Page 102 of Sinful Escape

“Strong coffee. A double shot.”

“Got it—large double-shot caffè coming up, with food. Come on.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to my seat. Before he sat, he grabbed the microphone. “Sorry about that, everyone. Daisy sometimes gets travel sickness on the way down this hill.”

He hooked up the microphone, jumped into his seat, and when he turned to me, he winked, offering the most reassuring smile ever.

His kindness made my heart cry.

I turned to the window and tried to replace visions of my boob-squish incident with Roman with more pleasant images like a perfect cappuccino or a blueberry and white chocolate friand.

I also prayed that Roman would forgive me for my despicable behavior.

Chapter Twenty-Three

After we left Austria, we continued traveling northwest through various major cities in Europe and finally arrived in Belgium. Other than me profusely apologizing to Roman for my behavior and him gracefully accepting with a promise not to mention it again, the last eight days of our tour were uneventful. Everything went as planned—including the management of my newfound horny libido. I was even beginning to feel normal again.

Our last night of the tour was in Belgium, and as usual, a sense of melancholy washed over me as I prepared to say goodbye to all the people I’d met.

As was the tradition I’d instigated early on in my tour guide career, for our final night, my bus driver and I would take our group to the central square in Brussels known as Grand Place for a little send-off party. Often, depending on the group, the send-off was not so little.

The cobblestoned square was surrounded by some of the most magnificent historical buildings in Europe. But I’d learned over the last two and a half years that by the time we arrived at this final destination, most guests were no longer interested in the architecture; they were interested in what us Aussies called a piss-up.

Not this little black duck, though; I’d learned my lesson at Thorsteinn Castle. Me and getting drunk were never going to share the same headspace again. It took my stomach nearly two full days to recover from that disaster. And I didn’t think I’d ever recover from what I did with Roman.

So embarrassing. So out of character. Totally fucked up.

I had no intention of replicating that drunken state again. Like ever.

It was weird though. I’d thought Roman would give me a hard time about it every chance he could. But, true to his word, he hadn’t mentioned my boob-squish since his promise. Maybe seeing my tits had scared the bejesus out of him and he really didn’t want to be reminded of them again. That would explain why he acted like it never happened, and why he’d gone all quiet on me.

Not that I was complaining. For the first half of the tour, Roman had practically jabbered on non-stop.

Casting my wandering thoughts aside, I tugged my sneakers onto my feet and made my way out of my hotel room and down to the lobby to meet everyone.

To my surprise, Roman was the only one waiting when I arrived.

After nineteen days on the road, his beard had grown thick and full. It suited him. Actually, he suited every stage of his beard growth, and when he was clean-shaven too. Roman had a casual yet eye-catching style about him and looked fabulous in his faded jeans and button-up shirt.

Maybe it was his oozing confidence. Or maybe his four older sisters had taught their younger brother how to dress to impress. Other than his choice of favorite movie being a sappy romance, I was yet to find a flaw in my new driver. In fact, he was so perfect, it was sickening.

“Hey, Red. Ready for a big night?” He flashed his spectacular smile, taking perfection to another level.

“Always.” I tried to tug a curl behind my ear, but it bounced right back into my line of sight. I couldn’t even get one curl to attempt being perfect.

“I can’t believe my first tour is nearly over.” A frown rippled across Roman’s forehead. “It went so quick.”

“They always do.” Tick. Tick. Tick. The dreaded clock boomed in my brain.

“What are your plans for the break?” He cocked his head, and the way his honey eyes captured me and seemed to reach into my soul made my insides do all sorts of crazy things.

I sighed. “I guess I need to start making arrangements to leave.” I glanced toward the elevator, hoping our guests would appear soon and save me from Mr. Perfection.

He clicked his fingers. “That’s right, your visa expires.” Confusion rolled across his face. “Why don’t you fight it?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.” I groaned. “Damn it. I left that stupid letter at Pierre’s, remember?”

Roman blinked a few times, and when his expression morphed into something that could only be described as naughty excitement, my insides squirmed.

“I know what you can do for a few days.” The gold flecks in his irises danced.

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