SEVEN
Cade Archer was never going to drink again.
Ever, ever again.
He squinted at the broad daylight streaming in through the windows of the hotel suite, and raised a hand to shield his eyes. Ugh. Why was the sun so damn bright? He yawned and then put a hand to his forehead as it protested even that small movement. Rolling over, he buried his face in the pillow.
And immediately smelled sex.
Oh . . . fuck.
He bolted upright in the bed, ignoring the throb of his head. Confused, drunk memories swam through his head, offering no answers. Had he had sex last night? The blankets were rumpled but he didn’t see another person in the bed with him. He was alone. “Hello?”
No response.
Maybe it was just his imagination. He put his head to the pillow and sniffed again. Nope, definitely smelled like sex.
God, just how drunk had he been last night? His brain was still fuzzy this morning, which told him pretty damn drunk. But Cade wasn’t the type to have a one-night stand. The last one he’d had was Daphne, and he hadn’t wanted to think of that as a one-night stand. He’d been hopeful that it was the start of something else, something brighter.
Until she’d OD’d, crushing all of his dreams again.
He scanned the room, trying to remember. Bits and pieces of alcohol-laden memory filtered through his mind. He vaguely recalled a rather arousing striptease, and a pair of large, gorgeous breasts, and flame-tipped hair . . .
Kylie!
Oh God, he’d drunk-fucked Kylie? You were supposed to drunk-fuck people you didn’t like, people you never wanted to see again. But he liked Kylie. Maybe he liked her too much. She was nice, and beautiful, and she laughed a lot, and she didn’t belong in his fucked-up life.
Ugh. He moved to the side of the bed and rubbed a hand over his aching brow. As he did, he noticed a tiny note written on hotel stationary, propped up against the phone. He picked it up and admired her neat cursive handwriting.
Cade,
Thanks for last night. Hope you find what you’re looking for.
XO,
Kylie
PS—I slept in the wet spot. You’re welcome.
That was it. No phone number, no call me. Nothing. It was absolutely a one-night stand. She wasn’t asking for more.
And damn it, that just sat all wrong with him. Cade wasn’t the kind of guy to drag a girl into his bed with empty promises and deliver nothing. He’d done that with Kylie, and she deserved better than that. She deserved someone to give her all the attention in the world, to treat her like a princess and make love to her for hours, not a drunk that stabbed at her with whiskey dick and then passed out.
He should call her and apologize.
He searched through the nightstand and his phone wasn’t there. Okay, it was in his jacket somewhere. Or still in his trousers. He got up and headed across the room to where his clothing was thrown, and noticed with grim amusement that his socks were still on his feet. He was naked . . . except for his socks. What must Kylie think of his smooth moves? He snorted and scooped up his pants. His phone was still in one pocket.
So was his wallet, where he kept an emergency condom.
His mouth went dry. Cade ran a hand over his chin and pulled out his wallet, half afraid of opening it. What if he hadn’t used a condom last night? Jesus, what if he’d gotten Kylie pregnant on a drunken hookup? She’d hate him forever. Wincing, he cracked open his wallet . . . and recoiled at the sight of the condom still sitting there in its bright purple packaging.
“Fuuuuuuck me.”
That did it. He needed to talk to Kylie. If nothing else, to apologize. To explain. To see if she was clean, to see if she was pregnant. To see if she hated him.
Hell, all of the above.
Cade’s phone didn’t have Kylie’s phone number, though. This was just getting worse and worse. Nor did he recall a last name. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but the only image he had was of her pretty, smiling face, the way her hair danced on her shoulders as she moved, the way her breasts heaved and bounced as his cock pounded into her—
He scrubbed a hand down his face and willed his morning wood to go away. Thinking about naked, moaning Kylie wasn’t helping his control.
He couldn’t call Daphne, though. What on earth could he possibly say to her? Hey, are you busy? Remember how last night I showed up to give you a car and talk with you and you ignored me? What’s the full name of your cute makeup assistant? I drunk-fucked her bareback and I’d really like to make sure everything’s cool. Hope you don’t mind.
Because he knew Daphne, and he knew she’d mind. Daphne was many things, but open-minded wasn’t one of them. She was a jealous sort, and that extended to her friends. If everyone wasn’t dancing to her tune, it’d upset her.
And he didn’t need to unbalance her more than she already was.
Cade threw his phone down and stormed off to the bathroom to take a shower.
By the time he emerged, he had a game plan. He called his personal assistant, Jerome. Unlike his friends, he wasn’t keen on using an assistant to do basic things that he could do himself, like take his clothes to the cleaners or return a DVD rental. As it was, Jerome tended to have it easier than most, and Reese’s wife, Audrey, had laughingly told Cade several times that he needed to hand off more things.
Well, now was his chance.
“What’s up, boss?” Jerome said, answering immediately.
“I hate to bother you—”
“No bother. You pay my mortgage.” Jerome sounded amused at Cade’s apology. “Least I can do is answer when you call.”
“I need a favor.”