Page 38 of Sinful Promises

“You were checking out my boobs.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He swatted his hands as if shooing a fly. “Okay, maybe a little peek.” He held his thumb and finger as if measuring an inch.

I giggled. “That wasn’t a little peek.”

“It wasn’t?” Roman gave me a look that I assumed was attempting to portray sweet and innocent. But it was just cute. Even drunk, he was sexy.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He smacked his lips together. “I’m sorry. I’m a bad boy.”

I giggled again, and as he sucked up all that lovely schnapps, the angel and devil in my brain struck up a furious debate.

You should take him home, Daisy.

No, now’s your chance to ask him all those tricky questions he avoids.

Don’t be so mean.

Mean! Ha. He’d do it to you.

Roman made obscene sucking noises with his straw and he did a little shudder like he’d snapped out of a trance. He burped, and I bulged my eyes at him.

Aha. So, Mr. Perfect is normal after all.

He swayed to the left, maybe trying to capture the waiter’s attention. But he went so far, I readied to catch him before he twisted right off the chair.

This was a first for us. Normally it was him looking out for me. Maybe my cocktails hadn’t been as potent as his. Whatever it was, it was a bloody miracle.

He swung back to me and blinked as if trying to shake a fog from his brain.

“You okay?”

“My drink’s empty.” He pulled a sad face.

As much as it was cute to see him like this, my practical mind was telling me to get him home while he was still able to stand. At least, I thought he could stand. “Hey, Roman, maybe I should take you home.”

His eyes bulged and he gasped. For a second, I thought he was going to say something that would have my vagina break dancing. “But you haven’t finished your drink.”

And there he went again—cruel and cute. “No more for me. I’m done.”

He reached for my glass. “You can’t waste it.”

As he sipped on the drink, I waved at the waiter, indicating I wanted the bill. I turned my attention back to Roman and studied the man who was driving me crazy.

How was it possible to want someone so badly, but want to resist him so badly at the same time? I already knew my heart was going to shatter into a million pieces very soon. It was the severity of that implosion that I was hoping to minimize.

The waiter arrived. I slipped my credit card into the billfold, and he spun away again.

Ten minutes later, we were outside. I’d positioned Roman’s arm across my shoulder and wrapped my arm around his waist, tugging us together as we staggered up the street. People were everywhere. Yet nobody seemed to notice us. We were just another drunk couple trying to get home.

Every step forward was a demonstration in strength and accuracy as I tried to hold him up and make his legs go in one direction. At the end of the street where the cobblestone lane met Old Town Square, the crowd had tripled. Now not only did I have to manage Roman, but I also had to stop us from bumping into anyone.

“Hey.” Roman pointed toward a bar that was lit up like a Christmas tree. “Let’s have a drink.”

I chuckled. “I don’t think so, big fella. I’ve gotta get you home.”

“Awww. You’re so mean.”

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