Page 25 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

Song- Careful What You Wish For, Bad Omens.

I try to open my eyes, but the second I do, bile climbs up my throat.

My stomach gurgles violently, and I sit up way too fast?—

The room spins.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I run my shaking hands through my hair, eyes locked on the unfamiliar white sheets.

“Morning.”

Finn’s husky voice slices straight through my skull.

My stomach drops.

I launch myself off the bed and race for the bathroom—except it’s not where mine is.

Fuck.

Am I in his suite?

“Over this way,” Finn croaks from the bed.

I spin and dart into the bathroom, barely making it before I throw up the five thousand gallons of tequila we drank last night.

I don’t stop until my throat’s raw and my dignity’s in hell.

I run the cold tap, splash my face, and steal some of his toothpaste. Looking in the mirror, I see the mess that’s my face. I wipe the smeared eyeliner so I don’t look like a panda and drag my fingers through my tangled hair.

Good enough.

When I open the door, he’s still sprawled in bed, one arm behind his head, watching me like I’m a show.

“Why don’t you look like shit?” I rasp.

He laughs, but it turns into a cough.

“I don’t know. Because I feel like it.”

My eyes scan the tattoos. He’s shirtless. Inked to the gods. Broad as hell.

Wait.

Wait .

“Finn,” I say warily.

“Yes?”

“Did we fuck?”

He lifts the blanket, glances down.

“Uh, no. I’m still in my boxers. You got your red lace panties on?” he says with a mocking tone.

My heart skips into panic mode.

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean…”

“Stephanie,” he cuts in, smirking. “You’d know, drunk or not, if I’d fucked you. You’d be covered in cuts and bruises. You wouldn’t be able to walk. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be questioning it. Because you’d feel it. I’d still be dripping down your thighs. So no, we did not have sex.”

I grip the doorframe to stop myself from collapsing.

“Jesus,” I hiss.

That’s... vivid. Cuts? What the hell is he into? And why does that burn me from the inside out? The pain, the trust. Fuck, that would be exceptional.

“So I just crashed in bed with you?”

“Yeah,” he says casually, sitting up and stretching, revealing abs and arms I didn’t need to see.

“But,” he adds, “you might wanna sit down.”

My stomach coils.

“Why?”

He motions me over with one finger. And like the moron I am, I obey—sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Give me your left hand.”

I frown, confused, and let him take it. He turns my palm down, and my heart stops.

There, glinting under the Vegas sunlight, is a massive diamond on a silver band.

“Finn. Tell me we did not?—”

Memories come crashing in.

Joking about getting married. Laughing. Drinking. Dancing.

No. No. No.

He pulls his hand out from under the covers.

A platinum band sits proudly on his tatted finger.

I slap a hand over my mouth.

“Finn. You’re fucking with me. You just... put these on for a joke, right?”

His expression is stone.

His eyes, dark fire.

“No, I really didn’t.” He pauses. “Mrs. Quinn.”

He smirks. Like he just won the goddamn lottery.

“No. No. No.” I jump off the bed, pacing like a lunatic. “Finn! What have we done?!”

“Stephanie, calm down. It’s fine.”

“Fine?! Fine?! They’re legally binding marriages here, you psycho!”

I yank at the ring, but the second I do, a growl erupts from him.

“Dr. Stephanie Quinn.”

His voice is sharp and commanding.

He stands, stepping toward me like he’s stalking prey.

I forget how to breathe. Fuck, he’s sexy.

“That ring stays on your finger.”

“Are you still drunk?” I snap.

He leans in. Close enough to smell. Dangerous enough to destroy me.

“No. You lost the challenge. My reward... is you.”

My hangover evaporates in an instant.

I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. Just grins, infuriatingly smug.

“Annul our marriage, rich boy.”

He runs a hand over his stubble. And then he just fucking shrugs.

“Nope.”

He hops back into bed and pulls the blanket over him like this is just another Thursday.

“You coming back in to sleep this hangover off or what?”

My jaw drops.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Finn?”

“I’m a married man now, Stephanie. And your husband needs a nap.”

I grab a pillow and hold it over his head.

“Say you’ll annul it, or I will smother you.”

“Good one,” he grunts, eyes already closed.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know.” He doesn’t even flinch.

“‘Stephanie Quinn’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

A fire erupts inside me.

“No. It sounds horrible . ”

“Now get up, and let’s sort this out.”

He snuggles deeper.

“No can do. I’m a busy man.”

He fucking yawns as he talks.

“Stop being a dick, Finn.”

“Stop being a brat, Stephanie.”

I toss the pillow at his face and stomp toward the door.

“Where are you going, wifey?” he calls out.

“Back to my room. Then to figure out how to divorce your ass . ”

He sighs dramatically.

“Well, that leads to storage, not the door for your dramatic exit. But good luck. I’m not signing shit. I won this fair and square. I won you. If you could also track down the chapel we went to and get them to send me the footage, I’d love to savor the moment that I claimed you.”

I turn slowly, rage vibrating in my bones. Putting my fingers to my plump lips, I freeze. Did we kiss?

Fuck. It’s so annoying I can’t remember anything.

“I’m going to kill you.”

He beams.

“Not before our honeymoon, love.”