Page 21 of Sinful Temptations

Think, Daisy.

What would Roman do?

Fuck. I couldn’t believe my mind went to Roman.

Oh shit!

Even if I wanted to call Roman, I couldn’t. My phone was in my bag. I’d put my bag on Pierre’s bedside table. I didn’t remember seeing it go over the balcony.Fark!It was still in his apartment.

Think.I jabbed my forehead like that would help.

“Oh, hey.” I waved at yet another hot guy in yet another sexy suit.

He waved back.

Maybe my predicament was a regular occurrence in Paris.

Not helping.

Right. First things first. Clothes. They’d gone over the balcony. I had to get around to the back of these terraces to the courtyards on the ground floor.

Okay, that’s good. Now I’m thinking.

I peeked past my little alcove and glanced toward thecongested traffic. No handsome men in dashing suits occupied that space. I looked the other way, and my eyes jumped out of my head. Pierre’s wife was racing right at me, her six-inch heals working at a cracking pace. Right behind her was the bastard.

He at least had his jeans on.

I dove back into the corner. My breath trapped in my throat.

One. Two. Three. Four.

She shot past, and by some miracle, she didn’t look my way.

“Francesca. Please wait.” His voice was shrill, pathetic. “You don’t understand. She seduced me.”

Oh, my fucking God.

I readied to kick my Converse sneaker into his balls if he got near me.

“Le stupide bastard.” Even her swearwords sounded sexy in her French accent.

Pierre shot right past my alcove, a desperate man.

That was my chance.

With those two racing toward the traffic, I dashed out of my hiding space, running the opposite way. My new plan was to go back to Pierre’s apartment, but each doorway looked the same. Blue doors, potted bougainvillea, parked Vespas. I could just imagine running up the stairs of one of them and slamming into a burly woman wielding a rolling pin.

I spied a light-blue Vespa up ahead, then I saw Mrs. Bauchenne on the balcony across from his door. My first thought was to turn around and forget my bag. But shit, that wasn’t an option. I needed my bag—my phone, company credit card, and passport were inside.

Swallowing the massive lump in my throat, I crab-walked toward Pierre’s door with my arms keeping my boobs inplace and my bare ass to the wall, no doubt looking like a weirdo. A nearly naked weirdo.

I stopped in another alcove just shy of Pierre’s door and glanced toward the end of the street, where the crossroad was still overflowing with traffic. Two elderly men with walking canes were strolling my way, but not Pierre. I needed to act fast or I’d likely give those men heart attacks. I dashed around Pierre’s Vespa and rattled his door handle. Fuck. It was locked.

I rammed my shoulder into the door, my tits slamming against the wood. It didn’t budge.Shit!

A chill ran up my spine. I felt eyes burning into my bare butt. I spun around, hands over tits, bum against Pierre’s door, and shot my gaze to the elderly men. But they were gone.

I looked up and my heart sank. Mrs. Bauchenne was grinning at me.

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