Marriage, Maverick Style!. Christine Rimmer

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      But then she opened her eyes and felt her smile melt away.

      What was this place?

      The room was rustic, but richly so. She blinked and stared at an antique bronze mission-style glass lamp by the side of the bed. It sat on a night table made of gorgeous burled wood. Across the room—which was quite large—she saw a pair of French doors that looked out on a redwood deck with plush, padded furniture and a view of evergreen-blanketed mountains beyond. In the far distance, rugged snowcapped peaks poked the sky. It was clear, that sky, and very blue.

      Daylight blue.

      It must be morning.

      But hadn’t it been nighttime just a moment ago, nighttime at the Memorial Day picnic in Rust Creek Falls Park?

      She shut her eyes and waited. Surely when she opened them again...

      Nope. Nothing had changed. Same big, beautifully appointed room. Same morning light.

      She pulled the covers tighter under her chin and whispered, “Where am I?” not really expecting an answer.

      Then things got worse.

      A sleepy male voice asked from behind her, “Tessa?”

      She knew that voice—didn’t she?

      Carefully, slowly, clutching the covers close, she rolled to her back. With great reluctance, she turned her head. And there he was, Carson Drake, hair all rumpled, the scruff on his lean cheeks thicker than last night, his devastating mouth sexier than ever.

      With a tiny squeal of distress, she lifted the covers enough to confirm her suspicions.

      Yep.

      Naked under there.

      She grabbed the covers close again. “This cannot be happening.”

      He looked as bewildered as she felt. “Tessa, I don’t...” Dark eyebrows drew together. Now he looked worried. About her. “Look, are you okay?”

      She turned her gaze to the beautiful beamed ceiling above. Staring at it really hard, she whispered, “No, Carson. I am not okay.” Panic rose. Breathe. She did, slowly, and exhaled with care. “I’ve...got nothing. I have no idea what we did for a least half of last night. I don’t know how we got here.” And then she went ahead and confessed the awful truth. “This is exactly like what everyone said happened to people last July Fourth. I’ve had a blackout, I think. Last thing I remember, we were in the park sampling Homer’s moonshine.” She gulped and stared even harder at the ceiling overhead. “Do you, um, happen to know where we are and how we got here?”

      “Hey. Look at me. Come on. Please?” He spoke so gently. As though her ears were tender and wounded—like her heart right now, like her self-respect and her very soul. She made herself face him again. He captured her gaze. “I didn’t know—I promise you. I didn’t believe that a jar of moonshine could really—”

      “It’s okay.”

      “No, it’s not.”

      “Carson, what I mean is I didn’t believe it, either. Just...would you answer my question, please? Where are we and how did we get here?”

      “We’re in my suite at Maverick Manor. But as to how we got here, I don’t have a clue. I remember we drank the moonshine. And there are...flashes of memory after that. Us laughing on the blanket, staring up at the stars. I kissed you. And we danced.”

      “That was earlier.”

      “Yeah, and then we danced again, later. And...well, it all starts to go hazy after that.”

      “But did we...?” It seemed silly to even ask the question. They were here, together, naked. Almost certainly, they had.

      He reached out a bare, beautifully muscled arm and scooped some bits of foil off the nightstand. “Looks like it.”

      “What do you mean?”

      He opened those long fingers to reveal three empty condom wrappers. They crackled on his palm as the foil relaxed.

      “Omigod.” How could she? She didn’t even know this man. And yet here she was naked in bed with him, staring at empty condom wrappers with no recollection of using them. It was awful and embarrassing and not the kind of thing she would ever do—well, except with Miles. She’d fallen straight into bed with Miles the night she met him, too. But at least she was conscious when she did it. At least it had been her choice, and she’d loved every minute of it.

      This, on the other hand...

      No. Just...no.

      This was all wrong. She didn’t remember making a choice. She couldn’t recall anything after those first few sips of moonshine.

      Okay, she’d been attracted to him from the instant her eyes met his. Wildly so. But falling into bed with him? Uh-uh. No way.

      “God. Tessa. Your face is dead white. Are you sure you’re all right?” He was watching her as though he feared she might shatter.

      Well, she wouldn’t. Not a chance. She was tougher than that. Yeah, she’d messed up royally. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold it together. She let out a shaky little sigh. “I just can’t believe that this is happening, that’s all.”

      “At least we were safe about it,” he offered sheepishly.

      She played along, because she was not going to lose it right here in front of him. “Yeah. I guess that’s something, right?”

      “Right.” He pushed himself to a sitting position.

      She did the same, careful as she scooted up against the headboard to keep the blankets close. They leaned against the headboard side by side. She stared hard at the far wall and wished that the floor would just open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

      The silence, weighted so heavily with regret and embarrassment, went on forever.

      Finally, she murmured shakily, “I want to go home.”

      He looked at her again then. His eyes were so sad. “Tessa, I’m so sorry...”

      She showed him the hand and aimed her chin high. “Don’t. It’s no more your fault than mine. I don’t blame you. I drank that moonshine of my own free will.” It had tasted so good. And she’d never really believed the stories about it. Until now. Slow fury rose in her. “I might have to kill Homer Gilmore, though.” She spoke through clenched teeth. “Seriously. It’s like we were roofied.”

      He made a low sound of agreement. “So much for my big plans to get the formula for Drake Distilleries. That stuff is way too dangerous.”

      She pressed a hand to her queasy stomach. “I may never drink anything with alcohol in it again.”

      “Believe me, I understand.”

      They shared a wry, weary glance, and she said, “I really do want to go now.”

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