Page 99 of Sinful Escape

Cocking his head sideways with a weird smirk, he unhooked my arms and stepped back. “Daisy . . . you are drunk. I’m sorry, but I cannot do this.” His shoulders rose with a deep breath like he was preparing to dash for the door. His eyes didn’t wander down to my chest. No, no, no. They remained steady with mine.

His twisted expression confirmed he was horrified by my request.

The erotic fog muddling my brain evaporated in a flash. Clarity hit me with a bitch slap. “Oh, shit.” I tried to cover my breasts with my hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I ummm . . . I . . .”

“It’s okay. Okay. Goodnight.” Roman spun on his heel, opened my door, and paused with his back to me. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He stepped from my room and closed the door behind him.

I flopped back onto the bed and as the room spun in wobbly loops, the enormity of my stupidity hit me like a loaded cannonball.

I’ll never be able to look at Roman again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I forced my eyes open, squinting against the glare and groaning at the pounding in my head. My tongue was stiff and furry and tasted like rotten milk. I rolled it around my mouth, smacking my lips and trying to produce saliva, but it was useless. Blinking against the sunshine streaming through the open window, I scanned the room.

It was a couple of thumping heartbeats before I remembered where the hell I was. When I glanced down at the ruffles of red satin strangling my legs, all the sordid details from yesterday crashed through my brain like an avalanche. Everything from my lovely hot tub and the weird Count Frederik to my fucking crazy squishing of my naked breasts to Roman’s chest.

I wanted to die or vomit. Either was appropriate.

When I finally rolled to a sitting position, a wave of acid rolled in my stomach and shot up my esophagus. Clutching at the silky fabric around my legs, I raced to the bathroom, flipped the toilet lid, and hurled into the bowl. Over and over, I heaved.

A thumping headache started at the base of my neck and ended as an agonizing beat behind my eyelids.

It was an eternity before my stomach was completely empty and I could convince my body to get up from the floor. I dragged myself to the sink and looked into the mirror. My bloodshot eyes had me wanting to vomit all over again.

I heaved a massive sigh. “What have you done?”

Roman must’ve thought I’d lost my fucking mind.

I have lost my fucking mind.

My makeup perfection from last night had morphed into a bad Halloween joke. I groaned. I didn’t have makeup remover.

But that was the least of my problems.

I’ll never be able to look Roman in the eyes again.

I dragged my body to the antique dresser beside my bed, checked the time on my watch. It was nine-forty.

“Oh fuck!”

Our scheduled departure was ten minutes ago.

In a mammoth frenzy, I undressed, dashed to the bathroom and turned the shower faucet to full. During the excruciatingly long minutes waiting for the hot water to arrive, I replayed my boob squish with Roman over and over.

It was like a bad-taste meme on repeat.

Mountains of wobbling flesh shoved into his rock-hard abs . . . squish.

Followed by his bulging eyes.

Wobbling flesh. Squished boobs. Bulging eyes.

Only it wasn’t a meme—it was fucking real. Oh, God.

The urge to throw up again diminished when the hot water finally spluttered to life.

I jumped in, and as I scrubbed at the remnants of makeup, my stomach bucked and rolled from both my abundant alcohol consumption and my unadulterated horror over my behavior with Roman. No, not with Roman—toward Roman. It was obvious he hadn’t wanted a part of it.

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