Page 15 of Married to Mischief

The SUV takes the same leap behind me.

I slam the steering wheel. Why do I keep trying that move?

I tally my options. Under the sea to Paris, or disappear into the crowd in London?

I turn again and again, attempting to lose them. When I hit the roundabout, I speed up, pretending to take one exit, then taking the next.

There’s an SUV too far behind me to confirm it's him, but I don’t slow. I’m not about to lead Howie, of all people, back to my home. I need to get rid of this car. I make a call to Rico.

I enter the motorway, diving back and forth between the cars. No one drives quite like the English.

It’s too quiet with Serena asleep, so I hit the radio, searching for appropriate car chase tunes. It’s safe to say this is not what I had in mind for the day.

Thirty minutes later, Serena is still asleep when I pull into the parking garage of our hotel for the evening.

“Serena.” I nudge her leg. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She mumbles but stays asleep as I transfer everything from the Lamborghini to the Range Rover awaiting me. I hand the keys to Rico.

“What do you want me to do with the Lambo?” Rico asks, his eyes dragging over the body of the car with a grimace. The damage must be worse than I thought.

“Whatever you want. Just get it off the streets for the next couple of weeks.”

“That I can do.” Rico grins and hands me the keys to the Range Rover. I go back for Serena before he can take off with her. I scoop her into my arms and start up the stairs. I get the room unlocked and lay her on the bed closest to the window showcasing Buckingham Palace in the distance.

She’s going to be ticked when she wakes up. She drugged herself this time though, so it’s not entirely my fault.

I leave her in the room and take my laptop to the living room. I have some plans to change.

Chapter 7

Serena

Iwakeupwitha pounding headache. It’s still light out, but I feel like I’ve been asleep for hours.Whywas I asleep in the middle of the day? And…where am I?

I glance around the unfamiliar room, unease forming a pit in my stomach.

This is more than déjà vu; this is some cruel joke.

“Liam Arthur Hawthorne!”

His head pops in the doorway. “Bringing out my middle name. I must really be in trouble.”

“Explain!” I yell, waving my hands around the room. This is not his house or his sketchy apartment. “I thought I’d been kidnapped for real.”

“The only one who gets to kidnap you is me.” He grins, but it fades when he sees my scowl. He comes closer and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing my knee. “You don’t remember anything?”

I don’t. Which can only mean one thing. “You drugged me!”

“No, you got drunk.”

Oof. That would explain the headache. “Agree to disagree.”

He raises an amused brow. “Someone recognized me. We had to get out of there. A car chase ensued. It was all very riveting. I’m surprised you slept through it.”

So Iwasdrunk. Clearly, that can never happen again.

“And why are wehere?”

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