Chapter Nine

Stephanie woke to the sound of a door clicking shut and cracked one eye open. Her room at the inn seemed darker this morning. Was it overcast outside, maybe? Fine with her, meant less guilt for being a bum and staying in bed longer. And after all the alcohol she’d consumed with Miles last night, she would need a day to recoup.

Her eyelid slid shut once more. Mmm, Miles.

A hazy memory flitted through her mind of them on the couch, her stripping him free of that dark polo shirt to reveal a well-maintained six-pack. He’d looked good enough to eat. He’d been so serious, nervous almost, and then he’d told her no. Though his excuse had sounded unexpectedly noble, the rejection stung even now. But drunk or not she’d refused to be pushed aside by him. She knew what she wanted, and that had been him.

What frustrated her now was the realization that she couldn’t remember much more than that. Like the actual act, or how she’d gotten back to the inn.

Boy, did I screw that all up. First post-divorce tryst and I was too drunk to even remember.

Stephanie rolled onto her back with a scowl and draped an arm over her eyes. Somewhere nearby and to her left, a shower turned on. Which was odd—she didn’t remember there being a shower in the room to her left. She shifted her arm and a ceiling fan came into view, one she didn’t remember being in her room before. Her gaze drifted to the side, and all sorts of other unfamiliar items came into view: a cherry wood dresser, La-Z-Boy side chair, flat-screen TV, Wedgewood blue walls, black satin sheets.

Black satin sheets?

Stephanie bolted upright, then brought both hands to her head as a thousand drums began beating inside it. With a grimace she clamped her eyes shut, praying for the pounding to subside. Ugh, she never should have drank so much.

When the drumming became manageable, she peeled her covers back and found all her clothes intact. She tiptoed out into the hall and made her way to the guest bathroom.

Why had she slept in her clothes? she wondered as she stood at the sink, elbows on the counter and head in hands as the twenty steps to get to this spot had done her hangover no favors. Had they done it, she’d started to get dressed, and then she’d passed out? Or…

“Oh, no,” she whispered as the last of her hazy memories of the night before finally snapped into place. He’d stretched out above her, all right, looking sexy with the bad-boy smile that before had been reserved for everyone but Stephanie. But then he’d felt so warm against her, so protective. She hadn’t felt that safe in ages.

And she’d fallen asleep.

Her first romantic interlude as a single-again woman and she’d blown it.

With a groan, she looked up at the mirror. The view that met her quickly transformed the sound into a strangled, horrified shriek. Her hair was askew in thirty-seven directions, and yesterday’s makeup was mostly smeared away. All that remained was her mascara, which now ringed her bloodshot eyes.

She looked like a raccoon on meth.

Even worse was the realization that she’d awakened facing Miles’s side of the bed. And since he’d gotten up first, he had to have seen her. Oh, lord. No wonder he’d snuck off without waking her.

Liam cursed me. That bastard married me and cursed me, and I’ll probably never have another enjoyable bedroom experience as long as I live. She cranked on the hot water and proceeded to scrub yesterday from her face.

Clean-faced and hair as tamed as finger-combing would allow, Stephanie made her way back to the bedroom to talk to Miles. Because as much as she would have loved to crawl into a hole and die right about now, that really wasn’t an option. Rebecka would find her and kill her for being such an idiot, and then hunt down and kill Miles to avenge the death. And this wasn’t his fault, not one bit.

She found him padding across his room barefoot, white towel snug around his trim waist. Water remained beaded upon his chest, the fine hair there darkening as it trailed down toward said towel, drawing her gaze right along with it.

“I see you’re up.”

There was something in his voice that hadn’t been there last night—distance. Whatever walls he’d allowed to come down at Chevvy’s were safely back in place today. Not good for her. Or maybe it was? With this hangover, thinking was a painful struggle.

“Uh, yeah.” She rubbed one hand absentmindedly up and down her opposite arm. “Miles, about last night…”

“No need to say it. It was a mistake. I never should have brought you back here. Neither of us were in any condition to make that kind of decision.” He opened the top drawer in his dresser and snagged a pair of black boxers. “In fact, you falling asleep was probably for the best.”

Stephanie’s mouth dropped open in shock. Was he…dismissing her?

“If we hurry, we can sneak you back in the side door while everyone else is still asleep. Ruby’ll never know you didn’t return last night.” He looked up suddenly and scowled. “Shit. My car’s at Chevvy’s. Let me call Brent.”

He headed back into the bathroom and swiped his cell from the countertop. Stephanie, however, had seen enough. Had heard enough. She spun on her heel and headed for the living room.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“Back to the inn.”

“But—”

“Just tell me how to get there.”

“…always so damned stubborn.” Miles appeared in the hallway, face flushed with one hand holding his cell and the other keeping his towel safely in place. He scowled at her as she slung her purse over one shoulder. “If you’d wait just a minute, I’ll go with you.”

“Aw, you know what?” Stephanie tipped her head to the side. “It’s probably for the best you don’t.”

Without waiting for his response, she marched to the front door, threw it open, stepped on through, then pulled it shut behind her—as hard as she could. An enraged shout sounded inside. It triggered a miniscule spark of satisfaction for her as she stormed off the porch and out onto the long, winding tree-lined driveway that lay ahead.

Stupid me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why the hell had she thought she could trust Miles? He was male, after all. And men were self-serving pigs. Hadn’t the last ten years with Liam taught her that? Now here she was, making the walk of shame.

…You falling asleep was probably for the best…

Without slowing her pace, she dug out her cell phone and checked for messages. Just one from Becka, saying she was sorry to have to pass on their planned day together but Joe and two of the girls were sick. Stephanie was more relieved than disappointed, not being in the best of moods for hosting her sister. Plus, now she wouldn’t feel compelled to tell Becka how she’d nearly scored for the first time since her divorce and failed miserably. Or that she’d actually convinced her drunken self that Miles would ever see her as more than a friend. In fact, no one had to know about any of it.

Since it was for the best, and all.

“Come on,” she growled as her navigation app took its sweet time loading. No doubt the trees were interfering with her cell’s signal. She glanced up to see how much farther she had to go before reaching a break in the trees and found herself nearly to the road already.

And directly across the street stood the Checkerberry Inn.

A triumphant bark of laughter bubbled from her lips. See? She didn’t need Miles to help her get back. In fact, she didn’t need anyone.

No one at all.