Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Okay guys. I haven't done a breakfast serial in a while. But since I'm in the middle of a ping-pong match with Sylvia Day on the Paraoddity blog (my joint blog with Cathy), I think I'll catch you up to speed on it, and refer you to that location if you want to keep up with it over the next few days. :)

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Sunlight streamed through the crack between the drawn curtains. It was warm, which was good. But it was blindingly bright. If I could've rolled over I would've. Unfortunately, I was handcuffed to the bed . . . naked.

My husband was so not going to be happy with me.

Nor was he likely to believe me when I told him the absolute truth. I did not have a clue how I got here. Wherever here was. From the decor (or lack thereof) I was guessing a motel room---a cheap motel room. I mean really, olive green shag carpeting? Jungle print curtains? Please.

I lay there, listening. Even in good hotels you can hear a certain amount of movement from the neighboring tenants. Nothing. Dead silence except for my own harsh breathing. Not good.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

The voice that rumbled from the far corner of the room was made more frightening by its familiarity. My head turned, and I blinked away the phantom spots of white in my vision. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness cloaking the deeper portions of the room, I found my husband seated in a dilapidated chair in the corner. His forearms draped over the scuffed wooden arms and one ankle lay casually atop the opposite knee. He seemed to be one with the shadows, a phantom presence in the eerie quiet. So very still. A predator relaxed but precisely focused.

Ridiculously, I was as aroused by that dangerous quality in him as I was wary of it. I knew the moment I first saw him yesterday morning that he was going to be trouble. Gorgeous trouble. Insanely sexy trouble. But trouble all the same. Still, I’d said my vows only hours later with Elvis as a witness. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas...

Looking on the bright side, I no longer had excuses to make. On the negative side, however, it seemed my monumental bad luck with men had somehow managed to get worse.

I glanced at the clock. No more time for fun and games.

I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves to pretend that there was nothing wrong. Getting hysterical wouldn't help me now, although it was always an option. "Um, sweetie, I do try to be open to new experiences, but couldn't we have done this someplace a little nicer--say my suite at the Luxor? And hon, you do remember, I have that big board meeting this morning. I really do need you to let me out so that I can get ready."

"That won't be necessary." a woman's voice this time, sounding imperious and more than a bit bitchy.

I twisted on the bed to see her standing in the bathroom doorway. It was like looking in a mirror. Tall, cooly elegant, she was wearing my suit, my Jimmy Choo's, my jewelry. For all intents and purposes she was me. She certainly looked more like that hideous picture on my driver's license than I do.

Okay, now it was time to panic. This was no sexual adventure run amok. What in the hell was going on? I tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. I was speechless. Completely at a loss. Not my usual problem, by any stretch.

"What are we going to do with her?" Ms. me asked.

My husband's response was cold. "I'll take care of it. You have to get moving. She always arrives at least ten minutes early to every meeting. You don't have a lot of time. We'll do a sound check when you get in the car."

"Are you sure? I can . . ."

He interrupted her with a rumbling growl. "I said I'll take care of it."

“Suit yourself.” She glanced at me. “You always did like to get your hands dirty.”

He turned his head when she moved to kiss him, accepting the press of her lips to his cheek with a stony face. “Hurry up, or you’ll be late.”

Her lips curled at his dismissive tone but she left without another word, sashaying out the door with a slutty stride I’d never use. My jaw clenched along with my fists. I may be restrained at the moment, but she wasn’t getting far.

The door shut and I looked at Jack, eyeing him with the calculation I should have used yesterday. He was tall and lean, solid and ripped with muscle. Despite his strength, he lacked the bulkiness I had no taste for. Instead he was elegantly dangerous, his power restrained by an iron will. I guessed that I’d pierced that icy control last night, if my sore muscles and exhaustion were anything to go by. But neither of those aftereffects would stop me from kicking his ass.

Jack stared at me as he stood, his gaze meeting mine before traveling the length of my sprawled form with tangible heat. “I confess, I expected more from you.”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” I shot back, hoping that was true since I couldn’t remember.

“When you left the Luxor with me, I thought I’d blown my cover somehow.” He approached, reaching into his pocket. “I couldn’t believe that the widely lauded Agent Jocelyn Tan would risk blowing her assignment to get laid.”

“Hey,” I protested, my fists clenching. He knew why I was in Vegas. And that was bad no matter which team he was playing for. “At least, we got married first.”

A ghost of a smile curved his hard mouth. He withdrew a key and reached for the cuffs. “You allowed a demon to take your place and now she’s going to get within breathing distance of the council regent.”

The moment the cuff lock clicked open, I jackknifed upward, delivering a head butt to his nose that sent him stumbling backward with a vicious curse. I was off the bed with a deft roll, leaping past him toward the bathroom. “Don’t suppose you know the trick to my car’s ignition,” I shouted over my shoulder.

I barely made it to safety of the grimy bathtub before my Benz exploded, the blast ripping through the flimsy motel façade and shattering the room as if it were made of matchsticks.