Accidentally Yours

by Cara Carnes

  Accidentally Yours

  Cara Carnes

  Heartscape Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  About Cara

  1

  Ahoy, you scurvy wench, prepare to be plundered!

  Megan Gallagher startled awake. Her heart thudded in her chest, but it was the remnants of the coarse voice in her head and the incessant, shrill buzz from the nightstand that made her wince. Daylight pierced her eyelids and sliced through her head like a clever. Noise. Light. Make it stop.

  Make it all stop.

  She burrowed her head under a pillow and wiggled deeper into the warm covers. Her ass pressed against something firm. Hot. She blinked. Focused. A blood red corset lay beside black leather pants. Pants that weren’t hers. Pants she remembered plastered across thick, powerful thighs and a tight, bitable ass. An ass she’d wanted to nibble ever since she first discovered boys.

  Her gaze tracked past sky-high black stilettos and halted on the sword. What the hell happened last night, and why in the ever loving hell did her throat feel as though she’d swallowed that fucking sword? She rubbed and groaned. She needed a gallon of water and a bottle of Excedrin.

  She reached for the horrid buzz, but a thick, meaty arm slapped the offending alarm. She froze as the hardness pressed against her ass got closer. Shock froze her in place. That wasn’t a sword against her ass. The arm settled possessively at her waist. Soft kisses trailed across her neck, then halted.

  This wasn’t happening. Megan willed herself awake, but shock and dread pitched her stomach so hard and fast she knew it was all too real. Hot breath fanned the back of her neck, followed by masculine snores. She peeked at the arm draped across her waist and winced at the distinctive bloody dragon devouring a koi.

  Son of a bitch.

  Her cellphone pinged, but she ignored it and slid carefully from the bed. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tiptoed past the line of clothes and pirate paraphernalia and entered the bathroom. The door closed silently. Head against the cool surface, she closed her eyes and summoned last night’s events.

  Nada. Zip. Zilch.

  What the hell had she done?

  Billionaire bad boy Chad Chambers was off limits in a hundred different ways, yet she was snuggled in bed with him. She padded over to the first of three sinks and snagged a mug. Three cups of water later her throat didn’t ache quite as much, but her head was another story. One she’d gladly swap out for another if given half a chance.

  She studied her reflection in the mirror and winced. The crimson push up bra and matching Curvy Wench panty highlighted pudgy thighs, thick arms and whale belly—all so white they’d blind a person. How had this happened?

  Captain Morgan and a few of his best friends—namely Jack Daniels, Jim Bean and Jose Cuervo were lined up along the mirrored wall. Ugh. Fucking Jose. Megan and Jose never, ever got along.

  One slide of Jose down her throat was tantamount to a gallon of bad decisions, questionable morals and a truckload of regret the next morning. He was banned from her lips forever. Yet his presence in the bathroom signaled he’d somehow gained entry last night, which explained her pickled liver, blank memory banks and fiery throat.

  A knock on the door quickened her heartbeat. She looked down at her whale body, more skin showing than common sense allowed in the light of day.

  “Spaz, open up. Let’s talk.”

  No. No. No. Her long black locks curled around her shoulders as she looked down at the sink, wishing she could shimmy down the drain and escape via the sewer. Messy, but way better than what awaited her on the other side of the door.

  “Spaz.” Frustration boomed in the rougher-than-sandpaper boom of Chad’s voice. “You can’t hide in there all day. Chloe’s lighting up your cell and mine.”

  God. This was not happening. Chloe was going to kick Megan’s ass.

  She padded over to the door and grasped the handle. Thank goodness he hadn’t tried it since she hadn’t bothered turning the lock. “Close your eyes.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Don’t mess with me, Chad. Close your eyes or I’m staying in here.”

  “Fine.”

  Megan waited a few seconds, then opened the door a sliver, just enough to peek into the hotel room while keeping her body hidden. Her breath swooshed from her lungs. Heat fanned through her, a heatwave of awareness starting at her eyes and ending in an achy throb between her legs.

  Chad Chambers stole her breath. No matter how many times she saw him, the reaction was the same. Now though? Now it was a heart attack and stroke rolled into one epically shitty situation. Golden sun-kissed skin in bare glory as far as her gaze dared trek, across wide shoulders, down thick, muscled arms and over rippled abdominals. She counted the ridged flesh along his stomach and swallowed as her gaze trekked brazenly down the distinctive V, which tunneled into snug, black boxer briefs.

  The prominent bulge deserved a second, third and even a downright appreciative fourth perusal. Awareness trickled into her pulse, beading along her skin in fine goosebumps and a slight tremble in her knees. The boxers coiled around thick, massive thighs—the kind meant to support a woman as she straddled them and…

  Her gaze roamed to his face and locked on his turbulent gaze. Heat filled her cheeks. He hadn’t kept his eyes closed.

  “Are you done eye-fucking me, Spaz?”

  No. Yes. What the hell am I doing?

  Megan’s gaze roamed upward, then back down to the bulge. No sane woman with a pulse could ignore that.

  “Get dressed,” he growled. He turned.

  She visually molested his back, then paused to admire his ass. Damn. She deserved sainthood for not jumping him. Then again…

  “I…How…Do you…” Ugh!

  “Get dressed, then we’ll talk,” Chad said.

  Dressed. Right. Great plan. She looked about the room, one not hers and panicked. Get dressed in what? The snug skirt and corset from last night were a bad idea, sort of like poking a pissed off panther. They were a reminder of whatever poor decision brought about this disastrous day.

  “Here.” A shirt landed across her chest. “This’ll work.”

  This was a dark gray henley, one she’d admired many times. Somehow she doubted she’d do it little justice compared to him. She yanked it on, tugging it down to cover as much of her white, fatty body as possible.

  Chad donned a pair of jeans from a suitcase in the corner, the first sign they’d somehow both landed out in his room. He and his unzipped pants wandered into the bathroom and then returned a few seconds later.

  “I’m surprised we didn’t wake up in puke with what we drank,” he commented. “You okay?”

  Megan dared a peek into his deep green eyes. She clutched her stomach as a well-known, wanton ache settled there, the I-want-a-man-I-can’t-ever-have hurt that’d been her constant companion for too long. A day’s growth traced along his square jaw and accentuated his handsome face and full lips. Tingles spread along her neck where she’d felt his mouth on her earlier.

  “Did we…” The evident horror on his face severed the thought tumbling from her lips. “I don’t think we did.”

  “No, I wouldn’t ever go there. Not willingly.” His jaw twitched. “We must’ve passed out.”

  “Yeah.” Megan sat on the small sofa in the living room area of the suite and dared another peek at Chad as he followed. Distance from the bed and the strewn clothes helped ease the anxiety crawling beneath her skin, but the words he’d uttered struck her repeatedly—a battering ram against a fragile glass shield.

  I wouldn’t ever go there. Not willing
ly.

  She bit back the pained retort to his angered words and offered what little she could—the truth. “I don’t remember anything.”

  The whispered confession loomed between them. Silence ticked by longer than Megan wanted. Did he remember what’d happened? He dragged the coffee table near and sat. His knees knocked against her bare ones. She angled further back on the sofa, but he grabbed both her hands and squeezed until she froze.

  “Look at me, Spaz.”

  Spaz. Megan hated the nickname, a permanent reminder of who he was and why she’d never be more than the troublesome best friend of his little sister. She forced eye contact. Awareness arced, a secondary presence she couldn’t ignore.

  “Let’s talk through what we remember. Maybe we can fill in a few of the gaps from there.” The confident tone settled some of the unease in her. “This isn’t a big deal. We got drunk. None of whatever happened is anyone’s business. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Translation—he didn’t want anyone to know. Megan couldn’t blame him. He was badass Thor and she was…Miss Piggy on a good day, way worse most of the time. “The last thing I remember is the wedding, at Treasure Island.”

  “Right, the ridiculous outfits my brother forced on us to appease his new bride.” Chad’s droll humor glinted in his green gaze. A smirk appeared on his face. “All the wench outfits were very nice.”

  Bridget’s bridesmaids had dressed in matching deep blue corsets and white, gauze skirts. No one bothered to discuss it with her, which left her a lumpy, dumpy uncoordinated ugly in a sea of gorgeous. She bit back the shame she’d felt, the hurt. Chet hadn’t known. Her best friend’s big brother (or one of them, anyway) wouldn’t have left her feeling embarrassed no matter what his new wife may have demanded.

  Chet was the one big brother of Chloe’s who was always nice to Megan, made her feel welcome no matter how annoying she may have been. Then there was Chad. Chad was everything she wanted and nothing she could have.

  It wasn’t their fault that Megan’s ex had sucked all her self-confidence out like a vampire and left her a hollow husk of self-loathing doubt. She forced a smile. “Then we partied, clearly too much.”

  “Right. I remember the show outside the hotel. You needed some air,” he added.

  “I needed to get away from Bridget’s anorexic bitch brigade,” Megan muttered.

  Chad chuckled. “They were a handsy bunch. I wanted to get away, too.”

  “Yeah, you were the toy in the bottom of their cereal box, the best man in leather pants.”

  “Don’t remind me, Spaz.” He flashed a panty-melting smile. “That’s all I remember.”

  “Me too,” she whispered. “There’s probably nothing else to remember. I mean, it wouldn’t be crazy that we came back here and got wasted, right?”

  “Right.” Doubt deepened his voice, a rugged boom surrounded by silence.

  Megan’s phone chimed. She looked down at the coffee table, where Chad must’ve set it down. She reached for it, but he was faster. Closer.

  His eyebrows furrowed as he read the screen. Dread settled in her gut, a lead weight she couldn’t ignore. His lips thinned and his gaze darkened. He turned the screen to where she could read.

  “I’m thinking we forgot a couple of things,” he commented angrily.

  Megan stared at the phone. No. The pictures couldn’t be real. Image after image from Megan’s social media pages scrolled through Chloe’s text message, each one punching a hole in Megan’s denial.

  Megan’s arm slung possessively around Chad as they both smiled drunkenly into the camera. Gazes glazed. Faces flushed. Brains blitzed.

  The line of text afterward made her stammer in shock.

  * * *

  TELL ME YOU DIDN’T MARRY MY BROTHER!!! WHAT THE FUCK?

  * * *

  Chad snagged the phone. He scrolled through the images and cursed. The phone landed on the coffee table as he prowled into the bedroom. She stared at the entryway, willing the nightmare she’d awakened in to go away.

  Married to Chad Chambers. No way. He returned, his expression thunderous.

  “Okay, so we must’ve gone to one of those chapels, had a bit of fun to mess with Chloe. Posted a few pics to Instagram and whatnot. A wedding isn’t real without a license. There’s not enough liquor on the planet to make that happen,” Megan offered by way of explanation.

  “Oh really?” He shoved a paper in front of her face. “Are you sure about that?”

  Megan skimmed the damning evidence of their stupidity as she clutched it in her hand. How the hell had this happened? She was married to Chad Chambers. Legally his wife. Instagram said so, too. Mr. and Mrs. Spaz.

  Chad looked down at Megan as she paled. A wide-eyed, tear-filled blue gaze peered up at him as if he held answers, a solution to the FUBAR situation. Married. To his little sister’s best friend. Son of a bitch.

  Chad’s cock hardened. He still smelled her vanilla scent on his skin, felt the glide of her soft skin against hers. Waking up with her snuggled against him had been a hell of a shock, one his horny side was more than willing to repeat, minus the memory loss.

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  “Take it one step at a time. I’ll make some calls, find out what the process is to have something like this undone. If we were that plastered, there’s no way it was legal.” He hoped.

  Enough problems awaited his return home. He didn’t need another complication mucking up his life, especially a fucking marriage. He’d scraped off one bad mistake and wasn’t about to be saddled with another one—especially Megan.

  “These pictures went up on your Instagram account. Who follows that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled as she took the phone back and started pushing buttons. “Chloe already saw, obviously. I don’t see how that matters at this point. I can’t make them unsee it.”

  “I’m neck deep in a custody battle every second of my life, Spaz. I need this bullshit like I need a hole in my head.”

  “It’s not like I wanted this to happen.” She rose and glared up. Teeth gritted, she was an Amazon warrior ready to kick his ass.

  Fuck, she was gorgeous. Ebony black hair accentuated her pale skin and soft blue eyes and full, pink lips meant to surround a man’s dick. He preferred the natural dark blonde, but the dark hair activated the seedier thoughts he’d stowed away in his brain, thoughts not meant for a man to think about his best friend’s little sister.

  His gaze wandered down, tracked the way his shirt hugged her generous curves and spotlighted breasts bigger than a handful. His hands itched to settle on her full hips. A woman like Megan could take whatever he dealt out. Blood surged southward, settling in his hard cock. Yeah, she’d be a handful in bed.

  He cursed and dragged his hand through his hair. He had no business thinking about her in bed. Annulment. He’d get the marriage annulled. No big deal. This sort of shit happened all the time in Vegas, right?

  2

  Megan was on a plane and headed to the weekend-long vacation-style wedding reception with her new hubby at his billionaire family’s estate. She suppressed a frustrated groan as she shrank against the window and away from Chad.

  Anger wafted from him, in his hard breaths, his barked words at the flight attendant, his tense stance. Apparently you could get married while drunk and stupid. Undoing it was another matter entirely. Although he had every right to be pissed that annulments for stupid decisions weren’t an option in Las Vegas, it hurt.

  He’d hired an attorney and gruffly shoved papers at her to sign. Divorce papers. In six to twelve weeks she’d no longer be Mrs. Chad Chambers. The fairy tale princess buried within her secretly basked in the fact he was legally hers for the next few weeks, but her inner realist suffered the psychological blows of his scorn and outright disgust. It wasn’t like she’d planned for this to happen.

  Chloe hadn’t returned any phone calls or texts. The only thing either of them had heard from her was a terse text. Bring her with
you to the estate.

  Dread clawed Megan’s insides. Surely her best friend knew this wasn’t intentional on either of their parts. She set aside the worry and focused on a plan. As long as she had a plan of attack she could handle anything, including the sexier than hell man glaring at her like she’d squished his cat.

  “It’s probably best if no one else knows about this,” he mumbled, voice lower than husky and sexier than satin sheets. “Thank fuck this weird ass wedding reception was confined to family only.”

  “I think it’s sweet,” Megan whispered.

  “What?” His eyebrows furrowed when she chanced a glance his direction. Tingles danced down her shoulder where they touched.

  “I think it’s sweet that your brother is giving Bridget this weekend—a ‘family get-together.’ He knows how much being part of the family means to her since she doesn’t have one. The fact he put that need above the baser impulse to drag her away for a week of debauchery on some isolated island beach is sweet.”

  Chad flashed the nuclear smile—the one which incited a meltdown in Megan’s defenses. “I’m sure Bridget will make it up to little brother. She’s good like that.”

  Bridget made the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition look like a trolls feature presentation. The fact she didn’t have a single mean bone in her lithe and flawless body only made the entire disaster worse. She deserved a perfect weekend, one focused on her new family.

  “When we land, I’m going to grab a plane back home. Bridget won’t even miss me, and my not being there will keep things from spinning out of control. It’ll keep the weekend about her and Chet.” Megan clutched her stomach. “I’ll write down my cell number, in case you have to get in touch with me about the d-d…”

  Ugh. She couldn’t even force the ugly word out. Divorce. Revulsion shuddered through her. Her eyes burned. She pushed the sunglass atop of her head into position and stared out the window as her mind worked out the details of her impulsive decision. She should have enough room on her Visa card to shift her flights around. Hopefully.