He’s drunk. Give the man a break.
I hate it when the perverse part of me wants to argue. Why can’t it just go along with the program?
Putting my hands on my hips, I stare at the lump of divine masculine perfection sleeping in my bed. He has flaws. Oh so many flaws. Serious flaws. Ones that make him not at all attractive to me.
He shifts in his sleep and reaches out with a hand. I regard it for a long while, a tug-of-war raging inside me. Finally I sit on the edge of the bed, take it gently, and watch the tension ease from his face.
Chapter Seven
Ryder
The first thing I notice is the light. The room is too bright to be mine—I have blackout curtains. My head is clear, of course. I never get hung over—the single positive trait I got from Dad’s side of the family.
At the same time my eyes feel dry and sandy. Just because I don’t get hung over doesn’t mean everything works perfectly after a night of excessive indulgence.
I rub them, then try to focus on my surroundings.
The pale vaulted ceiling. A vase of fresh cut lilies. And a cheap piece of art that isn’t worth the canvas it’s painted on.
I sit up and look down. I’m in a king-sized bed, its silk-like white cotton sheet tangled around me. My jacket’s gone, but I’m in the same shirt and pants I had on yesterday, only they’re now wrinkled. And smelly.
How the hell did I end up here? I try to piece things together. After I dropped off Elliot, I came over to the hotel, the front desk gave me a key and…
“You’re up.”
My head swivels to the armchair where Paige is sitting and watching me. She’s in a light green tunic and conservative custard-colored skirt. The ever-present apple pendant rests right at the start of her cleavage. Her hair’s pulled back into a cute ponytail, and the makeup on her face is darker than usual.
My memory slowly starts to come back. Me coming into the suite. Her in that outrageously hilarious t-shirt and shorts. I’ve never seen her disheveled like that before.
I asked her to marry me.
And then… And then… I fell onto the bed with her. And she was soft and sweet, and even though I should’ve let go, I didn’t. I just stayed exactly where I was because I just couldn’t bring myself to give her up, even though she lay there stiff as a tabletop.
Did I…do anything? I don’t give a shit if I was drunk. It wouldn’t excuse my forcing myself on her. I look down. Since I’m still in my clothes, un-torn and basically undamaged, I probably didn’t cross that line.
Whew. So what did I do next? I wrack my brain, then it hits me.
I took the proposal back, while still lying on top of her.
Oh shit.
Then what? She…kneed me in the balls? Slapped my face?
I don’t recall. After that, everything faded to black.
I cover my face and put pressure on the spot between my eyebrows with my middle finger. Fuck me.
What the hell have I done?
“How are you feeling?” Paige asks.
“I’m fine.” Then a realization dawns on me. “You’re in my room.”
“Ah, no, this is actually my room. Yours would be next door.”
Shit. Fucking hotel clerks. They probably thought I wanted to rendezvous with Paige without realizing she isn’t some H&D wannabe. “Did you spend the night here?” This is getting embarrassing because I don’t remember that part either.
“No. Once I knew you were fine, I went to your suite. Which, by the way, is nicer than mine. I’m only here to check on you.” She stands up. “Our car’s going to be here in half an hour. You might want to get up and, you know, shower. I asked the cabin crew to prepare a hot breakfast for you.”