Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Accidentally Yours #3)(13)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Last night had been the most…the most…

I sprang from the bed in horror. “Oh crap!”

Nick’s eyes instantly popped open. A warm smile swept across his face. “Oh, you’re up.” His large frame stretched across the length of the extra-long, king-size bed.

I stared at him, wondering what to say; somehow screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” didn’t seem appropriate.

Okay. Breathe, Penelope. Breathe. Just ask him what happened!

But I didn’t want to insult the guy. Because from the look of his delectable body, it had to have been the best night of my life.

That is…that is…if we did.

Of course you did! Look! Even your eggs are smoking a cigarette.

No! Demon crackers, no!

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his arm. “Why are you standing there, naked? Come back to bed.”

I glanced down my body. Oh crappity! I was naked.

I scrambled to the bathroom—a large, modern affair of stainless steel and glass—and grabbed a fluffy, white towel.

Oh shit. Oh shit. What was going on? I needed to go out there and ask him, point blank, what happened. Not with your iguana breath. You might melt the man’s face off.

As long as I get to keep his rockin’ body.

Pen!

I quickly found a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet and swished. Then I checked the mirror and noticed I was wearing an odd-looking necklace with a large, shiny black stone dangling in the middle. Had he put it on me last night?

Darn it! Why couldn’t I remember what had happened?

Don’t be a child, Penelope. Just ask him.

Yes. That’s what I would do.

Again I glanced in the mirror. “Oh no,” I hissed at my reflection. My dark hair resembled a beehive, but without the symmetry. I ran my fingers through the mess a few times, but it was useless. I’d have to make a polite exit, go home, and ensure I looked hot enough on our next date to erase any memories of my current discombobulation. Is that even a word, Penelope? And do you really think he wants to date you? You’re a one-nighter for a guy like that.

Christ. What had I gotten myself into?

I took three quick breaths and opened the door. My heart ignited from the sight of him still propped up on one elbow and lying in bed with a smug, male smile stretched across his face. He looked frigging perfect, practically glowing. Dammit. So unfair!

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I needed to wrangle the tornado.” I pointed to my matted hair.

“You look sexy as hell.” He patted the empty space next to him. “Come here.”

Mischief sparkled in his eyes, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew what that look meant: Encore.

I held up my hands. “Whoa. I think we need to talk.”

His lower lip stuck out in a slight pout and his shimmering eyes seemed to glow against the backdrop of his toasty-almond-colored skin. Damn if he wasn’t the most irresistible man on the planet.

And he wanted me. Wow.

I slowly padded over to the bed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what happened last night?”

He cocked one brow, “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure it was…great. The best toe curling sex ever—but…no, I don’t remember a thing.”

His smile melted away. “Bloody Christ! Neither do I.”

***

From the living room, I heard Nick scream the f-word in fifty different languages and then, “I’m going to f**king kill her!”

That got my attention. I hoped he didn’t mean me.

Nick appeared nude in the doorway holding the bottle of champagne upside down.

Now I desperately wanted to hear what he had to say, because, let’s face it, this was a serious situation. Nonetheless, I found myself dumbstruck by his perfectly chiseled abs that rippled for miles. My eyes traveled over his belly button and lower stomach, not a strand of hair to be found until they reached nirvana: a patch of dark brown hair just above his…

That can’t be real. Can it?

It was long and thick, and larger than any penis I’d ever seen or imagined.

Nick cleared his throat.

My gaze darted back to his face.

“Sorry, I was just…just…”

…ogling your giant man-sicle.

Change subjects! The bottle. Look at the bottle. Why is he holding it up?

“I’ve had a lot more than that before, but didn’t black out,” I offered.

“That’s because our champagne had something extra in it.”

He rubbed his finger over the opening of the bottle and then sniffed the drop of liquid. His sour expression drove the point home.

“Someone roofied the champagne?”

He ranted as he stalked over to the dresser and pulled out some clothes. “Typical, f**king Cimil. I should have known better than to trust her. That manipulative, conniving, heartless, f**ked up…”

As he delivered every expletive known to man, my brain did the mental math. This situation was beyond bizarre. I mean, why would his very own sister drug us? And if he thought she was so insane and untrustworthy, why would he ask her to help him find a mother for his child?

Unless…Unless…Holy. Frigging. Hell. Unless she really is crazy.

“Nick, why did you ask Cimil to help you?”

If gorgeous looks could kill, I’d be a pile of dust. “Help me?” he scathed. “You think I asked her to drug you?”

“No. I mean…with that other thing.”

“What…other…thing?” his tone signaled that he teetered on the edge of massive rage.

Oh, this was bad. Really, really bad.

I plunked down on the edge of the bed and threw my hands over my face. “I knew it didn’t make any sense. Why didn’t I listen to myself?” I whispered.

“What the devil are you talking about, woman? What did my sister do?”

“Idiot! You’re an idiot, Penelope.” I shook my head from side to side, berating myself aloud. “How could I have been so stupid? Attractive, intelligent, wealthy—not that I care—but he could have any woman he wants—probably most men, too.”

Nick crouched down in front of me and tipped up my chin to meet his glare. “I repeat. What in the devil’s name are you talking about, woman?”

A lump of dread stuck in my throat. “Your sister? The baby?”

“Bloody hell.” His hand snapped back as if I had cooties. “Baby?”