Page 13 of Sinful Escape

And just like that, Roman switched from womanizer to something else. I just needed to work out what that something else was.

I glanced down at my buzzing phone.

At least tell me what color his eyes are

“What’s Azalia saying now?”

I scowled at him. “You’re nosy. You know that?”

“Si. Blame my family. Everybody has their nose in everybody’s business.”

“So, you know how annoying it is, then?”

“Oh, come on.” He waved a hand. “We can’t just sit here and stare out the window.”

“Ahhh, actually, we can.”

“Well, yes, but that would be boring.” As he turned his attention to navigating the bus through a toll checkpoint, I studied him. I guessed his age at about twenty-five. He was clean-shaven, showing off his dimpled chin. His defined lips were the color of a cherry popsicle, and his olive skin was flawless.

If I put every sexy attribute I could think of for a man into a computer, it would spit out a composite image of Roman.

How was it that one man could be so lucky, and I be the exact opposite?

It was a sick joke that I’d be spending my final tours with Vacation Dreamz sitting next to a man who was more beautiful than anybody I’d ever met.

Chapter Three

We arrived at the ferry terminal on schedule and joined the long line of vehicles waiting to board. I stood, grabbed the microphone, and turned to the passengers.

“Okay, troublemakers, listen up. Once we’re on board the ferry, you have about ninety minutes to wander around. A word of warning: the French pastries are guaranteed to add five pounds to your waistline, and the coffee has been known to remove nail polish. And no sneaking off into naughty little corners. I’m talking to you, Mike.”

His face lit up. “I will if you show me where they are?”

Holy smokes he’s hot. He’d ignite kindling with those smoking blue eyes.

He put his hand behind his head and did a weird chest pump thing. Two of his friends clapped him on the back, grinning like horny college jocks.

Typical. The cute ones were always the dickheads.

Ignoring them, I said, “Just make sure you’re back on board by the time we dock at the other side.”

“Or what?” Another American in the far corner may’ve underestimated my hearing.

“Or I’ll have to spank you, Anthony.”

His eyes widened, confirming my suspicion. The guys in the back row burst into laughter, as did several other people on the bus.

Of the twenty-four buses operated by Vacation Dreamz, the tours I led were consistently ranked the highest-scoring tours of Europe. It was a statistic I was determined to keep, right up to my very last tour.

Acid churned in my stomach. My last tour was going to come around way too soon.

Roman parked the bus in our allotted space, and after everyone had poured off, he turned to me. “We going up for some of that nail-polish caffè you described so well?”

“See? I can be descriptive when I want.” Roman would most likely stay with me whether I chose to stay on the bus or not. With his endless curiosity, it was safer to be in a crowd. “If you’re drinking the coffee, I’m keen to watch your torture.”

“Mean. But okay.” Grinning, Roman rubbed his hands together. “I’m excited.”

“You shouldn’t be. I wasn’t exaggerating about the coffee.”

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