Page 42 of Sinful Escape

Despite feigning horror, I laughed with him. “Really? A dirty job.”

“Yep, but that’s what friends do.”

“Friends? We don’t even know each other.”

“Not yet. But we will. We’re stuck together for nearly an entire month.”

“Yeah. Great.” Shit, I’ll have to watch myself. It was only night two, and I’d already yabbered too much. When I’d left Australia, I had no intention of ever discussing William again. First, there was Azalia. She’d plied me full of alcohol and practically dragged it out of me. I was glad she had, though; our friendship had become much closer because I’d told her everything. She understood my pain. She got me. Nobody got me.

But now, there was Roman. There was something about him that made me reveal one of my darkest secrets. His calmness maybe. His freaky, fine-tuned intuition. His warm hands on my knees. And those eyes . . .

As much as I hated that I’d told him so much, it also felt good. Now I don’t have to dread every conversation. Thank you, Universe. Maybe Roman’s therapy was exactly what I needed.

Then again, maybe it was the bloody champagne.

“Say . . .” A frown drilled across Roman’s forehead. “Please tell me you’ve at least kissed a guy since then?”

My mind flashed to Pierre. “Of course I have.” I chose to be vague. Not that it was likely to help.

“When?”

I shrugged and acted like I couldn’t remember.

“Daisy, I know of your great memory skills. Tell me when you last kissed a guy. And I do not mean just a peck on the cheek.”

Shit. “Okay, if you must know, it was last night.”

His eyes bulged. “Mike?”

“Ewww. No. Why do you think it was him?” I gulped at my drink.

“Because he is hot for you, of course.”

I choked on my bubbles and liquid shot out of my nose. Roman patted my back, laughing, as I coughed up a lung. Wiping away the mess with a napkin, I struggled to catch my breath. “Shit, Roman. What’d he say?”

He flicked his hand. “Ahhh, you do not need the details.”

“Like hell I don’t. Why were you even talking about me?”

He spread his hands wide. “Well, we weren’t specifically talking about you. We were, you know, talking about everyone.”

“Oh, right, and he just said my name.”

He shrugged. “Si, he did.”

I squinted at him, studying his expression. “Is this a joke?”

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, and I had a dreadful sense I was in for a lecture. “No, it’s not a joke. I would never do that. Mike said he liked you. He thought you were funny. That is all.”

Roman’s refreshing candor had me lost for words. Men didn’t usually talk like that.

“Hey, you’re changing the subject.” He tapped his finger on the table. “Who did you kiss last night?” He clicked his fingers. “Was it another passenger? The New Zealander. . . what’s his name?”

“Samson? No.” I bulged my eyes at him. “All right. All right.” Rubbing my temples to combat the headache thumping behind my eyes, I blurted the name that’d been burning on my tongue for twenty-four hours. “It was Pierre.”

“Pierre. Who the fuck is Pierre?”

Faking a laugh, I said, “Sounds like a song.” I am such an idiot.

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