Page 31 of Pucked In Vegas

Before I can talk myself out of it, my feet are turning toward the elevators at the back of the ballroom.

Chapter Eight

Cassie

The elevator dings and I step into the corridor, the soft hush of plush carpet swallowing the sound of my heels as I make my way toward Room 241.

I shouldn't be here.

This is stupid. A mistake. A lapse in judgment so massive it might qualify as a second personality.

But I need to know.

I need to know why he was there today. Why Jackson was staring at me from across the room at ahockeyevent, those impossibly sexy eyes tracking my every movement like I was the only woman in a sea of faces.

The hallway stretches in front of me like a scene from a movie I've seen before. The gold-plated room numbers familiar, low warm light spilling from sconces that have guided the way before, polished mirrors catching glimpses of my reflection as I pass.

This is about paperwork, I tell myself.It’s just a conversation. Nothing more.

But my body knows better.

Each step brings a memory flooding back from the last time I walked this hallway. Flashbulb images exploding behind my eyes, vivid and visceral like never before.

Flashes of laughter, the clink of glasses, and the weight of Jackson's arm around my waist. The way he leaned in, his breath hot on my ear, whispering something that made me laugh so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet.

The image of Jackson's strong hands pushing me against a wall, his lips trailing down my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

Why is it right now that I remember the moment he dropped to his knees in the hallway, pushing my dress up like it was a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap? Why can I suddenly feel the brush of his lips behind my knee? The trail of heat as his mouth moved higher?

Why can I almosthearhim whispering,“Tell me you want this.”

Why now?!

All of a sudden, the memories are vivid, almost painfully so.

Taking a deep breath, I pause on the spot and try to steady myself.

The memories are too strong, too overwhelming. I can see it all so clearly now, the night my life changed, the night I married a stranger.

"Stop it," I hiss at myself. "Get a grip."

This is not about reliving the world’s hottest drunken memory. This is about dissolving a legal accident.

But what if he’s mad?

Worse—what if he’s not?

What if he looks at me the way he did that night and says he doesn’t want it to end?

What ifIdon’t?

I reach Room 241 and I take a long, calming breath as my hand hovers over the door.

I knock, three quick taps against the polished wood. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

The door swings open, and—oh.

Oh. Oh no.

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