Don't Scatter Me

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Gabriella Bradley

ISBN : 978-1-4874-4382-5

Page :204

Word Count :61930

Publication Date :2025-12-26

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats :

Category : , Romantic Suspense and Mystery , Mystery and Suspense

BrandsExtasy Books
Product Code: 978-1-4874-4382-5

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Some marriages begin with love… Margo’s begins with a corpse.

Margo Reynolds goes to Las Vegas for a vacation. The first morning, she wakes up beside a gorgeous, dead, naked stranger, clutching a marriage certificate naming her as his wife.

Declared a widow overnight and handed a box of ashes, Margo finds herself trapped in a nightmare of suspicion, half–truths, and faceless threats demanding she scatters the remains.

But who was he? Why was her name tied to his? And why does the image of that impossibly handsome stranger haunt her every waking thought?

As shadows close in, Margo realizes the truth may be far darker than a marriage she can’t remember… and far more dangerous than a death she can’t forget.

Her tongue felt like sandpaper, dry and rough against the roof of her mouth. The taste lingering there was chemical, almost medicinal, not the familiar aftermath of too much wine or cocktails. This was different—wrong in a way she couldn’t articulate even to herself.

Margo forced her eyes open, squinting against the brightness.

The Bellagio. She was in her hotel room…

The details assembled themselves piece by piece…cream-colored walls, generic landscapes in gilt frames, the sleek lines of high-end hotel furniture designed to impress without offending anyone’s sensibilities. Through the slice of uncovered window, she could see a patch of blue sky and the curved top of the Paris Casino’s Eiffel Tower replica, glinting in the morning sun.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, the movement sending a spike of pain through her temples. Glancing at her watch told her it was eight-thirty-five AM. She had a pounding headache. The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. How much did she drink last night? The last thing she remembered was…what? Playing the slot machines in the casino downstairs, having a cocktail. But only one. What time did she stop playing and go up to her room? She frowned and tried to recall. The timeline felt fractured; pieces were missing or out of order. She sat up.

That’s when she noticed she wasn’t alone.

A man lay beside her, still and silent, his blond hair spread across the pillow. One arm was flung above his head, the other resting at his side, his fingers curled around what looked like a piece of paper. The sheet had slipped down to his groin, revealing a torso that belonged on a fitness magazine cover—all sculpted muscle and tanned skin. Who the hell was this? Again, she tried to remember going to her room…especially with a hunk. But for the life of her, she couldn’t.

“Hello?” Margo’s voice emerged as a croak.

He didn’t stir. His chest didn’t rise or fall. Something about the stillness registered as deeply, fundamentally wrong. Not the stillness of sleep, but something else.

“Hey,” she tried again, louder this time.

Nothing. Not the slightest movement.

Her gaze caught on the paper in his hand—thick, cream-colored stock with what looked like gold embossing at the top. It curled slightly from being clutched in his grip, but she could make out official-looking text and formal borders.

Curiosity momentarily overwhelmed her confusion. Margo reached across the space between them, her fingers brushing against his as she tried to see what he was holding. The contact sent a jolt through her system—not the spark of attraction, but something far worse.

Cold. His skin was cold.

Not cool like someone who’d been sleeping on top of the covers in a chilly room where the air conditioning was set too high, but a deep, pervasive cold that had no business in a living body. The kind of cold that meant only one thing.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her hand jerking back as if burned.

Her heart lurched painfully against her ribs as she stared at him, really seeing him now. The unnatural pallor beneath his tan. The slightly sunken quality around his eyes. The absolute, perfect stillness that no sleeping person could maintain.

Dead.

He’s dead.

The thought hit her with physical force, driving the air from her lungs. Her body reacted before her mind could fully process it. She scrambled backward, the sheets tangling around her legs as she tried to put distance between herself and the corpse. Her heel caught in the bedding, and she nearly tumbled off the edge of the mattress, catching herself at the last moment with a grip on the headboard.

“This isn’t happening,” she said, gasping, the words thin and reedy in the quiet room.

Only then, as the sheet fell away completely, did she become aware of her own nakedness. She looked down at herself in horror—her bare skin was covered in goosebumps, not a stitch of clothing anywhere on her body.

Had she slept with him?

This stranger?

This dead stranger?