Page 39 of Sinful Promises

I’m mean! He was the one who flirted with me till I wanted to come in my pants, and then he’d casually remind me yet again that we were just friends. Our relationship was toxic.

It was an eternity before we reached our hotel, and in the elevator, I propped him up against the wall so I could press the button. His eyes were closed. Shit. Is he asleep? “Hey, Roman, where’s your room key?”

He dragged his eyes open in a way that suggested they weighed a ton. “Huh?”

“Your room key. Where is it?”

He went to push his hand into his pants pocket but missed and fell forward. His arms wrapped around me, and we stumbled backward, squishing me against the mirror.

“Righty-ho.” I gripped onto him, inhaling his delightful cologne that made me swoon every time.

Roman was a good hugger; this was not one of his best.

We stumbled out at his floor, and still wrapped together with him waddling backward, we crab-walked to his room. Feeling like a desperado, I fished his room key from his pants pocket.

Trying not to picture what else was in his pants was impossible.

By some miracle, I managed to open his door and wrestle him into the room while he was still upright. But we shot across the floor like we were on roller skates and toppled onto his bed in a tangle of arms and legs.

Both of us burst out laughing, and as he flopped back, I wrestled my arm from beneath his back and sat on the edge of his bed.

Roman looked peaceful. Even in a drunken stupor, he was stunning. His tousled hair and flushed cheeks gave him a rugged look. And his cherry-popsicle lips were a darker shade of cherry than usual and totally kissable.

I should kiss him goodnight.

Bloody hell! My devil brain was evil.

But as I stared at those lips, my insides curled in a delightful tease, strengthening my desire to kiss him.

Like he was somehow reading my mind, his tongue glided over his bottom lip, giving me a sexy invite.

With my breath trapped in my throat, I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and touched my lips to his. His hand curled across my neck, sending glorious shivers through me.

A groan tumbled from his throat, matching my own mewling sounds. He opened his mouth and when our tongues danced in a delightful quest to taste each other, the angel and devil in my brain started debating again.

What the fuck are you doing? He’s drunk.

He doesn’t seem too drunk to me.

You’re taking advantage of him.

He’s not complaining.

What if it was you in his position?

Damn it! The angel was right.

I pushed away from him and his eyes blinked open. Little by little, he seemed to come out of his stupor. He scanned around the room. “Hey, we’re home.”

“Yes, we’re home.”

He pulled a sad face. “But we were having so much fun.”

“I know. But you’re drunk.”

He did an exaggerated wink that was cuteness off the charts. “I’m not drunk.”

“Goodnight, Roman.” I went to stand, but he grabbed my hand.

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