Is that a man’s watch?

I stare at it in disbelief, but there it is, tick ticking away like a bomb that’s about to go off. There’s a man’s watch lying on my night table.

Wait a minute. This is not my hotel room.

The wallpaper is different, and the lamp is not the—Why is my underwear on the lamp?

My heart is racing as I peek under the covers. Holy shit, I’m naked.

I’m naked in a stranger’s hotel room. A male stranger from the looks of his watch. A rich male stranger according to the diamond encrusted Rolex logo on it.

Why am I naked in a stranger’s hotel room? I try to think back to last night, but my head is a blur of spilled shots, wobbly heels, and—oh shit. We had sex.

It’s all so blurry with my head pounding like a jackhammer at a Metallica concert. I can’t think.

Yes, I can. Think, Dahlia, think.

But all I remember is a flash of me arching my back and screaming out as a rich male stranger fucked me like an animal.

I close my eyes, trying to build up the courage to turn my pounding head to see who is there. Courage isn’t coming. It’s time for a pep talk.

Okay, Dahlia. It’s time to face whatever fucked up reality you got yourself into. Just do it. You’re a winner. You clawed your way up to the COO position at Hospitech with only a high school degree. In only ten months, you cut the company’s costs by twenty percent and increased their profits by a record thirty-two percent. You can do this. Turn your head.

I swallow hard, my mouth tasting like a dry sewer, and carefully turn my head to peek over my shoulder.

Oh, shit!

I whip my head back around and pull the covers up to my chin, feeling extremely naked.

Well, there’s definitely a male.

I couldn’t see his face with it sunken into the pillow, but I did see his body—muscular chest, chiseled abs, arms out of a comic book that are covered in tats.

He’s naked too. At least we have something in common.

I peek back over to get another look. My heart is now pounding harder than my head is.

His muscular thigh is sticking out of the crisp white sheets, and I carefully tilt my head up to see if he’s showing anything else.

The corner of the sheet is resting over his package, his hard pelvis with the mouth-watering V visible in all of its glory. I let out an audible gulp when I see the tip of his trimmed pubic hair sticking out.

Shit!

Too loud.

I drop my head back down and hold the blankets up to my chin, closing my eyes impossibly tight as he lets out a deep groan and starts moving around.

What’s the game plan here, Dahlia?

I always have a game plan. I always have a backup for my game plan and a backup for my backup.

But this is unexpected. He’s thrown me off my game. I don’t even know what sport we’re playing.

He gets up with a heavy breath and shuffles to the bathroom like a hungover zombie. Mr. Rich Naked Stranger doesn’t even bother to close the door as he fills the toilet bowl with last night’s beverages.

I explode out of the bed like my pubic hair is on fire. I have less than ten seconds to get dressed before he comes out and sees my kibbles and bits.

Pants first. No time for underwear. I yank them up my legs as I keep an eye on the door and an ear on the stream of liquid that’s hitting the water in the toilet bowl like a fire hose.

Where the fuck is my bra? Arghhhh!

I leap across the room when I see it hanging off the desk. I yank it on with my pulse racing, already looking around for my shirt as I snap the clasp closed.

My head is pounding, my stomach churning, and I’m nearly hyperventilating as my bulging eyes dart around the room looking for my shirt.

I’m on my hands and knees looking under the bed when the toilet flushes and Mr. Rich Naked Stranger walks out.

“Looking for something?” he asks in a deep groggy voice.

Yes. My dignity. My self-respect. Have you seen either of them, or are they gone for good?

“Just my—” The words vanish from my throat when I turn around and see Mr. Rich Naked Stranger in all of his naked glory.

My eyes are level with his cock that’s hanging down low between his muscular thighs. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of it. That was in me last night. I know because my hoo-ha is still achingly sore.

With a shake of my head, I pry my eyes off of his dick and drag them up his hard body, my pulse racing dangerously fast with every inch that I climb.

His abs are a work of art. They look like they should be on a statue of a Greek God in some dusty old museum instead of in front of my blushing face.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

My eyes follow his hand up, and I swallow hard when our eyes meet. He’s gorgeous—stunning, actually.

Jade green eyes that bore into me, ripping away any chance of me answering him intelligently. I just stare up at him with my mouth hanging open. “Uhhhh.”

How can someone look this hot right after crawling out of bed? His hair is messy and disheveled in a perfect way. His face looks like it could grace the cover of magazines with his strong masculine chin that’s dotted with the perfect length of stubble, his sexy lips that are curling up into a smirk, and his tanned, golden skin tone that makes his eyes pop impossibly bright.

I shake my head, catching myself. How long was I staring?

“My shirt,” I blurt out, ducking my head under the bed.

Yes! Thank God!

I grab my shirt that’s under the bed for some reason and pull it out. “I was just looking for my shirt.”

Now, I’ll be looking for the door.

“Are you leaving?” he asks as he walks over to the bed. He drops down onto his back and folds his hands over his flexed abs as he watches me. The sheets are right beside him but he doesn’t bother to cover his naked package.

Well, I don’t have to look. Maybe one more peek.

“We can go again if you have some time,” he says, staring at my breasts.

I quickly put on my shirt with shaking hands and glance at the closed door.

“I can’t,” I say, trying to sound casual and relaxed, although my voice is unusually high-pitched and tight. “I have an important business meeting.” And it’s true. I do.

In two hours, I’m meeting with Mack McMillan, the seventy-five-year-old billionaire who just bought the company I work for.

Why I was out drinking last night to the point where I woke up here and not studying about the acquisition is anyone’s guess. I’ll figure that out later.

But first things first. I have to graciously get the fuck out of here with what little shred of dignity I have left.

“That’s too bad,” he says, his cock still in plain view. “I got a stupid thing this morning anyway. Maybe I’ll catch you around.”

He steps off of the bed and walks over to me, way too naked for eight a.m.

“Can you please put some underwear on?” I ask, turning away with burning cheeks.

I can hear his frustrating smirk. “No problem,” he says, walking over to the leather couch. “Although, it didn’t seem to bother you last night when you had those tight little lips wrapped around it.”

“Well, that was last night,” I snap back, trying really hard not to take one last look as he steps into his bright red boxer briefs.

Who the hell wears bright red underwear? It’s so impractical.

“Okay,” I say with a firm nod. “I’m leaving.”

“All right,” he says, standing up straight and giving me a sarcastic salute.

I’m so bad in situations like this. Mainly because I’m never in situations like this.

How do I end this?

A wave? No, too awkward.

A kiss on the cheek? No, too friendly.

A gentle punch on the shoulder? No, too thirteen-year-old male.

I go for the old classic handshake and step forward with my hand out.

He grins as he takes my hand in his, swallowing it whole as he cups it with his other hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, leaning in as he locks those dreamy green eyes on mine.

A flood of warmth flows through me, raising every hair on my arm and causing my skin to tingle. Now I can see why I woke up here.

Now I get it.

That sexy heart-stopping look would be enough to get any girl out of her party dress, even a straight-laced, goodie-goodie like me.

This guy is pure sexual energy wrapped up in a beautiful bad boy package. He’s got it all; the flawless muscles, the sexy tattoos, the handsome face that always seems to have a cocky smile on it that you just want to smack off but end up kissing instead.

He’d be nothing but trouble.

And a woman in my position can’t afford to have trouble.

A clean break is what is needed here. “All right,” I say, sliding my sweaty hand back. “Keep it groovy.”

I close my eyes before I see him laugh at me. Keep it groovy? Are you fucking serious, Dahlia? Did your grandmother teach you slang?

I just turn to the door and hurry out without looking back. The opportunity for a graceful exit already passed, and I failed miserably.

Now, I just want to get into the hall where I’ll be safe. “Okay,” I say, my eyes on the floor as I open the door and rush out. “Bye.”

He steps forward, smiling. “Keep it groov—”

I close the door in his face before he can finish and then sprint to the elevators down the hall faster than Usain Bolt on speed.

“Come on,” I mutter, my finger hitting the lit-up button like a woodpecker. “Let’s go.”

I glance back at his closed door, praying he doesn’t open it. I made a fool of myself enough for one morning, and I just want to get back to my room.

It’s then that I realize that I don’t know where I am. The hotel looks familiar but a hotel is a hotel. They all look familiar.

The Parisian. It’s written on a sign over the elevator.

Good news and bad news.

Good news is, I’m in my hotel and don’t have to take a taxi back to my room without any underwear on. Shit! I forgot my underwear on the lamp!

Bad news is, I might see Mr. Rich Naked Stranger again in the halls. Double shit if I’m with my boss while it happens.

The elevator dings and the stainless-steel doors slide open. My heart is pounding as I jump in and immediately press the door close button a few dozen times.

I take a deep breath of relief as the elevator starts moving down to my floor.

Fucking Las Vegas.

My coworker Emily warned me that Vegas can turn even the straightest of librarians into a party-crazed slut.

I didn’t believe her.

I’ve always been the straightest of the straight.

Boy, was I wrong.

I hate being wrong.

The doors bing open, and I step out onto my floor, leaving a piece of my dignity behind that I’ll never get back.

I still don’t know what happened last night, but I’m ready to put it behind me. I have an extremely important business meeting to get to, and I’ll just try to get over this hangover and focus on that.

As long as I don’t see him again, I’ll be fine.