Until Now

She hadn’t taken something in the bathroom, had she? Some sort of drug? It was a crazy idea, and one Marshall dismissed. She didn’t seem like the type.

He touched her face. She was warm. Her skin was smooth. His eyes ventured a little lower, over her thighs and down her legs. At the silver sandals on her delicate feet.

Wow, she was gorgeous.

And she was an enigma. Why had she kissed him? Oh, he had no complaints. Not until she’d said that whole thing about scoring and giving him what he wanted.

She had no clue what he wanted, and he wondered why she had judged him so harshly.

“Tamara?” He lightly tapped her face and still got no response.

It was clear to him that she wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Marshall didn’t know if he should leave her on this sofa and go to find Nigel. He was about to do just that, then considered the fact that Nigel had told him that the boys were staying with the babysitter for the evening. It wouldn’t exactly be the best thing for Nigel to bring Tamara back there, possibly have her son see her in this state.

Marshall would take her to his place. He would watch her, see if her vital signs changed and act accordingly if they did. But he suspected that the alcohol had simply caught up with her and all she needed was to sleep it off. Then, in the morning, he would bring her home.

Yeah, that seemed like the best thing to do. Besides, the reception was still in full swing, and he didn’t want to take Nigel or Callie or any of the family away from the festivities. His cousin had already left, so there was nothing keeping him here at this point.

Tamara moved against him, snuggling her head against his shoulder a little. A smile touched Marshall’s lips. Did she have any clue what she was doing? That she was with him now? At least she appeared content.

A sleeping angel.

Marshall reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone, and he sent Nigel a text explaining what he was going to do. He told him not to worry, that he would handle the situation and that Tamara would be returned safe and sound in the morning.

For good measure, he added: Don’t worry. She’s in good hands. I’m heeding your warning.

Then Marshall pulled Tamara’s delicate body onto his lap and secured his arms beneath her legs and around her shoulders. He began to walk with her toward the establishment’s main doors, garnering some stares from a few people nearby.

Marshall grinned at an older couple and said, “Don’t worry, folks. I’m a police officer. I’m making sure that this young lady here gets home.”

“Is she okay?” the older man asked.

“Yes,” Marshall answered. “Just a little too much to drink. Nothing a night’s rest won’t cure.”

As he looked down at the sleeping beauty in his arms, he thought again about the way she had kissed him.

And how he was very much looking forward to doing it again.

Chapter 4

Tamara awoke startled. Her eyes flew open, suddenly registering that something wasn’t right.

She wasn’t in her bed. She realized that even before her eyes started flitting around the room. No, this four-poster bed was most definitely not her own. Just as panic was about to set in, she remembered that she was in Cleveland, not Fort Lauderdale. Of course she wasn’t in her bed.

But even as she remembered that, the sense that something was wrong persisted. Because she couldn’t remember ever stepping into Callie and Nigel’s house, much less getting under the covers.

And something else was strange. By the way the bedsheet was skimming her body, she could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d been so exhausted that she had taken off her clothes and climbed into bed without even putting on her nightgown?

It was as if her brain had gone blank. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to concentrate. She was in Cleveland. She’d been at Deanna’s wedding, which had been last night. Yes, that was right. Callie had forced her onto the dance floor to participate in the bouquet toss.

Tamara’s eyes popped open. The bouquet. Marshall. Their dance.

Then she’d gone to the restroom, and he’d followed her.

And then, a kiss? She gasped. Oh, God. No, that couldn’t be right.

As her stomach fluttered with the wisp of a memory, she wondered why the house was so quiet. The clock on the night table told her it was 9:18 a.m. Shouldn’t Michael and Kwame be up and making noise?

Tamara surveyed the large bedroom, with its pale green walls, dresser with mirror and...fireplace? Nigel and Callie had a spare bedroom with a fireplace? The TV mounted to the wall was at least forty inches. There was a leather love seat beside the window, and through the sheer drapes she could see a sprawling tree outside.

The room boasted polished hardwood floors. But nowhere upon them did she see her suitcases.

She looked around the room again, this time with a sense of desperation. It was minimalist in terms of the furnishings and the decor. Spotting a framed photo on the far corner of the dresser, her eyes soon widened in alarm.

Was that Marshall?

Where was she?

The next second, her stomach filled with dread as she added up the reality in her mind. Marshall’s picture, the lack of suitcases, the absence of any voices...

No, it couldn’t be...

She couldn’t actually be in Marshall’s bed!

Her brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. The wedding. The reception. Flirting with Marshall.

“Oh, God,” she uttered in horror. She remembered the kiss again. She had kissed him. Oh, yes, that had definitely happened. She remembered her mouth connecting with his full lips. It hadn’t been the longest kiss, but she felt it throughout her entire body.

What had happened after that kiss?

And why was she in his bed without her clothes on?

“God, please tell me I didn’t. Please tell me I didn’t do something incredibly stupid!”

But she was beginning to fear that she had. If she had come into this bed merely to sleep, wouldn’t her dress be neatly draped over that rocking chair? She couldn’t see it anywhere.

Finally, she bent her head to look over the side of the bed. And her mortification intensified. Because there was her dress, in a heap on the floor. As though it had been discarded haphazardly.

“I can’t possibly be...”

And then for some reason, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. And on the wall she saw a photo of Marshall with his parents and brother. A family portrait.

There was no longer any doubt. She was in Marshall’s house.

In his room.

In his bed.

Her horror level reached a 10.0 on the Richter scale.