Page 37 of Sinful Temptations

He simply flashed that dazzling smile of his as the elevator doors closed. Damn it.

Just be me. Just be me.

Daisy. Daisy. Who the fuck is Daisy?

I wasn’t the introverted Aussie woman who spent every moment wishing she could curl up with a wine in one hand and a romance novel in the other. I wasn’t the relationship tragic who fiercely held onto her secrets.

And I wasn’t really the confident woman I’d pretended tobe who dreamed of spending her last five months in Europe with loads of hot steamy bangs.

Thanks to Pierre, that too was fucked up.

I was like a smoky campfire—one minute dark and clouded, the next minute pirouetting upward into a beautiful starry night. So yeah,just be mewas not that easy.

I needed Zali’s help. With my eyes flitting from the clock on the nightstand to my random collection of clothes in my suitcase, I tapped out a message detailing my wardrobe dilemma to Zali.

My phone buzzed seconds later with her text reply.

Oh goodie, sounds like he’s into you

Oh jeez. Will you stop? We are NOT having sex

Why not?

Damn it. Texting was taking too long. I rang her instead.

“Hey, babe,” she answered after the first ring.

“Hey, I’ve told you before. Roman is way younger than me, and well out of my league.”

“Bullshit. He’s not out of your league.”

I huffed. “You haven’t even seen him.”

“I know. And whose fault is that? I’m still waiting for that picture you promised. But that’s beside the point. He could be Chris fucking Hemsworth, and he wouldn’t be out of your league. You’re hot, babe, and don’t you forget it.”

“I’m not hot.”

“Bullshit. Strip off and stand in front of a mirror right now.”

Groaning, I knew there was no point arguing, so I did as she commanded. When my tits dominated the reflection, I said, “Okay, now what?”

“Tell me something you like about yourself.”

“This is not helping me choose what to wear.”

“Just do it. Name one thing.”

I ran my gaze up my body. My legs were thin pins, with barely any curve. As were my hips. My arms, the same. Grinning, I said, “My cuticles are pretty special.”

She chuckled. “Ha-ha. Okay, what else?”

“I have nice earlobes.”

“Excellent, we’re making progress. What else?”

I studied my hand. “I have this freckle on my left thumb that’s smoking.”

“Fuck you’re funny. Okay, give me something bigger than a watermelon.”

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