What in the hell was wrong with her? She should have called her parole officer and reported the dead battery. Brownie points could have been added to her file or banked for the next time she screwed up.

Something cold pressed against her neck. “This will help.”

The shock of the cold sobered her, and she managed to push her blonde hair back as the nausea lessened.

Jordan sank down on the edge of the soaking tub. The bathroom was large, impersonal. Like a Vegas suite. Where were they? She couldn’t remember anything after dancing at whatever club they’d gone to.

“Man, I can’t believe I partied with Chase London. That’s some crazy shit.”

Chase took the cloth from the back of her neck and used it to wipe her face. She looked at the nearly naked guy sitting inches from her. “Yeah, crazy shit all right.”

“I mean, I used to jerk off to you when I was little. That movie? The one with the cheerleader skirt? Hot as shit, and now I’ve had that ass.”

Her stomach rolled over. “Yeah, happy to help you out with that fantasy. Could you hand me a robe or towel or something?”

“Nah.” His gaze slid down her body, and Chase could see he was getting turned on because, yeah, he wore boxers and was really close to her. “You should never cover that body, baby. You’re so smokin’. Come back to bed. We’ll have some more fun.”

“Are you joking? I feel like death. I’m not going back to bed with you.”

Jordan made an exaggerated sad face.

“Where are we, by the way?” Chase pushed herself up. They weren’t in a hotel, but the place was nice—she’d glimpsed the sand and surf out of the large sliding glass door in the bedroom, and the hand towel hanging by the sink was monogrammed with a scrolling letter she couldn’t discern. “Are we still in Orange County? Please tell me we are.”

Jordan looked at her like she was crazy. Then he laughed. “Relax, mama. We in Malibu.”

Chase rose and went in search of her clothes and phone. As she shoved pillows out of the way, she tried to piece the night together. She remembered going with her friends to a new club. Maybe she’d popped a pill with the wine? No. Wait. She’d done a few lines in the bathroom. Once she did coke, she usually lost time. Still, how did she end up in Malibu, bombed out of her mind, with some guy she couldn’t remember meeting?

Chase snagged her thong and wiggled into it, thankful to have something on.

“Aw, come on.” Jordan stood by the bed, erection bobbing beneath the cotton fly of his boxers. “You look like you feel better.”

Chase stalked over to the chaise lounge and grabbed her dress. The sequins would look ludicrous in the light of day, but she hadn’t packed a bag, now had she? She slid it over her head, not bothering with her missing bra. Scanning the room for her shoes, her gaze landed on a syringe on the nightstand.