She Woke Up Married by Suzanne Macpherson Read Free Book Online Page B

telling her what she’d said to him back in Vegas, it’d all come back to her in a blinding flash, like sequins glittering in the morning light. All of it. Her encounter withTurner, her convincing him to marry her, the wedding, and the oh-so-hot wedding night.
    She remembered she’d sobered up somewhere along the line and had kept up with the wild adventure anyway—particularly the part where she’d gotten Turner into her bed. In her flashback of memory she recalled Turner telling her he couldn’t have sex with her unless they were married, so she’d just made that happen. Lust is a many splendored thing.
    It wasn’t drinking so much champagne that had kept her from remembering; it’d been self-preservation. If she’d recalled what a complete idiot she’d been, how badly she’d behaved, she would have had to face her worst qualities. She was a manipulative, oversexed, over-the-hill woman. Turner just happened to have been the recipient of her horrible display of self-centered, sloppy behavior.
    Which in some ways was lucky for her. Turner would listen to reason. He’d understand and forgive her for tricking him and using him for one wild night. He was very forgiving. Anyone else might not be so forgiving, and she’d have them to deal with. That ought to be a lesson to her.
    She was going to clean up her life and get her career back in order just as soon as she put Turner back on a plane to Vegas.
    Anton was so mean to bring up her bookings,even if it was true. Damn him. This was just another example of Anton’s inability to keep private things private. Obviously he and Rita had discussed it, which was just nasty; he couldn’t even keep that to himself, ratting out Rita by telling Paris he knew about her bookings. That meant they were all talking about it. She crossed her arms on the dressing table and smacked her head down hard on them. Her life was shit.
    It was all true; she’d just been trying to pretend it wasn’t. She had seen a significant decrease over the last year. The designers kept wanting younger and younger girls. What did they see in those anorexic teenage snots? It just made her want to puke. Again.
    Thirty in model years was like…dog years. Paris could see where the seeds of her Vegas outburst had come from. Reality bites—job woes, age woes, and boyfriend woes. But start a family? No way. She would have never said that, drunk or sober.
    Paris realized, with her head on her arms, that she hadn’t calculated a period into her miserable life for over two months. That wasn’t totally unusual—it had happened before when she’d gotten too thin, but presently she was firmly in the fat jeans phase.
    What was she going to do if she was pregnant? She was way too Catholic for some of the options she might have had if she’d come to her senses earlier.
    Which left her with giving the child away. No matter what career change she made, there was no room in it for a baby.
    Paris was a working girl. Period. End of story. That’s all she ever wanted to be. Well, except that time she’d thought she might make a good senator’s wife. Backstabbing political arenas were right up her ally.
    Turner was just way too nice. She’d break his heart in tiny pieces and leave him a damaged man. She did have some scruples. She was just going to have to ignore him until he got the message. But she wasn’t going to let him and Anton have a slumber party and tell all her secrets; that was for sure. She’d take Turner back with her to her place and straighten him out there.
    Paris moved to go fill a paper cup with water at the sink and rinse her mouth out for the tenth time.
    She looked in the mirror at her pale complexion and automatically reached in her bag for her lipstick. Maybe sparkling hot pink wasn’t her best shade today, like Anton had said; she should have put on a soft rose color instead.
    She tilted her head and smacked her lips together, finding her best angle. There. She might be thirty, but she