Found At the Jazz Club: Found, #3

By Christi Snow

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas...or does it? 

Emily Hodges went to Vegas for her best friend's wedding. She was NOT looking for a husband. Been there, done that, never doing it again. She has enough scars on her heart, and doesn't need or want any more.

Brady Gresham went to Vegas to find his musical voice again. Instead he found an inspiring muse in the form of Emily. But right now his musical career is his focus. He's too young to want or need to be tied down.

Somehow their drunken get-together turned into a wedding that neither one of them can remember or explain.

Waking up married was never part of the plan, but you know what they say about best laid plans...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christi Snow
• Release date: Nov 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386736240

Christi Snow

Bio for Christi Snow As an avid reader her entire life, Christi Snow always dreamed of writing books that brought to others the kind of joy she felt when she read. But...she never did anything about it besides jot down a few ideas and sparse scenes. When her husband retired from the Air Force, Christi decided it was time to chase her dream and she started writing. She hasn’t stopped since. With twenty-two published books in various romance genres, she’s found her passion. Now she spends her days with her laptop writing about sexy, alpha heroes and the loves of their lives. Writing both as Christi Snow and one-half of the writing duo, KB Jacobs, Christi has fulfilled her dream... filling the world with more romance and suspense. Her tagline is... Passion and adventure on the road to Happily Ever After. She loves this adventure and has truly found her tribe!

Book preview

Chapter One

Emily Hodges awoke pretty sure something rancid had died in her mouth. She rolled over with a low moan as the orchestra made up mainly of bass drums began a symphony in her head.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and squeezed them shut again when the bright sun blinded her. How much had they drunk last night? Was Brady as bad off as her?

She glanced across the bed that had been left in shambles. Well, obviously they hadn’t been that drunk if they’d managed to have sex. She smiled. Sex with Brady was one of the best perks of this trip to Las Vegas. She’d forgotten what really good sex felt like. Her core clenched in memory, giving her a roll of delicious soreness that spoke of a very good time last night even if she couldn’t quite remember it.

She needed water, aspirin, and then Brady. Maybe she could convince him to have one more round before she had to catch her flight back to Denver. Slowly, she threw her naked legs over the side of the bed, dragging the sheet with her. Her head swam with being upright, so she breathed through her mouth, waiting for the rush of nausea to pass.

A water bottle, a packet of aspirin, and a note sat on the nightstand. She smiled despite realizing there probably wouldn’t be a second round. Brady had already left.

Well, that sucked.

She picked up the note and read.

Hey, gorgeous.

Do you know how hard it is to leave this bed when you look so fantastic and tempting in it? We won’t talk about the pounding in my head that wants to convince me that I should stay in bed, too. But work calls.

Thank you for a fucking fantastic weekend...and for the fucking fantastic fucking. You were incredible.

Now, take the pills, because I have a feeling your head hurts just as much as mine does. Hopefully, you can remember more of the night than I can, but from the looks of things—ahem...I cleaned up all the trash—I think we had a good time.

...Brady

A glance at the alarm clock told her she still had a couple of hours before she had to be at the airport for their chartered flight home. She could shower, and she’d head back to her hotel.

She squinted around the strange hotel room...well, it actually looked more like a luxury suite. Why would they have stayed here rather than her suite that she’d already paid for? Or they could have gone back to Brady’s borrowed apartment. Weird, but they’d been drunk. There was no telling what they’d been thinking.

She shrugged, grabbed the bottle and took the pills, and made it to the luxury, spa-like bathroom. She glanced in the trashcan and was impressed at the number of condom wrappers. They’d been energetic, even drunk. She gave a small giggle and then glanced at herself in the mirror.

Whoa. Thank goodness, Brady had already left. If he’d seen this version of her, he’d have been running. Hot mess didn’t even begin to cover it. Her hair that had been in an updo leftover from Mac’s wedding was a huge rat’s nest, half a teased up, tangled mess and half falling over her face. Her mascara had made it almost to her chin. She grabbed a washcloth, wet it, and started scrubbing at the—

She froze, staring at her hand in the mirror as shock and ice-cold fear zinged straight from her stomach to her feet. Why the hell did she have a diamond ring on her left hand?

She stared, hoping it would disappear. It had to be a trick of the reflection on the mirror. That couldn’t really be there. But she was terrified to look down at her real hand. Her hands started trembling, her stomach roiled, and her legs suddenly felt way weaker than they had moments before.

She had to do this before she collapsed.

She glanced down at her hand and dove for the toilet as reality set in. She had a wedding ring on her hand.

AFTER FINDING THE MARRIAGE license in her purse, she’d called Stig, a friend and member of Mac’s wedding party, to let him know that she wouldn’t be making their charter flight home. She had to find her missing husband and get this taken care of.

She’d showered and scrubbed every inch of her body, wondering what the hell she’d been thinking the night before. There was so little of it that she could remember.

She’d been slightly depressed after Mac’s wedding. It wasn’t every day that a girl lost her best friend. Not that she was losing him, but it felt kind of like that.

And Brady—the piano player she’d met the night before at the jazz club where he’d been playing—had been ready to celebrate. A musician and songwriter, he’d had some sort of breakthrough on the song he’d been working on.

Drinking and partying had seemed like the right answer for both their moods. They’d started their date with several shots of tequila and things had gotten fuzzy from there.

You make me feel not so alone, she whispered in Brady’s ear as they slow danced.

You just make me feel, he answered back.

She remembered the warmth that surged inside of her in that moment. But how had that tiny fleck of warmth ended with a wedding? Something that she swore she’d never do again after her last divorce—her third one.

She dropped her head into her hands, trying to find some flicker of a memory that made sense from the night. How had she become just like her parents, each with multiple marriages and divorces under their belts? She’d never wanted to be this person...so needy of another human being that she gave up her own self-worth and common sense.

A laugh burst out of her chest, and she worked way too hard to keep it from becoming a sob. So much for the independent, successful, ball-buster image she’d worked so hard to perfect.

Now, she had a day in Vegas to find the husband she didn’t want or need and convince him to get an annulment...before her life became even more screwed up than before.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE doesn’t work here? Emily stared in disbelief at the young hipster who ran the jazz club where she had met Brady. He’s your pianist.

Oh, babydoll, I wish he was my pianist, he said. I can just imagine what those fingers could do.

A ripple of knowledge shot through Emily’s core. She knew firsthand just how talented those fingers were. A shiver rolled up her spine even as she scowled at the fantasizing hipster.

He raised his eyebrow and hummed with judgment. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

She flushed red.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t work here. He doesn’t even live in Vegas. He’s a friend who likes to come here to clear his head. I’m sorry if he left you hanging, but that’s Brady. I’m sorry, babydoll, but he’s a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy. Go chase some other handsome fella for your happily ever after. Brady won’t be it.

She blew out a breath. She didn’t want a fucking happily ever after. That fairytale didn’t exist. Okay. If you can just give me his phone number and address, I’ll get in touch with him that way. They’d been casual, so she’d just met him at the club where she thought he worked to go out. They’d never exchanged phone numbers. Their fling was supposed to be easy. Casual.

Until she had to reach him.

But the club owner just shook his head. "Sorry, doll. If Brady had wanted you to have those things, he would have given them to you. Just chalk it up to what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas and enjoy the memories. Now, I need to get back to work, and you need to get back to your life. Enjoy the rest of your trip."

Humiliation swamped her. It shouldn’t bother her that this stranger thought she was some desperate woman on the prowl. She never would have searched Brady out like a stalker if she didn’t have a marriage license and wedding ring scorching a hole in the bottom of her purse. She should have brought that fact up to the man, but she still had some pride left.

She’d find Brady some other way.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk of the club, another flash from the night before swamped her.

What do I call you now? Mr. Emily? Emily erupted into giggles as she staggered against Brady’s arm.

He tried to frown even as his dimples made an appearance from the smile he was trying to hide. Only if I can call you Mrs. Brady. His eyes widened comically, and he shook his head. Oh no, that’s bad. Never that. They had all those bratty kids.

But he stumbled over nothing in the sidewalk, and the two of them fell into a drunken fit of falling laughter.

She never did find out his last name.

But she had the means to find it now. She dug through her purse and pulled out the marriage license. There in black ink was her answer.

Brady Gresham.

For some reason, that sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d told her his last name last night. She just couldn’t access the information behind the dead brain cells left behind by the over-consumption of alcohol.

She rubbed at her throbbing forehead and pulled up the internet on her phone to do a search for the name.

Holy fuck. Page after page of hits and photos of Brady flew across her screen. Brady wasn’t just a down-on-his-luck pianist in a bar.

She had to call her lawyer. Right the fuck now.

Chapter Two

Brady Gresham settled into the plush leather seat on the family’s private plane, one of a fleet of five that anyone in the family could use.

Mr. Gresham, the flight attendant, Callie, said. We’ll be landing in New York City at approximately one thirty local time. Would you like your normal meal prepared for lunch?

His stomach rolled at even the thought of food right now, but that would probably change by lunchtime. He hated hangovers. That’s fine. Thanks, Callie. I plan to get some work done, so if you could just bring me a few water bottles and some aspirin, I should be fine until lunchtime.

She gave him a small nod with a knowing smile. Vegas can make these early mornings difficult.

No kidding. If only they didn’t serve quite so much alcohol. He rubbed his forehead regretting every single drop he’d consumed last night. Even worse, it had erased his final night with Emily from his brain. Those memories would have been nice to hang on to. She had been amazing, both in bed and out of it.

It wasn’t like him to pick up strangers in bars, and certainly not like him to seek out a second night with someone he’d met like that. But Emily had been different.

As the various files and notes started opening on his computer, he stared at the evidence of just how different she’d been.

He went to Vegas when his creative muse needed a jolt. Granted, a creative block was something that rarely happened to him. Writing music had been something that had come as naturally as breathing, but during the last few weeks, his brain had gone silent. At a time when he needed the symphony in his head playing at maximum, he couldn’t hear a single note.

He’d been in Vegas for three days, missing Thanksgiving with his family for the first time ever, and still, the music had been quiet...until he’d met Emily.

Within twenty-four hours of meeting her, he’d written the start of five different songs for his album, and he was pretty sure he had the feel for the emotion that the motion picture soundtrack needed for him to get that contract. Never in his life had he had a more productive twenty-four hours.

Regretfully, his life called in New York City. He would have loved to let Emily play as his muse for another week or so. And it wasn’t just about the music. He’d never met someone so perfect for him in bed. She was sexy, self-assured, and she’d mastered his body like a virtuoso violinist.

He’d never dated an older woman before. There was definitely something to be said for experience.

Even thinking about it now sent a delectable zing to his groin and had his dick filling with blood. Damn, he would have liked to have stayed in Vegas. But it was never meant to be anything more than a short-lived affair, one he’d just have to remember with fondness.

Right now, he had work to concentrate on.

LUKE JACOBSON, HIS driver and good friend, raised a cocky eyebrow when he spotted Brady coming toward him from baggage claim.

What? Brady asked.

You got laid, and I’d guess from the relaxed vibe you’re sending off that it was good. Thank fuck. I wasn’t sure I could take much more of your grumpy ass.

I’m not grumpy.

Nope, you’re not, Luke agreed. Now, he added with a laugh. But that’s all those sex pheromones doing their work. It looks good on you. So, who was the lucky girl? Are you moving a Vegas showgirl in with you soon? And does she have a brother for me?

No comment. No. Brady shook his head with a laugh. And I have no idea. We didn’t discuss siblings. Or really, anything detailed about their personal lives. That had been part of the appeal. He’d gotten to have a fabulous time with a gorgeous woman without the pressure of something more in the future. They’d both known that it was just a fling. Although the idea of having access to Emily for longer than two nights appealed to him.

He shook his head. He didn’t even know her last name, so that would never happen. The only real thing he knew about her was that she lived in Denver, and her work had something to do with books.

His hangover had finally eased up about an hour ago. He’d wracked his brain, trying to remember the details from last night. But what he could remember were fuzzy snippets that made zero sense. Although the one with Emily riding his dick, dancing and singing as she gyrated with him surging inside of her made his balls ache with need. He’d never be able to listen to a Britney Spears song again without getting hard.

He shook his head. Even if he had a clue of how to get hold of her, there was no time in his life for relationships. He was young and on the cusp of great things with his career. Most people would be okay achieving the levels he’d already achieved at the age of twenty-four. Hell, they would have been just happy with riding the coattails of his music-centric family. But that wasn’t him, and it never would be.

His dreams were huge and priority number one. Nothing else could interfere with that right now.

Which meant he needed to get back to his penthouse and start laying down some of these tracks that Emily had inspired. The trip to Vegas had worked. He was more focused and inspired than ever before. And he had one woman to thank for it. He’d have to dedicate this album to her, not that she would ever know. She hadn’t had a clue who he