I’m not married.”
“Uh, sir, you and your wife approached the front desk attendant and asked to purchase the ring from the hotel jewelry store.” The man motioned to Love. “It was around three o’clock this morning. You told him you were on your way to your wedding.”
“My what?” Drake bellowed, struggling to remember that part of the evening. “This has to be a mistake. I’m not married. And what kind of jewelry store is open at three o’clock in the morning?”
“W-well, you insisted,” the concierge stuttered. “Your wife spotted the ring in the display case. You paid for it with your credit card and she gave us her ring size. Trust me, it was a legitimate transaction.”
Advil. Better yet, Vicodin. He sat on the edge of the couch and pinched his forehead. Could this day get any worse? It wasn’t enough that he had made love to his best friend and remembered only bits of it. Obviously, there was more to last night than sex.
“Are you sure, sir?” Love asked. “Maybe someone stole Drake’s wallet and used his credit card to purchase this ring?”
The concierge sucked in a deep breath. “Ma’am, perhaps the problem was too many drinks?”
Drake flew to his feet, twisted the man’s lapels in his fists and pulled him closer—nose to nose. “Watch your mouth. Perhaps you got the situation wrong.” He let him go, shoving him back a bit.
After straightening his tie, the concierge smoothed a hand over his suit coat. “I’m sorry, Dr. Jackson. But you purchased the ring. I’m sure we can pull up the security cameras.” He drew an envelope out of his inside pocket. “And this was sent over via courier this morning.”
Drake snatched the envelope and ripped it open. Love rested a hand on his arm and he glanced at her. She was stunning, and she smelled like warm vanilla. Forcing his gaze away, he pulled the thick paper out and scanned it. Sighing, he handed it to her.
“Oh, my God!”
Drake rolled his eyes. “You said this was around three?” he asked the concierge.
He nodded. “Yes, according to Bill, the manager in charge. By the way, I wanted to come here in person to let you know that we’ve upgraded you to the honeymoon suite.”
“This can’t be happening,” Love mumbled.
“Honeymoon suite?” Drake asked.
“Yes. To show our appreciation for your business.”
Running his hand through his hair, Drake told him, “I don’t need to switch rooms.”
“We’ve already made the arrangements,” the concierge insisted. “A bellboy will be here shortly to collect your things and transfer them to your new accommodations.”
“This is Vegas.” Drake crossed his arms over his chest. “People get married here all the time. Why upgrade us?”
“Well, after the amount you spent in our hotel store, it’s our pleasure.”
Drake didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to. “How much is the ring?” he groaned.
“This is an original design, worth more than the price you paid.”
“How much?” he repeated.
“We agreed on a discounted price of $15,000.”
Love let out a colorful curse, then covered her mouth.
“Fifteen thousand?” Drake roared. “Are you crazy? They knew we were drinking and they still let me pay that much money for a ring?”
“Like I said, sir, you insisted,” the man responded.
“Thank you,” Love told the concierge. “We appreciate your hospitality. Can you leave us alone for now? We need a moment.” She walked him toward the door. More like pushed him. “And we appreciate the gesture, but the honeymoon suite is not necessary.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Jackson,” the man said, with a wide smile. “Please let us know if you change your mind.”
“We will,” she assured him. “Thank you again. Have a good day.”
“I will and—”
She closed the door before the man could finish his sentence.
Drake clutched the ring box in his hand. “I spent $15,000 on a ring, Love.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “Drake, we’ll figure this out. We’ll find the receipt and try to return it.”
“Good luck with that. They sold it at a discount. It was probably a final sale.”
“We have to find your wallet,” she said, hurrying into her suite bedroom.
He followed her. She picked a pair of discarded pants off the floor and shoved her hands into the pockets. He checked his coat and discovered his wallet was there. He opened it, leafed through the receipts and found nothing. “It’s not here. I’m screwed,” he said, dropping the wallet on the dresser.
She propped her hands on his shoulders. “Drake, we got married. We don’t remember our wedding. We had sex, after almost thirty years of innocent friendship. Screwed is an understatement. But all is not lost, because we still have our brains. So I say we go find the—” she glanced at the wedding certificate “—Hunk O’ Burning Love Wedding Chapel and try to get this thing annulled. Then we can check with the jewelry store.”
Love grabbed an outfit and disappeared into the bathroom.
“Okay, Mrs. Chipper, what if this can’t be fixed?”
She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing a pair of capri pants and a tank top. “I’m not dealing with that right now. The worst has to be over.”
Another knock sounded, and they heard a familiar voice from the other side say, “Lovely, open the door.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God.”
He shook his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not over—not by a long shot.”
Chapter 3
“Don’t answer that.” Love wrapped a hand around Drake’s arm. The constant knocking was getting to her, but she could handle it. “Maybe she’ll go away.”
“Have you met your mother?” Drake asked.
“She can’t come in here.” Gloria Helen Washington was the last person Love needed to see today. “She’ll know what happened.”
“How? We’re both fully dressed.” He peeled her hand off him. “Just act normal.” He hurried to the door and opened it.
Gloria breezed into the room. “Lovely Grace Washington, what is your problem? What took you so long to answer the door?”
Love rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. As if naming her Lovely wasn’t bad enough, her mother had added Grace to it. As soon as she was old enough, she’d insisted everyone call her Love. “What is it, Mother? You know it’s early.”
Love knew she hated to be called “Mother.” Gloria wasn’t your average stay-at-home mom. As a child, Love could be found chanting during a windstorm watch, and running around in a bright bandanna and a tie-dyed T-shirt. Yes, her mother was a hippie and damn proud of it. Even in her sixties, Gloria still had a carefree way about her. Her gray curls were wild and free, and she wore loose-fitting, flowing clothes at all times. Her mother thought the world would be a better place if everyone embraced love, hence the name.
Growing up had been pretty traumatic for the straitlaced Love. She was the only black kid in the neighborhood who wore sandals in the winter and listened to Jimi Hendrix. Instead of Ring Pops or Now & Laters, Love was forced to munch on celery sticks and snap peas. No hopscotch or Foursquare for her. Gloria thought it best that she recited poetry in the park. And Love hated poetry. Yet, even though they clashed often, Love adored her mother. And she was proud of the independent woman she’d become after the divorce. Her mother went from doting on her husband to owning one of Vegas’ premier flower shops. Gloria was famous for her floral creations.
Her mother pulled her into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you, my baby girl. The rest of the family should arrive sometime this afternoon. Thank you for gracing us with your presence this year. You know, it’s been years since you’ve attended. Everyone
always asks about you.”
The rest of her family was as colorful as her mother, which often caused a problem for the Love. For years, the Nelson family gathered on her grandmother’s birthday in March for a family reunion. Each year, the reunion alternated between several states to give each leg of the family a chance to plan it. Love had managed to avoid the last several due to school and work, but since the reunion was back in her childhood hometown, her mother had threatened to haunt her in life and death if she didn’t attend.
Her mother had obsessed about this reunion for over a year, since she was the only member of the family that lived in Las Vegas. The hosting family always stayed at the hotel with everyone else, and Gloria needed Love’s assistance to help make the reunion a success.
“Like I had a choice,” Love grumbled, wrenching herself out of her mother’s arms.
“Don’t get smart.” Gloria smoothed her hair back and grinned at Drake. “Hello, Drake. I’m so glad you’re here.” She embraced him.
“Good to see you, too, Mom,” Drake said.
Love’s best friend had called Gloria that for as long as she could remember. Drake and Gloria had a loving relationship and Love often found herself on the outside looking in at the two of them. They shared the same taste in food and television, preferring big steaks and fried potatoes with their zombie and sci-fi shows.
“You’re looking handsome as ever, son.”
“Mother,” Love said, cutting in, “I know you want to talk about the reunion, but I have to make a few runs. Then I wanted to visit with friends.”
Peering up the ceiling, Love let out a long sigh. She hated lying to her mother. Love was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. She lacked the ability to make it convincing, even though she’d tried to perfect the skill growing up. Although she had made plans to visit with her friends, she had no intention of doing so now. She had business to take care of, a marriage to annul.
“Love, this is family time.” Gloria picked at her daughter’s hair with a frown on her face. “Why did you straighten your beautiful curls?”