Page 89 of Sinful Escape

As I stepped from a tunnel into the open, I vowed that never again would I have sex without seeing the man’s face. I wanted to see that desire . . . that passion . . . that moment when the world evaporated, and the only thing left was us. I wanted to see if he was enjoying it.

In addition, my conclusion confirmed that most of all, I still wanted to have sex. Casual sex. Fun sex. Fucking horny, multiple-orgasm, mind-blowing sex. What did that make me? A floozy? A whore? A slut?

The answers were all a resounding no.

I was an independent woman. My body was mine to do what I wanted with. And if the orgasms I’d experienced on this trip were anything to go by, then I wanted sex a hell of a lot more often.

The riddle was solved, and the spring reappeared in my step. A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Daisy was back. The new Daisy. The one who planned on finishing her last six months in Europe with a bang. Lots of hot, steamy bangs.

When I stepped off the pathway at the end of the trail, I spied Roman leaning against the side of the bus. His foot rested on the rim of the tire, his eyes lowered to the dirt, and he appeared deep in concentration. My group had already climbed on board, and through the windows I saw them standing in the aisle.

I strolled toward him. “Hey.”

He blinked at me as if surprised that I’d returned. “Ciao, how was your walk?”

“Great.”

His eyebrows bounced upward. “You seem contento.”

“Yep. Just needed to clear my head.” I dragged my sneaker through the gravel, marking a line between us. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little off.”

“A little?” He eyed me.

“Okay, a lot. I just had some stuff I needed to work through.”

“You know you can always talk to me.” The molten pools of his eyes softened.

“Thanks, but?—”

“No buts, Red. You can talk to me about anything.”

“Okay.”

“Especially if it involves sex.”

“Ha. Very funny.”

He gave me a solemn look. “I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do.” To avoid his retort, I launched myself up the stairs and proceeded down the aisle, counting everyone. All tourists accounted for, I returned to the front.

“We’re all set. Let’s get moving.”

The trip to Salzburg was only thirty minutes, and with much to inform the passengers, I grabbed the microphone again and knelt on my chair to face them.

“Did you all enjoy Liechtensteinklamm?”

Most of the tourists confirmed they did. Samson was one of the ones who didn’t share their joy. Some people were impossible to please. Then again, being a New Zealander, he’d probably seen a thousand waterfalls. Maybe that was where I could go after Europe—New Zealand. The scenery was reported to be spectacular. But could I be happy with its limited history?

Shoving that question aside, I continued talking about the town of Salzburg. “Who can tell me one of Salzburg’s claims to fame?”

Sunny put up her hand. “The Sound of Music was filmed there.”

“Correct. Anyone else?”

After a moment of pause, in which nobody responded, I said, “The eighteenth-century composer Wolfgang Mozart was born there.” Several passengers nodded. “Salzburg's Old Town was listed as aUNESCO World Heritage Sitein 1997 and is renowned for itsbaroque architecture.”

---