Page 83 of Revenge Honeymoon

Hm.

She clicked on the folder and opened it. There were two names in the folder: Ruby and Emily.

Gulp.

He’d taken photos of her?

Seven of them.

Why?

Even though he’d worshipped her body in bed only an hour ago, her heartbeat raced at what kind of photos he might have taken. Was he, in fact, the creep Ruby thought he was? Emily had felt less than confident in the bikini—mega boobs stuffed into two triangles of green with her less-than-toned middle exposed to public view. She yanked down Max’s T-shirt and fidgeted in her seat.

Before she could slide her index finger across the touchpad to right-click the Ruby photos and delete them, she double-clicked on a photo labeled ‘Emily1.’

Her heart leaped into her throat. She had the churn of pre-embarassment in her stomach. A familiar tell-tale sensation that predicted blunders of all types throughout her life, which she never seemed to learn from. No, she always blasted straight through her gut instincts screaming at her to stop, stop, stop before the regret set in.

She couldn’t prevent what was about to happen.

The photo popped up.

“Oh.” Emily blinked at what appeared on the screen.

“What are you doing with my laptop?”

Chapter22

Where Are My Crabs?

Crap.

Max.

He’d woken up and caught Emily in the act.

Dammity damn damn.

He sat up in bed to see what she’d been up to. “Shit.” He grimaced.

Every caress, every kiss, every word he’d said to her earlier flew out of her head. Yes, she thought it could be possible it had been meaningless, easy sex for Max, but some little part of her had hoped she was wrong.

But this photo?

No way did he think she was sexy or beautiful. No way in hell would a man like Max love a woman like Emily.

She turned the laptop so he could see the photo she’d opened—her pulling a T-shirt over her head. Her boobs looked like saggy white melons, her stomach a roll of flab, the look on her face—distorted and horrible.

“Why would you save this picture of me? Is it so you could laugh later on? Share them with your friends—with your girlfriend—and crack up about some pathetic girl you met on a cruise? And how easy she was to get into bed?”

His face paled, and his mouth parted. No words came out.

So Emily kept going. “I know I’m not gorgeous like Ruby and that I’m probably the last person you think should be wearing a bikini in public, but there is something called the Body Positivity Movement, and you can’t shame me. I will wear whatever I want to wear in public. I’m proud of my body—” But she most certainly was not and knew that half of the ramblings coming out of her mouth were lies.

“You should be proud,” he said quietly.

“—and men certainly don’t get to make fun of and belittle women for their less-than-perfect figures—”

“I think you’re perfect.”

---