He grabs a wad of Kleenex from his car and blots the sweat on my forehead and temples. His touch is incredibly tender. My brain is trying to reconcile this with the man I met two weeks ago—the fun, carefree type who fucked like a god.
Most guys I know don’t do caring very well. And I can’t quite figure out what to make of his reaction.
At the same time, I can’t forget he’s crazy enough to kidnap a woman from her own wedding, even if he did think it was me.
I cross my arms. “How did you find me?”
“Well…technically I found your sister.”
“Yeah, whatever. How’d you do it?”
“The tab.”
The unfairness of the universe is unbelievable. “The club told you?” The hotel clerk was so freakin’ rude to me when I asked for his name, but the club just handed over my sister’s name? “They just told you?”
“They wouldn’t normally. I know the owner.”
Of course he knows the owner. Ugh. Just my luck. This is why I go to clubs that aren’t as cool and hip as Z.
“qo’ ’oHbe’ ’IH,” I mutter. It’s Klingon for “The world is unjust.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I’m too tired and sick to explain it. “How did you know I was here?”
“The wedding announcement.”
Of course. The damned wedding announcement. I swear they exist only to let anonymous one-night stands track you down.
He peers at me. “Do you want to sit down?”
What I want is to see what’s left of the ceremony. But I’m too embarrassed to go over there, especially with Dad having overheard the thing about me and the one-night stand. What will Mom say? What do I say to her? And how on earth am I going to face Joe’s parents?
Forget watching the rest of the ceremony. I want to go bang my head against a palm tree and just erase the last fifteen minutes.
But since it isn’t possible to selectively delete memory, I say, “Yeah.”
Whiskey takes me to the passenger seat, and I sit down gingerly. It’s a convertible, so I can just hang my head over the side if my gut decides to empty itself out again.
He settles behind the wheel. “So. Your name is Pascal. And the last name is Snyder.”
“Yeah.” So much for anonymous fun. Sighing, I try to look at the bright side. Like…how I was hoping to run into him later anyway. But really, couldn’t he have waited until my promotion first? “And you?”
A second of hesitation. “Court.”
I nod. It’s a good name. Solid. Strong. I like it entirely too much.
I rub my forehead. What’s wrong with me, thinking about how much I like the guy’s name in a situation like this? He’s proven himself seriously unstable. Who kidnaps a bride from her wedding just because you think you slept with her once?
I should be repelled by his…weirdness. But instead, my hormones are lighting up like a conifer on Christmas. They also note he’s painfully gorgeous with the Hawaiian breeze stirring his dark hair and the sun giving a golden glow to his skin. His eyes are the most perfect shade of blue, and I feel like I could stare at them forever.
Temporary fling, Pascal. You have bigger goals than hooking up with a guy.
And no matter how wrung out and lightheaded I am at the moment, I must not forget that he’s insane. And criminally inclined. He tried to kidnap Curie. He’s probably a mafia boss or something. Although…do mafia bosses come this young and good-looking?
To hide my discomfiture, I clear my throat and shift a bit. “So. Why are you here?”
He pulls out a folded bill from his pocket. “Remember this?”