Page 27 of Sinful Temptations

I stepped outside, and Mrs. Bauchenne was back on her balcony wearing a dressing gown that was just a little too short. But her face was beaming. Clapping, she said, “Bravo,ma chère.”

A smile shot across my face and I bowed. Grinning up at her, I said, “Sorry if I woke you.”

“It was worth it.” She actually did speak English. Good.

On that note, I skipped up the street, floating on an air of vindication.

But my joy was short-lived.

Nothing could undo the fact that I’d had sex with a married man. Nothing.

Every step toward the hostel was like walking through a sewer pit. I felt like shit. I probably looked like it too.

The streets were still bustling with people, mostly young twenty-somethings still high on life. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Paris was one of those cities that never slept.

The hostel appeared in the distance. The glow from the downstairs foyer confirmed that it too never slept. Aware that I must have looked like I’d wrestled with a hedge, I attempted to smooth down my frizzy hair.

I readied to make my dash across the lobby, but the second the double-glass doors slid open, I froze. Roman and four guys from our group were right there.

Fate dealt me another bitch slap, ensuring Roman glanced at the doorway at that very moment. His smile appeared and vanished in a nanosecond.

I turned to run, took six steps, and stopped.What was the point?

Seconds later, Roman was at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

A sob burst from my throat.

“Oh no, Daisy.” He hugged me to his chest.

My shoulders heaved back and forth. My eyes leaked, and my nose did too as I cried for all the horrible things I’d done.

He rubbed his hand up and down my back and whispered words that were impossible to comprehend.

Sniffling and wobbling out of control, I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop.

“Tell me what happened? Are you okay?” His tone was soothing. His hands were comforting.

I didn't want to talk to him. Yet at the same time, I so badly wanted to tell him everything.

“Come on. Let’s sit over here.” He guided me toward a bench seat nestled between a potted bougainvillea and a mini-Eiffel Tower. We sat together, our thighs touching, and I wiped tears from my eyes and snot from my nose, trying not to think how hideous I must look.

Roman curled his arm over my shoulder and tugged me to him. He didn’t say a word.

So, we sat there. Me sniffling and carrying on, and Roman being the perfect gentleman, rubbing my shoulder and waiting. Waiting for me to calm down. Waiting for me to tell him what was wrong.

Waiting for the sun to appear over the horizon.

I lost all sense of time. Minutes ticked by—or was it hours?

Forcing myself to pull out of his embrace, I sucked in a wobbly breath, trying to calm my tumbling thoughts. “I’m sorry.” I wiped my eyes, my cheeks.

“No need to be sorry. Just tell me you are okay?”

My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow. “I’m okay.”

He tilted his head in that way that confirmed he was trying to read my mind. In the state I was in, it’d be impossible. “Did he hurt you?”

Did he hurt me? I rolled his question around, not sure how to answer. “No. No. Well . . . yes, I guess he did. But not really. Not in a physical way.”

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