“Dance with me.” I hear a deep voice purr in my ear. I look back and see the guy that was watching me from the VIP section. My god, he’s even more beautiful up close, and his eyes are so green, clever and curious, glittering like two emeralds, like every hue of the forest. Their brightness reminds me of summertime. I turn and face him, craning my neck to look up at him. He’s tall, well over six-foot, light brown hair, cut short on the sides and longer on the top, styled perfectly. My fingers itch to reach out and touch it to see if it’s as soft as it seems. His features are strong, chiselled, and so very masculine.

“Was that a demand or a request?” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him.

His soft, full lips curl up into a smirk.

He licks his lips slowly, “Whichever one gets you to dance with me.” He drawls confidently. Someone tries to pass by him, so he takes a step closer to me.

I lift my eyes and smile at the handsome stranger whose strong arms lock around my waist, drawing me against him. We sway together to the music. His movement matches mine, and we move together smoothly. He can dance. I like that. He bows his head, and his lips brush against the shell of my ear as he speaks lowly, and I visibly quiver at the roguish tone of his voice.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Shayla. Yours?” I ask, and I could swear a look of surprise flashes across his handsome face before he grins sexily, and two deep dimples form on his cheeks making me swoon.

He has dimples! Two of them!

“Cole.” I smile up at him, and he drags his tongue along his bottom lip and squints his eyes a little while he looks over my face. We dance together, heatedly, for a while. Grinding, hands exploring. The heat between us is immense, the way his hands wander over my body, squeezing, caressing. Everything else fizzles away like it’s just the two of us. His eyes staring into mine fixedly.

“Hungry?”

I laugh and nod, “Starving.” He smiles and brushes a strand of my hair stuck to my sweaty face and tucks it delicately behind my ear.

“How about we go someplace and get something to eat?” I nod without hesitation, and he grins, taking my hand in his larger one, he pulls me through the crowd of people. I manage to catch Jo on my way out and gesture to her that I was leaving. She waves me off with a thumbs up. The girl is more smashed than I am.

We finally walk outside, and my head spins when fresh air hits me. Cole wraps his arm around my waist, steadying me. I follow him as we both stumble toward a silver Rolls Royce Phantom. The driver, an older gentleman, opens the door, and Cole places his hand on the small of my back and guides me in. I sink into the plush white leather seats once I slide over as Cole gets in beside me. “Wow. This car is bigger than my apartment.” I state with a drunken giggle as Cole pours us two glasses of champagne.

“What’s your stance on sushi? I know a great place.” I blink up at him, and he smiles at me charmingly.

“Sushi?” I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Who in their right mind eats sushi when they’re drunk?” Cole laughs heartily. “Listen, I love sushi as much as the next person, but I’m not one of those girls who eat pretentious crap like caviar and sips Cristal. I can’t think of anything worse, especially right now.” I lean over and tap the driver on his shoulder. He glances back at me through his rear-view mirror. “Take us to Old Street, please, good sir.” He chuckles and nods his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I giggle, “Ma’am?” What am I fifty?

Cole tugs me back and shifts so he could face me properly. “What’s in Old Street?” I grin at him impishly and finish off my drink.

“The best food ever! No offence, but you strike me as one of those stuffy rich kids that think a good night out is sipping on Don Perignon and chewing on fish babies. I’m going to show you a night you’ll remember when you’re sitting in your rocking chair at eighty years old, Mr Cole.”

Cole chuckles and bites his lip, his green eyes alight with glee. “Oh? And will you be sitting beside me in that rocking chair?” He drawls, brushing his thumb along my jaw.

“That depends...” I whisper, smiling as he runs his fingers through my hair. “On what?” He whispers back, his eyes flickering down to my lips before they meet mine again.

“You’ll have to marry me to find out.” I tease, and he laughs before he draws my lips to his and kisses me softly. I moan when his tongue runs along my bottom lip silently requesting access, which I joyfully grant him; parting my lips, he seeks out my tongue and expertly deepens the kiss. If my mind was hazy before, it’s turned to complete mush after his kiss. As far as first kisses go, this makes the top of my list.

We spent the better half of the car journey kissing until his driver alerted us that we had arrived at our destination. “What is this place?” He asks as I pull him to the entrance of ‘The Breakfast Bar.’

“Oh, you poor, poor child. You haven’t lived until you’ve had their pancakes.” I say as we sit down, and he looks at the menu. I pluck the menu out of his hands, and he looks at me bemused. “You don’t need that,” I tell him, and he smiles and shakes his head. “We’ll have the sharers stack of pancakes, please, and two salted caramel lattes,” I order, and the girl smiles before taking the menus and disappearing.

Twenty minutes later, Cole licks his fork clean and slumps back in his chair with a delightful groan. “My god, that was heaven on a plate.” I nod triumphally, chewing on my last bite of pancakes.

“Mm, I know, right.” I moan, licking the cream off my finger. “You can thank me later,” I say with a wink, and Cole grins, reaching over and taking my right hand in his, gazing into my eyes for a long moment.

“You are the polar opposite to what I’m used to, but I don’t remember having this much fun with someone I just met. Ever.” He affirms, stroking his fingers over my knuckles gently. I feel my cheeks burn under his gaze and avert my eyes to my cup of coffee.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. We had a couple more cocktails with shots before we somehow wound up on a private airstrip. We clamber out of a private jet, laughing hard. We’d been playing a drinking game the entire flight, which wasn’t a good idea. “Vegas, baby!” I slur, throwing my hands up in the air and almost toppling over. I look around the dark airstrip and pout. “Wait. There’s no chapel here?”

I hear Cole laugh behind me before he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and kisses my cheek. “We can’t land in the middle of the Vegas strip, sweetheart,” He murmurs drunkenly. “We need to drive there.”

I giggle, “Hokay! Driver! Take us to Evlis to be wed.” I slur drunkenly. Cole and I stumble into the back of the black limo, and we head to the Las Vegas strip. I think we gambled for a while, drank delicious cocktails, and the last thing I remember was Cole carrying me out of a chapel, kissing like two lust- crazed adolescents.

Many hours later, I stir in my sleep with the blinding sunlight shining in my face. I groan and roll over, burying my face in the plush pillows. “Mm so soft,” I snuggle into the pillows further until I suddenly remember I don’t have plush soft pillows. My pillow is hard and lumpy. I peel my eyes open and groan at the sudden ache in my head.

Ow, water…I need water and possibly a new brain.

I force my eyes open and blink, looking up to the ceiling, I frown when I see a reflection of myself staring back at me in the bed, naked, wrapped in the sheets.

What on God’s green earth…

I sit up in the bed, and when I take in my surroundings it finally hits me. I’m not in my bedroom. I’m naked in a strange place with a hangover I’m sure is about to put me into an early grave. I lift the bedsheet and stare down at my very naked body under it. Yep, definitely naked. I groan and cover my face with my hand, freezing when I feel something cold and hard pressed against my nose. I pull my hand back slowly and stare at the enormous diamond ring sitting on my finger.

What the fuck… I wrap the sheet around my body as I clamber out of bed and take in the clothes scattered haphazardly all over the room. My heads whirls. “Oh my god, where the hell am I?” I pick up the black shirt off the floor and look at it before dropping it again. I walk over to the window and look out at the view, shielding my eyes from the brightness of the early sun. “This isn’t London.”

“Good morning,” I squeal and spin around when I hear a deep voice behind me. I look at the half-naked man standing before me in a pair of Dior boxers. I wrap the sheet around me tighter as I throw myself back up against the window. “You’re finally up.”

“Oh, good God.” I mutter stunned, and he winces, rubbing his forehead gingerly. He looks as rough as I feel, although a very beautiful man. Amidst my mini panic attack, I try desperately not to think about how God awful I must look to him right now. My hair is a tousled mess, and my make up from the night before is smeared, eyes rimmed red, lips still tinted red from the lipstick I wore.

“Actually, it’s just Cole.”

“Cole. Where the hell are we?”

“Vegas, I believe...”

Cole

Oh, sweet Jesus.

The ache in my head rouses me from my very peaceful slumber: that and the distinct smell of coconut and passionfruit. I shift to roll onto my side and frown when I feel a heaviness on my chest. I force my eyes open and wince from the sheer brightness of the sun beaming on my face. I glance down at the head of silky brown hair and get another waft of the coconut, passionfruit concoction. It’s her. I shift my head to the side and study the face of the girl currently sprawled across my chest. Not bad. I’ve woken up with worse. Her lips soft and pink, long dark lashes, perfectly shaped eyebrows.

What the hell happened last night? I can’t remember a damn thing. Who is this girl? I peel her arm away from my chest gently, detangle our legs, and she moans as I roll her off me, and she snuggles into the pillow with a sigh. I let my eyes wander over her naked body, half wrapped in the sheets while she’s sprawled out on her front, her long dark hair splayed out on the pillow. I take a closer look at her face and frown. Nope, don’t remember a fucking thing. Complete blackout. I look around the room. Our clothes littered haphazardly on the marble floor. Where the fuck are we? I pull my boxers on and walk over to the window. Why does the view look so familiar? Wait. Am I in fucking Vegas? I rub my hands over my face and look at the scenery ahead once again. Oh yeah, I'm in Vegas all right. I pick up my jeans off the floor and stuff my hands in the pockets hoping I’ll find some clue of what the hell went down. I pull out a piece of paper from my back pocket along with my passport and unfold it. It’s damp— come to think of it, so are my jeans.

‘Marriage Certificate.’

I stare at the words blankly for a long moment. No fucking way. I did not go and get married to a random girl. I read the rest of the document and curse. Oh fuck. ‘Marriage of Tristan Cole Hoult and Shayla Hart.’

If the certificate wasn’t enough proof, I had a gold wedding band on my finger. I lean closer and look at the girl in the bed, and she’s also wearing a diamond ring on her finger. We got married. We flew to Vegas and got married.

“Fuck.” I find my phone on the table by the bed and walk out of the room. I have to call my lawyer. I’m hoping— no praying this marriage isn't legal.

“Mr Hoult?” Franc—my lawyer's sleepy voice came from the other end. Of course, the time difference, it’s probably early hours there. "Everything okay?"

“Franc, apologies for waking you. Is marriage in Vegas legally binding?”

“Do you have a marriage certificate?” He responds. I snap a photo of the certificate and send it to him.

“I have something that looks like a marriage certificate. I’ve just sent you a photo. Take a look.”

I hear him fumble with his phone on the other end. “Well, yes, that's a formal document, so it’s legal, Mr Hoult.” He tells me and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I stare at the certificate in my hand and sigh.

“Jesus Christ. I can't remember a damn thing after we left the club. It's completely blank. Surely there's a legal loophole to get me out of this? Please find it.”

“I’ll look into it. We’ll get the marriage annulled on the grounds of you both being intoxicated.” He says, and I nod pacing back and forth.

“Great. Keep me updated.” I say and end the call. What the fuck were you thinking marrying a girl you don’t even know, you absolute idiot. This is so unlike me. I don’t drink this much. Ever. Hell, I don’t even go out. My life is all about work, and when I do have time to blow off some steam, I have a couple of scotch’s then leave with whatever girl catches my attention that night. No, this is reckless and irresponsible, two things I most definitely am not. I’ve never gotten so drunk that I blackout and have no memory.

I turn around when I hear footsteps in the other room. I see Shayla wandering around the dining area of the penthouse, with a sheet wrapped around her body. A look of horror on her face as she tries to work out her surroundings. The first thing I notice about her was her eyes—a darker shade than my own. Almost olive green, lined with long dark lashes, not the fake kind girls wear, hers were natural. Her hair shiny and long cascading down her back in loose beach waves, albeit tousled from a night of wild sex.

I come up behind her and lean against the doorframe as she looks out the floor to ceiling window. “Good Morning.” I greet, and she jumps startled, lets out a little squeak, and turns to face me. Her eyes wide and confused, they rake over my topless torso and back up to my face again. “You’re finally awake.”

“Who are you?” She asks, backing up against the window. I sip my coffee and lick my lips. My head was still thumping unpleasantly and judging by the way she was rubbing her head. I’m going to assume she wasn’t feeling much better.

“I’m Cole.” I introduce myself, and she blinks up at me when I walk over to her. She averts her gaze from mine and wraps her arms around herself as if to shield herself away from my prying eyes, her fingers gripping the sheet tight.

“Um, where are we?” She questions glancing around the penthouse.

“Vegas, I believe.”

Shayla’s eyes go wide as she stares at me, unblinking for a good minute. She shakes her head and frowns deeply.

“Vegas?” She intones incredulously and I nod my head in response. “What the hell are we doing in Vegas?”

I shrug, “Beats me. I don’t remember a damn thing about last night. The only thing I recall was leaving the club with a girl. After that, it’s a blank. Do you remember anything?”

She shakes her head, “No, I-I don’t, I don't remember a thing. I was ludicrously drunk. I don’t even recall meeting you.” She explains chewing on her lip nervously. She drops her gaze from mine and brushes her slender fingers through her soft hair. “Um, why am I wearing a ring?”

I rub the back of my neck, and I hold up my hand and show her the wedding band on my finger. Her face falls. She looks down at the ring on her finger and then up at me again. “No, tell me we didn’t. Did we get married?" I nod and she blanches. "How the hell did this happen? How did we go from a club in London to getting married in Las Vegas?!”

I groan when an ache shoots through my skull at the volume of her tone. “Fuck, dial down the volume sweetheart; my brain is about to fall through my arse.” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Honestly, I don’t know how this happened or how we would up here, okay? I didn’t exactly plan to get in a drunken stupor and marry some stranger I met in a club.”

Shayla scowls at me, “Oh, well, it's a good thing you didn't. Imagine what would have happened if you did! Also, you’re not exactly my type.” It was my turn to glare at her. Is this girl for real? She doesn’t have any idea who I am. I’ve not met a girl whose type I’ve not been.

“Oh, is that right? I sure as hell seemed like your type last night.” I point out and her eyes narrow to slits, and she takes a step toward me.

“Wait. You said you didn’t remember anything.” She says, pointing a finger in my face. I look at her finger and back at her again and roll my eyes.

“I don’t. But the state of the room, when I woke up this morning, was a very clear indication of a good night,” I take a step closer to her, and she cranes her neck to look up at me. “There was a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, which means we were too engrossed in our passion to give a damn about who was whom's type,” I state matter-of-factly and wink at her. “Not to mention you’re sporting my signature ‘fucked out’ look.”

Shayla’s green eyes grow wide, she huffs and takes a big step back putting some space between us. Raking her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated.

“Wow. I’m not even going to dignify that remark with a response.” She stops pacing and looks at me again. “What are we going to do? Is this marriage even legal?”

“I’m afraid so.” Her shoulders slump, and she shakes her head.

“How? How did they even marry us while we were drunk? This makes no sense. Don't you need to apply for a marriage licence or something?” She questions, glaring at me. I shrug and set my cup of coffee down and take the marriage certificate off the table.

“That's the magic of this city. Anything can happen in Vegas. Here, I found this in my pocket this morning.” She takes the paper from me and unfolds it.

“What is this?”

“Our marriage certificate. Signed by us both, haphazardly.” I tell her, and she reads through the document before she looks at me.

“Oh my God, we’re actually married.” She mumbles, leaning against the dining table. I sigh and rub the back of my neck awkwardly. She looks upset, just staring at the floor and I don’t do well with consoling girls who are upset. I get uncomfortable and clam up.

“Hey, look, it’s not the end of the world. I'm sure we're not the first couple to drunkenly get married in Vegas. We’ll get an annulment and we’ll go on with our lives like it never happened.” I tell her, and she lifts her gaze to look at me, and I swear the sadness in her eyes sent a tremor through me.

She nods eventually and straightens, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” She sighs and looks around the room in bewilderment, then frowns a little, scratching her head awkwardly. “Uh,” She chews her bottom lip a little. “I can’t find my dress…” I let my eyes roam around the room. “I also need to figure out how the hell I’m going to get back home. ”

“Oh, I’ve sorted that. Our flight to London leaves in two hours.” I inform her, and she nods. “I’ve also arranged some clothes to be delivered for both of us. You look about a size ten. Coffee?” I ask, she stares at me, her mouth agape and nods before she sits on a chair at the dining table. I pour her a black coffee and set it down on the table in front of her.

She continues to stare at me, her brows knitted together. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Please let me know how much I owe you, and I’ll pay you back.” She lifts the mug to her lips and takes a long sip, closes her eyes, and sighs Yeah, that first sip of coffee when you’re hungover is like heaven. I hadn’t noticed I was staring at her until she looks up at me and frowns.

I shake my head and shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no problem. I’m sure you’d like to shower and refreshen up. I didn’t order breakfast, because I wasn’t sure what you would like to eat.” I tell her and disappear into the bathroom. “Why don’t you go ahead and order us some room service?” I suggest, and she blinks at me and nods hesitantly.

After a long, well-needed shower and a couple of business calls, Shayla and I ate breakfast to soak up the alcohol we consumed the night before. My stomach felt queasy, and the avocado toast I had helped settle it. Shayla showered and dressed in the clothes I had arranged for her. She came out of the bathroom looking refreshed in a pair of tight-fit light blue jeans, and a low-cut black tee. We left the hotel and made our way to the airport. Shayla gets out of the car as we pull up at my private jet and stares up at it. “Whoa, this is yours?” She asks as we walk over to it.

“Sure is, sweetheart,” I tell her and gesture for her to walk up the steps. I honestly cannot wait to get back home. I feel rough, and I have so much work I need to catch up on. I slide into a seat on the plane and watch as Shayla wanders around. She seems apprehensive, and I find myself wondering if she’s a nervous flyer. “You plan on standing there the entire ten hours of the flight? Take a seat. I won’t bite unless you ask.” I tease, and she shakes her head mumbles something under her breath and slides into a seat next to me, staring out of the window, her fingers fumbling in her lap while she nervously chews on her bottom lip.

I wish I could read her mind right now. There is something about this woman. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she’s different compared to the women I go for usually, and this is by far the longest I have spent with any girl I’ve slept with ever. I don’t even stay the night with them. I usually leave right after we get done doing the deed. Like my best friend Josh says, ‘You fuck and duck out.’ Sounds awful, I know, but I don’t have time for relationships, between my workload and the travelling I do, there is simply no time for a girlfriend or a social life of any sort. After my last relationship of three years crashed and burned a year ago, I’ve made work my priority.

I stir out of my sleep when I hear the captain's voice over the intercom. I must have fallen asleep while reading. Shayla was asleep with her head resting on my shoulder, her arm wrapped around my bicep. I can smell her shampoo again and it’s becoming my favourite smell. I brush a strand of her hair out of her face gently. She’s stunning, even without makeup.

As the wheels of the plane touch down on the tarmac, Shayla jolts awake and lifts those olive eyes, and looks up at me. It takes her a moment to realise her head was resting on my shoulder and she pulls away and sits upright brushing her fingers through her hair, and she clears her throat, looking around uneasily. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“A couple of hours.” She looks at me and frowns a little before leaning over and pulling her shoes on.

“I’m so sorry. You should have woken me.” I smile and shake my head, watching her as she straightens her top.

“Don’t sweat it. I was asleep too. We must have been more tired than we realised.” Shayla nods and rubs her neck as she walks through the plane toward the exit.

“Tell me about it. It’s been a hell of a weekend. Oh god, I've got work in the morning.” She says as we make our way down the steps of the plane. She stops suddenly and looks at the car and then back at me. “Did we use this car last night?”

I nod, and she blinks and looks at the car again. “We left the club in this last night.”

“Huh, I remember the car but nothing else.” She replies and looks at the driver and frowns. “Actually. I remember him, too.” Gerald smiles and nods curtly at her before he opens the door for her to get in.

“Evening Miss.” Shayla eyes him sceptically before she gets in the car. An hour later we pull up at the address she gave Gerald. She steps out of the car, and I follow her out and walk around the vehicle.

“Well, this is me.” She says, looking up at her building and back at me again. "Thank you for getting me back home."

“Don't mention it. Here, this is my card. My lawyer has already started drawing up the divorce papers. We’ll meet up in a few days, and you can sign it. Sound good?”

Shayla takes my card and looks at it, she looks at me and frowns. “Tristan? I thought your name was Cole?” She questions.

“It is. I prefer to be called Cole outside of work,” She nods satisfied with my answer, and tucks the card in her pocket. Wow, she genuinely doesn’t know who I am. That actually makes a nice change.

“Well. I guess I’ll wait to hear from you. I will text you my number,” I nod, and we look at each other awkwardly for a moment unsure of what to say or how to act. Do we shake hands or hug? She turns to walk away but stops suddenly, takes the ring off her finger, and hands it to me. “We’ve never met before, right?” She questions looking at my face, her eyes narrowed.

I shake my head and shrug. “I don’t think so. I would have definitely remembered meeting you.” I answer with a smirk, and she blinks up at me surprised, her cheeks turning pink. Oh fuck. If that isn’t the sexiest thing ever.

Shayla clears her throat and nods, "Thanks again."

I smile at her, “Thank you for an eventful weekend, Shayla Hart.” Shayla nods, mumbles a goodbye, and turns to walk away. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few days…wifey.” She stops, turns, and glares at me unamused.

“Don’t call me that.” I chuckle and watch her disappear into her apartment building. What an eventful forty-two hours.