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When Sarah woke up the next morning, she could tell that the room was bright, but when she cracked one eye open experimentally, a white flash seared her throbbing brain like steak on a grill. She buried her head under the pillow and tried to sink back into sleep, but a quiet click like the sound of a door closing made her wonder whether she ought to see what was going on. Maybe Devon needed her.
She pushed the pillow away and slowly sat up before swinging her legs off the side of the bed. It was a big mistake. Her headache slipped into her stomach, and she started to feel nauseated. Gripping the side of the mattress with both hands, she kept her eyes shut, hung on tight, and waited for the spell to pass.
Ohmigod. I will never drink champagne ever again. Please, please, someone just shoot me. In the head, preferably.
Shading her eyes with her hand, she sneaked them open, bit by bit, and was astonished to discover that she was wearing an unfamiliar oversized T-shirt, sitting on the edge of an enormous bed with a black leather headboard, alone in a room she didn’t recognize.
This was enough to set her head pounding in a wild frenzy, and she bit back a groan as she peered around the room, her eyes squinting. A couple of framed prints hung on the slate-gray wall behind the headboard, and a bookcase next to the bed held an assortment of magazines and books. At the foot of the bed, a closet door stood ajar. Inside hung a row of men’s shirts and slacks. So, it was a man’s bedroom, the man she had apparently slept next to last night—and she was wearing his T-shirt.
Sarah cringed and struggled to remember what had happened the night before. There was something about riding in Carlotta’s limo, then following the girls into a bar, then a crowd of people... nothing very specific. Had Blake been there too? And Jordan? A series of random images passed before her mind’s eye, growing more and more crazy. But whose bedroom was this, and where was he now?
How utterly humiliating. This is a new low, even for me.
Waking up in a strange bedroom with a vicious hangover was not a welcome addition to her dating repertoire.
Sarah found her clothes lying in a wrinkled jumble on the floor next to the bed and took them with her into the adjoining bath. After she’d hosed herself down from head to toe, she toweled off and put on her dirty underwear and the wilted silk shirt, which had a splotch of something sticky on the sleeve, and her rumpled black skirt, which now had a torn slit opening up one side seam to the top of her thigh. This rang a distant bell. Had she ridden behind some man on a motorcycle last night? Her shoes and purse were missing.
She sniffed. The spot on her sleeve was chocolate ganache.
Now, that definitely sparks a memory. Hmmmm... wedding cakes... the white limousine and Carlotta! And that awful bar, ohmigod.
She couldn’t quite hook the rest of the story, which floated just out of reach.
Sarah opened the bedroom door a tiny crack and peeked out into a hallway. Nobody appeared, so she opened the door wider and stuck her head out. A door across from her was closed, so she tiptoed past it silently and headed toward the top of a staircase at the end of the hallway. Looking over the bannisters, she saw below her a large L-shaped kitchen and open living space, filled with browns and autumn colors. Something moved, and her eye zoomed in on the man sitting at the kitchen island, his face hidden behind a newspaper. He had dark-brown hair and wore jeans and a white T-shirt. She caught her breath as he turned the page and his identity was revealed.
Ohmigod. I spent the night with Jordan Harrison!
Her gasp drew his attention, and he lowered the paper and looked up at her. A mischievous grin slipped onto Jordan’s face. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said. “Ready for breakfast? Come on down.” He patted the empty stool next to him.
Sarah took a step toward the stairs and hesitated, her fingers trembling as they touched the handrail. Her face grew hotter by the second.
What will Blake think? How could I have done this?
She saw her bag sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa, with her shoes on the floor nearby. A quick escape was definitely on the agenda, but she’d have to pass him on her way to collect her things.
What will Paisley say? He’s her old boyfriend... totally out of bounds.
Smoothing her hair back with one hand while she steadied herself on the railing, she walked down the stairs, trying to look casual. “Yes, good morning. Wow, that was, um... quite a night. I think, that is. It’s all a bit fuzzy.” She arrived at the bottom step and slipped over to the living room area, where she stepped into one shoe before she realized the other had a broken strap. “Oh!” she said, wobbling on one foot. She sat down and stared at the shoe, another glimpse of memory shooting through her mind. Something about rushing into the dark, away from... something. She looked over at Jordan, her brow furrowed with confusion.
Jordan Harrison, her savior? It didn’t seem right. He’d never struck her as the type, for one thing. And he’d never seemed interested in Sarah, not that way. There he was now, grinning as though waiting for her to... what? To get the joke?
What joke? Is it on me? What did he do to me last night, anyhow? And why is it so damned funny?
Sarah frowned, curiosity transforming into anger.
The door rattled and opened. Kahlua came rushing inside, running over to greet her. He was followed by Blake, carrying a cardboard tray filled with tall coffees and a bag of what looked like pastries. He set the tray on the table, one hand on her shoulder as he leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
Kahlua lay his head in her lap, and she stroked his silky ears. “Um... like the dead?” she said. She studied Blake’s expression, which seemed relaxed and happy.
How much does he know? Why isn’t he mad at me? Am I in trouble?
Blake laughed, passing her one of the coffees. “Here you go. Tall mocha latte with a chocolate cream doughnut. Is that okay? Go lie down, Kahlua. No begging.”
The scent of coffee and chocolate filled her consciousness, and she reached for the cup. One large gulp and a bite of the pastry began to clear her head as stimulants rushed into her bloodstream. Kahlua padded over to a large red cushion on the floor near the fireplace and collapsed onto it, staring at her food with a hopeful yet resigned expression.
As she stared at the dog lying on his bed, the light dawned, and Sarah turned to look at Blake, who sat next to her, dipping a cruller into his black coffee.
“This is your condo, isn’t it?”
He nodded, mouth full and eyes curious. He swallowed his food. “Yeah, sure. You don’t remember?”
He looked concerned, but Sarah just giggled, snorting latte up her nose in the process. She put her cup down on the table, and all the tension she’d been holding melted out of her body, leaving her draped across the cushions like a limp noodle. Blake still looked worried, but he reached down and stroked her hair while his eyes softened and he leaned in for another kiss.
She closed her sore, tired eyes and spun into the world of his kiss, the deep, sweet, velvety darkness, with sparks of tingling explosions around the edges. She floated, losing her sense of gravity. Her head didn’t hurt anymore, and she felt ridiculously happy until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to do this anymore.
Jordan cleared his throat. “Public space and all. Just saying.”
Blake pulled back and glanced at his brother over his shoulder. “Want your coffee?”
“Yeah.” Jordan walked over and picked up the last cup that remained in the tray. “Thanks, bro. Guess I’ll head home. Those girlfriends of yours are a hoot a minute, Sarah. Too bad the brunette is getting married soon.” He exited with a wave.
Sarah simmered, her temper rising as she sipped her coffee and the memories returned. Blake had taken full advantage of her inebriated state, of course, to bring her here and take off her clothes. Typical man.
He knows how I feel about sex, and relationships, and, well... sex!
“How dare you?” She turned on him, setting her cup on the table with a smack. “It’s all coming back now. How dare you bring me here and... you know when I told you it’s not going to be that way between us, Blake? You had no right, considering the condition I was in!”
“What?” His eyebrows shot up, and his jaw dropped. “Sarah, I slept down here on the couch, in case you’ve forgotten. Jordan took the guest room.”
She pulled back and shot a bolt of scorn at him with her eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that, Blake Harrison? Don’t be ridiculous!”
After gathering her purse and shoes in her arms, she walked out the door with as much dignity as she could summon, considering her bare feet and the state of her clothing.
Blake watched with a forlorn expression. “Can’t I give you a ride home? Will you be all right?”
“My car is parked at the restaurant, but thank you.” She avoided eye contact and closed the door behind her.
She had time to change into sweats and a T-shirt, beat Devon and Miki to the kitchen, and start breakfast so they would never know she’d been out all night. Not that there was anything wrong with that. After all, she was a single, healthy adult. Didn’t she deserve a social life like everyone else?
Maybe not. Maybe it was safer to stay home and chat on the internet. She’d missed another date with HotNCold last night. The last time they’d met online, he’d encouraged her to talk about Blake. Sarah wondered what her faceless friend would have to say when she told him the latest developments.