"Wait," Avery mumbles. "Not like this—the bed will be more comfortable."

Mamai hovers over her, and a smile twists the corner of his mouth. He glances over his shoulder at the fluffy, king size bed and then looks down at the small sofa. He loosens his grip on her wrist and leaps to his feet.

She struggles to stand—the room still feels like it's spinning. Mamai looks down at her, and she smiles up at him in a way she hopes is sexy and inviting. He licks his lips and squeezes his erection through his pants. Bile rises in her throat, and she swallows hard, forcing it back down.

She gets to her feet and looks down at the carpeted floor. Her purse is just a few inches away, but she's not sure she can reach it without him noticing. She winks at him and tugs the bodice of her gown down, then she bends over, letting her breasts swing free. His eyes widen, and his hand slips inside the front of his pants. She grabs the purse and tries to straighten up, but everything is blurry.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before standing up. With her hands behind her back, she blindly unzips the purse and fumbles for a small hidden pocket. Her fingers close around something hard and cold, and then the room goes black.

She feels herself falling and then crashing into something warm and hot. Strong arms wrap around her waist and grab her ass, but then Mamai grunts, and the falling starts again. She lands on top of him and lets the darkness take her.

When she opens her eyes, she's not sure how long it's been. There's something soft and warm under her. She sees Mamai's chiseled and tanned face and tries to roll off of him, but his hands are still cupping her ass. She gags and lifts his arms—they're surprisingly heavy.

She gets off of him and pushes herself into a sitting position. His breathing is even and steady, and a long silver needle is sticking out of his chest. The needle is attached to her trusty green diamond ring. Relief floods her. She pulls the ring from his chest, pushes the needle back inside and hides the ring in the secret pocket in her purse.

"You're lucky, you sick bastard," she says aloud. "If guns were allowed inside the banquet hall, I would have shot you in the face instead of stabbing you in the heart."

She kicks the unconscious man in the head and looks at herself in the mirror. Half of her hair has fallen out of her bun, and it sticks to her neck in sweaty clumps. Her face is flushed, and her dress is wrinkled and twisted around. She fixes the dress but finds herself too weak to rearrange her hair.

She walks toward the door, but it sounds like someone is trying to come in. She looks at Mamai's slumped body, rushes across the room and crouches down behind the sofa. The door opens, and she hears uneven footsteps. She peeks under the sofa and sees a pair of sparkling white high heels heading for the bed. There's a muffled thump as the person collapses onto the bed and then quiet, steady snoring.

Avery grabs the back of the sofa and pulls herself up. She walks to the bedroom and can't believe her eyes—Bella Clifford is passed out on the bed. She looks at the snoring woman on the bed, and the prone Mamai and an idea hit her. Taking a deep breath, she uses all her remaining strength to pull Mamai across the room.

Getting him into the bed is difficult—his arms and legs flop limply back and forth—but she finally manages it. She steps back and looks at the scene, but it's not quite right. She holds her breath and reaches for Mamai's pants, tugging them down to his ankles. Her skin crawls, but she grabs the top of his underwear and pulls it down too. Then she hitches Bella's dress up around her waist and covers the two with a quilt.

She staggers out of the room with a new strength burning in her veins. Her skin tingles, and there's a horrible aching need between her legs. It must have been the water I drank at the banquet, she thinks. Is it possible it was laced with a sedative and an aphrodisiac?

She staggers down the hall, trying to ignore her body's demands, but it gets harder and harder with each step. Her very blood seems to burn, and all she can think about is having a man's warm body on top of hers. She closes her eyes and images of Evan flash through her memory: water dripping down his abs, the way the muscles of his back tense when he's inside her, the low groan he makes when he finishes. She moans, and someone clears their throat.

"Umm, are you okay, Miss Peters," Robert asks.

"Not really," she mumbles. "Do you know where Evan is?"

"He's inside," Robert says, glancing at the door to another hotel room.

"I need to see him," she says.

"I—well—okay," Robert agrees.

He leads her to the room and opens the door for her. She stops in the hallway and grabs his arm.

"Is he alone?" she asks.

Robert nods.

"Good, don't let anyone else in," she says.

Evan blinks and rubs his eyes—is it really Avery? She sways slightly in the doorway and then rushes across the dim room. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes are wide and shiny, but there's something unfocused about the way she looks at him. She drops onto his lap and rests a hot palm against his inner thigh. Desire stirs in his abdomen, but he forces himself to focus—who knows what she's up to.

"Oh, Evan," she mumbles. "I've been drugged."

Her words make his chest ache—desire, worry, longing, shame, and anger mix together. He wraps his arms around her, lifts her off his lap, and puts her on the sofa next to him, but she crawls back onto his lap.

"Evan, I need you," she whispers. "So badly."

He feels stiff in his pants. He closes his eyes and leans away, but her smell still wraps around him, intoxicating as ever. It would be so easy to take her on the sofa, but he can't—not if she only wants him because she's been drugged.

"So what?" he asks, trying to keep his desire out of his voice.

"I need an antidote," she says, reaching out and wrapping his tie around her small hand. "Be my antidote, will you?"

She pushes herself onto all fours and crawls into his lap. Their faces are just inches apart, and she leans in to kiss him. He turns his head away, and her lips land on his cheek. She giggles and starts to kiss down his jaw.

"What about Andrew?" he asks, pushing her head away. "Can't he satisfy you?"

She presses her breasts into his chest and wiggles around on his lap. Heat seems to roll off her body in waves, and her delicate white skin is flushed an enticing pink. He's so hard it hurts, and he wonders how long he can control himself. If he doesn't get rid of her quickly, he'll take her and deal with the regret later.

"He's too far away," she slurs. "I need it now."

Her words wash over him like ice water, and his heart becomes sore. I'm an idiot, he thinks. This isn't about me, and she doesn't want me. She's drugged and looking for a man. If Andrew were here, she'd just as happily have him.

He pushes her away hard, and she slams into the opposite end of the sofa. She wrinkles her forehead and looked at him in confusion.

"I'll go get Andrew for you," he says. "It'll only take a minute."

"No," she groans. "You know he can't—he's still hurt down there."

She reaches for the gown's zipper and starts to slide it down, revealing a lacy black bra. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but look at the perfect white orbs of her breasts—her rosy nipples are visible through the sheer lace.

"Fuck," he groans.

He grabs her leg and pulls her toward him, pressing his body on top of hers. Her legs part and wrap around his waist, and she arches her back, ready for his invasion. He slides a hand up her waist and cups her perfect breast in his hand.

"Would you go to him if you could?" he asks, slowly tracing her nipple with his finger.

She bites her lip and lets out a small, breathy moan. He aches but forces himself to focus. I can't take her if she'd rather have Andrew, he thinks. I can't always be her second choice.

He pinches her and says, "Answer me."

She shakes her head and reaches for the front of his pants, rubbing him through the fabric.

"Say it," he groans. "I need you to say it."

"I don't want him—only you," she whispers. "Please, let me have you."

Fuck, I need her, he thinks. He pulls away, and she groans in protest. He unbuttons his pants and starts to pull them down, but he looks down at her and freezes. She's covered in a light sheen of sweat, and her eyes are fuzzy and glazed. She's not in her right mind, he thinks. I can't take her like this—she'll hate me later.

"Please," she begs. "Please, Evan, I need you."

Her small hands tear frantically at her dress, and her body thrashes from side to side, seeking relief. He grabs her hands and holds her down like she has an epileptic fit.

"Tinder," he roars. "Get a fucking doctor in here."

The hotel doctor comes and makes a quick inspection. He draws a small vial of blood and shakes his head.

"I won't know for sure until I've tested her blood, but it's pretty obvious she's taken a powerful aphrodisiac," he says.

"I know," Evan groans. "Give her the antidote."

The doctor hesitates and says, "I could do that, but it can have really bad side-effects on pregnant women. I wouldn't recommend risking it."

"What about cold water?" Evan asks.

"Unfortunately, she's taken too much of the drug for that to work," the doctor says. "There's really only one solution here."

Evan closes his eyes and says, "But what if I hurt her—she's pregnant after all."

"You'll just have to be gentle," the doctor says.

Evan nods and waves his hand to dismiss the doctor. Before he can open his eyes, he feels her lightweight on his lap and her hot lips on his neck.

"I want to," she murmurs against his skin. "Come on, Evan."