Jami Albright is a born and raised Texas girl and is the multiple award-winning author of The Brides on the Run series...a fun, sexy, snarky, laugh-out-loud good time. If you don't snort with laughter, then she hasn't done her job.
She is also a wife, mother, and an actress/comedian. She thought she could sing until someone paid her to stop. She took their money and kept on singing!
Jami loves her family, all things "Outlander," and puppies make her stupid happy. She can be found on Sundays, during football season, watching her beloved Houston Texans and trying not to let them break her heart.
Jami's books contain mature content and language and are for readers 18 years of age and older.
Jami loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at:
EMAIL: jamialbright1@gmail.com
WEBSITE: https://www.jamialbright.com
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/Jami-Albright-Author-576095932592545/
Light seared through Scarlett Kelly’s eyelids. She buried her face in the cool pillow to block the glare, but even that slight movement caused an explosion of agony. Pain and nausea crashed into her like a train on fire.
After several minutes of panting through her symptoms, the misery subsided long enough to peel open her dry, sticky eyes.
Her conservative dress and equally unadventurous bra stared at her from a condemning puddle on the floor.
Stomach tight, she slid her gaze a slightly farther to the right to identify the black pile in her peripheral vision. A motorcycle jacket. Combat boots. Black jeans. And…a guitar? Yes, a beat-up guitar leaned against the wall on the far side of the room. And poker chips littered the carpet like crushed confetti after a wild party.
What the¬--
Suddenly, something warm cupped her naked breast. She peered down at the large hand connected to a tattooed arm, connected to a…
Oh. My. Lord.
She rotated her head, and a stifled gasp jammed in her throat as she stared into the sleeping, face of the man who shared the bed.
Gavin Bain? A thrill skittered through her. The sunlight shone on his raven hair. His smooth bronze skin. Fascinating tattoos. Bam! A memory surfaced through her muddled brain. She’d traced the lines of one of those tattoos, the ninja star on his chest. She’d touched and then kissed her way… Oh, heavens, had she done that with this rock god?
She, Scarlett Kelly, children’s author and poster girl for responsible living, had sex with Gavin Bain. Gavin Bain, the rock star, AKA, The Delinquent.
Her brain tried to piece together the previous night. She rarely drank and certainly not to excess. Even during the worst time in her life, alcohol hadn’t been involved.
An acute case of bed-head made pushing her red curls from her face a painful challenge. Why had she drunk so much? It all came back in flashes of utter dismay. The Children’s Writers Conference in Las Vegas. Nervous anticipation of signing the contract that would save her family financially. That dream blowing up in her face. Then the added humiliation of overhearing herself described as a No- Fun-Nun.
She’d shown them. Look at her now, naked in a strange man’s bed, the absolute picture of wholesomeness.
I’ve got to get out of here.
She held her breath as she removed his hand and slid from the bed. Moving unsteadily, due to her pounding head and sour stomach, she searched for her clothes, careful to be as quiet as possible.
The purse, bra, dress, and boots were easy. But where were her panties?
A panic attack threatened, and her whole body trembled. Could she have removed her underwear before she got to the room? If so, she hoped that memory stayed hidden. She gave up on the lost undies and headed for the bathroom.
Lord, she needed to pee, but after a prolonged study of the toilet, decided it would be too loud and leaving an unflushed toilet was just bad manners. Even though she’d become, by all appearances, Slutty McSlut Slut, she couldn’t bring herself to be impolite. So she dressed as fast as her shaking hands allowed.
The reflection in the mirror caught her eye, and the blood pounding through her veins turned to ice. Her head jerked toward her image so fast her brain vibrated. For the briefest of seconds, she saw her mother. A tiny whimper cut through the silence, and she ran trembling fingers ran over her face. People always said she looked like her mother, but now, while making the walk of shame, the resemblance was uncanny. The mental mantra she’d been repeating her whole life reverberated in her head. I am not my mother. I am not my mother. I am not my mother. She grabbed her purse and fled the pristine bathroom.
A cool breeze from the air conditioner drifted up her dress and skimmed her bare bottom. She didn’t ever go command--too much freedom. Restrictions were safe. Without restraint, a girl could find herself hung over, panty-less, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown while covertly fleeing a rock star’s hotel room.
Oh, wait. That already happened.
She glanced at the door. Nine feet, and she’d be free of this disaster. Logic screamed escape. But compulsion kept her rooted to the spot, and it became imperative that she find her underwear.
I cannot leave without them.
Where could one pair of basic white panties hide? The chandelier was blessedly free of them. Nothing on the drapery rod. But a photo on the desk made life as she knew it come to a screeching halt.
A gaudy cardboard frame held a picture of her and Gavin under a red neon heart. The Valentine Wedding Chapel of Love spelled out in rhinestones around the border.
It couldn’t possibly mean what she thought it did.
Nooooo.
Next to the picture, the condemning proof--a marriage license issued by the State of Nevada, signed by Gavin Michael Bain and Scarlett Rose Kelly. Her vision blurred causing the letters on the certificate to dance like cartoon characters.
She wrapped her arms around her middle and glanced back to the gorgeous sleeping man in the bed. A wave of vertigo slammed into her, along with the memory.
She’d told him she’d only have sex with her husband.
With shaking hands, she grabbed the evidence of their reckless night shoved it into her purse.
While her hard won reputation exploded into a million pieces, her inner wild child made a victory lap around the room. If that hussy had been driving the bus last night, then she was the reason for this catastrophe.
How could she have been so irresponsible? What was she going to do? No good answer for the first question, but she knew the response to the second. Find the panties and get the heck out of Las Vegas.
She dug through the comforter at the foot of the bed. She kicked at his pile of clothes. She checked behind his guitar.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
They had to be under the bed.
Crap.
Not interested in waking the Delinquent, she cautiously made her way to his side and quietly lowered herself to the floor, ignoring the sweet smile he had on his face while he slept. The white material peeked out between the headboard and the mattress. Hallelujah. She reached in and yanked them free.
The sudden movement slammed dizzying pain into her skull. She bent forward and rested her head on the soft carpet, and waited for the room to stop spinning.
“Are you praying?” asked a sleepy male voice.
She squeaked, then slowly turned her head without lifting it from the carpet. Amusement sparkled in Gavin’s smoky gray eyes.
“Yes, I’m praying you’re a very bad dream.”
He rolled his eyes as if that couldn’t possibly be true. “Good one. Why are you really on the floor?”
“I, uh, I…” The marriage certificate hidden in her purse and the cacophony of self-condemning thoughts made it hard to focus.
Suspicion darkened his handsome face. “What are you hiding under the bed? Is there a recording device under there?”
“Are you serious?”
He leveled her with a deadly serious glare. There was no trace of the formerly amused man.
“Actually, there’s a reporter from TMZ under here, would you like to say hello?”
When his features went from dark to thunderous, she knew she’d made a critical error with the sarcasm.
“I was just…um…looking for something.” She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Looking for what?” Titanium coated every word and slammed into her hungover brain.
Time to go.
She scrambled to her feet. An increased heart rate, combined with residual alcohol pumping through her system, made the room spin. She swayed and toppled cheek first into the side of the dresser, dropping the panties in the process.
"Ouch!” She covered her face with her hands.
Sheets rustled, and suddenly, he was in front of her.
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