Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

“Pack your things,” Devyn said with a smile. “Because I called the front desk this morning and got us upgraded to a deluxe suite—two bedrooms, a free minibar, and a hot tub so big we can swim in it. Surprise!”

“No way.”

“Way. There’s even a TV attached to the hot tub, so we can watch chick flicks in our bikinis while we sip champagne and soak away our cares.”

Squealing, Allie threw both arms around her sister. “This is just what I needed. You’re the best!”

“Damn right, I am,” Dev agreed. “If we’re going to act like homebodies, we might as well do it in style. Seventeenth floor, here we come!”

By the time Marc’s plane landed in Nevada, he didn’t want to simply kiss the ground—he wanted to give it Allie’s ring and make passionate love to it.

He unclenched ten white-knuckled fingers from his knees and drew a deep breath to loosen the vise around his chest, but he couldn’t quite manage to unclench his jaw. Lord, if he never flew in a froghopper again, it would be too damned soon.

Rick slapped him on the back. “Told you I’d have you in Sin City tonight.”

With twelve o’clock rapidly approaching, tonight was a stretch. By the time Marc called a taxi and drove to the hotel, it would be morning, but not morning enough to knock on Allie’s door. He would’ve been better off getting a decent night’s sleep and flying out at dawn.

“Want to share a cab into town?” Rick asked. “I need to rest up before I head back. Maybe I’ll catch a show and hit the craps tables, too.”

Marc agreed, and after helping Rick stow the plane in a rented hangar, the two men rode together to the city. They chatted the whole way, and Marc shared the reason for his visit.

“A Dumont getting hitched?” Rick asked, smoothing his beard. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

“I’ll leave here a married man or die trying,” Marc promised.

“Good luck to you, son.” When they reached the Grand Palace Royale, Rick wrote his cell phone number on the back of a business card and handed it over. “I imagine you’ll want to fly back with your bride on a commercial jet, but call me if you change your mind.”

Marc pocketed the business card, but knew he wouldn’t need it. Then he thanked Rick and waved good-bye as the cab shuttled the man to a less extravagant destination.

At the front desk, Marc’s credit card took a beating, but he gladly plunked down the money for a deluxe suite with the honeymoon package, then hurried to his room on the seventeenth floor to freshen up. He didn’t care if it was two in the morning. If he waited any longer to apologize to Allie, his head might explode.

Looking as dapper as possible in his sleep-deprived, travel-weary state, he took the elevator to the first floor and approached room 123. Then he knocked on the door, arming himself with a repentant grin and a single rose he’d borrowed from a floral arrangement in the lobby.

When the door swung open, Marc’s smile fell.

“Yeah?” A chiseled young man stood there, looking like he’d stepped off a J.Crew billboard. He was naked with nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist. He rubbed his eyes and scanned Marc’s tuxedo. “We didn’t order anything.”

Marc’s face heated while raw jealousy surged through his veins. In the span of two seconds, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the pounding pulse in his ears. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The man drew back. “Who the hell are you ?”

“Where’s Allie?”

“Who?”

“My fiancée, that’s who!”

A classic oh, shit! expression passed over the guy’s features as he darted a glance into the room. “She told me her name was Mandy. And she didn’t say anything about having a fiancé.”

Marc pointed into the darkness. “Just put on your clothes and get lost. I’ll take it from here.”

The guy propped one hand on the doorframe, blocking the way. “Listen, buddy, I can sympathize, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be with you. Why don’t you quit embarrassing yourself and go drink it off or something?”

Drink it off? Who did this punk think he was?

“Drink this off, you son of a bitch!” Marc dropped his rose and pushed up both jacket sleeves, gearing up to knock this cocky bastard into next week.

Too bad sheer exhaustion had slowed his reflexes. The last thing Marc saw before losing consciousness was a ham-sized fist connecting with his face.

When Marc came to, he was flat on his back in the hallway with a curly-haired blonde kneeling over him. She wore a fluffy white bathrobe and a worried expression.

“I don’t know this guy,” the woman said to someone standing behind her.

“Well, he said you’re his fiancée,” came a man’s response.

“I don’t care what he said.” The woman tightened her robe’s belt tie and frowned at the man. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Marc pushed to his elbows, groaning when the slight change in altitude made his head throb. One of his eyelids had begun to swell shut, so he turned the good one toward the couple staring at him.

They were strangers.

Understanding dawned, bringing with it sweet relief. Allie hadn’t moved on with another man. Marc sniffed a dry laugh at his own stupidity—and that of Beau’s hacker.

“Sorry,” he said in a voice roughened by the fall. “I had the wrong room.”

The woman smiled triumphantly at her partner. “See? Told you.”

Cringing, the man inspected his knuckles. “Guess I should have just closed the door and called security instead of whaling on you like that. Sorry, man.”

“No hard feelings.” Marc wasn’t a stranger to black eyes and busted lips. “I’m glad you didn’t call security. I can’t afford to get kicked out of here.” At least not until he found Allie and won her forgiveness; then the hotel staff was free to toss him into the street. He pushed himself up to a sitting position while the hallway spun around him.

“Whoa, there.” The man steadied Marc’s shoulder. “Take it easy before you pass out again.”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Not long—a few seconds, tops. I think you hit your head when you fell.”

That explained the pounding at the back of his skull. Marc closed his eyes, but that made the spinning worse. “I’m fine. I need to get back to my room.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you,” the man said. “It’s the least I can do, since I kicked your ass, and all.”

Laughing, Marc agreed, and they slogged arm in arm to the seventeenth floor. Once inside his suite, the guy helped Marc to the king-sized bed before returning downstairs.

While Marc iced the back of his head, he considered his next move.

He could call Beau and ask his hacker friend to give it another whirl, but that didn’t seem worth the effort since the original information had been wrong anyway. At this hour, it didn’t seem wise to walk through the bars or casinos looking for Allie. She’d almost certainly be asleep, especially considering the schedule she kept at the bakery—early to bed, early to rise.

His gaze darted to the bedside phone. Maybe he should try calling the front desk. Could the solution be that easy?

Marc dialed the check-in station and waited for an answer before asking, “Can you connect me with Allie Mauvais’s room?”

“Just one moment,” came the reply. “I’m sorry. That room has issued a DND request.”

“DND?”

“Do not disturb.”

Marc uttered a curse under his breath. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He decided not to leave a message. Allie wouldn’t return his call, not after the way he’d behaved at the cemetery.