Page 1 of One Time in Paris
1
ISLA
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
The weightof a male arm around Isla Scott’s waist registered for half a second before her stomach did a full somersault.
Nope. Bigger problem.She was going to hurl.
Scrambling for the side of the bed, Isla tripped, her foot still tangled around the bedsheet.Thunk.Her hands smacked against the tiled floor, and she winced, then straightened, scanning the unfamiliar bedroom.
Oh God. Where the hell is the bathroom?
And why was this whole—absurdly enormous—suite so blindingly white? It looked like a spa threw up in here.
Do not think about vomit.
Barreling toward the first door she saw, Isla caught sight of herself in the mirror—tanned skin, light brown hair streaked with pink, wearing nothing but a pink cheetah-print thong and a matching bra that screamedshots were involved.
Head pounding, she opened the first door she found, hoping—praying—it was a bathroom.
It was a closet.
And she was too late.
The stomach-souring taste of last night’s shots came back up with full force as she vomited.
Isla shakily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to get her bearings.
A groan from the bed. A shuffle of sheets. Isla squeezed her eyes shut for a beat before turning, stomach still churning.
He propped himself up on his elbows, disheveled dark hair falling into sharp blue eyes. Familiar. Too familiar.
Her pulse stuttered.
Oh hell no.
Not him.
Aiden Camden.
Waking up practically naked after a drunken night in Vegas was bad enough. But waking up beside someone she’d known all her life? A man who was one of her older brother’s best friends?
Aiden winced, looking as rough as she felt. His blue eyes narrowed. “Isla? Oh. Bloody brilliant.”
“Please, for the love of my future mental health, tell me we did not have sex.” She tiptoed toward the bed, yanking a blanket from the edge to wrap around her.
“Um—” He moistened his lips, dark eyebrows furrowing as he slumped back onto the pillow. “I don’tbelieve so.”
“Pants. Are you wearing any pants?”
Aiden peeked under the covers, then shook his head. His well-muscled arms flexed as one arm crossed his bare chest, rubbing a knot out of his shoulder.
Fucking fantastic. I can’t remember if I had sex with my brother’s best friend.
They’d kissed. She was sure of that. The flash of his smile, the Eiffel Tower glowing behind him, the warm press of his hands against hers?—
Then his mouth on hers. It had been unexpected. Rough and desperate and—God help her—exhilarating. A low laugh. His fingers brushing the strap of her dress. Her breath hitching?—
