Accidentally Married to the Billionaire

The pounding in my head feels like someone is using my skull as a drum set. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, hoping the pain will disappear, but it only gets worse. The sunlight streaming through what should be my cheap apartment blinds is way too bright and coming from the wrong direction.

Wait. My apartment doesn't get morning sun.

I force one eye open and immediately regret it. This isn't my tiny studio with the broken air conditioner and the neighbor who plays music too loud. This is... expensive. Really expensive. The ceiling above me is at least twelve feet high with fancy molding that probably costs more than my rent. The sheets beneath me feel like silk, and they smell like money and some kind of masculine cologne that makes my stomach flutter in a way that has nothing to do with my hangover.

"What the hell?" I whisper, my voice cracking like I haven't used it in days.

I sit up slowly, and the room spins like I'm on a carnival ride. The headache gets worse, but I can see more now. Floor-to-ceiling windows show a view of the Las Vegas Strip that you definitely can't get from a regular hotel room. This is a penthouse suite. The kind of place I've only seen in movies.

My clothes from last night are scattered across the marble floor like someone threw them there in a hurry. My cheap black dress that I bought on sale at Target, my discount store heels that gave me blisters, my purse that's seen better days. They look even more out of place in this fancy room than I feel.

But it's what's on my left hand that makes me stop breathing.

A wedding ring.

Not just any wedding ring. This thing is huge. The diamond catches the morning light and throws rainbows across the silk sheets. It's the kind of ring that belongs in a jewelry store window with a security guard standing next to it.

"No, no, no, no, no." I shake my hand like that will make the ring disappear. It doesn't budge. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

I look around desperately for some clue about what happened. There's a champagne bottle on the nightstand, empty. Two glasses, both with lipstick stains. A receipt from something called the Chapel of Eternal Love with yesterday's date.

Yesterday. What happened yesterday?

I remember going to that conference for recent graduates. I remember feeling like a fraud in my cheap interview outfit while everyone else looked like they belonged in the business world. I remember the networking mixer where I nursed one drink all night because I couldn't afford more. I remember the guy next to me at the bar ordering top-shelf whiskey like it was water.

The guy with the intense blue eyes and the expensive suit who looked at me like I was the only person in the room. The one who bought me a drink when he saw me counting quarters. The one who made me laugh for the first time in months.

Oh God. Where is he?

I scramble out of bed, clutching the sheet around me like armor. The bathroom door is closed, and I can hear water running. Someone is in there. Someone is in the shower, and based on the deep humming coming through the door, it's definitely a man.

My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised it doesn't wake up the entire hotel. I need to get out of here. I need to leave before whoever is in that bathroom comes out and I have to face what I've done. I start grabbing my clothes, shoving them on as fast as my shaking hands will let me.

But as I'm pulling on my dress, I catch sight of myself in the massive mirror across from the bed. My hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. My makeup is smeared all over my face. And that ring... it's so big I can barely make a fist.

The shower turns off.

I freeze like a deer in headlights. The humming stops. I hear footsteps on marble, and I know I have about thirty seconds before my mystery husband walks out of that bathroom and my life gets even more complicated than it already is.

I grab my purse and run for the door, my heels clicking on the marble floor like tiny hammers. My hands shake so badly I can barely work the electronic lock. Come on, come on, come on.

The bathroom door opens behind me.

"Going somewhere, wife?"

The voice is deep, rough with sleep, and holds just a hint of amusement. It's also the same voice that whispered sweet things in my ear last night. The same voice that made me feel beautiful and wanted for the first time in my twenty-four years.

I turn around slowly, and my breath catches in my throat.

He's standing in the bathroom doorway with a white towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else. Water droplets roll down his chest like they're taking their time to explore every muscle. His dark hair is wet and messy, and those blue eyes that I remember are focused on me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

But it's not just that he's gorgeous in a way that should be illegal. It's that he's looking at me like he knows exactly who I am. Like he remembers everything about last night while I can barely remember my own name.

"I..." I start to say something, anything, but words fail me.

He crosses his arms over his chest, and I can see a tattoo on his left shoulder that I definitely don't remember from last night. "Avery Sage, right? Or should I say, Avery Knight?"

Knight. My married name is Knight.

"How do you know my..." I start to ask, then realize how stupid that sounds. "I mean, I don't..."

"Remember?" He walks toward me, and I notice he moves like a predator. Confident. Controlled. Dangerous. "That makes two of us. But apparently, we got married last night. And according to the paperwork on the table, it's completely legal."

I look where he's pointing and see papers spread across the fancy dining table. Official-looking papers with seals and signatures that make my stomach drop to my toes.

"This can't be happening," I whisper.

"Oh, it's happening." He stops a few feet away from me, close enough that I can smell his soap and see the water still clinging to his skin. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

I stare at him, this stranger who is somehow my husband, and realize that my life just went from complicated to completely insane. But there's something in his eyes, something that tells me this isn't just a simple mistake that can be fixed with a quick annulment.

There's something he's not telling me.

"Who are you?" I ask, though part of me is terrified of the answer.

He extends his hand like we're meeting for the first time. "Rowen Knight. And as of last night, I'm your husband."

The way he says his name, like it should mean something to me, sends a chill down my spine. But it's the look in his eyes that really scares me. It's the look of a man who always gets what he wants.

And apparently, what he wants right now is me.