Page 118 of Sinful Temptations

“I’m not naive.”

“Okay, whatever you say.”

“I do say.”

He held up his hands in a peace gesture, and for a fleeting second, his eyes bounced to my boobs and back up again. It was so quick I couldn’t even tell if he’d noticed he’d done it.

It had me wondering why I’d always hated it when men did it to me. I mean, if a sexy man was walking in front of me wearing a pair of chaps without his jeans and his ass was on full display, would I look away? Hell no. I’d follow him to the North Pole and back with a massive grin on my face. I’d probably drool the entire way.

So yeah, what’s wrong with showing off a bit of flesh? It’s not like my nipples are hanging out.

I checked, just to be sure.All good.

With that bold affirmation dancing around my brain, we pushed through the crowd outside the beer hall. Everyone was dressed up. Everyone looked happy.

We entered through the double-glass door and joined a thousand more revelers, all crammed into the massive beerhall. Most of them would be foreigners—the locals didn’t actually do this outside of October, and even then, it wasn’t really like this. This was a show for the tourists. And the tourists loved it.

Each step was an explosion to the senses. The sound was a cacophony of voices and traditional German music. The aromas were beer mingled with cologne and various body odors, not all of them good. Backpackers weren’t exactly a hygienic bunch. Throughout the room, the lighting morphed from red to purple to blue.

Everywhere people were laughing, singing, drinking.

And most of the women were dressed like me.

I fit into a tribe. Yay me.

I followed Roman’s lead, walking past the tables that were set up in very long rows that stretched from one end of the hall to the other. Three-quarters of the way along, he entered an aisle and I followed in behind him, squeezing between two tables where people were crammed onto the bench seats. It seemed like everyone was talking at the same time.

A waitress carrying a dozen or so massive glass steins topped to the brim with beer wriggled past us. Her cleavage was as big as mine, and her tits seemed to be providing a platform for the beers to rest on. They had to be heavy, yet she didn’t spill a single drop.

Toward the end of the beer hall, Roman found our group. At his urging, we squeezed into the seats between Freida, one of four German backpackers whose perky B-size breasts were getting some airplay above her costume, and Samson, a dark-skinned New Zealander who’d somehow managed to squeeze his muscular frame into a pair of Lederhosen.

When I sat beside him, his knee-length breaches looked like they were nearly splitting apart at the seams. Especially when he bent forward to talk to the English girls across from him.

A massive beer was placed in front of me and Roman raised his glass to mine. “To not getting old.”

“Or getting caught.”

He laughed and we clinked our glasses. Gripping the sturdy handle, I swigged the beer and just about shot the warm, bitter ale right back out of my mouth.

“Oh, no you don’t, Dais.” Roman nudged his elbow to mine. “We’re in Germany at an Oktoberfest. You’re gonna drink that beer and the next two.”

Oh, God.“You just want to see me dancing on the tables.”

He raised his stein. “I’ll definitely drink to that.”

After that first mouthful, the beer began to taste better. I couldn’t decide if it got better with each mouthful because my tongue was going numb or because I was determined to impress Roman.

Either way, before I knew it, I’d drunk my first beer. No sooner had I drained the glass when another one was placed in front of me.Bloody hell. I better be careful.

“There you are!”

I turned to the high-pitched squeal.

It was Lydia.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lydia pointed her delicate finger at Roman. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

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