Page 12 of This Wild Heart

Drinks.

Not just drinks. Sad shots. Oh holy shit, the sad shots. I covered my mouth as I tried to take some deep breaths.

The dark back seat of a limo. Lips brushing against my ear while he whispered something to me.

“Pretend with me, sweetheart. Let’s make them think you’re mine.”

The memory of his voice pulled at the hairs on the back of my neck, and I pinched my eyes shut for a moment, only to have them snap open again.

A kiss.

Wait. An almost kiss.

A hand sliding around my waist, the heat of his hand on my back when he kissed just to the right of my mouth.

I rubbed my temples as I tried to sift through the evening, but the pieces refused to snap into place. A helpless glance around the expensive-looking room didn’t provide any immediate answers until my gaze snagged on the nightstand next to my side of the bed.

My entire body trembled as I brushed aside my lacy black underwear lying on top of an innocuous piece of white paper, a gold seal pressed into the bottom right corner.

“Oh dear God,” I moaned. With my thumb and forefinger, I carefully plucked at the paper, the entire freaking universe bottoming out as my eyes scanned the very official-sounding words. I spoke quietly as I read through the damning proof. “This is to certify … The Little Vegas Chapel of Diamonds … Parker Wilder and”—my throat damn near closed as I tripped over my own name—“Anya Hennessy are joined in lawful wedlock…”

My shaking hand snapped over my mouth as I tried to swallow down a sob.

While my brain sifted through a screaming chorus of absolute fucking panic, Parker’s body froze too. Where his chiseled face—damn my eyes for noticing the stubble on his jaw—was pressed into the pillow, I felt the slightest puff of air as he pulled himself into wakefulness.

His eyes blinked open—dark and slightly bloodshot because apparently we both hated our livers—and when they moved past his arm, where it was still wrapped possessively around my hips, past the jersey covering my regrettably naked chest, and up to my face, I sucked in a breath to wait for the explosion ofwhat the fuckthat was about to make me regret every single life choice that brought me to that moment.

But he didn’t swear. He didn’t freak out.

Oh no.

It was so, so much worse.

His sculpted lips split into a devastating grin as he slowly pushed himself up to a seated position next to me. Damn if it wasn’t like watching a mountain lion move—lithe and slow and powerful. His skin smelled like a sexy forest of sex, and my stupid nipples tightened underneath the silky material of his jersey when he stared at my lips for a second. When his gaze moved up to mine, I could hardly look him in the eye because I justknewthat last night, I’d probably begged that man to screw me into the mattress based on the involuntary reaction of my body.

Memories were solidifying.

There was begging involved—copious, horrifying, wanted-to-slice-out-my-memories begging—and I was pretty sure I was going to have to go hide in a closet for the rest of my life after this.

Parker, please.

Please make me feel good.

He’d saidno. Because this entire thing was not embarrassing enough, I begged the hot, playboy football player for drunk sex—drunkmarriedsex, in fact—and he saidno.

Yup. I could never show my face in front of this man again, and I could almost hear his stupid smug thoughts before they came out of his stupid smug mouth.

A whimper almost clawed out of my throat while I waited for him to say something, and when he did, when that low, delicious rumble hit my ears, I knew just exactly how screwed I was.

“Good morning, wife.”

Chapter 4

Anya

“I amnotyour wife. Don’t you dare call me that.”

My ass was out of that bed before I clocked the decision to move. Parker watched me with undisguised interest, his eyes lingering on my bare legs as I snatched the underwear from the nightstand and yanked it on.

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